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Introduction The Romantic A Woman Worthy of Marriage

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A Woman Worthy of Marriage

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Warning! NSFW!

 

I'm poly, and my reasoning and philosophy on non-monogamy may seem to render marriage irrelevant, or at least, redundant. This is the furthest from the truth one could get. 

Marriage is sacred and not because of religious dogma or trivial societal standards. I'm polyamorous, not a polygamist. I can only be wed to one woman on principal. For me, getting married is symbolic. My spouse is an extension of myself. She is the standard to which others are held to, and not in the sense that she is placed on a pedestal.  We all have flaws, and she's no different. She's bratty, impulsive, a tad bit too emotional... but I love it. She wouldn't be herself otherwise.



The woman I married is the pinnacle of all experiences before. She got the best of me, the sum of my parts without the agony of helping build them. She didn't have to teach me how to have sex, nor did she have to endure the mindset of a man who thinks he's better than he actually is. She gets what those experiences have built over time, what those past partners have helped to build, and she is the only woman who has made me better during our time together, rather than after the dust has settled. She is my other half, and she's not something I could ever be without, for without her I am not whole. 

 

She is my queen, my idea of perfection in many ways. She is a standard that no one else needs to meet, even if they could.  I don't want them too. If they did, that partner wouldn't be who they are to me either.  

 

I met her online, as cheesy as it is. She complained about the cold and I offered to cuddle her and warm her up. She agreed to my surprise and off I went.  We got into bed, and she threw on a movie... you know what happened next? Cuddling... obviously, and nothing else. By god, I'm a gentleman.

It didn't matter how hard I tried to keep myself flaccid as I admired her curves. It didn't matter how her glasses gave her this sexy librarian look that still, 6 years later, gets me hard in ways I can't express. It would be another week before I got to enjoy her in bed. 



It's funny. We as a species point out so many of our connections with one another through firsts.  First kiss, first dance, first time in bed, and that last one is the most curious.  I have never had sex with someone the first time and it be fantastic.  It was awesome, sure, but it's also awkward, learning how another person works.  You don't know what's okay and what isn't. You don't know how flexible they are, or what they like and don't like. The good sex comes later.  

So let's get this started.  Lemme tell you a story that focuses on our experience as a whole.  It's not the first or the second. Hell, I can't remember most since it's been so many times.  

 

 

 

To find a goddess is no easy feat, much less to take her, but I'm a lucky man. I remove her black tank top and stare, awestruck at what sort of will could deem me worthy to call her mine. Her bra comes off next and I spin her around, bend her over so that her ass hangs in the air, poised and ready. I take off the yoga pants and boyshorts that hug her body so well. They slowly drift down her long legs in a crawl that seems to go on forever for both of us. I spank her, and she lets out a cry of pain and pleasure.

 

She has these brownish eyes with flecks of gold that can spark green if you make her smile. Her skin is a beautiful kind of pale, littered with a constellation of freckles all over her body. My hands and fingers trace them slowly, not to tease, but to enjoy and to explore something I already know perfectly and find it's like the first time all over again.  I could trace them for hours in search of whatever secrets lie buried in the skin, in search of the X that marks the spot.  I do so with such religious zeal, reading her skin like gospel, searching for the answers to life's greatest questions, she was the answer... she's always the answer. 



She has several tattoos, each perfectly placed like landmarks on a journey I could take a million times, and still not be tired of. What sights to see in these fields, surrounded by words, and the images of lilies, bears, and galaxies. One could travel the world and more on such delicate terrain, smooth like porceline.

 

 Her back curves in a way that would make any man weak. Her wider hips sway as she walks, and they call to be touched, sometimes tenderly, sometimes with force. Her hair is long, red or brown depending on if she dyes it.  Regardless, there is a special feeling when my fingers get tangled and weave through it.

 My hand reaches her face and I notice her lips, warm and inviting, as are the words that spring forth from them. In moments of sexual tension such as this, the tune brings a lust that becomes uncontrollable. As she moans my name and whispers her desires in my ear I melt. My thumb brushes across her lips, and she opens her mouth on cue, sliding my thumb in and slowly pulling her head back with an intense stare as my thumb eases its way out.    



Her large breasts are soft, flawless, and always responsive to touch.  She arches her back, giving a light moan, enjoying the attention as my hands gently start kneading, massaging them as I pull her close, my lips meeting hers. She wraps her arms around my neck. My hands react, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her in tighter.  We exchange a deep kiss that lasts longer and longer the more I remember it. She tries to bite my lip, but I'm quicker, pulling back and then forward to bite hers. 

 

She moans loudly and when I release she relishes the sensation with a smile on her face.  Her eyes remain fixed on mine as she reached down to the groin of my jeans, lightly rubbing it to entice me further, like an invitation to release what lies beneath.  I reach up and grab her by the hair, forcing her head to the side. I kiss her neck as she unbuttons my jeans. I remove them and her hand is back, rubbing the bulge with a longing in her eyes. 

 

I grab her wrist, and guide it under the band of my boxers. She feels my cock, grabbing it and stroking it as I bite her neck. I kiss her clavicle and slowly make my descent. I cup her breasts and my lips reach her nipple, my tongue feeling around them as her knees buckle slightly at the sensation. I break away, kissing her sides and stomach and then her hips as I slowly drop to my knees.

