The Dom Surprise Valentine

A woman plans a surprise Valentine's Day celebration for herself, including buying a dress, lingerie, and perfume. Unexpectedly, a man asks her to join him for dinner and a sleepover. They go to a fancy restaurant, enjoy a delicious meal, and have a great time together. They return to his home for a massage, but their passion takes over and they end up skipping the massage. February 20, 23. The Dome. My surprise Valentine's. It is in January when I felt the pressure of Valentine's looming ahead of me. It would be my third Valentine's as a single woman. To grow, practice self-love, and celebrate my independent womanhood, I made a reservation for the Friday before Valentine's, purchased a crimson dress for the occasion, accessorized it with my favorite pair of velvet red platform heels, complete with lace trim. I treated myself to a surprise Valentine's gift and purchased three small vials of my favorite signature perfumes. I'd run out years ago and never took the time to reorder. I went one step further with my self-love by purchasing a stunning, voluptuous red three-piece lingerie set, complete with garter belts and thigh bands. I was sure no one would see its exquisite beauty, but my inner goddess was most insistently biased. Friday arrived, and only two hours remained in my shift when my phone chirped. To my surprise, he was curious whether I would join him for dinner and a sleepover that night. My mouth dropped open, and I sat in my seat like a codfish. Our 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. sex marathon was already scheduled for the next day, Saturday. He was upping the timetable, plus we'd never shared a night. I felt briefly torn. I had rather been looking forward to dressing up, and the menu at my chosen restaurant had me drooling and fantasizing about the entrees. He eagerly agreed to join me for dinner, and even noting that he was willing to wear a suit and tie for the occasion. You cannot imagine my joy and delight at this change in arrangement. I could not have been more tickled. While I was proud of myself for arranging a self-date, nothing heightens a meal more than being able to experience it with a kindred spirit. I dashed home to prepare. I had expected to have Saturday morning for all my womanly preparations. Esther of the Bible had taken a whole year to prepare for her king, but I only had 45 minutes to prepare for my don. I finished a shave, touched up my makeup, and shimmied into the complicated strap of the voluptuous lingerie before sliding my crimson cocktail gown over my head. My overnight backpack, I dashed out the door to his home in only 48 minutes. Bradley was delighted to greet me at the door, his tail wagging in circles at my affectionate attention. Once more, this demigod took my breath away in his fitted black suit, black tie, and crisp white shirt. I was eager for him to unwrap me, but this was not the moment. Heaven knows we would never make it to dinner if he knew the straps intertwining my body. My reveal would come later, and my amethyst coat with its ivory pashmina scarf remained tightly cinched around my narrow waist. He found a close parking spot, and we made our way inside. It smelled divine. For example, I absolutely reveled in his gaze when I slowly unbuttoned my coat, allowing it to slide down my shoulders to reveal my ruffled gown beneath. I pretended not to notice the way his gaze traveled down my body, riveted by the crimson material clinging to my hips and accentuating every rounded curve. His quiet growl about how he would enjoy undressing my body brought a fierce heat to my cheeks. Yet, when I stepped away from the table, I purposely swished my hips, his gaze was following my every step as I made my way across the elegant restaurant. And her goddess was dying in anticipation. I believed the treatment of the waitstaff reflects one's character, and this demigod truly stands out. His quick smile and jovial conversation made me proud to be seated across from him. His effortless conversation brought a smile to the young woman's face, her eyes lit up as he asked her about her day and suggested from the menu. I felt a little guilty. Hestia's is a rather posh establishment, and this high standard was undoubtedly reflected in the service and delectable food. While seemingly at perfect ease with his surroundings, I know this type of setting is not his usual choice. Nevertheless, I appreciated how he humored my need for a formal outing. When flustered, he handled dinner gracefully, even as our entire flatware was unnecessarily replaced between each course. I made a mental note for a more laid-back experience for our next dinner. Dining with him is always a great pleasure. Whether we are enjoying Taco Cabana or Hestia's, we share a similar palate and tend to order and share our entrees. He listens and is eager to make suggestions, but is also comfortable deciding between enticing options when I am indecisive. He chose a bottle of Zinfandel for the evening, and to our delight, we discovered it to be some of the best wine either of us had enjoyed in a long time. I could tell from the tiredness behind his eyes and how he stretched his head from side to side every now and then, he was carrying a great deal of stress. Our conversation revealed he had indeed experienced a long and draining week. Hours on the phone and meetings undoubtedly taking their toll on him. Several times, he tried to apologize for not being up to par, which I quickly hushed. There were no expectations for the evening, and I was genuinely delighted to share this experience and be in his company. He did not chide me for taking pictures of the food, and our conversation flowed as we ate, stunned by the incredible flavors bursting with every bite. I usually play it safe when ordering, afraid I will request something not to my taste and later regret the expense of the subpar meal. His choices tonight could not have been more on point. My adventurous side was delighted with every item our waitress laid before us. A beet appetizer arrived, a small dish with a deep burgundy cream swirled on the bottom of the plate, topped with some type of dried fruit and caramelized nuts with sprigs of red-tipped lettuce in it. The word fall is the only way I can describe this incredible and unusual dish. It tasted of warm fall earth and cool air. A rich harvest and cranberries came to mind. I loved watching his eyes roll back with every heavenly bite. It warmed my heart to see his body begin to relax as the meal progressed. We stepped our wines to in courses, and the twinkling lights of the city around us created a special magic all its own. For three hours we were captivated by every bite and laughed at each other's reactions. I was delighted when