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Rituals

By: dresbach



A big thank you to Bella Mariposa for reading an early draft of this story, and for correcting much of my poor punctuation, all of which amuses her to no end. For example, I think homophones should be banned from the English language, but this only makes Bella laugh harder about my carelessness.

A warning to casual readers, as with much of my writing, this story touches on a number of different sexual subjects, double penetration and rimming being the most prominent outside the 'usual' adult, sexual practices.

_______________________________________

I have been surrounded by ritual my whole life.

The ritual of baptism, the rituals of religious confirmation and confession, sometimes in direct conflict with the rituals of school and peer-group play, the ritual of courtship and of marriage, and, sweetest of all, the ritual of motherhood; I was steeped in it all, marinated, through and through, like tough meat tenderized by their ever present, safe, languid patterns. So many rituals, molding me into conformity, seducing me to accept a life less traveled.

What happens now that the rituals no longer hold true? What happens when the rituals of youth dissolve into the past, when pious ceremonies jade and fade from hypocrisy, when even the rites of motherhood no longer apply, now that the little birds have flown? What ritual is left me than that of dutiful wife, whose only remaining function is to accept the role of glorified concubine, making him comfortable with his quiet, yet solemn, marital neglect?

For the longest time, now, my soul has been restless for a new ritual; one that could ease the mind-numbing dullness of that one rite still left to me.

About the same time I developed this pensive restlessness of spirit, I heard of a myth, a story really, and a very sordid one at that. It was currently swirling within my circle of friends, always piquing my interest as well as my disbelief.

The story is always the same, and always begins the same way—a friend of a friend of a friend's cousin's sister had this deliciously sordid encounter, etcetera. You get the idea.

Somewhere, the story goes, there are rooms in which certain things happen that no one can talk about, within a house no one knows the address for. The specific events that occur within the house vary based on the storyteller, so I won't bother with details, but it always involved dirty, dirty sex—the kind of sex that changes lives.

It was the type of story none in my circle took seriously, but secretly, we all seriously wished it were true.

Like I said, it always piqued my interest, but also made me laugh. It was such a cliché. No one knows where the house is, because no one telling the story has ever seen and experienced it first-hand, but, of course, everyone has some naughty detail on what goes on there.

Isn't that how every 'calamitous' fable and tall tale begins? There were no survivors? There are no witnesses? No one knows anything directly, yet there is a secret society that meets in secret in a secret house no one really knows exists.

Really, how could such myths start and grow if this were true?

One day, just by chance, I happened onto one of those mythical 'survivors.' I guessed this by what she said and how she said it—very detailed and sordid accounts of events in a house, delivered in hushed tones—and all the particulars she spoke matched what I'd heard from that mythical story.

She was a twenty-something, mousey, pink and lavender haired Emo—studs to the hilt, from shoes to earlobes and everywhere in between, I suspect. She sat at an adjacent table from me in my favorite coffee shop, and was describing the wicked events that happened to her on Thursday night last within a large house. A house she was obligated to deny existed if ever asked, I might add, and telling it all to a dour-looking Emo of similar age and attire.

The Mouse was being so secretive, so cleaver in sequestering her mouth behind a cupped hand, as if to keep those few strangers sitting around her from hearing what she said or reading her lips. Nevertheless, her purposeful, hushed tones and soft murmurings of Thursday's events were easy enough for me to hear. I just cocked an ear in her direction, and all she said came to me as clean and clear as polished crystal. Youth thinks it's so clever, but it's just full of itself.

As I listened, all her schoolgirl giggles and heartthrob mews began grating on me, but when she cut through the nonsense, what she described made my soul sanguine and pussy drip like a leaking faucet.

Finally, the Dour one took her leave of the Mouse, who then sat back, satisfied, as if she'd been worked over well by someone who knew how. Cracking open a volume of Sartre, her brow furled to the words printed as if her concerns alone could cure what ails the human condition. She read, deeply, and set about finishing her caramel macchiato.

The Mouse was surprised and shocked when a fortyish, dishy brunette, smelling of Chanel 19 and wearing Neiman Marcus pumps abruptly sat, uninvited at her table. Quickly losing the shock, but none of the surprise, she continually rebuffed said brunette—wife and mother of two—and her needy request. It took another caramel macchiato and twenty dollars to wring the address of the house from her mousey grip. Before leaving, she asked my thoughts concerning post-modern existentialism.

Of all the questions she could have asked me, she asks that. "God, shoot me now! How's that for existential thought?"

And so, the fable of a house no one knows about grows. I'm sure there will be no survivors.

********

I arrived a little before ten on Thursday night—ladies' night it's called. It's a little before the time when things get going in the house with no address.

It looked like a typical, two-story farmhouse, many large rooms with tall ceilings, and probably a damp basement. It was a little ways outside the city. Not too far outside to be called strictly rural, yet far enough that there was some distance between houses.

There were no exterior lights. No outside illumination, save for a bright, gibbous moon, so the house looked empty as I pulled in the drive. The large number of cars parked haphazardly on the front lawn belied an empty house, though. Then I saw dull yellow and bright red lights—first and second floors, respectively—haphazardly spilled out and around drawn, tattered shades. Another indication someone was at home.

Filled with defiant panache to the very end, I just walked right through the front door without knocking. I figured either the myth was real and a new ritual is born, or I'm chased back out of the house by angry mongrels, piqued by my uninvited, home invasion.

Roll the dice, bitch. Lucky seven or snake eyes.

No hounds, lucky seven, it would be a new ritual, then.

The front door opens into a large foyer dimly lit by an overhead chandelier. Small patches of ornate tapestry and paintings, giving the room a Victorian flavor, cover parts of pale yellow, plastered walls. A larger patch of tapestry lies across wood flooring. In the far, back left corner of the foyer, a semi-enclosed staircase ascends to the second floor—where the red lights had shone. The front left of the foyer opened into a parlor, which was being used as a waiting room. There were plush chairs, sofas and settees all about the parlor, seating about fifteen young women of about college age, or a little older—ladies in wait and keepers of the other cars outside, I suspect. I didn't care what was to the right of me. My only real concern was with those stairs—my passage to a new and wondrous ritual.

A woman sat on a barstool behind a makeshift counter across from where I stood. She was bleached blonde, older than the gaggle waiting in the parlor, but not as old as me. She dyed her hair, I suspect, to differentiate herself from the darker hairstyles common with many of the Goths and Emos in the parlor, and not to cover any gray. I say this because her face was still youthful and free of wrinkles—no need for Oxytokin yet, the bitch. She had a small mouth, and pursed her lips whenever she looked down at something in her lap, appearing as though she had just bitten into something bitter and was looking for a place to spit it out.

She had me pegged the moment I entered the house. "We don't get many trophy wives here."

Is that what I was, a trophy? I guess so, bagged by a lucky shot from a dullard of a hunter when I was too young, too stupid, too arrogant, and too full of myself to know any better—hubris cubed.

"I understand there's an open invitation tonight," I said, letting her 'trophy' crack pass.

"If you know the address, you're invited. What type of 'entertainer' interests you?"

I had to think for a minute. The question was all too businesslike. Falling into a businesslike rapport to match her mood, I answered, "All I can get, and large enough so that I'll still feel them long after they've gone. How much, for how long?"

She smiled at both my panache and my naiveté. "They're all large here, more or less. We'll see about the number, we're coming up short tonight. How long depends on your entertainer. And it's no charge since it's ladies' night. You'll just have to wait your turn like the others." She said that last part while pointing into the parlor.

Wait my turn? That just wouldn't do. I wanted the 'entertainers' fresh and untainted, full of new day vigor and vibrancy, hard as wood girded with steel, and smooth and dry as plaster. Sloppy seconds just isn't my style.

Sizing over the crowd in the parlor, I saw nothing but penniless college girls living off daddy's dime and artsy working types schlepping food and drink for minimum between theater gigs. Moreover, it was ladies' night, a free night for those in the know. If it wasn't free, most of them couldn't afford being here. They couldn't afford the hard, swelling treats provided free by some deep-pockets benefactor. Mostly, though, they couldn't afford giving ample baksheesh to the 'lever holdings' to ensure their journey upstairs went smoothly and in their favor.

I saw my play.

I had a hundred dollar bill at the ready, perks of being a 'trophy'—plenty of folding cash on hand; compensation for the weekly, five-minute fuck followed by the hours of endless snoring.

Sliding it across the counter, I asked, "How far up the line will this push me?"

She smiled, not a pleasant one either, given her naturally pursed lips. She quickly palmed the bill before anyone else could see.

"All the way." She answered my question as a double entendre, and I might add, without giving it much thought. She could have said halfway and gotten another hundred for her chicanery.

Checking a list she had in her lap, she asked, pen at the ready, "Name?"

I didn't answer right off.

She stared at me with that not so pleasant smile, now making it look more like a leer. It was her attempt at closeness—God help us all. I guess the hundred not only bought me the coveted 'pole position'—my own attempt at double entendre—it bought her friendship, as well.

She continued smiling, staring, and waiting for an answer. I continued to look away from her and from that smile, hoping she'd get the message we weren't going to be 'BFFs.' When she started tapping the clipboard with her pen, I finally told her, "M," hoping that would put an end to the insipid tapping and the leering smile.

"Em, as in Emily?" she asked, brightly.

"M, as in mind your own business."

The leer evaporated. She went back to her normal, scrupulous, sourpuss look. Now that we weren't going to be best friends, she pointed to the parlor, saying briskly, "Wait in there. Someone will be along shortly to see you the rest of the way."

I didn't go in, but stood at the parlor's entrance, watching and waiting. The pungent scent of supercharged estrogen—dank, musky fabrics, pubes and skin—wafted over me like a heavy fog. I hadn't smelled anything like it since high-school gym.

Most of the 'ladies in wait' were toking, some smoking and drinking, still others were sweetly kissing with a hand down their friend's pants; ginning each other up for the coming events, I suspect. A few shot me scornful looks, as if someone my age didn't belong—the twats—while others took quick, embarrassed glances in my direction—I must remind those of their mother, naughty girls.

Look at them all.

Not a care in the world—and the world is their oyster, or so the song goes. They only need to reach out with their hand and grab it, provided they give a mischievous wink, a sultry smile, or a carefree laugh to those that hold the brass ring. The 'ring holders' have told them such. That the ease of obtaining the good things in life was just compensation for those rituals they are to fervently keep.

Maybe I should warn them what life really has in store; what little, droll, demented caricatures of human it molds us into when perusing those things we relish.

No, they'll learn soon enough. Ladies' night doesn't last forever, ladies. You have to pay for the finer things in life, and pay with more than just a wink, a smile, or a laugh. Youthful arrogance and bravado just doesn't cut for very long—cash or ass, and sometimes even your vibrant soul is what counts. They're the true coins of this realm. They're what make the holders of the brass rings sit up and take notice.

A hand touched my shoulder. I turned and came face to breasts with one of the tallest woman I had ever seen. Blonde on blonde, straight up to the sky, she went on forever—a Valkyrie on stilts, probably deciding which of us lives or dies in the rooms upstairs. She must be on hand to keep order when one or two of the carefree, 'ladies in wait,' gets a bit too impatient with the waiting and carefree with their manners.

"Are you Em?" Even though I was looking right at her, her words startled me and I flinched at their commanding tone. When I nodded, the Valkyrie continued, "Follow me."

