***** Wedding Traditions *****
I lived in a village for six months where cultural practice—weddings for example—contrasted sharply from my passport country. A girl engaged to be married selects a piece of cotton cloth. She cuts off material to make a blindfold and a second piece to make a handkerchief. The remainder, worn as a sari, will be her only piece of clothing on her wedding day.
On the first day of their wedding week, the bride’s father places his right hand low on her ass. This symbolic gesture indicates he has “covered” her and is presenting a virgin to the groom. The bride and groom do not consummate their marriage on this day. After a day of dancing and feasting, they each return to their family homes.
On the second day, the new bride chooses a married woman from the village to be her chaperone. Together, they meet the groom in the room he has chosen for his wedding night. After he blindfolds her, the groom places a brush in the hands of the girl. Using this brush, she paints his erection with ink. Finally, she presses the handkerchief on to his member to make an “erection print.” The bride and her chaperone leave. The groom returns the handkerchief, saturated with his semen, to his in-laws the next morning.
On the third day, the bride’s family and friends escort her to the groom’s house. After another evening of feasting and dancing, the bride’s mother escorts the couple to the groom’s bed chamber. The bride signals her readiness for intimacy when she gives the groom the blindfold. After he covers her eyes, she kneels and gropes at her husband to release his penis. After completing her first wifely ministration, she removes her blindfold and cleans up her husband with the newly-washed handkerchief.
The bride now places the blindfold over the groom’s eyes. He gropes at her, takes hold of her sari and unwraps his bride. Instead of putting it aside, however, he stands behind her and wraps the sari around both of their hips. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gently guides her to bend over. Feeling her up in his blacked-out world, he finds her vulva and lubricates the labia with his pre-cum. He tentatively pushes his penis into her.
Listeners outside the bedroom door wait impatiently. Their reward is the vocal fury of male exertion when he grabs at the sari to pull his bride’s hips into his, pulling tightly to deeply and swiftly penetrate. They wince at the soft cry of the bride. Revelers burst into the room to rejoice with the couple locked in their coital embrace. After the groom finishes, the bride’s mother retrieves the handkerchief to gather up the evidence of their conjugal pairing. The crowd exits. In the settling quiet, the bride eagerly awaits her own private moments of rejoicing. The groom kneels before his wife, ministering to her needs.
***** Last Week *****
The trousers’ fabric and style worn by the man approaching our table at my sister’s club reminded me of my time in that foreign village. After receiving permission from my brother-in-law, we walked out to the dance floor, his hand on my ass. It startled me, another reminder of my time overseas. Why he did this escaped me; I certainly was no virgin. He was a good dancer and asked if he could see me again. He graciously apologized for having to leave so early in the evening, and kissed me lightly on the right cheek. After a quick good-bye, he left, stopped abruptly, and came back, pressing a piece of cloth into my hand and whispering a lewd comment about the picture silk-screened onto the cloth.
I didn’t sleep well that night. Bewildering thoughts flooded my mind. The stranger had been so polite and gracious on the dance floor. Why did he end the evening suggesting I should go home, get out the cloth, and masturbate myself? The reminders of my time in a foreign country, the fabric and style of the man’s trousers, and the appearance of the piece of cloth, suggested the man—whoever he was—knew a lot about me. The picture on the cloth was an erection. It could be anyone’s, but it brought memories to mind of my husband’s dick. Nearly two years had passed since it had been in my cunt.
**** Friday Evening *****
I should have insisted we meet at a public place. Instead, the limo driver fastened a blindfold over my eyes and whisked me away to some unknown destination. He escorted me to the front door, where a voice called out.
“Remove the blindfold.”
A red light made a small circle on the floor.
“Walk over to the circle and stand there.”
I cautiously shuffled to the illuminated spot. The light went out, leaving me in a dark, silent place.
“Welcome. I’m standing right behind you.”
Hands gripping my shoulders, a tongue licking at the nape of my neck, lips kissing me behind each ear, and the cologne’s scent evoked memories of erotic midnight intimacies. His teeth nibbled at the flesh of my neck. For a brief moment he pressed himself into the small of my back, confirming his already obvious intent.
“You have a scar below the hairline behind your left ear. You are unable to resist the sexual arousal brought on by soft touches at the back of your neck.”
He was correct and like Eve, I wanted the forbidden fruit. The man’s intimate knowledge of me astounded me. I thought only my husband knew these things. And how had this man obtained the handkerchief, the one now buried in my pocket book, the one with a color picture of my husband’s erection dripping pre-cum? I missed him. In the darkness, this man didn’t notice the tears coming to my eyes. I could see a thin shaft of light coming through the keyhole. A voice in my head shouted at me to make a dash for the door.
