Mike, when faced by the necessity of the Rite, decided that it was going to be a date. The best date he could possibly manage. Of course, there was no real question how the evening was going to turn out, sexually. The girl in question was going to get laid, will she, nil she. So far it had always been “will she” but Mike was dreading the day that it was “nil she.”
Mike had been on a lot of dates in his time. And he’d been a “bad” date occasionally, but rarely in the last ten years or so. It was a social dance and had certain rules that had to be followed. There should be food of some sort, light if the evening was almost certain to include sex. There should be conversation, also light for the most part. Various “romantic” aspects had to be observed. And if the male wanted it to be a “good” date for the female, he had better get her to talk about herself for the most part and make sure she wasn’t playing serving girl the whole evening. If he wanted it to be good for the lady, he had to pay attention to her needs. And, generally, one of those needs was a day off from her “traditional” roles.
Women, even in modern societies, were traditionally viewed as the housekeepers. Especially so amongst the Keldara. Keldara males could barbeque but few could really cook. So, for the evening, Mike took over the cooking duties.
“You like Katrina the most,” Gretchen said.
Mike wasn’t going to look up to see what expression was on her face. He was busy trying to remember how to cook Shrimp St. Jaques.
One part of the Rite he was starting to have trouble with was the meal. He’d decided, early on, that every girl should have, at the least, her own “special” meal. But this was about his fifteenth “Rite” and he was starting to run out of easy dishes. His skills were mostly focused on the stovetop, stir fry and the various French equivalents. At this rate he was going to have to learn how to cook Lobster Thermidor or Chateau Briand.
“Actually, Gretchen,” Mike said, still not looking up as he started the pasta, “while I like Katrina, my physical tastes are somewhat elsewhere. If I was asked to describe my dream girl she’d be, oh, tall with long shapely legs, a firm stomach, good, high, firm breasts, a pretty face, blue eyes… ” then he looked up into hers and smiled, “and blonde hair.”
“Liar,” Gretchen said, shifting a bit in her seat and trying not to smile.
“Au contraire,” Mike said then considered for a moment. “On the contrary. That describes my dream girl. Well, she could be somewhat shorter and more rounded, that has its attractions. But the breasts, eyes and hair remain.”
“So I guess you like what you see?” Gretchen said, shifting again to lean sideways. She’d meant for it to be coquettish but one of her breasts damned near slipped out of the not particularly restraining dress and she straightened, pulling at the edges of the dress modestly.
“I like it very much,” Mike said, trying to give the impression he hadn’t seen as much of that lovely lovely breast as, in fact, he had.
“But that also describes Daria and Anastasia,” Gretchen pointed out.
“Neither of whom, my dear, were virgins when I met them,” Mike said, bluntly.
“What is it with men and virgins?” Gretchen asked, sharply.
“Do you really want to know or are you just finding something to be unhappy about?” Mike asked. He was busy getting the alfredo sauce ready but he looked up again, curiously. Gretchen was acting quite the handful and he wasn’t positive why.
“I’m sorry, Kildar,” Gretchen said, looking down. “I apologize.”
“Don’t,” Mike said, stirring in the parmesan cheese. “I’ve never been particularly happy about this… rite myself. As I’ve made plain many times.”
“You don’t like breaking in virgins?” Gretchen asked. “What, you don’t want to bed me? Didn’t you just say that I’m your ideal girl?”
“Yes, and I meant it,” Mike said. “But it’s supposed to be something the lady enjoys, not rape. And right now I’m getting the impression you’re less than happy. I think at me but I’m not sure.”
Gretchen looked away again and then sighed. Mike was trying very hard not to look at her body but the sigh was impossible to resist.
“Kiril is downstairs, isn’t he?”
“Oh, so that’s it… ”
Kiril closed his eyes as Anastasia ran her hands down his body.
She had turned up out of the darkness at the fire on the dun, as she had since the first Rite, and taken him up to the caravanserai.
Mike thought that both parties should be “aware” when they came to the marriage bed. As it was his job to please Gretchen and teach her what pleased men, it was Anastasia’s to do the same for her mate. Both were careful, however, to stay away from their actual interests which leaned, no hurled, in the direction of whips, chains and as much pain as possible. Mike to inflict, Anastasia to absorb.
“This is not the first time you’ve been with a woman,” Anastasia said, sitting down on the bed next to him.
“No,” Kiril admitted.
“So many lost their virginity on the Balkans trip,” Anastasia said, smiling. “Before that all of you were virgins. Since… ”
“So, you really don’t have to do this,” Kiril pointed out. “I mean, I’d love to, but… ”
“Do you think I don’t enjoy it?” Anastasia said, grinning. “For years in the harem all there was was Otayar and you don’t want me to describe what a thrill it was lying with an old fat man who cared only for his pleasure. But part of my purpose is to teach you how you can please your wife, not just to take your mind off of other things.”
“I really don’t need my mind taken off of that, actually,” Kiril said. “I’m probably more okay with the Kildar being with Gretchen than… anybody. Including, I know, the Kildar. I’m just saying, if you don’t want to… ”
“So thoughtful you are,” Anastasia said, running her hand down his body again. “But I do want to. It has a special thrill, yes?”
“I… yes,” Kiril replied as there was a knock on the door.
“Who in the… ” Anastasia said, her face reflecting fury as she stood up and walked to the door of the suite. Yanking it open she was confronted by the Kildar, holding an obviously embarassed Gretchen’s hand. Gretchen was pulling at her dress front, trying to cover more skin and looking anywhere but at the two people in the room.
“Kildar?” Anastasia, in English, raising one eyebrow. “I take it the Rite is going somewhat Wrong?”
“You are one of the few people I know that can change languages just to get in a pun,” Mike said, stepping passed her and closing the door, which was sound proofed. “Kiril! Come here!”
“Yes, sir!” the young man said, snapping to attention and practically marching over. He, too, was trying very hard to not look at his fiancee.
“Gretchen knows where my quarters are,” Mike said, putting Gretchen’s hand in his. “Get to it girl,” Mike added, slapping the girl on the butt.
“Kildar,” Gretchen said, pleading in her eyes.
“I like rape just fine, but I don’t do it,” Mike said, his face hard. “You two. Upstairs. That’s an order. I don’t care if you do anything or not, but if Kiril misses this opportunity, he’s over the line between hardcore and stupid. Nobody will know but the four of us.” Mike looked at the two of them, both wide-eyed and frozen, and sighed. “You’ll have to cook your own dinner.”