My heart skipped a long beat before it started pounding in my chest. This was the moment. This is how the new ritual starts, born from myth.

The stairs the Valkyrie led me up were narrow and creaked loudly as I stepped. With my heart pumping so, the sounds of those stairs stabbed at my mind like little, wooden murmurs of caution; a call to conscience and to turn around and run back into my life of dull ritual.

And I almost did, but before I could bolt back down those stairs, the Valkyrie began talking, and like magic, her words righted me to my true purpose—that of continuing in only one direction and along only one course of action, upwards and following. My creaking conscious was silent once more.

"Has anyone explained the rules?" The Valkyrie's voice startled me again.

Rules? This place has rules?

When I didn't answer, she continued, casually, "There will be no cutting, biting, kicking, or hitting with fists. If striking occurs, it is done with an open hand, only. Slaps above the waist, particularly to the face, arms and lower back should be light enough not to leave a permanent mark. Marks left on any exposed skin, temporary or otherwise, are frowned upon..."

As she prattled on, I realized these weren't rules meant for me, but were the conditions the 'entertainers' were obligated to follow. Kind of a 'buyer beware,' warning label.

Leading me into one of the second-story rooms, she began a new set of conditions meant specifically for me, "You have five minutes before your entertainers arrive..."

My heart leaped. She said, entertainers! I felt my pulse race. My panties moistened.

The Valkyrie was still talking, emphasizing a specific word as I tried to calm myself, "...You will have removed all your clothes and you will be seated on the end of the bed, when they arrive. If you fail to meet these two conditions, your entertainers will leave, and you will be escorted from the house..."

There was that word again, entertainers. My panties were drenched.

"...When the door closes, the entertainers won't listen to any of your demands, so don't bother speaking. You will not be able to leave the room of your own volition. You're here until the entertainers say you can leave, and you will follow all of their demands, explicitly. Failure to do so means you will be escorted from the house and never invited back. Is all this understood?"

I nodded my head.

Just as she opened the door to leave, the Valkyrie added one last 'commandment,' "I suggest you remove all your jewelry. We've never had an incident with one of our entertainers, but it's best not to invite temptation." She winked before shutting the door behind her.

The room was Spartan, no tapestry or pictures on the walls and floors as I saw downstairs, just bare, hard wood and plaster. I liked seeing the minimal, no need for wasted efforts on décor or design, not here. The accouterments of a civilized society wouldn't fit in this room. They wouldn't belong.

Bright red lights from above illuminated the room, while shadows played haphazardly in the corners every time a current from the air conditioning made the chandelier swing.

There was a queen-sized mattress and frame, covered by a thin, rubber sheet, extending out into the middle of the room from the far wall. It was bare of all linen and refinement except for two pillows.

On my left was a wood table. A large bowl filled with tepid water sat on top. A washcloth and hand towel were neatly folded at its side. There was also a box of condoms and a bottle of lube.

They think of everything.

On my right was a small wooden chair, into which I folded my clothes as neatly as I could. I placed my purse on top of it all, my jewelry secured inside.

I waited at the edge of the bed as dictated, arms stiff at my sides and knees pressed together with my feet swung well out to the sides—I sat like a little girl, waiting.

Now that I was alone, sitting naked on a cold rubber sheet, I wondered what I was doing. The second thoughts came at me hard, as they did to me on the stairs. They came from conscience, and with no Valkyrie here to quiet them and move me forward with her voice, ever upward and ever following, they continued to stab at my brain:

Go back. There's still time to leave. Go back to the one ritual you have left. It may be dull and spiritless, and even a little hollow, but it's still yours and in one piece. Continue on this course, and it will shatter that last ritual, forever. Don't be a fool!

But something else was droning within me and growing louder, drowning out those odious murmurs of conscience. My heart, beating in my chest like a trip hammer driving spikes into cold concrete, it thumped and pinged strongly and sharply, musically almost, incessantly from want and desire.

It had had enough of the dull and the mundane and the hollow of the old rituals; it wanted what was approaching me from the other side of that closed door. Sound and fury and blood—signifying everything—rushed into my brain all at once. It was my very own telltale heart, mercilessly pounding in my head, drowning out everything, sight and sound and smell and even conscience. Drowning out everything except for my drowning desire to act on whoever and whatever approached.

Minutes remain, fool, maybe only seconds. Run! The very last plea of conscience that could actually make itself heard over the droning thump of lust—a plea too late and far too little.

Footsteps drew near. In an instant, everything went silent, even the pounding in my head stopped. I sat frozen in time.

I heard the doorknob click sharply as it turned to open. So sharp and clear, so crisp and clean to my senses, like the smooth clicking of locks and chains binding me to this room, forever. My heart leaped as the door swung open...


Rituals



...and I closed my eyes to it at the last second, coward that I am.

I didn't open them again until I heard the door close. And when I did...

Oh my!

Two 'entertainers,' a salt and pepper team, stood on either side of the door with crossed arms; dressed as medieval friars, their long robes extended to their calves, and were tied in front with a sash. Their hoods were drawn to the red, pervasive light, so darkness obscured their faces. But, I could feel their eyes peering at me from behind the shadows, peeling me open like a ripe fruit. More importantly, I could tell from their breathing they liked what they saw.

Their hoods shifted a bit to my left and tipped downward. They were drawn to my ring finger.

I had removed all my jewelry, save my wedding ring. It was a very expensive bauble, too. I wanted them to know for certain that I was 'kept' by another; that I was a 'trophy whore.' I wanted them to know another man paid me dearly to live with him and bear his children, but I was here to do whatever they wanted, for free.

Except for our breathing, the room remained quiet as a church in those first few moments.

The good Church of the Wanton Trophy Whore, let's all sing a hymn while I give an offering.

They were teasers, these two, sliding up and standing just out of arm's reach, where I needed to bend well forward to undo their sashes.

Once undone, they stepped closer to me, allowing their robes to slip off their shoulders and onto the floor.

They were magnificent looking. Standing naked as they were in front of me, I had to sit back and take pause for a moment. Catch my breath and savor this visual like a fine wine.

My 'entertainers' were about the same height and weight—'Salt' a little taller, 'Pepper' a little more muscular—and both having the classic, v-shaped upper torso of well-toned athletes. Hairless as young boys, save for a thick, well-groomed, pubic bush just above their meat.

Their stomachs were flat and taut—taut like bowstrings with arrows ready to let loose—and smooth, without the bulging abs one sees on bodybuilders. I never cared for washboard stomachs on men, it always hinted at the narcissist, one who spends way too much quality time alone in the gym. Nevertheless, I could tell neither spent a lot of their off time on the couch, once all the 'little' girls were pleasured.

Their powerful legs—good for pushing long, thick, useful tools into sweet, wet places—were sculptured and proportioned like those of swimmers, instead of having the overdeveloped, bulging thigh and calf muscles of bodybuilders.

And, to that feature which I requested specifically? Let's just say I'll kiss my new 'BFF sourpuss' in thanks when I leave. I would remember them long after they were through with me. Put simply, they were perfect. Perfectly proportioned and perfectly paired as they hung down heavy and low, and even though flaccid for the moment, you just knew very few men in the world possessed similarly majestic endowments. Except for their color, there was little difference between the two. Yes, they were almost identical twins.

Oh how delicious it would be to blindfold myself and spend as much time with fingers, lips, tongue and pussy, determining if any true difference exists between them.

They were both so calm and patient with me, standing still and peaceful, allowing me the time to drink them all in without a hint of urgency. They stayed still as statues even as I drew teasing fingers slowly down their shafts, cupping their heavy, hairless balls, or playfully pinching their bulbous cockheads.

The feel of their skin was intoxicatingly silky, smooth and dry. If a girl were careful with the sweat and spit, one's fingers could easily glide across the shaft and head, imparting the greatest degree of pleasure with the least amount of effort.

Salt and Pepper go 'pop,' right into my pretty face.

I continued to run slow, gentle fingers across their members as I looked up. They wore non-descript, nylon masks—smallish holes for the eyes, nose and mouth only. Yet, I saw a glint of their eyes from behind the masks; one set a deep blue, the other a warm, honey brown.

I lingered for a moment more before digging into my treats, thinking how lucky I am to have a new ritual. It's not every day one finds herself on her proverbial knees and willingly subservient to perfection, and I was doubly blessed with two. I wonder if any of the silly twats downstairs know how lucky they are. That soon, they too will come face to face with the exceptionally rare and the oh, so sublime, the type of thing that can change the destiny of lives if you allow it— surrender to it, willingly. 

Probably not, youth is always too full of itself to notice the importance of luck, or the confluence of coincidence in shaping one's destiny, arrogantly thinking it's all done by design, alone. No my young 'ladies in wait,' you can plan, and plan, and plan, to become that high-powered lawyer, or doctor, or whatever professional you wish to be, but then you wake up one day and find you're nothing more than a trophy wife, another victim of the confluence of coincidence.

Luck—bad or good—always has a way of fucking with our lives and changing our plans—for good or for bad. The good was with me that day in the coffee shop...

Lucky me, sitting at a lucky table right next to a lucky 'survivor' of ladies' night.

...and by the looks of things, the good was with me tonight, as well.

I was undecided on whom to start on first, when a honey-brown glint was briefly extinguished. An involuntary wink of the eye to match his subtle cock twitch against my fingertips—Pepper it is.

Shifting so that I could face him more directly, I opened my mouth wide while clamping two firm hands on his hard, muscular bottom. He lifted his cock for me, giving me a direct line of approach. I continued looking up into those honey-browns, soft and sanguine, all while sliding him inside.

He folded up nicely in my mouth—my own personal, obscene accordion. I knew I couldn't contain him like this for long, but for now, I held my nose against his stomach with him folded inside me, waiting and feeling for the inevitable swelling. The scent of his body wash—ginger and Jamaican allspice—was near intoxicating. My head began to spin.

I teased him a bit, nuzzling my nose against that taut stomach, causing that obscene accordion to shift lustily against my tongue. He stiffened slowly, swelling precipitously, inch by—oh my fucking god, how fucking long and thick is it?—exquisitely, erotic inch.

As the inches grew, I withdrew, leaving a nice, slick trail of spit in my wake. Perfect, for a gently stroking hand as I cupped his balls with the other. I almost gasped at their heft and size, feeling the weight of his sack as it rested in my hand. I guessed they were the size of ripe apricots.

Briefly dipping his cock as far as I could in my mouth to replenish saliva for my stroking hand, I brashly slid a moistened finger between the tight cleft of his ass. He unclenched his cheeks, allowing me to press a fingertip to his tight ring. I never entered him there, just gently massaged his anus with a wetted finger. The only act of approval, other than allowing my finger to stay, was a sharp intake of air and seeing his cock stiffen to its full extent—that was enough.

Clamping my lips firmly around his tool—or as tightly as I could given his girth—I bobbed my head slowly, sucking harder, and tightening my lips firmer, each time I withdrew. After which, I would relax my mouth while adding a devilish tongue when I pulled him back into me. I didn't bother stroking him with a hand anymore, as my mouth seemed to make him happy on its own. Instead, I kept a tentative, teasing set of fingers pulling gently down and squeezing his sack, and another, singular, bold digit pressed firmly to his tightened ring.