“Kneel. There’s a mat on the floor in front of you.”
Hands on my waist gently pushed me to the floor. He cradled his arousal against my neck, then moved to stand in front of me, dragging his member under my chin. Suggesting on the dance floor that I go home and masturbate was one thing. Replicating my husband’s foreplay habits in hopes of laying me went too far.
I twisted my head away. “You…. You impertinent…” I couldn’t find the right word.
“Did you bring the cloth to clean up afterwards?”
“Like there’s going to be a need for it,” I sneered in mockery! My hand searched for his nuts to crush them.
“You showed me the cloth and explained its purpose.” After a short pause, he continued. “On our wedding night.”
His glans, no longer forbidden fruit, burst through the dam of my relaxing lips. Strangely, after the foreplay of kissing me on the neck and rubbing himself across my jawline, there was no pre-cum. My overtaxed brain struggled in vain to understand how this moment came to be. Unlike its first romp in my mouth, on our wedding night, his nearly lifeless shaft simply rested on my tongue. I fully intended to resurrect it.
“I knew our home was being watched. That’s why I sent that cryptic note telling you to get out and go to live with your sister. That’s why I sent an accomplice to see you at the club. I’ll need to blindfold you again, after we’re finished.”
Except for the ticking of a clock, silence descended upon the room. I closed my fingers over his swollen penis to rub his cock head against my lips. When pre-cum dripped onto my tongue, I took him into my mouth more fully. His legs stiffened, his back arched to thrust his cock more deeply before retreating from my mouth, and then ejaculate erupted in a soundless explosion, drenching my face. I substituted my dress for the piece of cloth pressed into my hands at the club.
No sighs of contentment. None of the post orgasmic murmurings of love. Merely, “Let me help you stand.”
His hands massaging my ass communicated his lust for more. I wriggled out of my black dress and used it to wipe up the remaining bits of cum drying on my face.
One hand pawed at my tits. I offered my neck to his mouth. Reaching behind me, I took hold of his right wrist and pulled his arm down. A middle finger plunged headlong into my cunt until my knees gave out. He held me close until I was steady on my feet again. I pulled his head down between my breasts. His penis, lubricated with my saliva and ejaculate, responded to my fingers closing over it.
Both hands continued to roam over my body, then rested on my ass cheeks—the command to submit to intercourse. I turned and bent over. His cock head scraped up and down my outer lips several times, but did not penetrate.
“Please,” I whimpered. “Plant your flag in my cunt.”
He pulled on my hips to bury his penis deeply and held me tightly. The quiet stillness, coupled with my senses deprived of sight and sound, freed my brain to focus on his swollen cock head pressing into me. I could feel the periodic clenching of his erection. He pulled out and pushed me away. In the quiet blackness I could hear his heavy breathing. And his sobbing.
“I can’t. I’ve heard too many things from those forced to endure this same act. You have no idea how many victims my squadron has rescued. I feel guilty for not rescuing them soon enough.”
He stepped away from me to find a light switch.
Standing up and turning to face him, I cooed, “Come with me.” I closed my hands over his penis, and walking backwards, lead my lover to a waiting bed. I clamped his wrists under my hands while I hovered above him. Falling upon his sword, I possessed it, twisting my body forward and back and sideways on it. I rose up on my knees. I refused to give in to defeat. I fell violently upon him, chambering his bullet. I would not accept a misfire.
I trapped his cock head within the walls of my vagina. He screamed, his tortured soul seeking release and healing. We both froze for several moments. Then I felt his hands on my ass, pushing me up and off. I landed on my back. Had I failed? I looked to my husband’s eyes, brimming with desire, as they watched my legs spreading to welcome his still hungry erection. He grabbed at my ankles, pulling me to him.
In the demanding voice I knew so well, he shouted, “Pull at your tits,” while pulling on my legs again.
This time his penis crossed the threshold of my cunt, and began thrusting earnestly. He had vanquished the demon of guilt. I welcomed the familiar guttural noises falling upon my ears, the sound of a man striving to cum. His head fell back, his eyelids closed, when he pulled out and bathed me with his fulfilled lust. When he collapsed upon me, I pillowed his head between my breasts, and stroked his arms and back. Perhaps the semen I had caught in my hands would wash away the dark memories.
***** A Week Later *****
Dawn’s light streams through the window and into my bedroom. I’ve returned to my home. The hot mess of my black dress, smothered with the dried semen and pussy juices of a coital marathon hangs unwashed next to our wedding portrait. When I masturbate, I look at it and relive the memory of the blindfold evening.
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