Zayne woke slowly, becoming aware of several things simultaneously:
1. His body felt different
2. Something was warm against his side
3. There was a strange tingling sensation on his skin
He looked down.
And froze.
Oh god.
His chest was covered in red marks.
His shoulders. His collarbone. His ribs. His abdomen.
Everywhere except his neck—the restricted zone—was marked.
Kiss marks.
Dozens of them.
*She practiced. All night. She practiced on me. I'm covered. I look like I got attacked by—*
"—a cute mosquito army," he muttered.
*How did I sleep through this. How did I not wake up while she was marking me like a canvas.*
He turned his head to look at the culprit.
Nana.
Asleep beside him like a tornado—one leg over his waist, one arm across his chest, hair everywhere, mouth slightly open.
*Tornado sleep. Even while marking territory, she maintains tornado sleep. Impressive.*
But she looked so peaceful. So innocent. So—
Cute. Tempting. Both. Dangerously both.
He couldn't help but smile.
*My territorial wife. My marking-obsessed wife. My—*
He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.
Then her cheek.
Then her forehead.
*So cute. So adorable. Even when turning me into mosquito food.*
She stirred, eyes fluttering open.
"Mmm... husband?" she mumbled sleepily. "Morning already?"
"Morning, hamster."
"Did you see?!" She suddenly sat up, excited, pointing at his chest. "I practiced ALL NIGHT! Look! So many marks! You're very marked! Very taken! Super claimed!"
*Yes. I noticed. Hard to miss.*
"I see that," he said dryly. "You've been busy."
"They're GOOD ones too! Red! Visible! Everyone will know—" she paused, "—wait, but they're under your shirt. No one will see."
*Exactly. As intended. Hidden marks. Secret marks. Just for us.*
"That's the point, hamster. Private marking. Just between us."
"Ohhhhh." She nodded seriously. "Secret marks. I like that. Very... intimate?"
*Intimate. Yes. That's one word for it.*
"Very intimate," he confirmed.
She beamed, clearly proud of her night's work.
*She's proud. Of marking me. Of claiming me. This possessive little—*
"Shower time!" She announced, already climbing out of bed. "Come on! I want to see sunflower in the morning!"
*Of course. Of course she wants to see sunflower. Every morning now. This is routine.*
They stood under the warm spray together—this had become normal now, despite his initial resistance.
*Showering with wife. Normal. Accepted. Still suffering but accepted.*
Nana was staring.
As always.
At sunflower.
"It's awake again!" she observed. "Morning sunflower! Hello!"
*She's greeting it. She greets my anatomy. Every morning.*
"And it's getting BIGGER!" She giggled, pointing. "Look! It's growing! Like it's angry at me! Grumpy morning sunflower!"
*Angry. Grumpy. She's assigning emotions to—*
*My sanity. Where did it go. It left. It's gone. Vacation to another galaxy.*
"It's not angry," he managed. "It's just... responding. To stimuli."
"What stimuli?"
*You. Naked. Close. Touching me. Existing. Breathing.*
"Various factors," he said vaguely.
"Can I touch—"
"Let me wash your hair first."
Distraction. Good distraction. Safe activity.
He poured shampoo into his hands and began washing her short hair, massaging her scalp gently.
*This is nice. Domestic. Safe. Not thinking about—*
"My turn!" Nana announced when he was done. "I'll wash your back!"
She moved behind him, soaping up his back with serious concentration.
*This is fine. Just back washing. Normal couple activity. Nothing dangerous about—*
Her hands moved lower.
To his stomach.
*Stomach. Still okay. Acceptable. Just washing. Nothing—*
Lower.
Her small hands wrapped around him.
*NOT OKAY. NOT ACCEPTABLE. DEFINITELY NOT JUST WASHING.*
"Hamster—" his voice came out strangled, "—that's not—"
"I'm washing!" she said innocently. "Everywhere needs washing! You taught me thorough is important!"
*Thorough. She's being thorough. Too thorough. Catastrophically thorough.*
Her hands cupped him, feeling the weight, the size.