Salt stared down at me servicing his friend. I felt bad that I was neglecting him at the moment, and I'm sure he was chomping at the bit for a little attention, though he never showed any frustration—sweetheart that he must be. To show my thanks, I turned my baby blues up and gazed into his eyes as I sucked on Pepper's cock. I gave my patient watcher an innocent, longing look, more pin-up Bettie Page than porn star—well, Bettie Page with ten inches stuffed in her mouth, but Betty Paige nonetheless—saying to him with those innocent, pining eyes, 'I have to service Pepper now, but it's your cock I really want to taste.' Salt appreciated my gesture, as I noticed his beautiful cock, twin to Pepper's, beginning to rise up to greet me.

My sucking was having a marvelous effect. Pepper's sack crumpled up close to his body and away from my soft palm, forming a tight, wrinkled sheath around those wonderful, apricot balls. I had to let go they were so tight against him, but I continued to run a moist finger over that wrinkled sack, making it tighten further. Oh, he was so close.

I kept my head bob slow and steady, because he liked it that way—lips loose around it, forward, tightened lips around it, backward, and don't forget the tongue flick on that fat head, bitch.

Just when I tasted his salty pre-cum, he gently pushed me off him with a hand. His cock stood out in full view, dark and hard like a plank of mahogany; shiny slick and quivering from my oral attentions. It was so beautiful. My cunt ached and dripped profusely, yearning, as was my heart, to have it stuffed back into my slutty mouth.

Oh, put it back in, Sir! Don't torment me this way.

I couldn't take seeing it quiver in front of my face any longer without doing something. I lunged at it, mouth wide and at the ready.

He stopped me with a hand while pinching his cockhead. The large, bulbous gland deflated in an instant, along with my heart. I was so close to having him, and more than anything, I wanted to taste his forceful release bathing the back of my throat.

I struck back at him for denying me that pleasure, one of the few acts of insolence I would display this evening, I smiled. It wasn't just an ordinary smile, though, it was a womanly smirk. The kind of wry smile we ladies give men when we know we've bested them.

He didn't hesitate to correct me, slapping me across the cheek for that smirk. Not too hard, but hard enough for me to notice and avoid doing it again. I sat stunned at his rough treatment, trying to decide whether I was going to come or cry. I was leaning toward the former when I heard Salt grunt loudly.

Salt, my dear Salt, forgive my neglect.

He stepped closer to me as I swung around to meet him. His cock was semi-erect, so I couldn't stuff him fully into my mouth as I had done Pepper—'whimper.' Following the same ritual, though, I licked and sucked on him a bit, laying down a generous supply of spit before stroking him to full hardness. Of course, I also used those teasing fingers on his heavy, apricot balls—they should provide a most scrumptious jam for tea and toast, later.

I tried to sneak that same bold finger between his buttocks, but he clenched his cheeks to my advances—must be shy.

That's okay Salt, your cock and apricot balls are good enough for now.

Pepper was back for more, poking my cheek playfully with the tip of his cock as I serviced Salt.

Griping them both at the base of their cocks, I proceeded to suck voraciously on each in turn. Back and forth between them I threw my mouth, sucking each as far in as I could while bobbing my head lustily without losing the rhythm I had formed.

I ignited something in them, something more primal than what they've displayed so far.

They stood, side-by-side, as both clamped a hand to my head, immobilizing it. Then each took turns thrusting their cocks into my face. It didn't matter to them where they landed, into my mouth, across my mouth, up my cheek, alongside my nose, they even raked their stiff members across my closed eyes. They rubbed and smeared me over and over as if fucking my whole face.

When they slowed their teasing thrusts, I gathered their cocks in my hands, and brought them together almost as one. While pressing their large, slick cocks together, head to head, shaft to shaft, and apricot balls snug tight together, and both held tightly between my palms, they began sliding themselves against each other as I sucked on whichever cock extended up and into my hovering mouth. I tasted the salty pre-cum, again—salty from Salt or salty Pepper, I couldn't tell—I only wondered if they would allow me this moment, and let themselves completely go. I needed to taste them fully.

It was not to be. Both pulled away from me at the same time, pinching their cockheads and momentarily pushing back their arousal. I realized then, I was in the hands of true artists of control—control over themselves as much as control over me. They knew how much lead to give me, how long I needed to run on my own before snapping the proverbial leash, bringing me to heel and back under their rein.

The leash tightened again as my Seasonings' sex play became a bit rougher.

Salt, grabbing me by the hair, fell back onto the bed, pulling me along with him. While propping his shoulders up on a pillow, he pulled my face fully into his groin.

The ginger and allspice scent was gone, as my nostrils were filled with his rank, 'manly odor'—the strong musky scent of sweaty balls and pre-cum.

I think my pussy just squirted in ecstasy.

As I attended to Salt's dank, apricot balls, I felt Pepper grab my hips. He didn't need to reposition me, which was his intent. I was already providing him an invitation by squaring myself to him, arching my back and pushing my reckless bottom as far up and as far out as I could. Done, I might add, without losing touch with Salt or his luscious balls.

I'm so talented, especially when I have a true talent within my grasp, or between my lips.

Pepper accepted my invitation—was there any doubt?—by pulling my cheeks apart with his powerful hands, just as one might split a peach. He paused briefly, I guess to admire the view or to tease me with anticipation, before branding my tight, perky asshole with his muscular tongue.

Taking hold at the base of Salt's cock, I clamped my mouth down and around the top of his scrotum. Licking and stroking those apricot balls with tight lips and a quick tongue, I nuzzled the underside of his shaft devilishly with my nose, causing his member to jump and shift about. A few times, his cock inadvertently struck me in the face for my troubles, and I almost giggled at his punishing penis, slapping the wanton trophy whore in the face for her misbehavior. Salt approved of my playful nose, showing me his favor by lewdly pushing and rubbing that hot cock against it whenever he could.

Strong and muscular though it was, Pepper's tongue exhibited surprising deftness and agility as it rapidly flicked across my asshole. Waves and tingles branched away from my perky 'winky' at each agile flick, enveloping my whole groin in sweet euphoria.

I emulated Pepper's flicks with some of my own, as I crawled a darting, playful tongue all around Salt's cock and balls, extending the dance all the way up to his cockhead.

Pepper began exploring me fully, shifting his tongue hither and yon across and down my whole groin, tickling my perineum, lapping at my puss until my arousal beaded on my pubes and trickled down my thighs.

Don't tarry too long at my puss puss, love. Too much wicked flicking for too long and you'll set my pussy off too soon—naughty, naughty man!

He must have guessed my mind, for he shot back up to play with the 'perky one' between my rosy globes, again. When he started digging that muscular tongue deep into my ass, opening me up to heaven and earth and all their glory—can I get an amen in the good Church of the Wanton Trophy Whore, my friends?—I knew he was downright prescient.

I felt his teeth nipping at my tight ring, making me clamp my spry sphincter around his tongue, all while sending sweet shocks of ecstasy deep into my ass. Even though I couldn't help from tightening myself, he continued to plow, push, and twist that wicked muscle deeper, opening me up further.

Plow me deep my wicked, twisting tongue. Plow me 'til I squeal for joy. Amen!

With my ass filled with tongue, I filled my mouth with cock, sliding Salt further and further in, emulating Pepper's advances into my backside with Salt's cock into my 'front side.'

I couldn't slide him too far down my throat—oh the aching disappointment—he wasn't bendy enough for that, but I held him in as far as I could and tightened my lips around him.

His cock twitched and trashed to the sensations imparted by my tongue. I thought it'd leap out of my mouth and start slapping me, it jerked and twitched so strongly—my playful, punishment penis imparting much joy.

I held that twitching cock steady with a hand, while sucking and stroking simultaneously. The jerking and twitching had stopped, but I felt him swell fuller in my mouth—god, how could he possibly get bigger?

When I tasted pre-cum, Salt pushed me off him while pinching down his cockhead.

Damn these two, they're driving me insane with the leash!

He gave me a little love slap as Pepper had done, although I hadn't given Salt 'the look.' He further punished me by repeatedly striking my cheeks with his cock—you may laugh, but it fucking hurts!

Pepper replaced his tongue with a couple of freshly lubed fingers, then three. Finally four were inserted as he continued to work the gel all around and inside my asshole—oh my, this was starting to get really fun, now.

Salt was finishing up with his slapping. He stood out hard and full, his cockhead even fuller, much more than before. Shifting himself so that he sat upright on his heels, he pressed his hand firmly into my back forcing my chin and throat flush to the mattress. He touched the tip of his cock to my lips—open sesame, trophy whore!

Yes Sir, as wide as I can!

He slowly advanced himself in, pushing cheeks, tongue, and anything else in his way, out of his way.

Oh god, I hope it fits!

At the same moment, I felt Pepper's well-greased cock advancing into my backside.

Oh god, please make that fit!

This is what paradise must feel like, but paradise can be a cruel bitch sometimes, giving us just a glimpse of her without allowing us to experience her completely. I was afraid that would be the case for me.

I was so tight, front and back. They needed to take their time, which they did, advancing and retreating to the repeated clench-inducing pain in my behind, and the choking, gagging discomfort in my throat. It was slow going, and the discomfort and pain were getting almost too much to bear. I truly thought paradise would be denied me, and began whimpering because of it. Salt and Pepper backed away quickly, misunderstanding my cries as pain, rather than as frustration that paradise was being such a cruel bitch to me.

Reaching front and back, I touched both on the hip as a signal they need not back away, but that they should proceed forward. Closing my eyes, I made my mind a blank and relaxed, and for a moment I almost felt like I was standing outside myself.

Again, Pepper and Salt pushed in slowly and just as they got to the point that was causing me the most trouble I felt everything release, like the parting clouds that allow cleansing sunshine to inundate a dreary land, my tense muscles finally relaxed, allowing them to slide fully inside me.

Salt pushed in until I could feel his curly bush tickle my nose, just as I could feel Pepper's thighs tight against mine. With both cocks seated deep inside me, we stayed still as statues, frozen in time. Their large, gentle hands holding me with fingers pressed deep into my flesh, their massive rods fully contained by me, filling me to overflowing, all unmoving—all was bliss, and for the first time ever I felt truly free, locked between the two. Free from worry, free from doubt, I knew what I was, I knew what I wanted to be, a tool to be used for paradise, a plaything for perfection.




Rituals



Once they had established themselves and knew I could take them fully, my two teasers totally withdrew, leaving my two ends gasping in emptiness before filling me again. They did this several times, withdrawing completely then reentering me slowly and fully. Each time they pulled out I would clamp down on their rods with the muscles afforded me—sphincter, throat and lips—trying to hold them inside as best I could. But, they were too strong for my grip, pulling out and always leaving me with that empty, vacant feeling. I think I heard them chuckling over my frustration, the jerks!

They took pity on me once they tired of their teasing, and fell into such a wondrous rhythm, fucking me front and back as if they'd been fucking me their whole lives. Their pumping wasn't too hard and certainly wasn't too soft, but perfect in their own unique and subtle form of variation—gather round children, and I'll tell a tale of the trophy whore Goldilocks and the two cocks. Pepper, the steady one, his slow, methodical grinding pulls every tingling jolt of euphoria out of me with each sliding caress of my ass. Salt, the playful one, seated deep within my throat, staying just long enough to enjoy those tight confines snug around his cock, before pulling back to give me breath.

