...She is finally yours.
Well. If we are being truthful here, she's been yours for some time now - years, really. In the aftermath of a great struggle to escape a land ruined by gun violence and economic turmoil, once again crossing the vast gulf of space and water to her homeland, you'd shed sweat and bled to establish yourself as something more than just...a burden. Lured indelibly to her as a dragonfly to a butterfly's stained-glass wings. early on you'd come to understand that the source of your happiness lay in the seat of her soul, broadcasting outward from her as a grand, reverberating signal. Calling to you, seeking you, until the day had come.
For two years you'd sweltered in her jungle-dense country, shining that same light on secrets and fears you'd hidden from your family and closest friends. You'd placed a band of gold around her finger and added yet another name to hers, so long and complex compared to the disyllabic curtness of your own. Like a farmer who'd sweltered through cruel summers tearing up stumps and restoring a land once fallow, the flowers of your joy had colored your existence a thousand bright shades of blue and gold, and the glorious moon of your happiness hung forever in the sky - You'd never known this kind of joy, because you'd never dreamed of marrying your best friend.
You, being a firm believer in the power of ritual, had established a few in the course of your years together - one of them being, of course, a raucous celebration of the New Year in Chicago. The institution you worked for provided a generous travel stipend and, eager as she'd been to see snow and cold in all its proud, terrible glory, you'd brought her with all pomp and presentation her to America's City. An old friend with the same first name as you had let you stay in one of his (wealthy girlfriend's) apartments, situated near Logan Square.
The first night you'd celebrated with all of your friends - they'd known her for a few years now, and she fit in perfectly amidst them. Your trail of revelry led you from the Milwaukee Brewery to the Spiderhouse Arcade; from Jezebel's to the Magic Kebabery and finally back to your buddy's apartment to tear her clothes off, carry her laughing, winsome form to bed, and thrust her into the mattress to the rhythm of her breathy moans.
That, too, had been one of your rituals - daily sexual intercourse, ensuring that she was carrying your seed to warm her through the cold, and God forbid you missed a day? Simple enough - you made up for it, for she was just as voracious and hungry for you as you were for her.
Sex with her was
always
an exciting prospect. She loved how the curved, girthy haft of your cock opened her, how you unlocked the plush rosy gateway of her ecstasy with gentle skill, stoked her flame with your lips, fingers and touch all over her lush, athletic body and in turn she grew beaded and juicy with arousal like a bell-flower at dawn.
She loved the way you fucked her hard enough to slam the headboard against the wall when she was ready, rocking the bed and darkening the sheets with her gushing excitement, and you
adored
the way she pampered you.
Her skilled, soft lips and fingers climbing up the curve of your cock, kissing with breeze softness against your glans before swallowing you...her body, molded perfectly against yours, praising your skill, her fingers climbing up your arms, over the crags of your muscles with appreciation...the way she squeezed and tightened her satin-soft caress around the curve of your cock, entreating you in a beautiful voice to flood her pussy with the pearlescent heat of your orgasm.
It was a ritual you repeated twice that night until you passed out to the sound of Chicago's heartbeat; she spooned you to sleep, whispering her love for you.
The next day, you rose to the pale chill of dawn, brewing her coffee
just
the way she liked it. You'd brought a box of pancake mix with lingenberries and turkey sausage you could both enjoy, and when she was warm and full, you bundled her in her robe and coat and tugged her to the balcony to look outside at the snowfall. It limned the broad, tall buildings all around you with crystalline white frost, washing the gray with bright, clean white. A secret post-Christmas gift, you presented to her a fancy, long woolen coat - terribly dignified and urbane - revealing it hanging from the bedroom door when you both emerged from the shower. Its faux-fur lined collar graced her svelte shoulders like a queen's, complete with a hood to grace her classically beautiful face, twin rows of bone-white buttons riding up her torso and a belt in the middle.
This was, after all, her first time in the Land of Cold, and she hadn't exactly dressed for the Great Lakes in Winter.
The two of you were undeniably attractive and knew it...you'd known for years and you delighted in showing her off as you took her to a New Year's show down at Navy Pier. You paraded her on your arm as you walked into your favorite Chinatown noodle joint. You strode proudly at her side down State Street through the snow to show her all the looming, black basalt and glass monoliths, hissing your mutual disdain for the piratical rentiers who owned them.
One of the things you loved the most about your relationship with this remarkable, foreign woman was your mutual gaming hobby...and you'd discussed what you were playing in advance. This match was made in heaven and sanctified in the realms of shared, epicurean sin; she danced on the same playful sexual wavelength as you, a perfectly synchronized tango of sexual passion.
Your experiences had been singularly fun and kinky, and like you she has a penchant for...enjoying others' attention and lust. She had the confidence of a woman who
knows
she is gorgeous and enjoys being acknowledged as such. You love flattering her, and to be frank, you loved the way others gaze at her with desire - she'd never choose them over you anyway...though you'd certainly shared them between each other.
There was the time in Belgium with that dapper, handsome chap from Kenya. He'd been so handsomely dressed in his suit and tie and
you and he had so skillfully pleased her as she lay upon her back, spread and open to the way you both touched, circled and slid your cocks into her peach-soft, swollen sex. Oh how she'd arched and writhed for you both, how she'd milked you with her lips, her tongue, her silken grasp as you took turns fucking her.
Then, back in her homeland - you'd spent a few hours at her favorite bar chatting happily with that gorgeous girl from Porto, the one with the curly dark hair and caramel skin;
she turned out to be just as dirty a talker in bed as out; your fingers had gripped the sheets as your wife slid her tongue skillfully up your shaft while your pretty friend swallowed down your glans. They'd luxuriated and polished your cock before you showed them your virility.
