Earthquake Garden Dance

The guard’s approaching footsteps alerted me to an unexpected arrival in the room.

“Stop! You haven’t extended an invitation,” I commanded, my voice laced with a hint of disdain.

“Stuff it, Haz,” he retorted, the provincial vernacular clearly intended as a challenge. Since he continued to advance, I interpreted it as a refusal to heed my words. “The only invitation I’m interested in is the one between your legs.” His body language left no room for misinterpretation – he wanted to engage in a physical encounter, and he wasn’t about to politely decline.

Dismissing the guard with a wave of my hand, I turned my attention back to the woman before me. Her costume, a provocative display of flesh, the sway of her hips, and the deliberate pull at her right breast all spoke volumes. There was no pretense here, no attempt at concealment; she made her intentions abundantly clear. Her walk, the fire in her eyes, and the palpable desire radiating from her body communicated one thing: she wanted to lose herself in my pleasure. The last piece of her attire, a delicate lace scarf, slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor. After a brief, possessive caress of my crotch, she added, “Come.” The pun was intentional, a playful yet insistent invitation.

Memories of last night flooded my senses, sharp and vivid, unlike the hesitant, almost reverent encounters of our initial meeting. The meticulous preparations made for that night – the finest hairdressers and makeup artists, the intoxicating perfume filling the air – had transformed her into an object of unparalleled beauty. She had been rigorously schooled in the art of pleasing me, her tutors carefully explaining the nuances of my expectations.

As I removed her veil, revealing her flawless face, a flicker of apprehension crossed her features, quickly masked by a resolute expression. Foolishly, I had assumed she feared her first time in my bed, but her dignity remained unyielding as she held her head high, yet avoided direct eye contact. As I circled her, admiring her exquisite beauty, and systematically removed her garments until only a small piece of delicate fabric remained draped around her hips, I realized the truth: she possessed an independent spirit, one not easily subdued. That was a quality I recognized from my previous marriage, a lesson learned the hard way. My arrogance and lust had blinded me to her inherent strength, leading to its abrupt and painful end.

Reaching out a hand to cover her modesty, I found her pulling back, her face turned away from me.

“You understand that I hold absolute power over you, including the ability to bring life and death,” I stated, my voice dripping with authority.

She did not flinch, her silence speaking volumes. Slowly, she turned slightly, her eyes boring into mine, assessing, challenging. “Not even my maid has witnessed me uncovered. Neither will you before you are officially my husband. My life belongs to my God, not to your whims.”

“Do you care about what I desire?” I pressed, a hint of amusement in my voice.

“It’s obvious what you want,” she replied, her tone clipped and direct. Reaching beneath my loincloth, she swiftly closed her fingers around my swollen member. The sudden constriction sent a jolt of both pleasure and pain through me. “You will not uncover me to conduct a preliminary examination. I am not a mere toy, meant to be discarded at your convenience. I am not a bottle of fine wine, to be savored in small doses. I am a garden, filled with unparalleled delights, but you will not simply trample through its delicate flowers. Once you enter, you will have no choice but to submit entirely.” The pressure intensified, a tantalizing prelude to the pleasure to come.

“You’re a bold woman, a beautiful woman. A quality that has captured my attention. I’ve made my decision and will take the necessary steps to ensure it comes to fruition.”

“Very well,” I responded, closing the distance between us, my desire reaching a fever pitch. “You will find my breasts exquisitely pleasurable, and yes, there’s no secret to my preferences. You won’t be disappointed when I take your member into my mouth.”

A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips, her eyes twinkling with an alluring mix of amusement and anticipation. The fingers loosened their grip, releasing their hold on my sensitive flesh. She dampened the tip of her thumb with my pre-cum, gently touched it to my lips, and then repeated the action with her own mouth. “You will water my garden. Its fruit will not leave you wanting.”

A few days later, I formally introduced her to the kingdom as my queen, as promised, her breasts delighted me, as well as her oral and manual skills. Memories from last night swirled through my mind, fueling my anticipation for what was to come.

“The evening breezes are stirring, and the sunset is breathtaking. Do me on the roof while the stars watch.” The magnificent view of the winter capital was undeniably captivating, but my gaze remained firmly fixed on my naked wife leaning against the low perimeter wall, her feet spread apart, and one hand already exploring the depths of her garden. I pulled my erection up to rest on her ass and groped at her breasts, reveling in the exquisite sensation.

“No foreplay. Last night, when your orgasm reached its peak, you emitted a particularly vibrant scream. It saddens me to know that such a beautiful word is so often used in the context of vulgarity. Almost sacred, reserved for the intimacy between a man and a woman, bound together by love and mutual pleasure, as they experience each other in exclusive physical intimacy. “Make love to me,” “let’s fool around,” “take me,” and all other euphemisms pale in comparison to the raw intensity of this word.

“I want to hear you scream that word again.”

Lifting my penis off her ass, I gently slid it between the lips at the entrance to her garden and pushed in slightly. Soft, purring noises of her pleasure filled my ears, a symphony of ecstasy that sent shivers down my spine. I retrieved the ends of the towel that passed across the front side of her pelvis and gently pulled her into my groin.

More moans and sighs escaped her lips. “I want it all.”

I thrust myself into her, and the sound of my balls slapping against her body echoed through the room. Like a kernel of corn, that word burst forth from her mouth, not a scream yet, but a hoarse whisper – pure, clean, and undeniably passionate. It was the essence of our connection, a testament to the depth of our desire. I pulled on the towel, drilling deep, and felt the intense pressure as I ground the head of my erection against the far walls of her garden. Perhaps she felt the vibrations, those walls clamped down on my rod, like a vice, delaying the inevitable release.

I relaxed, slowly withdrawing, savoring the lingering kiss of her vaginal lips as the base of my head spread them apart. A pause. Without warning, I thrust in again, pulling on the towel to push in as far as possible. Pull back, thrust. I popped into her garden, and that word, raw and guttural, burst from her lips. Pull back, thrust. My own primal noises erupted from within, a desperate plea for release. With each thrust, a battle raged in my mind – cum or not cum? There was still so much to explore. Now. Not yet. Now. Not yet.

Now. I exploded. I watered her garden. The scream.

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