I was so near the precipice, I could almost taste my arousal seeping up into my throat to mingle with Salt's, and by their frenetic, near chaotic breathing, I knew they were close as well. At that moment, I desired nothing more than to have them push fully inside and empty themselves, while I shiver and quake in my own release into ecstasy.

It was not to be as I teetered on the edge of lustful bliss. Not this time, anyway. Pepper changed the game again, and thrust into me, hard and fast. At the same time, Salt pulled away from me in quick fashion, as if Pepper's hard blow forward had pushed him clear out of me and off the bed, leaving me empty in front.

Before I could tell what was happening, or whimper a cry of protest, I felt Pepper bend well over me, touching my back to his chest. Then, wrapping his massive arms about me, he lifted me in one smooth motion as he stood up.

There I was, hanging with his massive cock still seated deep in my behind, almost suspended in mid-air with my arms and legs dangling free as if I were a ragdoll hung from a hook on a wall. He held me tight against him. One arm ran up between my breasts so that his hand could gently caress my throat and chin. His other arm snaked down across my stomach, while two fingers pinched the outer folds of my pussy against my clit, dampening my arousal.

The leash again! That damnable leash.

I was so close. I almost shouted at him to do something, anything, pump me, bump me, lift me along that meaty hook and drop me, anything to push me over the edge. Sent me into bliss, then send me on my way, but he did nothing except hold me still. It was torment, suspended as I was between heaven and hell, just a discarded and forgotten ragdoll, hanging against the hard wall of his chest.

I tried shifting my bottom along his cock to push myself over the pinnacle, but Pepper held me tight to his chest and pinched down harder on my clit; thus, keeping me frozen and suspended in limbo. My mind, still reeling within a maddening fog of sexual frenzy, lost track of time and awareness to everything around me, everything except for Pepper's warm breath and lips as they nipped seductively at my throat.

Just when I thought I would succumb to the fog and blank out from the world, I felt Salt's playful cock running along the slickened groove between my clit and my opening.

Where have you been all this time, my love?

He continued to tickle me there until I turned my head to look at him. As I stared into his baby blues, I watched his masked eyes crinkle up into a smile. Then looking down, I watched as he slid his cock into me with ease.

Holy fuck, they both fit, and my uterus is still in one piece. Will wonders never cease? Sweet mystery of life at last I've found you.

Salt gave a little chuckle from the look I gave him, which must have ran the gambit between shocked surprise, through relief, to one of gluttonous slut as I felt the first, strong waves of arousal and euphoria beginning to build deep in my pussy.

The euphoria and my arousal continued to mount when Salt took a firm hold of my hips for leverage, and both he and Pepper began their wonderfully slow, tortuous grinding. Sliding past, and off, each other, they pumped my pussy and ass using deliciously rhythmic, short, slow strokes. As one pushed in, the other pulled back, and when they passed each other, they sent their hard cocks careening off my anal and vaginal walls, sending strong, abrupt waves of ecstasy that enclosed my whole groin in a capsule of pure bliss.

As the blood left my head, and before my mind completely fell into a deep, sexual trance, I remember wrapping my legs around Salt's waist, and just like a rider who squeezes the flanks of a stallion in order to quicken the trot, I spurred Salt to the gallop.

My wish wasn't lost on him, as he pumped my dripping cunt with ever increasing speed and force. Not to be outdone, I felt Pepper grip me hard, matching Salt's frenzy with that of his own, pounding away at my bottom. And me, I hung there, suspended between them, motionless, just enjoying the ever quickening, rising tide of arousal as it raced up to greet me.

They come at me, a series of waves that built up quickly before cresting and crashing into my slick shore with near unbearable force.

As the first wave began to build, I started screaming, and continued screaming through the crashing of the second, and the third, and maybe even the forth. My mind was in such a fog I had lost count. That is, if I actually remembered how to count. I do remember hearing the rapid drip of my ejaculate beginning to pool on the floor beneath me after each crashing wave.

Whatever the number, the final wave approached slower than the others, almost in opposite to the rapid frenzy Salt and Pepper were slamming themselves into me. Filling me ever deeper and building that wave ever higher.

With my legs still around Salt, I wrapped my arms around Pepper's neck while pushing my back firmly into him. He gripped both my tits hard, forcing them out, and turning them a wonderful shade of crimson—my two red cones of warning.

Danger folks, the dam is about to burst.

All I could do was stare at Salt, wide-eyed, gasping for air as he roughly sucked and bite at my hard nipples pushed into his mouth by Pepper.

I had no voice. All the air was sucked from my lungs so that I couldn't scream, although I needed to; as were all my memories, gone, all gone to where I had no thought or identity. I was suspended in time and in air, truly empty, like the shore when the sea recedes to the impending, building tsunami. Empty, that is, save for that building wave and for that last bit of strength in my arms and legs I used to wrap the entertainers tightly into me.

And just as that last wave crested, and just before the blackness descended over me, everything flooded back—air, memory, self—and I heard myself lustfully, joyfully screaming.

I awoke moments later, neatly crushed between the two men like a leaf pressed in a book, my ragdoll arms and legs dangling down again, pointing toward the floor. I tried to move them but couldn't, my body was drained of strength.

Pepper held me tight about my chest, still cupping and playing gently with my breasts. Although his massive cock was still within me, it was quieted—no pumping, no grinding, just rigidly filling me to overflowing.

Salt continued his pumping a while longer, slower though, more thoughtful than before, as if bleeding that last bit of pleasure from my pussy as he emptied himself. Eventually, as with all good things, he stopped thrusting with a sigh.

Lifting me up so they could remove themselves, they lowered me onto my knees and into the large puddle of my ejaculate. I was empty again, as I was with that approaching wave, but so much worse this time. This void won't be filled again for at least another week. I almost cried at the thought.

Salt had come. His rubber, filled with semen, drooped off the end of his cock like a windsock on a calm day.

Pepper hadn't. His rubber still clung tightly to his still, erect cock. He moved closer, almost touching my lips with the tip of his cock; so close I could smell my strong, musky, fetid scent covering the condom.

He wanted me to clean him, rubber and all. Clean all of our dirty fuck off him.

Oh yes, I will! Thank you, Sir!

I opened my mouth and waited for him to slip it in, but it was just a test this time. I saw his mask move to a smile he imparted, as he peeled the condom off, dropping it to the floor.

I still sat on my knees, waiting. I wanted him to come. I needed him to come. The ritual is still incomplete.

Gripping my head firmly, he pulls me toward him, pushing that lovely cock that made my ass sing so sweet, into my gluttonous mouth. Flicking a quick tongue behind sucking lips, I stroked his shaft with the expertise and authority of a trophy whore who was now their slave.

Seeing his testicles clamped tightly against his shaft, and feeling his bulbous head expand against my tongue, I knew he was close. I pulled him out, and continue stroking him with that same trophy slave expertise, an inch or two in front of my face. I stare into those honey-browns of his, so soft and sanguine at times, then full of rough smoke and fire the next, and watch them close as he empties those sweet, apricot balls into my waiting mouth. There was a lot, almost too much for me to swallow, and it had such a warm, long and stringy texture on the way down my throat, like warmed over, sweet clotted cream—yum, coffee and cake, anyone?

Not a bad marksman I should say, only a few errant shots missed my intended mark, hitting myself across the chin a few times. Although the splooge tickled me as it draped down, I didn't wipe or lick it off. Instead, I left the heavy strands hanging off me. Somehow, it made me feel complete with them there; two, bold punctuation marks signifying my full vesting as a card-carrying member of the possessed trophy whore's club.

It was Salt's turn now; Salt, the patient one, waiting his turn for cleaning. He peeled the cum-filled rubber off his cock as I turned toward him, and held it in front of me, swinging it back and forth like a magician's hypnosis pendant.

Possessed as I was and subservient to the last, I close my eyes and open my mouth, and wait for him to empty the contents into me.

As with Pepper, though, it was only a test. I hear his bright, little laugh of mirth—mirth at my expense—as I hear the rubber go 'splat,' onto the wood floor. I was a bit disappointed, him treating me like such a lady at the end. I'll have to fix that the next time.

I still licked and sucked the remnants from his flaccid cock, although there wasn't enough to give me his full flavor.

Once cleaned, Salt did something totally unexpected that filled me with womanly pride. He pulls me up, off my knees, and kisses me deeply, almost lovingly. I fell into him, continuing to suck forcefully on his tongue. I didn't want this to end. I needed them to stay.

Lock the door, quick. If anyone knocks you can tell them you need more time with the leash. I still need so much more 'correcting.'

Stroking his cock as we kissed, I made him hard again—so very hard again. He savored my attention a bit longer, but eventually he tried to pull away. I held him tight, though, tight to my lips and tight within my stroking hand.

He gave me that little love slap for my audacity, and I let them go.

He's right, they had other girls to see to and I was making them late with my minxy, insolent behavior.

"We'll need this room again in five minutes," one of them said, but I don't know who. It was the first and last thing they said to me, and said as they left the room.

Five minutes! It'll take me that long to figure out where I put my clothes, and I needed to clean first.

What started out as tepid water in the bowl was cool now, but I didn't care, the coolness was refreshing. I half thought about leaving my face a mess. It would serve me right to leave the 'house with no address' covered by the generous offering from my new ritual. Plus, it would give me a delicious treat to snack on for the drive home.

No, I should clean. Best not let the gaggle of 'ladies in wait' see mother as the total trophy whore and slave she was. There is some decorum that still needs to be followed.

Wiping my face clean with the washcloth, the Valkyrie came in, unannounced, and with a fresh rubber sheet and towels.

"You made quite an impression," she said, as she rolled up the used sheet, "Those two never let themselves go like that until at least the fourth or fifth client. Maybe I'll do you myself the next time you're here."

I'd do you now, my Valkyrie, if I had any strength.

"One thing's for sure," she continued, while placing a new rubber sheet on the mattress, "Thanks to you, they won't be as vibrant for the other young women. There'll be a lot of disappointed clients tonight."

Aw, I'm sad. What a shame for the little darlings, but a woman has to see to her own rituals, first. 



Rituals



6-4-15

Rituals

Back And Forth

The teakettle on the stove was just on the brink of boiling, little wisps of steam beginning to leak from the spout.

Perfect.

The girl pulled the smaller ceramic teapot out from under the running hot water in the sink and replaced it with his cup, letting it warm while she dried the outside of the pot with a dish towel.

Now she had to move quickly.

Quickly, but carefully. He would be extremely displeased and disappointed if she burned herself or broke something. Especially a piece of his tea service.

There was no time for idle musings now. Everything had to be absolutely perfect. She had to concentrate.

Grasping the handle of the stainless steel kettle with the quilted white linen pot holder, she lifted it and very carefully poured boiling water into the smaller pot, filling it just to the center of the spout. Not a single drop spilled, which made her smile with pride. The kettle went onto a cool burner and the stove was turned off. The linen pot holder was folded carefully and put back in it's place.

One step to the side and she turned off the water, wiped the warm cup dry and placed it on a saucer on the little wooden tray. One more step as her hands went behind her back to untie her apron, pull it up over her head to hang it on the little hook then a quick pat of her hair to make sure there were no loose strands. Her long black luxuriant hair was still secured in it's bun on the back of her head, secured in place with the little wooden sticks.

Just the way he liked it.

One fleeting moment taken to survey the items on the tray. One teapot. Two cups on saucers. Bamboo whisk and tongs. Two tea strainers. Two linen napkins, folded just so.

