Mating Rituals Ch. 01

...She is finally yours.

Well. If we are being truthful here, she's been yours for some time now - years, really. In the aftermath of a great struggle to escape a land ruined by gun violence and economic turmoil, once again crossing the vast gulf of space and water to her homeland, you'd shed sweat and bled to establish yourself as something more than just...a burden. Lured indelibly to her as a dragonfly to a butterfly's stained-glass wings. early on you'd come to understand that the source of your happiness lay in the seat of her soul, broadcasting outward from her as a grand, reverberating signal. Calling to you, seeking you, until the day had come.

For two years you'd sweltered in her jungle-dense country, shining that same light on secrets and fears you'd hidden from your family and closest friends. You'd placed a band of gold around her finger and added yet another name to hers, so long and complex compared to the disyllabic curtness of your own. Like a farmer who'd sweltered through cruel summers tearing up stumps and restoring a land once fallow, the flowers of your joy had colored your existence a thousand bright shades of blue and gold, and the glorious moon of your happiness hung forever in the sky - You'd never known this kind of joy, because you'd never dreamed of marrying your best friend.

You, being a firm believer in the power of ritual, had established a few in the course of your years together - one of them being, of course, a raucous celebration of the New Year in Chicago. The institution you worked for provided a generous travel stipend and, eager as she'd been to see snow and cold in all its proud, terrible glory, you'd brought her with all pomp and presentation her to America's City. An old friend with the same first name as you had let you stay in one of his (wealthy girlfriend's) apartments, situated near Logan Square.

The first night you'd celebrated with all of your friends - they'd known her for a few years now, and she fit in perfectly amidst them. Your trail of revelry led you from the Milwaukee Brewery to the Spiderhouse Arcade; from Jezebel's to the Magic Kebabery and finally back to your buddy's apartment to tear her clothes off, carry her laughing, winsome form to bed, and thrust her into the mattress to the rhythm of her breathy moans.

That, too, had been one of your rituals - daily sexual intercourse, ensuring that she was carrying your seed to warm her through the cold, and God forbid you missed a day? Simple enough - you made up for it, for she was just as voracious and hungry for you as you were for her.

Sex with her was always an exciting prospect. She loved how the curved, girthy haft of your cock opened her, how you unlocked the plush rosy gateway of her ecstasy with gentle skill, stoked her flame with your lips, fingers and touch all over her lush, athletic body and in turn she grew beaded and juicy with arousal like a bell-flower at dawn.

She loved the way you fucked her hard enough to slam the headboard against the wall when she was ready, rocking the bed and darkening the sheets with her gushing excitement, and you adored the way she pampered you.

Her skilled, soft lips and fingers climbing up the curve of your cock, kissing with breeze softness against your glans before swallowing you...her body, molded perfectly against yours, praising your skill, her fingers climbing up your arms, over the crags of your muscles with appreciation...the way she squeezed and tightened her satin-soft caress around the curve of your cock, entreating you in a beautiful voice to flood her pussy with the pearlescent heat of your orgasm.

It was a ritual you repeated twice that night until you passed out to the sound of Chicago's heartbeat; she spooned you to sleep, whispering her love for you.

The next day, you rose to the pale chill of dawn, brewing her coffee just the way she liked it. You'd brought a box of pancake mix with lingenberries and turkey sausage you could both enjoy, and when she was warm and full, you bundled her in her robe and coat and tugged her to the balcony to look outside at the snowfall. It limned the broad, tall buildings all around you with crystalline white frost, washing the gray with bright, clean white. A secret post-Christmas gift, you presented to her a fancy, long woolen coat - terribly dignified and urbane - revealing it hanging from the bedroom door when you both emerged from the shower. Its faux-fur lined collar graced her svelte shoulders like a queen's, complete with a hood to grace her classically beautiful face, twin rows of bone-white buttons riding up her torso and a belt in the middle.

This was, after all, her first time in the Land of Cold, and she hadn't exactly dressed for the Great Lakes in Winter.

