A sultry story, dripping with sub-textual metaphors on domination, control and resentment.
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This story is a work of fiction. It is not real. Nor what is contained condoned. This is the tale of control taken to an extreme degree. This work is dedicated to the writers and creators of Boston Legal, who also explored a similar theme.
Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s extremely vivid, and at time disturbing, imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Adult Theme – NO Adult Language
I’m not sure how it happened. On my daughter-in-law’s wedding night, I couldn’t help myself. The entire wedding party, nine bridesmaids and nine groomsmen, making twenty in all, was drunk and asleep. Bodies and faces covered in cake and icing. En masse, they were strewn about the room. It was difficult to tell where one person began and another ended. Nearly lifeless, except for the labored rise and fall of their chests, my eyes fell upon one.
So many times, I wondered what it would be like. The drunk induced slumber was not enough to keep the body from shifting just a bit. My spouse had been gone for more than a year, it must have been the loneliness and neglect, or so I rationalized. With only slight trepidation, I reached out and stroked the exposed arm. It trembled in response. My hand moved to the exposed collar bone – my mouth followed as it made its way to the exposed neck.
The cool touch caused raised ridges of skin.
The heat of my mouth soon provided warmth.
The dancing of my tongue sampled exertion induced salinity.
The object of my desire stirred. After a momentary pause, hands and mouth began exploring my body as well. In a moment’s time, we joined and became one. Of course, I was the dominant.
The moon’s light refracted through the windows. A distorted shadow projected on the wall. Intertwined, caught up in a fiery heat, no longer able to contain ourselves, muffled moans evolved into salacious screams. Some of the others, those not so intoxicated, roused from their inebriated slumber. It was not long before they joined our passion play.
The combined guttural grunts filled the room. Only one remained passed out. The many now joined the few, and bodies unfamiliar to one another allowed themselves to make momentary acquaintances. Hypnotized by our rhythmic motions, we all now moved as one.
Grunts morphed into a heavy metal, hard rock choir. The movements and sounds reverberated along the floor. My daughter-in-law finally woke. Jolted to soberness by the activity around her, she rubbed the drunkenness from her eyes, dragging blue, red and white icing across her vision.
A cacophony of color smeared her face.
A kaleidoscope distorted her view.
Still, she understood.
The message was crystal clear.
No words were exchanged.
None needed to be.
From where he came, he had returned. My son will be my son all of his life, it matters not that he took a wife.
Deep, soulful moans signaled his release.
A quake and shudder indicated mine.
We were again of one body.
My daughter-in-law unleashed a piercing scream. Unlike others that night, hers was not of ecstasy. I kissed my lover. He returned in kind. I’m unsure of what caused her to stay, but frozen in place, her eyes remained fixed upon the group.
The actions of the others only paused a moment. Enthralled and inspired by our amoral and sinful and most unholy act, the group having been swayed to The True Savior, Embraced The Wild. Their erotic wave commenced a new tidal motion. Sounds of pleasure echoed from person to person.
Once again, we joined the pulsing cadence of the group. And once again, our bodies flowed as one. As my head fell back, I caught her fall to her knees, but never did she take her water-filled, stunned gaze from our lust fueled tantric tango.
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