Everything exactly in it's place.

Perfect.

Her shoulders rose and fell as a breath went in and out with a small huff to calm her mind and find her center. Unconsciously one finger went up to push her glasses further up her nose. Then her hands wrapped around the handles of the tray, lifted it and walked slowly towards the living room. She walked with her eyes forward and her back straight as she had been taught.

He waited as he always did. Silently, with his eyes on her body, a little smile on his lips. Even after all this time... all these months... she felt her cheeks burn just slightly while he looked at her. In all of her twenty two years previous she had never been completely naked in the presence of a man. Not even her father when she was an infant.

Even though it embarrassed her, she felt her nipples grow even harder under his gaze.

Trying her best to concentrate, the girl knelt carefully at the small low table and placed the tray exactly in the center. His cup and saucer went onto the little woven mat and the strainer went into the cup before she tipped the ceramic teapot and poured the water. Eyes on the cup, she counted silently for two minutes before removing the strainer and placing it on a linen napkin. Then she stirred it with the bamboo whisk exactly twelve times.

Two hands underneath the saucer as she turned slightly to offer him his tea. As usual, he sat for a few seconds to look at her before he took the offering. She waited patiently with her eyes down and head slightly bowed. It wasn't something he had taught her or demanded, this subservient posture. The girl sometimes did things her own way for her own reasons and he was more than agreeable.

For one thing, her bowed head and lowered eyes showed her submission to him and her willingness to serve him in any way he wished. Secondly it prevented her from looking into his eyes. Something which, even after a year in his service, she still found difficult.

"Thank you, sweet Nanao. Perfect, as always." After he took his cup she bowed acceptance at his praise and turned to pour her own tea. She used the same steps and timing with her own cup before raising it to her lips. 

While they both sat and sipped their tea in silence, she pondered her life as she often did at that time. It was a good quiet interval they shared together three times a week. Though it was not exactly the traditional Japanese tea ceremony, there was something deeply philosophical in the ritual.

It gave Nanao time to think and clear her mind. She could sit and drink her tea and think without distractions.

Even if she was kneeling naked before this strange American man whom she called Master.

He'd been strange from the very first moment they had met and hadn't changed one little bit in the interim.

When she was born Hinami Kurosaki was stricken with a condition called apraxia, which had left her without the ability to form speech. The condition never affected her mind, which grew sharp and strong. Her parents sought out all the treatments they could and when it was determined to be untreatable they turned instead to ways to make their daughter's life happy and complete. At five years old she was enrolled in one of the country's best schools for the deaf where she spent the lions share of her childhood.

Though she wasn't deaf, Hinami learned sign language and discovered the joys of being able to finally communicate her thoughts and feelings with others. It opened up a whole new world she hadn't really imagined and she discovered within herself a treasure trove of emotions which poured from her fingers, both in sign language and in the written word. Poetry and art soon became her passions and she soon won several district prizes for both and had several of her poems published.

Then one day her life changed.

Hinami and her two best friends from school, Yachiru and Rukia, had been out shopping in the local district mall and were in the park drinking hot tea from paper cups watching the snow fall among the trees. Hinami watched her breath form from her lips in the cold crisp winter air and imagined it was the same way she formed words with her hands and her pen. She marveled at how silent the world became when the snow fell and imagined the world must be like that every day for her two best friends who had been born deaf.

Taking out her notebook and pen, she stopped in the middle of the path and began making notes. Her two friends, used to this sort of thing, just smiled and waited until she was finished.

A tap on her shoulder scattered her thoughts and she turned to see who it was, dropping her pen and notebook into the pocket of her winter coat.

At first, all she saw was black leather.

Then she craned her neck upwards to look into the man's face. He was very tall. He was older. Somewhere in the neighborhood of the age of her father, though she couldn't be sure. The man wore big boots and blue jeans and a great leather coat which seemed well worn and comfortable with use. Under a knitted cap he had short graying hair which used to be brown, much like his thick bushy mustache. The most striking thing about him was a pair of bright blue eyes which seemed to be looking all the way into her soul. They were knowing and caring but also commanding at the same time and she found herself unable to meet his gaze. Her eyes dropped immediately though she wasn't really sure why.

"Excuse me, miss." The man spoke in English with a definite American accent. "My name is Alex Cable." She bobbed a bow at him and ended up looking at his extended hand. Yes, Americans did shake hands... When she put her small hand in his to shake he covered it with his other and held on for just a moment. She tried to spell out her name with her other hand but it seemed to be shaking badly...

Large rough but gentle fingers came up under her chin and tilted her face back up to his. Something about hose eyes made her feel funny. Warm inside and tingly all down her tummy and in between her legs, which made her blush and want to turn away to hide her face.

"I have read all of your poetry. It is amazing. You stir my soul with your words." She tried to get her hand free to reply but what he said next sent her mind reeling. "You are the most incredibly beautiful and talented woman I have ever met. I would like very much to make you my wife."

Hinami had been technically speechless all of her life. But his words left her mind and her fingers numb and unable even to stammer. Behind her, the girl could hear her friends giggling. They were both quite adept at reading lips.

Then he did something even more startling.

Still holding on to her little hand in his large one, the man went down to one knee in front of her. She heard her friends gasp.

"Hinami Kurosaki, I have seen your heart and your dreams in your words and I will make them all come true."

He turned her hand over, placed something in her palm and curled her fingers closed, giving her only a small glimpse of some shiny object. Then he kissed her fingers, that brushy mustache tickling her skin.

"When I make you my bride it will make us both happy until the end of our days." It wasn't a question. He stated it as a fact.

The strange man released her hand and stood, one hand waving towards a park bench nearby.

"Come to this place tomorrow afternoon. 3pm. We will speak again."

Then he turned and walked away into the falling snow. She watched until he disappeared.

Yachiru and Rukia gathered around, their fingers chattering.

"Who was that man? Do you know him?"

"Will you marry him?"

"What did he give you?"

Hinami slowly opened her fingers, remembering there was something in her hand. It was a small silver ring. On closer inspection she saw it had tiny little chrysanthemums etched into the metal around it. It was beautiful.

Stunned but feeling a little daring, she slipped the ring onto her finger.

It fit her perfectly.

Nanao smiled to herself, hiding it behind the wisps of steam rising from her cup. She never came right out and told him directly how crazy he made her. Especially in those first few days. He had put her in such a spin she barely knew what to think.

A quick glance sideways allowed her to see him watching her, as he always did. That little smile on his lips. Even on the rare occasions when she was wearing clothes in his presence he never seemed to tire of looking at her.

He made her feel special and beautiful.

He also made her want to play the role of the dutiful and obedient wife.

More than just play the role. To live it. To be it. To give herself utterly and submit to this man who had dominated her from the first second they had met.

It was why she loved him so.

Another glance in his direction. The smile was still there, grown a bit wider and making his mustache curl up on the sides.

When they were done with their tea and she had cleaned up and put things away, he would be wanting her again. Nanao could see enough of her Master's mind enough to read his expressions and body language. Just knowing he wanted her... would take her as he wished... made her whole body tingle and grow warmer with desire.

What she didn't know was where and how. Whether he would lead her (or carry her over his shoulder) to their bed, or have her sitting atop him in his big wide recliner, or bent over the dining room table or even right there on the kitchen floor, it didn't matter.

The choice was totally his and his alone.

Another reason Nanao was totally dedicated to the man she called Master.

Back

Rituals and traditions. Hinami had been raised with them as an infant and they carried through all of her life, forming the foundation of her entire existence. It was something she could always count on to be there if she desired stability in her life.

Her father was a Shinto priest and took his work quite seriously, tending to the gods and the spirits and well being of the people in their district. Both the living and those who had passed on before. The eldest male of the family taking this as his calling was a family tradition which went back many generations. Even if he wasn't working at the temple, he could often be found before the little shrine in their home, head bowed in prayer or contemplation.

As soon as his daughter was old enough to understand, he sat her in his lap in front of the shrine and told her how the spirits were always smiling down and looking out for her and how important it was to thank them properly for their care and the good fortune they caused in their lives. Each time before leaving the house she prayed for them to keep watch over her and after each time she returned she thanked them for their diligence.

Each and every time, without fail.

Even if she was born without the ability to speak, Hinami loved her life and was grateful of every day and the opportunities she was afforded.

One of the traditions her parents had was thirty minutes before dinner was set aside to discuss the events and happenings of the day. To facilitate being able to communicate effectively with their daughter, Father had remodeled the kitchen so Mother could look into the dining room while she cooked. Hinami sat on one side of the table facing the kitchen. Father at the head of the table as was proper, and her younger brother Toshiro on the other side.

On this particular day, Mother noticed right away something was preying on her daughter's mind. The girl sat quietly with her hands in her lap, looking down at the table. Mother tapped on the side of the pan with a wooden spoon to get her attention.

"Hina-chan... tell me what is wrong." The girl sighed.

"A very strange thing happened this afternoon." All of them could read her sign language and they could all see her movements were unsure. Even Toshiro could tell she was disturbed and set aside his cell phone to pay attention. He was sixteen and fiercely protective and proud of his older sibling.

"A man approached me in the park and asked me to marry him. No.. wait.." She waved away her words as if they were smoke. "He didn't ask me. He told me he was going to marry me." Both Father and Toshiro frowned at his bold move.

"Did this man... accost you, daughter?" She shook her head.

"No, Papa-San. He was very polite. He did... hold my hand... but not by force. He was quite gentle and proper."

"Who was this bold man? What did he say, Hina? Do you know him? What did he look like?" They all spoke at once until Mama rapped on the side of the pot again, bringing them to a halt. While Mama generally deferred to her husband in all things, when it came to her daughter she was as protective as a she-bear over a cub.

"What did this man say to you?"

"He held my hand, went down on one knee and said: "I have read all of your poetry. It is amazing. You stir my soul with your words." Then he said: "You are the most incredibly beautiful and talented woman I have ever met. I would like very much to make you my wife."

"Then he gave me a ring." Mama raised an eyebrow. Toshiro made a snort of disbelief. 

"He probably says the same thing to every girl he meets."

Papa held out his hand. "Let me see this ring, daughter." She pulled it from her finger and laid it in his palm. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and brought it close. Then he reached down to get his reading glasses from where they hung down the front of his kimono.

"I recognize this work. It's from Mr Yamamoto's shop in Rukon! Very expensive. Three hundred thousand yen or more!" He was astonished. His eyes squinted. "And see! There is an inscription on the inside. Shiro, your eyes are younger. Read it to us."

Hinami was startled. In her confusion, she had never thought to look inside. Her brother squinted and leaned into the light.

"All of my heart for my beautiful doll forever. Love, Alex." The words made her own heart skip a beat. Mama frowned again.

"Lovely words. And quite a present. But who is this man?" Hinami had to think back.

"He said his name was Alex Cable. An American, I'm pretty sure. He was quite tall and quite a bit older than I am. Most of his hair was gray."

At the mention of the name, Toshiro set the ring down in the center of the table and pulled out his phone. He began typing and swiping pages back and forth. The girl looked at the ring laying there and thought about what it represented. She also found herself really wanting to grab it and slip it back on her finger, which startled her somewhat. Just thinking about wearing the ring again made her tingle warmly inside.