My hands creep down her side and her legs and I hear her broken breath. I look up at her and catch her biting her lip, her eyes closed and her hands wrapped in her hair. 

 

A goddess belongs to no man, yet, somehow she submits, and opens to me. She alllows me to claim what is mine. I push her back. She falls on the bed, looking up to me and opening her legs. I dive in, bowing my head like a man in prayer at an altar. My tongue goes to work on her, tracing intricate spirals on and around her clit. I trace down and back up, entering her just so before retreating to continue the dance again. It was a form of communication she'd never be able to hear. My tongue speaks for me, writing love letters i'd never have the courage to speak out loud.

She understands every word, letting out cries and groans of passion in response. She places her hand on the back of my head, gripping my short hair as best as she can between her fingers.  She then pulls me in, as if I could be any closer to such a special place.  She grabs my face and brings me to her lips.  



We exchange a kiss, and she tastes herself on my tongue.  She feels my cock between her legs, teasing her merely by its presence as it moves against her. She looks into my eyes and tells me to fuck her. I look back and say, "No." 

 

 

 

 

She pleads with me, begging to feel me inside her, to touch her, to feel how wet she is and how wet only I can make her.  I shake my head.  

She gives a frustrated growl and the want in her eyes, no, the need in her eyes brings the urge to give in, and indulge her desires. I refuse to give in. She reaches down and wraps her fingers around me. I take her hand with mine and pin it above her head. She uses the other and gently rubs her clit and I pin that hand, as well. She looks up and smiles at my reaction to such misbehavior. 

 

She writhes and moans, aching to have me. I lift my hands, and she immediately tries to touch me. I grab them and she tries to wiggle free. I pin them both over her head, forcefully, and she lets out a content sigh in defeat.  

 

I smile. "No." 

 

She nods in agreement, even tries to say sorry to me, but can't get the word out through the desperate breath and broken speech.  She lays there, obediently. She waits, still twisting her body in a way that accentuates every curve. I admire the sight as she stares at what she can't have until I give it. I raise her legs and wrap them around me. My cock positioned just right in a matter of moments due to years of experience. I push into her with less than an inch. The speed was painfully slow as every collision of nerves flared for both her and me.  I smile, pulling out and repeating the action, teasing her as she begged for more.  



Finally I thrust forward,  every inch pushing in. She gave a sigh of relief, a sigh of pleasure. Pulling me in with her legs crossed at my back to feel me as deep as she possibly could.  I move in all directions to allow us to feel one another from all possible angles. I thrust and pull back in short bursts, and her eyes light up as she pulls me down for a kiss. I find a rhythm, the sudden rush of being filled as I thrust makes her close her eyes and lose herself in the moment.  Her moans ring in my ears, cheering me on.



I relish the words that escape her lips. No matter how cliche they may be. the way she says them, coupled with the many terms of endearment that pop up in such a tense state of mind. "Baby," she exclaimed, "yes, oh god."

 

She cums, raising her hips as if to escape the constant barrage of sensations. Her muscles tense, pushing her breasts together as she grips my arms, holding me up above her.  Her nails dig in as she grows silent, her body frozen in a still frame of pure bliss.

I feel her tighten within and the moment passes. I try to continue my thrusts, but her jerks and shudders tell me to give her a minute. I pull out, and lay next to her. I hold her as the nerves calm themselves down. She shivers at my touch and lets out soft moans as I bring her close. She pushes into me, grinding her hips. Our lips meet and exchange a long, deep, and passionate kiss. 

She shifts herself on top, desperate to never leave my lips.  She lowers onto me with ease, gently lifting and rotates her hips. I slide in and out with each rise and fall. She suddenly lifts up, sitting fully on my cock and taking in every inch. 



At this moment, with her body in full view, it's hard to restrain the cheesy things I want to say.  She starts grinding against me, reaching up and pulling her own hair. I want to tell her how beautiful she is and how much I love her. I want to tell her how amazing she is, how happy I am to be hers and how happy I am that she's mine.  I don't though. This isn't the time, I'd think, it would be weird. Even after years of being together, I'm still afraid to say it. Even if I tried to I doubt I could. I don't know if I could even speak, awestruck by the sight and feeling.  

 

I grab her by the hips, pushing and pulling as I match her rhythm. The sudden rush causes her to lean forward, placing her hands firmly on my chest. The way she works her hips and at such speed bears me closer and closer to the edge. She gasps and moans as I stare in wonder.

She cries out, somehow always aware of how close I am, "Cum for me." It's the sweetest song a woman could sing. It's strange: even after so long it still seems like I need to hear those words to finish. She is a goddess in my eyes, and I still need permission. 

 

I tell her I'm going to cum. She cries out, partly out of lust, desire, but also joy. I don't why I resist. I hold it in as much as I can. I try to warn her to jump off, and to this day, she refuses. She never will.

I finish hard, and she cries out at the feeling, refusing to stop until I go limp. I lay there, baffled as she looks down at me, relishing the feeling of ne within her for just a moment longer. Sometimes it's a smile I see.  Sometimes it's a look of satisfied exhaustion. No matter what, it a lovely sight.

In those moments I find peace and comfort. I lose myself within her. That's why she's my wife. I didn't choose her, or settle for her. There was no choice. There was never an option. I strive to perfect myself as her husband, for I know I will never find this again.

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