The Ritual

She comes to him in the still of the night. There is no sound except for the creaks and cracking of a house that can only come in total darkness. Without opening his eyes, he feels her lift the sheets and crawl in beside him, feeling her body snuggle up from behind. Her familiar feminine scent fills the air of the room, her pointed breasts with rock hard nipples now pressing into his back. He begins to lift his head and as per the nightly ritual, he holds still as she binds his eyes shut tight.

She rolls him over onto his back, raising his arms above his head, and slowly ties his hands to the headboard posts. She is straddling him, her body swaying above his. He can feel her soft tummy on his chest, her breasts scraping against his light beard as she makes sure he is secured. Her breath feels so damn good on his face as she kisses her way down, across his cheeks, barely touching his lips, his chin. She pushes his face upwards and sucks ever so gently on his neck, leaving little love bites as she works her way to his hard nipples.

He lets out an eerie groan as she tugs them with her teeth, making him emit a raspy shrill hiss through his clenched teeth. Not a word is spoken; it never is as she teasingly moves downwards licking his navel area until finally, she allows the tip of his hard penis to brush against her lips. His cock twitches, doing a small dance as she tries her best to tongue the dripping wetness, without using her hands to guide his swollen member. Finally the head pops into her mouth, allowing her cheeks to cave in around the shaft as she sucks tightly. Like a small vacuum she sucks every drop of pre-cum, swallowing it as if it was some rare wine.

He struggles, wanting to pull her tightly against him, to feel her whole body against his but she rebukes him, preferring to tease, taunt and tantalize him.

All too soon she pulls away from his rigid flesh and she crawls up his body. Using her hands on his shoulders, she pushes herself upright until she is straddling his waist, and agonizingly slow, she lowers herself onto him. Her wet pussy envelops his cock at a snail's pace, one inch at a time. She begins to rock her hips, using them as a pendulum to take him a bit deeper with every swing of her pelvis.

He wraps his fingers around the material that bind his hands and he uses them for momentum as he tries to match her stroke for stroke. He pushes his groin up, hoping that in some miraculous way; he can go so deep into her womb so that he becomes a part of her, a part of her soul.

As she rides him she leans forward, kissing him, their tongues doing battle, a dance. Her soft hair cascades around his face; he wishes he could see it, the colors and the shape, instead settling for the feel as it creates a web of sensuality around him.

As if fucking to some symphony, their bodies move in complete unison, a familiarity of a couple that had been making love for years, knowing what drove the other to the highest of heights.

She rides his cock as if she is riding in the Kentucky Derby, urging him on, bringing him to the finish line, a true champion. She grabs his nipples tugging them, making him fuck her harder, faster, and all too soon he feels himself shooting up into her sweet love hole, her pussy milking every drop of his hot thick cum.

She falls forward, collapsing on him as his cock twitches, releasing every miniscule bit of spunk for her.

As they lay there, their breathing returning to normal, he whispers in her ear how much he loves her, only to be shushed, her fingers covering his lips, the signal to just enjoy the moment.

He is sure he hears her softly crying, whimpering, and he feels his own tears start to form. She gives him the sweetest kiss a man could hope for, and almost like chloroform, he is off to dreamland.

When he awoke the next morning, the dream still so lifelike in his head, the tears returned as he thought back to the nightly ritual of the last month, the recurring dreams ever since his wife of 30 years passed away, knowing it was her coming to him as she promised she would.

He sadly turned over and his eyes opened wide. There was her lipstick on the pillow and red silk stockings still tied to the bedpost. Could it have been?