"American all right." Her brother muttered. "Artist of some sort. Works in wood and metals..." He turned the phone this way and that reading and looking at pictures. The expression on his face went from dubious to almost admiring. "Some very good stuff... quite expensive... semi famous..." Both of his eyebrows crawled up his forehead. "Quite rich. You could do worse."

"Father..." Mama sounded concerned. "We need to meet this man before this goes any farther." Papa nodded sagely.

"I am to meet him again in the park tomorrow afternoon." Hinami said.

Toshiro set down his phone and announced. "I will go with you."

While nobody was looking, she snagged the silver circlet and put it back around her finger. Once again she was astonished the way it made her tingle all the way down between her thighs.

That evening she climbed out of the bath and dried herself off then wrapped her body in her towel to go to bed. Hinami usually used her time in the bath for reflection but this evening she seemed too distracted to really enjoy it. Her meeting with the American was bubbling through her mind and the thought of meeting him again had her both nervous and aroused, which made her blush.

Such an older man....

Such a big older man...

Who dominated her so naturally...

Whole she wasn't able to form words, Hinami could still make sounds. A sigh of desire fell from her lips. Under the sheets, one hand passed over her small breasts and she could feel her nipples hard and tingling at her own touch. She pinched them lightly and the sigh turned into a moan. Her other hand crept down over her belly.

While she imagined the big man laying atop her body taking her, one finger slipped in between her pussy lips and rubbed lightly. The moan got briefly louder before she stifled it between her teeth.

The thought of dedicating her life to that man brought her to her peak faster than she would have imagined.

Alone in her bed, Hinami really wished she could have said his name out loud as she thrashed and whimpered in joy.

Before she dropped off into a satiated slumber, the girl raised her hand and spelled out his name in the air.

"Alex."

Forth

So... warm...

So... full...

So... happy...

Nanao sat astride her Master's hips with his big prick stretching her pussy to it's limits. Master was so big and filled her up so much she often had difficulty breathing, as if he were displacing her insides and pushing them up out of her mouth.

Her whole body throbbed and tingled all over beneath the sheen of sweat and her long hair clung wetly to her back as she lowered her head and panted weakly. She had lost track of how many times she had reached her peak, just washing along with them over and over again like a loose piece of seaweed caught in the tides. So worn out her hands ceased to tug at the soft cords which held them behind her back.

His hands had left her breasts and traveled down to her hips long minutes ago as he had gripped her tightly and thrust up into her body but she could still feel the imprint of his fingers on her tender flesh. Her nipples ached and throbbed from his rough touch.

Master was often rather rough with her while they were making love. Sometimes rougher than she really wanted, but he never hurt her. Sure, he often left her sore and aching, but it was almost always aching in a good and contented way. When they were done Nanao was left with absolutely no doubt in her mind who she belonged to. Who owned her mind, body, heart and soul.

Who her Master was.

And who she loved.




Rituals



This was one of those rare times when she wished she could see his face. When she could look into those eyes and see the love and desire for her in them. The happiness in his smile.

But the band of cloth he'd tied over her eyes prevented this. Master often deprived her of her sight while they played, which seemed to make all of her other senses sharper. The same when he tied her hands and made her use all the rest of her body instead.

He often demanded she play those kind of games with him.

The collar and the leash.

The little wooden stocks which held her neck and wrists immobile and left her body open to his touch.

The shackles on her ankles and the bar which went between them which left her open in a completely different way.

The small collection of vibrating and buzzing toys he used on and sometimes in different places on her body.

Some women might have seen such things as demeaning. Embarrassing at best and humiliating at worst and the sign of a twisted mind.

Nanao saw them as proof of her willingness to submit herself to this man. To show her love and devotion to the man who had dominated her heart.

He stirred and sighed beneath her and she could feel him beginning to soften inside. It relieved some of the ache from being so full but left a different one behind it in the void. He sat up and adjusted the pillows behind his back then his hands slid down her arms and undid the rope binding her wrists. He brought her hands around to the front and kissed her fingers as he had done on the very first time they met. It always made her glow a little inside when he did it.

What she really wanted was to remove the blindfold. She wanted to see his face.

But since she was an obedient and dutiful wife she knew she must wait until he did it or instructed her to do it herself. Nanao always prided herself on being attentive to the needs and desires of her husband and Master.

Fortunately she didn't have to wait long.

"There's my beautiful Nanao." One large rough but tender hand caressed her cheek. She gave him a little smile and turned into his touch, kissing his hand. Master was smiling and happy and obviously well pleased with her which made her want to wiggle and purr like a kitten. Lowering her eyes for an instant, she fisted her hands and crossed her arms in front of her.

"I love you, Master."

He chuckled softly.

"And I love you, my sweet girl. You always make all of my dreams come true."

He had to bend and she had to stretch but they always managed to kiss as often as possible.

Nanao was happy and content. Master gathered her in his arms and she lay against his broad hairy chest, one finger idly playing through the coarse mostly gray fur. She reveled in the afterglow of their lovemaking, her insides pulsing with the pleasant ache even after he had slipped out of her, just enjoying being so close.

After they had bathed and before they slept, she would remember to say a proper thank you to the spirits.

Back

She was nervous.

And her brother was making her angry, which wasn't helping.

"I don't know why you are going back to see him at all."

"Shut up, Shiro! I didn't tell you to come!"

"Someone needs to protect you!"

"I can protect myself!" What she really wanted to do with her hands was punch him in the nose. "Go home!"

"I won't! I told you I would come!" Hinami waved a hand and walked faster, her boots crunching through the snow. She put her head down into the collar of her winter coat and stared at the ground while she walked, hands thrust deep into her pockets.

Strong hands grabbed her arms just before she walked into a wall of black leather.

"Careful there, girl. I don't want you to get hurt." She'd been so nervous and angry at her brother she hadn't been looking where she was going. Hinami raised her hands to apologize only to find them wrapped in his as he gently but firmly held them still.

"Hush, please. Let me speak." Still holding her hands, he bent and kissed her fingertips quickly. The he raised his head.

"This young samurai must be the Toshiro I have heard so much about. Your protector." Somewhat taken aback at the man's size, her brother just stared up at him. Then back down at the large hand he was being offered. The American shook his hand firmly without too much pressure, even though Toshiro was sure the man could have broken his arm with that grip.

"Come inside. Both of you." Caught by surprise, neither of them had noticed the tent sitting on one side of the sidewalk. It was white, so it blended in with the snow and was about ten feet on a side. Blinking in wonder, the two young people allowed themselves to be ushered through the flap.

It was pleasantly warm inside. The soft hiss of a little gas heater was a constant background noise. Battery operated lights in the corners gave the room a gentle glow. Two park benches had been placed at angles to each other and a small low table sat in front of them. On the table were a stack of styrofoam cups and a large thermos.

"Please do sit." He said. Then added "Hinami, will you pour us all some tea?"

Grateful for something to do to break the tension in her mind, she poured them all a cup of piping hot tea. It was dark and black and very fragrant, filling the small space with the scent quickly.

The American... Alex... she reminded herself... sat on one bench while Hinami and her brother sat on the other.

"Toshiro.." He said. "I know I am a stranger to you and your whole family. I am not Japanese and I do not come from a good family and I don't work as a banker or anything prestigious like that. I am nothing more than an artist."

"But I am deeply in love with your sister and my only hope is to marry her and make her happy and comfortable until the end of my days. My dream is to see her smile when she wakes in the morning and have the same smile on her lips when she goes to sleep at night. Does that sound terrible to you?"

Surprised by being addressed at all, Shiro shook his head.

"No. It does not sound terrible."

"I intend to marry your sister, young man. It is why I came all the way here from America."

Hinami sat between them and listened to the conversation, wondering if it was all a dream.

"But I will do nothing without the consent of you and your entire family. And Hinami herself, of course." He paused and smiled at her, then looked back at her brother.

"Toshiro Kurosaki, I must ask you a favor, then."

"What is it?"

"Will you give us ten minutes alone? Take your tea and step right outside. You can even listen if you like. But I would like ten minutes of privacy with my future wife."

"I would be indebted to you, Toshiro-San."

"Oh, he's good." She thought. By asking him for a personal favor, saying he would be in his debt and referring to him as an adult and an equal, he made it almost impossible for Shiro to refuse without seeming unduly rude.

It occurred to her also so far in both of the times she had met this man, she had yet to get a word in edgewise. She'd just been carried along by his personality. She really hoped this wasn't going to be an ongoing thing, if they were to have any sort of relationship.

Though she could not speak, Hinami did like having a say in her future.

Outfoxed by the older man, Toshiro took his cup of tea and stepped out of the tent. The Am... Alex... stood and bowed politely to her, then sat down on the bench beside her. He held out his hand and after only a moments hesitation, she put her hand in his. He squeezed it fondly then placed it back on her knee.

"It is so nice to see you again, Miss Hinami. I suppose you have questions."

"Why..." Her hands started to say then circled, uncertainly. After a moment she decided upon the direct approach.

"Why are you doing all of this?" He shook his head and smiled.

"I told you why, dear. Yesterday. Because you are the most beautiful and talented woman I have ever met and your words touch my heart. And if you will have me, I will make you my wife."

It never even occurred to her to wonder why and how he knew sign language.

Let alone Japanese.

"I'm not that pretty."

"In my eyes, you are devastatingly beautiful." She felt herself blush.

"My poems aren't that good."

"Your words touch me, Hinami. They sing to my soul. And they give me glimpses into your heart, which touches me even deeper."

"What do you mean?" 

He sat back and looked up at the ceiling of the tent. Then he recited:

"She listens for him. His footsteps upon the stairs. The caged bird knows love."

Hinami was a bit startled. It was a very early haiku she had written. One she had submitted but had never been published anywhere as far as she knew. Where had he seen it?

"I would have you be my caged bird." The statement brought a thrill which ran down her belly. Did he really see what her poems were about?

"It would be large, but still a cage. And I would insist you take a quite... traditional role in our marriage. But at the same time I would do anything and everything in my power to make your life a pleasant one." He looked into her eyes. "To make all of your dreams come true." To her chagrin, Hinami felt herself grow a little wet between her legs. He knows...

"Let me show you this." From the inside pocket of his coat he drew out a photograph. A small simple room with a few paintings on the walls and a desk with a laptop computer. Glass doors led out to a garden of such wild greenery it almost looked like a jungle with sword slashes of sunlight gleaming into the space.

"That room will be yours to do with as you wish. A quiet place for you to write or study or just sit. I want you to continue to write."

"My parents... my brother... my school..." He showed her another picture. A very traditional looking Japanese house set in the woods.

"I have bought a home for us an hour or so away in the mountains. And our house back in the states is only half an hour walk from the best university in The City. We will travel between them as often as you like."

She didn't miss the fact he said "us" and "our" and "we will." Her mind was spinning.

"Look at me, Hinami." She was unable to resist the tone in his voice.

"Am I horrible to look at?" She shook her head.

"Does the thought of being my wife disgust you?" She shook her head again, a faint blush coming to her cheeks at the thought of actually being his wife.

"Does the fact I am a mere artist disappoint you?"

No.

"Then I will tell you this, Hinami Kurosaki. If you tell me there is no way you could be my wife I will go away and you will never see me again. Can you look me in the eye and tell me such a thing?"

No.

"Will you see me again?" For the second time her hands spelled his name in the air.

"Yes, Alex."

Forth

Two fresh cut sprigs of lilac from the garden. Each in a little ceramic vase.