The two of you were undeniably attractive and knew it...you'd known for years and you delighted in showing her off as you took her to a New Year's show down at Navy Pier. You paraded her on your arm as you walked into your favorite Chinatown noodle joint. You strode proudly at her side down State Street through the snow to show her all the looming, black basalt and glass monoliths, hissing your mutual disdain for the piratical rentiers who owned them.

One of the things you loved the most about your relationship with this remarkable, foreign woman was your mutual gaming hobby...and you'd discussed what you were playing in advance. This match was made in heaven and sanctified in the realms of shared, epicurean sin; she danced on the same playful sexual wavelength as you, a perfectly synchronized tango of sexual passion.

Your experiences had been singularly fun and kinky, and like you she has a penchant for...enjoying others' attention and lust. She had the confidence of a woman who knows she is gorgeous and enjoys being acknowledged as such. You love flattering her, and to be frank, you loved the way others gaze at her with desire - she'd never choose them over you anyway...though you'd certainly shared them between each other.

There was the time in Belgium with that dapper, handsome chap from Kenya. He'd been so handsomely dressed in his suit and tie and you and he had so skillfully pleased her as she lay upon her back, spread and open to the way you both touched, circled and slid your cocks into her peach-soft, swollen sex. Oh how she'd arched and writhed for you both, how she'd milked you with her lips, her tongue, her silken grasp as you took turns fucking her.

Then, back in her homeland - you'd spent a few hours at her favorite bar chatting happily with that gorgeous girl from Porto, the one with the curly dark hair and caramel skin; she turned out to be just as dirty a talker in bed as out; your fingers had gripped the sheets as your wife slid her tongue skillfully up your shaft while your pretty friend swallowed down your glans. They'd luxuriated and polished your cock before you showed them your virility.*

A raucous, incredibly fulfilling sex life with this woman you'd cast aside so much for - the list of adventures went on and on...like the time you just sort of...fell in with this couple in Bali; that had been unexpected fun, a gorgeous pair engaged in just the same celebration of their romance as you. He - some sort of stunt man from Hanoi with his strappy muscles and perfectly groomed black hair, and she - a content writer from Nepal for some hippy-dippy magazine with her deep, dark eyes and glinting, gold little nipple barbells - had bonded easily with you over games and day trips through nature.

The bond had grown in other ways when you switched partners on your double dates, a practice hitherto unconsidered but that was now terribly entertaining - you turned your competition to impress each other's partners, on the dance floor, in the terribly complex board games you all enjoyed, and finally when you all ended up in bed.* You recall how:

Your wife watches you with heated, lustful eyes, filled with desire as she knots her fingers in his styled dark hair, pulling the stunt actor's mouth harder into her groin and letting out breathy little sighs of desire. They are an uneven accompaniment to the Nepali girl's moans of desire as you take her hips from behind - she opens generously to you, and you watch as she arches and groans, tightening around your girth...

And how your love's hands grip the girl's hips, the rolling motions of her beautiful waist music to your very eyes as she slides her bared, hungry sex against the other's; she grins as the other man takes hold of her ass from behind, giving a hungry groan as he slides his cock inside of her. That dark skinned beauty straddles your waist, working with the effort of fitting your manhood into her sex, slicked with her own arousal and your wife's -

And of course...how his wife lies back and watches in awe, eagerly working herself as she awaits her turn. You and he take your wife...on her knees, her lips around your cockhead and moaning into your shaft as he pounded her before exchanging places...taking turns thrusting her hard into the bed, showing off the differences in your strength, studding her fiercely...you remember the way she looked at you hungrily over her shoulder as she rode him, exposing her filled, cream-pearled pussy to you and digging her fingernails into the other man's shoulders as you squeezed your way in as well -***

You'd long established your comfort with each other and how you brought other people into your bed; your love and dedication to one another had never broken and only been tempered with your mutual enjoyment, and that's what made your ability to expand the boundaries of what was possible in marriage so much more exciting. Seduction carried with it the exciting curiosity of discovering a new lover, but uniquely shared between you both.

After dinner that day, you'd returned to the apartment and began getting dressed for tonight - through your swinging connections you'd received an invitation to the Rutherford House for a...rather exclusive costume masquerade party. The theme of the night was fantastical gods and creatures, and to add to the evening's entertainment you'd agreed to play a little game you dubbed 'Silent Lovers' that just happened to be perfect for tonight.

