The Ritual (An original short story)

I mentioned in yesterday’s Lughnasadh post that I’d been writing again. Specifically that I’d written based off of a #MissMuseMe prompt. Here is the short story that came from it, along with the picture that inspired it. I began it on Monday, and just finished it a few moments ago. It is an erotic story, though probably only a hard PG-13… consider yourself warned. 


Naked but for the tingling blush of anticipation upon her cheeks, Lyndsey perched upon the edge of the bed and waited. She could hear the running of the bath water gurgling just beneath the patient hum of Jonah’s deep voice. Lyndsey crossed her hands in her naked lap, wondering what would come next. She’d never allowed herself to be so exposed before.

Always before, there had to be the ritual unclothing, slowly tempting him, whichever “him” it was for the evening, driving him to the brink of madness until he could contain his lust no longer and would rip the clothing from her body to expose her flesh. These men for whom she performed the ritual were always staring not at her, but at her body, and many of them could never have told you the color of her eyes by the following morning.

Not this man.

She had attempted the ritual. Pretending to be tipsier than she was, she pushed him to the bed and stood up, removing the purely decorative belt with a single flip of her wrist to undo the clasp. He sat up, startled by the clang of the buckle on his expensive hard wood floors, and his eyes looked down long enough to see no damage had been done, and then he watched. He watched as she unbuttoned every single button of her shirt dress, 16 buttons total. He watched as she turned her back to him, eyes seductively leering over her shoulder, and slid the dress down ever so slowly, exposing just a hint of her lavender bra straps. He watched as she spun around and flashed the silky lavender fabric, exposing the perkiness of her nipples beneath. He watched as the dress fell to the ground to expose the matching set of lavender panties, complete with a little lavender bow.

As she began to undo the bra from the back, Lyndsey froze. Something was different this time; the ritual felt wrong somehow. By now, the other men would have been on their feet, eyes glued to her breasts or the fabric hiding what they really wanted between her thighs. They would have been clawing at the clasp behind her back while sloppily kissing her, sometimes on the mouth, and sometimes forgoing the formality of feigned interest in her as a person and simply licking and gnawing at her nipples through the fabric.

Jonah, however, had maintained eye contact with her at every possible step of the ritual. His eyes never dropped below the tip of her nose, and she felt for the first time in many years, the butterflies stir in the pit of her stomach.

Jonah smiled at her hesitation.

“Please,” he said, “continue,” his voice as steady as if he hadn’t had a single drop to drink, though they’d managed to empty his bottle of cinnamon whiskey, with him drinking the lion’s share.

Lyndsey found she could not continue as he’d asked. Her fingers now numb, she couldn’t feel the clasp of her bra anymore. She shook her head before it fell forward of its own accord to stare at the floor. The floor beneath her blurred as her hands dropped to her sides, and began shaking slightly.

In less than two steps, Jonah was there with one arm around her, not clawing at the clasps confining her breasts, but pressed lightly at the small of her back. With the other hand, he tilted her head up towards his face. His warm, cinnamon scented breath tickled her nose, bringing a smile to her lips. The crinkling of her eyes in genuine happiness caused the tears to slide down her cheeks.

He kissed her then, his lips pressed fiercely against hers with a new kind of hunger she had not experienced before. There was no hesitation, no questioning in that kiss, only desire, and yet she could sense the respect he held for her in the way he gently pressed their bodies together so she could feel his warmth but was not forced into rubbing against the hard member between his legs.

After what seemed like an eternity in that embrace, Lyndsey slid her tongue between his lips and leaned into him, giving him the permission he had not asked for. Then and only then did he reach his hand up to unclasp her bra with a simple snap of his fingers.

Without breaking their kiss, she pulled her arms through the straps and let the bra drop to the floor. His shirt felt stiff and scratchy on her nipples as he pulled her closer again. She could feel the passion begin to rumble in his chest, a near growl of desire while his breathing began to quicken.

She pushed onto her tiptoes to press their bodies even closer together, her own desire warming her from the inside out and causing a moan to escape her lips as she pulled away to look him in the eye.

“I want you,” she whispered. Then, without losing eye contact she shimmied her way out of the lacy, lavender panties, leaving them tangled on the floor with their mate.

For the first time since they had begun their evening, he looked her up and down, his eyes lingering over every inch of her naked body as if he could see through to the very core of her.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, as he grabbed her hand and guided her the few steps to the bed. “Sit here while I prepare a bath. I want to worship you the way you deserve.”

And so there she sat, naked and waiting while a few yards away she could hear the rumble and gurgle of the running water just beneath Jonah’s deep voice humming a tune Lyndsey thought she knew. She sat there naked and exhilarated at the idea of what was about to happen. She sat there, perched on the edge of the bed, with her hands in her lap feeling happy for the first time in ages.

About Elizabeth

First and foremost I am a teacher. What I teach is a blend of grammatical art, literary love, and a smidge of spiritual awareness. My blog tries to combine the best of all three over a cup of tea.

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