A small glass bowl filled with fresh water.

Paper folded with precise creases, making it into a zigzag pattern which would catch their eyes, clipped to the string in front. Inside the folded paper was written "Watashino yumewo arigatou" in her very best printing.

Thank you for my dream.

Eyes forward, Nanao raised her hands and clapped them twice to get the attention of the spirits. Then she lowered both and thanked them personally for her good fortune with a small very polite bow.

In a small wooden box kept below the shrine were almost four hundred identical pieces of paper, all with exactly the same words. Each with a little numbered date on the outside after they were taken down.

When their numbers reached one thousand, she would bundle them up and make a present of them to her Master. She thought he would be as pleased as the spirits seemed to be by her gesture.

Then it was off to begin her day.

Master still slumbered in their bed, lying on his side and snoring. She knew after she had fallen asleep he had stayed up late working, as was his usual way. There was something about being well satisfied with his wife which made Master's mind begin racing and we often up until the early hours reading and drawing out plans for new projects.

Nanao was quite proud she could help to inspire him in this way.

And more than ready to inspire him as often as possible.

Her morning prayers complete, she showered and took a quick relaxing soak in the very Japanese style bathroom Master had installed in their American home. The hot water in the deep tub always got her blood flowing.

Though with him in the house it wasn't really an issue. Just thinking about her husband always got her blood flowing. Under the water her hips flexed a little and her thighs clamped together.

Then out of the tub to dry off. Her face was pink from the heat of the tub (or so she told herself) as she looked in the mirror and tied her hair up in it's bun and held it in place with the little wooden sticks. She belted her white silk robe around her waist and padded off into the kitchen. Working with it's usual efficiency, the electric kettle had started on a timer and boiled the water while she was bathing. Watching the green tea suffuse into the water made her flush warmly once more.

Before she met him, tea was just tea.

Now it was something to savor and experience and even anticipate.

Mornings when Master slept in and she didn't have classes were all her own to do with as she wished. When the weather was agreeable she would take her morning cup out onto the back porch and bask in the morning sun as it came through the greenery.

She also spent much of this time working on her writing and her poetry. From her laptop computer she ran two different blogs which she updated almost daily. One with her poetry and commentary on living between Japan and America was simply called "Hinami" and was gaining popularity back home.

The other blog was named "Rose Colored Path", which she wrote under the name Master had given her and started at his direction. This one too was poetry and commentary but unlike the one which her family read daily, this one was more about living with her Master and how much she adored being taken by him and belonging to him in all ways.

It too was gaining popularity, but among a much different crowd.

"Hands bound, eyes blinded. My body aches with pleasure. Master is my world."

Haiku was such a pleasant art form, even if it required much thought. To put ones thoughts in a way to convey to the reader an entire experience in only seventeen syllables was often difficult. But there was a purity about the form which appealed to her.

And just typing those seventeen syllables made her ache inside in such a wonderful way. Her nipples hardened and felt so good brushing against the cool silk of her robe and Nanao found herself so suddenly wet she was afraid she might leave a spot on her office chair. Part of her... the traditional Japanese part which loved and embraced order and tidiness... wanted to leap up and get some cleaner and erase the spot if there was one. But the part of her which loved belonging to Master wanted to revel in the lingering scent of her excitement as long as it lasted.

Hoping her readers would understand and forgive the brevity of her daily post, she hit the "send" button and hurried off to the kitchen.

It was time for him to awaken.

Kneeling by the side of the bed, Nanao gently blew across the top of the cup of steaming coffee.

One small breath...

Then two...

And three... the aroma of the thick dark brew wafting past his nose. He inhaled softly.

One eye opened. She bowed just a little behind the cup, hiding her own eyes.

"And the sun rises upon my world." Suppressing a giggle, she held still so as not to spill a drop of her Master's morning libation. He could such a sweet romantic dork sometimes.

"Mmmm.... Aaaahhh....." She put her hands back down in her lap as he took the offering and held it beneath his nose for a long appreciative sniff before taking his first sip of the day. "That smells wonderful, Nanao. Almost as good as you do." He raised an eyebrow and she felt herself blush under his gaze. "To what do I owe this unexpected largesse?"

I missed you, Master.

"Hmmm...." The cup was set on the nightstand and he moved back across the mattress. One hand flipped the covers back and he patted the spot he had just vacated. "Come up here and tell me about it, sweet girl."

The warm spot where he had lain felt so... comfortable. Warm with the heat of his body and his scent on the pillow. Nanao had gotten a little chilly as she had waited for him to awaken. One of the many and complicated rules of his... their! ...home was, unless she was given specific permission beforehand, she was never allowed any clothing in their bedroom. In the hallway outside the bedroom door was a bench and a mounted coat rack where she was to put her clothes before she entered the room.

He lay on his side with his head propped up on one hand and his other hand lay in the center of her belly as she snuggled up with her side against him. They had discovered this position early on was the best for keeping her hands free to talk to him.

When he allowed her hands to be free, of course.

Sometimes she just had to speak to him with her body.

"So tell me, Nanao."

"I prayed this morning."

"As you should. You have always been a proper and... obedient... girl." She felt herself blush again, as she did so often around him.

"I expressed my gratitude to the spirits for bring you into my life." Her eyes flashed up to his and away. "And for making all of my dreams come true." He smiled and growled happily.

"Such a sweet girl."

"I wrote a haiku about how you made me feel last night." Before he could even ask, she closed her eyes and recited, fingers dancing in the air. In the twenty seconds it took to recite her poem she felt her body grow warmer and flush with desire. Her nipples grew erect under the sheet and her hips writhed as she clamped her thighs together.

He, of course, missed none of this.

"And...?"

"It made me want...."

"Want what, my sweet, submissive little Nanao?"

"You, my Master." Her eyes were wide and needy with desire. "Inside me."

"Such a good girl." He smiled and bent down to kiss her. As he did so his hand on her belly slid lower, down towards the little patch of hair between her thighs. Obediently, she spread her legs to entice him even further down. Master seemed to be in an obliging mood as he only paused atop her pubic mound for a moment the slipped down to cup her pussy in his palm. She moaned against his mouth and could feel her juices dampening his skin. A finger slipped between her lips, becoming instantly slick.

He pulled his lips slightly away. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes!" He free hand nodded as vehemently as her head.

"I will make you work for it."

"Anything! Anything!" He couldn't really see her hand, but her meaning was clear enough. The finger between her slick little pussy lips began a slow rotation as he pulled back to look into her face.

"Look at me, Nanao." Her eyes were glazed a little with lust but they also showed how much she loved him and his touch. 

She wanted to grab his arm and push him against her pussy.

Pull him on top of her.

Guide his prick inside her while she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Lose herself beneath his body.

Her eyes and body said all of those things while her lips remained stubbornly mute. While she was at peace with her condition, Master made her wish to speak more than anything in her life ever did.

"Count backwards from ten."

"Mmmmhmmm....." Oh... yes...

Ten...

Nine...

Aaaahhh...

Eight...

Seven... Her fingers trembled.

Six...

Five...

Oooohhh.... god....

Four...

Three... His touch was driving her half mad. It took all of her strength to endure.

Two...

One... Oh please...




Rituals



"Do you want to come for me, Nanao?"

Yes please yes please yes please.......! His large thick finger slipped up inside of her, driving deep.

"Come for me, girl. Come now..." Her hands clamped down on his forearm and her thighs closed on his hand as her hips bucked hard and the world disappeared in a flash of light and glittering stars. 

Peak after peak after peak as she bucked and moaned and cried out.

Nanao had to fight to keep from holding him physically between her thighs as his motion slowed to a stop. But she knew even if she were to do such a greedy and disobedient thing not only would she be punished but she would have passed out in exhaustion, leaving her Master unsatisfied.

Not being able to please him would have shamed her deeply.

So instead Nanao pulled his hand from between her legs and sucked the finger which had been inside of her into her mouth, slick little tongue licking all of her juices from his skin. Before she had come to know her Master such an act would have been considered distasteful at best. Something only porn stars and slutty girls would do. But she had learned how much it pleased him and so she had learned to enjoy both the act and the taste in her mouth.

It was all about perspective, after all.

And it didn't really taste all that bad.

She had come to the conclusion some time ago if her Master desired to occasionally include another girl in their play she would not object at all and would probably enjoy it.

"Was that what you wanted, love?" Her fist went up and down and side to side.

Yes and no.

"Are you wanting still more, sweet Nanao?" She nodded with her finger still in her mouth and her tongue wrapped around it lasciviously.

"You will have to work for it, then." Nods and nods and nods. He pulled his finger from her lips and lay back on the bed.

"Show me how much you want it." She was more than ready. Sitting up, her little hands pulled back the covers to expose his prick. To her delight, he was already completely hard and standing tall. Having that effect on him made her proud always. But at the same time her cheeks burned as her hands asked the question she knew she must ask.

Master, may I suck your beautiful cock?

"Yes, little Nanao. Get Master nice and hard."

Thank you, my Master.

Both hands wrapped around his hard shaft. He was so big it made her hands look even smaller by comparison. She was always surprised when she was able to get him into her mouth and it was no wonder he made her ache so when he was buried all the way in her pussy. The girl shivered hard as she remembered as well the few times he had taken her... bottom.

That was a completely different kind of pain.

And a different kind of pleasure as well. One she secretly hoped happened again soon and more often.

Soft little hands stroked up and down his shaft, admiring his size and strength. Loving the way he felt hard and soft at the same time. Watching as the tip of his head appeared and disappeared and smiling with pride once again when she saw the glistening of the precome which was pooling at the tip. She leaned down and tasted it with her tongue then pulled him back further to expose the entire head and lapped at it, her slick little tongue covering the head before opening her mouth wide and taking him inside.

"So my day begins Thanking Master with my lips For each little sigh."

It never ceased to amaze her how much this man could inspire her to poetry.

She wondered if her readers would appreciate the nuances.

"Mmmm..." He murmured. "Such a very very good girl."

Nanao smiled around the mouthful of his prick as it slowly moved in and out of her lips. She was quite proud of her ability to please him with any part of her body and even more so of her oral skills. Master had given her plenty of chances to practice. What he may or may not have been aware of was the initiative she had taken to study the art. Hours spent on the internet reading articles and watching videos and paying close attention to him and his reactions to learn exactly what pleased him the best.

During her studies she had learned in general Japanese girls were considered some of the world's worst at pleasing a man with their mouth. With her own as well as her national pride at stake, Nanao studied hard and practiced even harder to make at least herself the exception to the rule. She had even taken it upon herself to post some of the tricks and techniques she had learned on her blog.

From the happy sounds Master was making and judging from some of the replies she had gotten from her readers, Nanao considered herself a success.

Were anyone to ask him, Alex Cable would have wholeheartedly agreed.

"Aaaahhh..... Mmmm.... my sweet wonderful Nanao.... your lips feel like heaven. Mmmm..." His hips rolled in pleasure and he fought the impulse to hold the back of her head and thrust up into her mouth until he came.

But this little play was not yet finished. One hand gripped her shoulder and pulled gently.

"Come here, girl." When their lips met he put a hand in the center of her chest and rolled her over onto her back while they kissed. He pressed her into the mattress while his thumb and forefinger lightly pinched and rolled a hard nipple, making her gasp into his mouth.