The goal of the game was to enter the Rutherford House and seek each other out - the rub was you didn't know what costumes the other would wear, and you'd have to find her through sensual exploration - now, of course, that wouldn't be difficult as your wife was singularly, uniquely beautiful in your eyes and you'd recognize her by scent alone; it was of course, an excuse for you both to...mess around, explore on your own, and at the end of the night - as was also your ritual - you'd reclaim her. She loved that part the most.

Before the masquerade you'd head to Scarlett's, one of your favorite clubs, for drinks and dancing...a bit of time out together, just the two of you; there's nobody you'd rather spend that time with.

"What do you think?"

Her lightly accented voice breaks you from your reverie; your smoke-green eyes flicker to the mirror to find her standing behind you, showing off what she'd wear to the bar; after years together, she'd come to intimately know your taste, what got your blood pumping.

Her shapely, sleek legs, defined by lines of muscle running from calf to thigh toward her lovely groin, are on display in a pair of black fishnets, leading up her thigh and underneath a confidently short skirt of leather and silvery zippers. She's unfathomably sexy dressed like this, her smooth midriff on display and her firm, petite breasts covered by a cutoff T-shirt. It reads 'La Ville de l'Amour; a white tracery of Sodom burning is displayed beneath.

A gold bangle glints around her wrist, and that Persian piece of filigree sits around her swan-like throat alluringly. In her ears glint delicately wrought golden leaves and rings...your wife is well acquainted with your taste for metal and piercings, and you've bought her a nice little collection of jewelry over the years.

Your love's dark, wavy hair is styled in twin braids on either side of her model-delicate, Elfin face; lipstick her ruby-red smile is the work of a great Renaissance painter, turning to a cheeky smirk as she notices the way your fulsome manhood hardens. You turn to face her, leaning against the bathroom sink in nothing more than a pair of boxer shorts and a white undershirt. "What are you wearing underneath?" you inquire innocently, even as you reach down and walk a pair of fingers over the length of your erection.

Her mysterious eyes become like hooded crescents as she daintily lifts her skirt, swaying her hips side-to-side to reveal the high-banded, candy-pink little thong that barely covers her pretty, smooth mons. It clung tightly to her groin, revealing the aroused shape of her swollen lips and that prominent, pink pearl you so adored. You motion for her to turn around and she giggles girlishly, spinning and hiking up her skirt to show the bubbly roundness of her ass; that thong proudly displays the nectarine smoothness and impossible sphere of those cheeks; you cannot resist her.

"You know what you're doing," you casually intone as you glide behind your enchanting Quichua love from behind - she places a palm on the washing machine, her eyes never leaving yours as she raises her hips and spreads her thighs to give you easier access to her intimacy; a breathy sound leaves her lips as you gently bite her shoulder and neck, the bulbous, juicy roundness of your cut crown pressing against her groin.

A wet, soft sound of want greets you...she's absolutely ready for you to fuck her, as is part of the ritual - no matter whom you ended up with tonight in your quest to find each other, the night began with your seed, hot within her, and it would end that way; you always reclaimed her as your own, even if you had to fuck other men's cum out of her...which you thoroughly enjoyed, as did she.

"Are you going to mark me as yours? You know that doesn't stop the aggressive ones," she purrs in a voice like liquid gold as you slide your hand under her t-shirt, breath catching in her throat when your palm slides over her nipple.

"That's what you want me to do, isn't it baby?" you whisper quiet as a ghost and hot as a djinn against her ear...her big, dark eyes close dreamily, a smile of perfect contentment spread across her face then. "Even if it doesn't stop the aggressive ones?"

"Baby...you know I do actually enjoy watching you deal with them, you're so diplomatic and charming, you're so mmmph..." your passionate, deep kiss cuts her off, her lips turned eagerly toward you delicately tug her hardening nipple between your fingers. She's already reaching needily for your penis working to free it from its cloth prison, sliding aside her underwear to feel you against her soaked, throbbing warmth...and that's something special about her; you can feel the way she actually pulses with want for you.

