The Ritual

It’s a drug; wrapping me in pleasure-awareness so intense I have no thought of myself.

I am music, I am swells of heat and savage, primal ecstasy.

My hands are digging into the trunk of the tree; unknowing, I am fighting the feminine restraints that hold me, freeing my legs to wrap them around his hips and pull him to me, urge him on. Fuck mehard! My God, I canfeel my cunt walls being pressed apart and slid over and into; I cry inarticulate sounds that increase as his swiftness does.

Hard!

His strength and passion are matchless; lifted by the ever-faster throb-throb-throb of the music, he is losing control, his head thrown back to the sky and his hips now pumping urgently.

I grip my legs around him, fight to free my arms, to wrap myself around his shoulders, kiss him, beg him to come…

With a thrilling of laughter under the music, they are still there, still holding me. I can feel them, too – hands upon us both. Struggling, I cannot, cannot—

In the midst of heat and passion. I feel a sudden kiss on my forehead. Like the sting of a birch switch, it’s hot; I feel it from my forehead to my nipples to my trembling clit – it brings me right to the breaking of the wave…

Yes..!

At the same moment, he looses a many-toned shout that chimes with the music about him, with the full-throated cry on my lips. I feel him shake, feel the wave of climax rise within him, feel the huge wash of release break over and through him.

His hips tense; small sharp thrusts as he comes hard in me.

Oh God…

And, I am coming too – unable to help myself, spilled over the crest of the wave by his relief. Head back, legs tight and back arched; I have lost control of my hips. I flex and shiver; his cock twitches as I tighten, pulse, around him.

Around us, the music tightens to its crescendo and falls away.

I am myself. Warm with afterglow and shuddering occasionally in reaction, I am just me. For the briefest of moments, he look down at me, lays one hand against my mortal cheek.

Then the music ends.

And he is gone.

In the cold night air, my back aching from the beech-trunk under me, I sit up.

I am alone.

And I think I am lost.