As he rolled her onto her back, the girl spread her legs wide and he turned and knelt between them. With a little groan of need coming from her lips, she lifted her knees and gripped his ribs while he moved into position above her.

When Master wanted her, he took her any way he desired, as was his right. Whether it was her mouth or her pussy or her bottom and in any and sometimes several positions. She gave herself to him for his pleasure in any way and every way he wished. He was her Master.

But when Nanao was feeling particularly needy, this was the way which satisfied her physical and emotional needs the best. With the big man on top of her body between her legs, dominating all she could see and feel.

This morning she was quite needy. He paused with his hard prick resting against her pubic mound while she writhed beneath him, eyes bright with her desire.

"Do you want me inside you, Nanao?" Her hands shook so she was almost incoherent.

Yes yes yes please....

"Take me in your hand, love. Show Master where you want his prick." Reaching down between their bodies, she grasped the shaft of his cock and positioned the head between her lips and presented it to her opening. She rolled her hips upward so the tip of him slipped inside of her and when she did so he slowly thrust forward, feeding her his meat an inch at a time.

That wonderful familiar ache.

Spreading, stretching, filling her completely.

Right on the edge of pain yet so very pleasurable....

Her trembling legs went higher and higher as he went deeper and deeper until his belly pressed into hers. The head of his prick pressed into her womb and pushed even further while she tried to lock her feet together at the small of his back. At times like this Nanao wished she were taller so she could put him in a leg lock and never let him out again.

Gasping, almost choking moans as she found it hard to breathe...

As he began to thrust inside her, the outside world faded away. Her entire universe became her Master and lover and husband and his wonderful cock.

Taking her body.

Dominating her.

Loving her.

In the back of her mind Nanao reminded herself she must show her gratitude to the spirits once more.

Back

Her head was swimming and the world was just a bit blurry. Both from the alcohol and the company.

Though Hinami had been old enough to legally drink for a year, her life had been full and too busy to be doing things like going out and drinking so just had just never gotten around to trying it. Her parents did not drink and so she had never even been afforded the chance for a sip until now. A little giddy, she laughed while watching her friends out on the dance floor gyrating around. Most of them could not hear the music but they picked up the beat from the vibrations in the floor and from watching the others dancing.

They were all smiling and laughing and having a good time.

So was she. The company was even better tonight.

Alex sat next to her in the back of the booth, his hand on her thigh under the table making her tingle delightfully.

Most of her friends did not really understand her infatuation with such an older man. Especially a foreigner. Souske referred to him as "that big, ugly old man" when he thought Alex wasn't looking. And Ikkaku called him "Ame-koh" "Baijo" and "Gaijin", assuming the American could not understand what he was saying.

Hinami thought Souske was just being jealous because he had always had kind of a crush on her and that Ikkaku was just being a cocky ass because he studied martial arts and was a bully at heart.

After several incidents of Ikkaku being rude, Alex grabbed his wrist and twisted it, bringing the younger man quite painfully to his knees. He then explained quite patiently and calmly, in perfect Japanese sign language, that he was not going to stand for him being rude around his future wife and if Ikkaku intended to continue to use that hand to communicate he had best be on good behavior. A quick squeeze let the young man know if he continued to misbehave, the bigger older man would happily break the offending hand into many small fragments.

Though Ikkaku did whine about his wrist hurting, both he and Souske were quite amazingly polite for the remainder of the evening.

Alex had deferred to her that evening, letting her choose their destination as if he had known her friends were asking Hinami to come to the club with them. She had been flattered and pleased when he allowed it might be entertaining to spend some time with her friends. Even though he had gone about things in a most backward way, Alex seemed to have a grasp on what it would take to win her heart.

But at the same time he never lost track of his desire to make her completely his. As such, as he always did, he kept her on the edge of sexual excitement all evening.

It started even before they got to the club.

Though the evening was cool and a bit brisk, they walked the half mile from her family home to the club, giving them time to talk before entering the noisy busy atmosphere. Mostly they spoke of light inconsequential things. She told him about her day. He talked about buying things for his studio and workshop in their new house.

Other than the one picture, Hinami had yet to see the home he had bought for them. It made her quiver inside thinking about it and he told her when she was ready, he would take her there.

He would take her there...

Take her there...

Take her...

Though they had yet to sleep together, she was beginning to want it desperately.

A high pitched squeal broke through her reverie. Yachiru was smiling and waving her arms at them. A group of seven or eight of her friends from school were all clustered at the doorway. Rukia was beckoning, waving for them to hurry. Hinami waved back and stepped out to hurry towards them but Alex's arm suddenly closed on her waist, stopping her in her tracks. His voice was in her ear, whispering even though nobody who could hear was close enough to do so.

"When we get inside, go to the restroom. Remove your panties and put them in my coat pocket." Hinami felt herself blush all the way to her toes and the night suddenly got warmer. Her fingers stammered.

Yes... Sir.

While he had not demanded it, she always referred to him as "Sir."

It just felt right.

When several of her friends asked her why she was so pink she fanned her face.

It's so warm in here!

She ordered a soft drink as was her usual and Alex ordered hot sake and coffee and she snuggled up next to him. Gallantly, he had spread his coat on the seat of the booth so she wouldn't be sitting with her naked bottom on the bare vinyl. Under the table, his hand slipped down to the inside of her thigh and she sighed happily. She laid her hand atop his and squeezed them both between her thighs.

There had been a few boys who had flirted with her outside of school but when they found out she could not speak, they were intimidated by her condition. A few of them at her school had also flirted but they were intimidated by her intelligence.

Then along came this strange strange man who came all the way from America to ask for her hand in marriage.

No... to tell her he was going to make her his wife.

Who told her she was going to submit to him as his bride.

Serve his needs both in and out of his bed.

To be his, completely.

This strange American man who now carried her panties in his coat pocket and touched her on the inside of her thigh as if his hand belonged there. The closest any man had ever come to touching her that way.

Hinami caught him staring at her and always looked away, blushing. He squeezed her soft skin gently and she looked up at him, caught by his smile. Quickly, she leaned up and kissed him on the lips then looked away, blushing once more. Several of her friends saw the exchange and laughed.

Alex poured some hot sake in the small cup and downed it quickly, chasing it with coffee. Then he poured another about half full and put it in front of her.

"Just a small sip, dear. About half. Then the rest if you like."

It didn't burn or make her cough as she thought it might, but the liquid left a warm feeling which went all the way down her throat to her stomach and seemed to spread out from there.

I like it.

"Just the one, Hinami. If you have too much it will make you sad and sorry later."

Yes, Sir.

She leaned her head against his arm. Alex was so... comforting to be around. Even though he made her nervous in some ways. He was so big and so odd. The way he took charge as if it were his natural right. Especially over her. Although she had dreamed of someone like him her whole life, when he became a reality he wasn't anything her imagination had ever conceived.

Turning into him just a little, she planted a small kiss against his bicep. In response he patted her thigh with his fingertips, lightly stroking her skin.

He smelled good and his touch was making her belly tingle, which turned into a little shiver. She worried she might leave a spot on the lining of his coat but knowing how his mind seemed to work and the fact he had her panties in his pocket she thought it might have been part of his plan all along.

They sat for a while and watched her friends out on the dance floor, chuckling at their antics. Alex even flirted with Yachiru and Rukia a bit in between songs, complimenting their moves, which made them both giggle behind their hands and left them smiling.

Although nobody directly commented on where his hand must be under the table, both girls gave Hinami knowing smiles and winks which made her smile and blush at the same time.

A new song began to throb through the speakers and everyone went to the dance floor again, leaving them alone for a few minutes in the back of the booth. Alex stirred and patted her thigh then removed his hand. She wanted to protest then gave in as he laid his arm around her shoulders, holding her tight against his body. He bent his head and put his lips by her ear, whispering over the sound of the loud music.

"Some years ago there was a show I watched on television. An anime, actually." Hinami smiled at the thought of him watching anime. "There was a certain character which I particularly liked. She was the assistant to a very strong Captain. His Lieutenant, as a matter of fact. She was very smart, always reading... always learning... always studying to become more. She was also very strong. A fierce and reliable warrior willing to fight to the death to defend her honor, her Captain and her world. While she was strong enough and smart enough to earn her own command, she was devoted to her Captain and stayed to serve him in any way she could. You remind me much of her."

Thank you, Sir.

Even though he was comparing her to a cartoon character it was rendered as a compliment and she took it that way. He seemed to have been impressed with this woman, whoever she was.

"When you are mine I will give you a new name. Hinami Kurosaki... excuse me... I mean Hinami Cable... will be my wife. But in private you will be my Lieutenant. My strong devoted right hand. The rock upon which the rest of my life will be built. Strong and fearless and smart, yet sweet and devoted and always willing to serve your Master."

That last word sent a thrill through her core. It was the first time he had said it in her presence and just hearing him say it out loud made her shiver and grow extremely warm at the same time and she found herself having to bite her lips to prevent a moan from escaping.

"To the world... to your parents and friends and family, you will be Hinami. To me, in private, you will be my sweet loving little Nanao."

For the very first time she raised her hands and said the words she had been wanting so say all of her life.

Yes, Master.

Forth

The young man bagging her groceries smiled at her, as he always did. Flirting and appreciative, but polite. And, as she always did, she smiled back and gave him a little bow as he loaded the bags into her cart. She saw him from time to time on the campus and knew he was a student at the same college, working on the side for extra money.

He was young and handsome and quite well built and his flirting attentions flattered her.

Of course the fact she was wearing a tight t-shirt and yoga pants with very obviously nothing underneath them didn't hurt matters, either.

Nanao wore a smile on her lips as she loaded the bags into the trunk of the car and she mused, idly, what it would be like luring that young handsome stud into her bed.

The things she could teach him.... she was certain he had no idea.

But even if he was young and pretty and muscular, he wasn't her Master.

Fantasies were nice, but as far as reality went her husband and Master was all she wanted.

He was waiting in the drivers seat, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he listened to his music. The look in his eyes said he was a million miles away. Most likely designing his next project in his mind. Sometimes Nanao wished she could look inside that amazing mind of his to see where his thoughts and ideas came from. It must be an incredible world in there.

If she had been able to peek, she would have been extremely proud to see that almost all of his thoughts revolved around her in one way or another.

Though she was unaware of his deepest thoughts, Nanao was having a very good day and was hoping to entice her Master into bed (or the couch or his workbench or even the area rug in the living room) for some lively sex. He'd kept her on the edge of sexual excitement all morning in a wonderful and loving and extremely maddening way.

She had awakened and bathed and made her heart known to the spirits as she did each and every morning. Then she spent the next couple of hours writing and answering emails from family and fans and friends, all of which made her quite happy. Her mind and soul had been overflowing with words which seemed to flow from her fingers onto the keyboard with almost no effort.

It was with a light heart and a smile on her lips she had practically skipped into the kitchen to slip out of her kimono and into her apron to begin preparing breakfast for her husband. This too contributed to her wonderful sense of well being and contentment with her life.

As her husband, Alex loved her with all of his heart and showed her so many times a day. As her Master he demanded many and varied things from her which would show her devotion to him and would fan the flames of her innermost desires.

One of those things was that Nanao was to be naked or as close to naked as possible all of the time in their home. It had indeed taken some getting used to, especially at first. She had been so shy about her body it had taken a lot of coaxing and gentle remonstrations from her husband to keep her from holding her arms and hands to cover herself.