You know well how to touch her, the pathways leading to her ecstatic release as familiar as the taste of her sex upon your lips...she molds to the masculine shape of your body, utterly aroused by your powerful, masculine physicality. The puzzle of her pleasure was a song that began quietly, caring for her hyper-attuned senses and impressing upon her your dexterity and control, despite the thirty kilograms of bone and muscle you had on her. Your wife was utterly allured by that contrast, that man of your size and powerful boxer's build was capable of such a light touch...the soft qualities about you pleased her equally if not more than your strength.

Your breath hot against her shoulder...your yielding lips on her cheek...the path your tongue takes as it roams up the ridge of her ear.

"Ohhhhh my strong, beautiful husband...yes, just like that, gently, softly, you know how I love it my handsome prince, my beautiful, loving prince..." she whispers sweetly as you tease her swollen nubbin, her creamy vulva still wet with your earlier lovemaking. "Please...hold me close to you meu amor..." she groans as you slide your helm into her. Her arm slides around your neck and she gasps with delight - you can see yourself reflected in a wall-mounted mirror and it's a delightfully lewd image; her lithe, winsome body leaning forward on her palm, fingernails curling over the metal of the washing machine and wearing that sexy little outfit...your tall, pale form, hand working between her thighs, the other holding her shoulder as you slide ever deeper into her.

Her smooth, pink slit is soaked to the point that you could easily penetrate her to the base if you so chose, but you enjoy the tease of each individual push as much as she does...and besides, you're waiting for the moment she says -

"Please, give it to me, yes? All the way, fuck me my gorgeous man, fuck yes, pound me OH GOD YES SÍ! SÍ MAS!"

You fall into a steady, familiar motion; every woman you've been with has required a different rhythm, a specific application of timing and pressure and your wife's has become the tune by which you conduct yourself into her...and you know what unlocks her release, what makes her squeeze and spasm around you. You play her clitoris gently like the strings of an instrument, plucking a song you know well with the metronome of your thrusting cock...your words even have a metered quality to them.

"Feel that, baby? Of course you do...you -love- the way I stretch you open...you love the way you have to work a bit to take me, and when I'm all the way in you?" you demonstrated, provoking a high pitched 'oh!' of excitement from her, "you quiver and shake..." your hips shift upward, changing the angle of your penis to press against the gateway of her fundament - her voice shivers, high pitched and airy as you stay almost all the way in her.

"Oh fuck! Oh, GOD that's really good, that's really really good...haaaAAAHHH -"

You revel in the sound of her orgasm, which you've grown terribly adept at summoning forth. She convulses in your arms and you hold her close to make sure she doesn't collapse in a tangle of doe-like limbs.

Your cock remains buried within her, a steel-hard lance of passion by which you deliver the drumbeat of your love to her core. Your fingers find her left hip under her skirt, your right still drawing lazy, loving circles around her pearl as you nuzzle and kiss the back of her head; she smells amazing, all these years...whether fresh from the shower, sweaty after a long day outside, or coated with the perfume of her pheromones, you adore her scent.

"Shall we take this to the bed, my darling?" you tease her as she begins to back her hips up against yours, arching upward and wringing the bulbous girth of your cockhead against those places that make her breath catch. You slide your cut, long manhood forth from her slowly, leaving her wordlessly whimpering through each inch before she turns around and embraces you. The lithe muscles in her arms are a lovely contrast to the softness of her skin, and she kisses your cheek, your nose, your lips, smiling breathlessly against you.

"Yes please. I want to feel my man's seed inside of me all night long," your partner sighs as you lift her off her feet and carry her to the bed. She's so wonderfully light in your arms...her dryad litheness, the verticality of her body means she drapes over your muscles luxuriantly.

You take her to bed and lay her back upon the sheets; she reclines back against the pillows with devilish grace. Smirking deviously, her cheeks like flushed, pink little apples, her fingers travel down her lower belly to her bare mons, then to her swollen, peach-pink labia. The sight of her lasciviously spreading herself, exposing all the rosy perfection of her lush vulva causes you to pulse. A bead of white, rich sperm drips down the swell of your frenum.