Oh god.
"It's so WARM," she observed, fascinated. "And hard? But also soft? How is it both?"
*Don't explain anatomy. Don't give clinical explanation. Just—just survive.*
Then she stroked.
Up.
Down.
Exploratory. Curious. Innocent.
But devastating.
*She doesn't know. She has no idea what she's doing. She's just exploring. Just curious. Just—*
Oh god that feels—
He gripped the shower wall, knuckles white.
*Breathe. Just breathe. She's learning. Exploring. This is educational. This is—*
*This is torture. Exquisite torture.*
Her hand moved again, squeezing gently, stroking with wonder.
*I want to claim her. Want to turn around. Want to show her everything. Want to—*
*But she's not ready. She said not ready. So I just—I just endure.*
*This is fine. This is—*
*Actually this is amazing. Her hands. So small. So soft. So—*
"Zayne?" Nana's voice broke through his thoughts. "You stopped breathing. Are you okay?"
*Okay? No. Dying. Actually dying. But also never been better.*
"I'm fine," he lied, voice rough.
"You look like you're in pain though. Your face is all—" she made a strained expression, "—like this. Does it hurt?"
*Hurt? No. Opposite of hurt. Very opposite. So opposite it's—*
"Not pain," he managed. "Just... intense. What you're doing is intense."
"Good intense or bad intense?"
*Good. So good. Dangerously good.*
"Very good intense," he admitted.
"Oh!" She smiled, pleased. "Then I should keep going?"
*Yes. No. Yes. Please.*
"I—" *what do I say. How do I—*
He caught her hands. Looked at her. Those innocent, curious eyes.
*She wants to. She's willing. She's—*
*Screw it. If this is all we can do right now, then—*
He guided her hands back. Showed her the motion. The pressure. The rhythm.
*Like this. Yes. Just like—*
She followed his guidance, stroking properly now, watching his face with fascination.
*She's watching me. Studying my reactions. Learning what I like. She's—*
"Mmhm"
A moan escaped him.
Deep. Uncontrolled. Completely undignified.
"You made a SOUND!" Nana looked delighted. "Like when I kiss you! You like this!"
*Yes. Very much yes. So much yes.*
His hand covered hers, increasing pressure, speed—
*Close. So close. Can't—*
"Nana—" his voice was wrecked, "—I'm going to—don't stop—"
She didn't stop.
Kept stroking, kept watching his face, completely focused.
*So close. So—*
He came.
Hard.
In her hands.
Against the shower wall.
While his wife watched with wide, curious eyes.
*Oh god. That just happened. That actually just happened.*
For a moment, they both just stood there.
Zayne breathing hard, braced against the wall.
Nana looking at her hands with fascination.
"What—" she started, "—what is THIS?"
She held up her hands, covered in—
*Oh no. Here comes the questions. The inevitable questions.*
"It's water! But not water! It's WHITE! And warm! And—" she sniffed cautiously, "—it smells weird. Not bad weird. Just... different weird. What IS this?!"
*Clinical. Be clinical. You can explain this clinically. You're a doctor. This is anatomy. Just—*
"That's semen," he said, trying to sound professional despite having just orgasmed in his wife's hands. "Male reproductive fluid. It's released during climax—the peak of sexual pleasure. Contains sperm cells, proteins, enzymes, and other substances. The warmth is due to body temperature. The texture is due to protein composition. The scent is—" *how do I describe that* "—distinct."
"Semen," she repeated, examining it closely. "This is what makes babies?"
"In the right circumstances, yes."
"There's so MUCH! Like—a lot! Is this normal amount?"
*Average. Perfectly average. Maybe slightly above average but—*
"Normal amount," he confirmed.
"And it came out because I—" she made the stroking motion in the air, "—did this?"
"Yes. Manual stimulation. It causes arousal, builds to climax, results in ejaculation. Basic male sexual response."
"Huh." She was still examining her hands. "Science is weird."
