Popping Out

“Then delight yourself in my breasts. Be satisfied with them. Let your horn play among them. Water their flowers with your dew. Play in my garden. Tenderly caress the flower at the entrance to my garden’s playground. And when the earthquake comes and you feel my garden will swallow your horn, water it. When the moon comes up, I’ll writhe and grind on your horn again, as together we dance as one before the Creator of the Universe.”

The guard’s coming to attention alerted me that someone entered the room.

“Stop! I did not extend an invitation.”

“Stuff it, Haz.” I’d never heard that phrase before; it must be some provincial vernacular thing. Since she kept advancing in my direction, I understood it to mean she didn’t intend to listen to what I said. “The only extended scepter I’m interested in is the one between your legs.” Her body language communicated quite well what was on her mind.

I dismissed the guard.

My wife continued to walk toward me. Her costume, the sway of her hips, her left hand pulling at her right breast—there was no secret here. Her walk, the fire in her eyes, everything about her said, “I want to screw and be screwed.” The last piece of what little clothing she had been wearing dropped to the floor. After groping my crotch, she added, “Come.” The pun was intentional.

Memories from last night flooded through the head on my shoulders and the head at the tip of my rapidly growing erection. They were quite unlike the memories of our first meeting. In preparation for that, the finest hairdressers and makeup artists had wrought their magic upon her, and intoxicating perfume filled the room. She had been schooled in the proper comportment in my presence; her tutors carefully explained the finer details of what would be expected of her.

She trembled slightly when I removed her veil. Foolishly, I thought she feared her first time in my bed. She maintained her dignity, holding her head high but looking away from me as I circled her and admired her beauty. I removed more of her garments until her whole body was open to my eyes, except for a small piece of delicate fabric wrapped around her hips.

I had been told she was beautiful—an understatement. I was also told that she was her own person, not one to back down from her principles. That should have been caution enough. My pride and desire blinded me to the fact that those qualities also described my first wife. My foolishness had driven her away.

I reached out a hand to uncover her modesty.

She held up her hand to stop me. Her face was turned to one side, away from me.

“You understand I have the power and life and death over you,” I said.

She did not flinch. Turning slightly, her eyes bored into mine. “Not even my maid has seen me uncovered. Neither will you before you are my husband. My life is in my God’s hands, not yours.

“Do you care about what I want?”

 It’s obvious what you want.” She reached under my loincloth and closed her fingers on my sack. I was furious. Fortunately, some semblance of sanity took the upper hand; I was rather vulnerable to those fingers. “You will not uncover me to take a test drive. I am not a toy, only to be discarded in the morning or whenever a more charming tart catches your eye. I am not a bottle of fine wine, from which you will take only a few sips. I am a garden, filled with wonderful delights, but you will not romp through it and trample its delicate flowers. Once you enter, you will have no other.” The fingers tightened ever so slightly.

“You’re a bold woman. A bold, beautiful woman. I’ve made my choice and will make the necessary arrangements.”

“Very well.” Closing the distance between us, she whispered, “You will be delighted with my breasts. And, yes, it’s no secret what you like, and I’ve been taught well. You will not be disappointed when I take your shaft into my mouth.” 

A smile played on her lips. Her eyes twinkled like the stars and lit up her face, magnifying her beauty even more. The fingers released their prisoners. She wetted the tip of a thumb with my pre-cum, touched it to my lips, and then touched her own lips. “You will water my garden. Its fruit will not disappoint you.”

A few days later, I introduced her to my country as my wife and their queen. As promised, her breasts delighted me, as well as her oral and manual skills. My thoughts returned to the present.

“The evening breezes are stirring. There’s a gorgeous sunset. Do me on the roof while the stars watch.” The magnificent view of the winter capital could not compete with the view of my naked wife leaning against the low perimeter wall. Her feet were spread apart, and I could see that one hand was already exploring her garden. I pulled my erection up to rest on her ass and groped at her breasts.

“No foreplay. I’ve had foreplay all day thinking about your performance last night. Just screw me, now.”

I thrust myself in and pumped savagely several times. Her moans and cries were a soaring melody to my ears. “Last night, when your orgasm came, you screamed something.” I pulled out and humped her ass while reaching for her breasts again.

“I think it is one of the most beautiful words. It saddens me to know it’s used in such a profane manner. Almost sacred. A word that should be set apart, to be used exclusively in the context of a man and woman, bonded to each other for life and in love, as they experience each other in exclusive physical intimacy. “Do me,” “make love to me,” “let’s fool around,” “take me,” and whatever other euphemisms you might think of pale by comparison for the raw intensity of this word.

“‘Making love.’ Does that adequately describe what we were doing last night? When I was riding your cock? Yearning, reaching, grasping at a seemingly elusive something? Rotating my hips to extract the ultimate pleasure of your cock head grinding against my innermost being while planting my breasts in your face? Believe me; you’re not the only one that gets off when you suck them. Certainly, they are for your pleasure, but in giving, I also receive the rush that sends me over the edge. Or you, frantically trying to ram yourself even further into me, grabbing and pulling on my boobs to take my nipples into your mouth? By the way, I love it when your body goes rigid, your eyes glaze over, and your breathing stops. It gives me a rush to know that, in just a moment, I will experience the joy of having given you such pleasure.

“No other word comes close to expressing the thrill, the profoundness, the ecstasy, the feeling that your body is ripping itself apart. Some may invoke God’s name. Is grinding on my husband’s cock an act of worship? Perhaps; we can certainly bless Him for designing a man and a woman to enjoy each other in such an intimate way.”

“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 bathed my ears. I picked up 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. “I want it all.”

I rammed into her, and my balls made a slapping sound. Like a kernel of corn, that word popped out of her mouth. Not a scream yet, but a hoarse whisper. Pure. Clean. Celebrating the joy of physical union with her lover. I pulled on the towel, drilling deep, and felt slight twitches as I ground the head of my erection against the far walls of her garden. Perhaps she felt the twitches; those walls clamped on my rod, like a vice, and delayed the arrival of my release.

I relaxed, slowly pulling myself out, relishing the 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 popped out of her mouth. Pull back, thrust. My own raw, guttural noises welled up from within, craving release. With each thrust, a war waged in my brain. Cum. No, one more thrust; there’s more to explore. Now. Not yet. Now. Not yet.

Now. I exploded. I watered her garden.

The scream.