*Science is weird. That's her takeaway. My wife's analysis of male orgasm: weird science.*
He gently turned her hands under the water, washing away the evidence.
*Clean up. Move forward. Pretend this was normal. This was educational. This was—*
*This was amazing. Best shower ever. Want to do again. Immediately. Forever.*
"Zayne?" Nana's voice pulled him back.
"Yes?"
"Sunflower is different now."
He looked down.
Post-orgasm, obviously no longer erect, just—
"It's SMALL!" Nana looked concerned. "And sad! It's small and sad! Did I break it?! Did I break sunflower?!"
*Broke it. She thinks she broke my penis. This is—*
He couldn't help it.
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
In the shower.
Post-orgasm.
At his wife's concern about breaking sunflower.
"You didn't break it," he assured her. "That's normal. After climax, it returns to resting state. Smaller, softer. It'll be back to normal later."
"Oh!" Relief flooded her face. "So it's just... tired? Resting? Like after exercise?"
"Exactly like that."
"Poor sunflower," she said seriously, patting it gently. "Good job, sunflower. You worked hard. Rest well."
*She's praising my penis. Comforting it. Telling it good job.*
*This is my life. And I'm not even surprised anymore.*
ZAYNE'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE - 7:47 AM (GETTING DRESSED)
Medical log - Day 184 - Morning Edition:
CRITICAL EVENTS.
Woke up covered in kiss marks (wife practiced all night).
Showered with wife (normal now, somehow).
Wife explored anatomy (curious as always).
Wife manually stimulated me (oh god).
I came in her hands (OH GOD).
Explained semen composition (clinical mode activated).
Wife concerned about "breaking" sunflower (adorable).
Wife praised sunflower for working hard (I love her).
Current status: Dressed. Marked. Satisfied. Confused. Happy. All of it.
What just happened:
She touched me. Really touched me. Not just poking. Not just exploring. She TOUCHED me. With intent. With curiosity. With—
And I let her. Guided her. Showed her what to do. Let her learn. Let her—
And it was AMAZING.
Her hands. So small. So soft. So innocent but so effective.
I came so hard I saw stars. In the shower. In her hands. While she watched with those wide eyes.
This is progress.
Significant progress.
She's comfortable touching me now. Exploring. Learning.
She's not scared. Not hesitant. Just curious.
That's... that's everything.
She asked questions after. About the semen. About the response. About why sunflower got "sad."
So innocent. So genuine. No awkwardness. Just curiosity.
My wife who talks to squirrels. Who names anatomy. Who practices kiss marks all night. Who just gave me my first orgasm with her in the shower.
And then patted sunflower. Told it "good job."
This is my life. This is my reality. This is—
This is perfect.
Even the weird parts.
Especially the weird parts.
She's getting closer. To being ready. To wanting more. To—
Maybe soon. Maybe very soon.
She's not scared anymore. Not of touching. Not of exploring. Not of—
Eventually is approaching.
Rapidly approaching.
And I—
I'm ready.
So ready.
Whenever she is.
But also—
Also that shower experience might be enough to hold me over for a while. Because holy god. Her hands. The way she looked at me. The way she—
Focus. Work. Surgery today. Professional mode.
Can't think about shower. Can't think about her hands. Can't think about—
Too late. Already thinking about it. Will be thinking about it all day. All week. Forever.
Prescription for today:
- Survive work while thinking about shower
- Don't show visible kiss marks (under shirt)
- Maintain professionalism (impossible)
- Come home to wife (priority)
- Maybe teach her more things (YES PLEASE)
- Love her constantly (always)
She's ready.
Almost ready.
Getting closer.
And when she finally says "I'm ready" without fear—
I'll show her everything.
All the things we've waited for.
All the patience will be worth it.
But for now—
For now I'll remember her hands.
Her curiosity.
Her "good job, sunflower."
Perfect.
She's perfect.
Even when breaking and praising anatomy.
Especially then.
.
.
.
.
.
🌻🌻🌻
To be continued.