we ordered dessert. Again, Hestia's boil our minds and taste buds. Dark cherry ice cream hidden within a tower of finely shaved ice was drizzled in some type of sweet cream and flecks of gold leaf left us in food nirvana. Satisfied, happy, and relaxed, we returned to his home. The city lights whisked around us like berries bent on a mission known only to them. Unknown to him, my Valentine's gift was a full-body massage. Drawing on my two years of experience as a massage therapist and noting the relaxation he had experienced from previous mini-massages, I knew this would be a welcome release for his tight muscles. While he bed Bradley, I positioned myself on the edge of his bed, attempting to open the new bottle of massage gel I had expressly purchased for him. The candles were lit, and the sensual tones of the R&B had my inner goddess eager to spend the next hour touching every inch of his beautiful skin. We walked into the room, a powerful force, each step purposeful. A tiny grin played at the corner of my mouth, but I didn't meet his gaze, focused on unwrapping the gel. I expected him to be tired and a bit full from our memorable meal. I intended to be in charge for the next hour giving a slow, sensual massage. At some point, I would remove my dress so that when he opened his eyes, I would be leaning over him, wrapped in the trappings of my crimson lingerie. His hands were on me, causing me to jump at the suddenness. The bottle slipping from my startled hands and landing on the nightstand. He crushed me to his chest and kissed me, his hands bunching the fabric of my chest and his hands. God, how he makes me melt. I remembered the plan, his gift. I pulled back and asked if he was ready for his massage. I'm ready for something, but it's definitely not a massage. His voice was firm, and I heard his need resonating in his voice. With a twist of our bodies, he sat back on the bed, pulling me on top of him, his tongue burrowing deep into my mouth and my knees on either side of his lap. I crisscrossed my arms, gathering the hem of my dress in my fingers. I began to lift the material high, ever so slowly, all the while undulating my hips. I worked the folds up over my belly, above my diaphragm, and over my breasts, revealing the scarlet garter, ribbon, and finally revealing the crisscross bondage of my bralette. My breasts bulged in their confines. His growl, his hands digging into the flesh of my thighs with everything I needed, and my toes curled inside my heels. I tossed the dress aside and leaned in for a kiss, my silky breasts brushing his naked chest. I briefly wondered when he had removed his clothing and where he had put them. But my inner goddess quickly hushed me. We had more important things to focus on. He started to unclasp my bra. No, no, I asserted. You haven't seen the whole effect, and I'm giving you a massage first. I was steadfast in my plan. I knew he was tired, and I was determined to be in charge this round. Goddamn woman, I've seen enough, and I will have you now. With the flick of his thumb, my bralette cascaded down my shoulders. My nipples were already swollen and eager for his touch, betraying my excitement and need. We kissed some more, eager and frantic kisses. My warm body wrapped in his powerful embrace, my arms on his shoulders, my hands on the back of his head, urging him deeper. I surrendered. There would be no massage tonight. Reaching behind me, he impatiently started to fiddle with my garter. But the class proved tricky, and because my grand plans were being foiled, I was not inclined to be especially helpful. My inner goddess was feeling especially saucy. We would make him work for us. Just a little. Growling and frustrated, he uttered, This won't do. He rolled me onto my back, kneeling over me. Bending my knee against his chest, he attempted to unbutton the connecting garter ribbon to the thigh band. I lay back, loving my body, relishing in his presence. My inner goddess thoroughly enjoyed his fuss over our trappings. But at last I relented and assisted. There I was, naked in his bed, while his body dominated my tiny frame. I moved seductively in time to the music, inviting the pale light to dance with me. I allowed my inner goddess control, and through her, I felt celestial. He moved between my legs, his fingers running from my knees down to my inner thighs, across the top of my knees, and back down my hips. My inner goddess felt like a queen when he knelt and spread my legs, lowering his head and inhaling. Orgasms one through four were gifts from his mouth. His hands sank deep into the flesh of my inner thighs as he furiously worked his tongue. My hands were torn between wanting to pull his face deeper into the folds of my goddess and holding on to the scrolling ironwork of his headboard. My back arched at the exquisite force of my pleasure. My last orgasm had been far too long ago, and my body made sure I knew it. Now that is my favorite dessert, he said, briefly lifting his head from between my legs. My hands dropped from the headboard, and his thick tongue slowly lapped at my nectar. When his fingers replaced his tongue, I knew how much I would be coming next. I panicked. Not yet, not yet, I shouted. We need a towel, or I'll soak the bed again. It would be worth it, he countered, but rose from the bed. Not when I have you exhausted and you want to sleep, but we have to change the sheets, I teasingly retorted. Once the waterproof towel was in place, he reinserted his fingers to the pods. Now may I continue, he teased me. Please, please, I begged. And so it all began, my juices flowing like a torrent as his fingers pumped mercifully. The exquisite way he played with my cheese froth brought orgasms five through eight racing through me. I tapped his leg to catch my breath and yearned to take him in my mouth. I maneuvered so his fingers remained, but I encased his hard and erect glory in my mouth. He continued to play with my pearl and stroke my goddess. I loved eliciting a moan deep in his chest as my wet tongue licked his girth. In my reclined position, I struggled to take him deep into my throat, but made up for it as I sucked and stroked him with my left hand. Not ready for his turn, his fingers quickened, and he soon brought me to orgasm again. I felt my hot liquid spread beneath my hips, and I breathed a sigh of relief, but he'd grabbed the towel. No sleeping in the wet spot tonight. His fingers were still teasing and playing with me, my body shuddered as I returned to earth. He reached across my body and tore the foil. You ready? It wasn't really a question. Maybe, I suppose, if you must, I answered. My inner goddess clapped my knees tightly together. She was not going to make this easy on him. Humorously, I turned in mere horror at my smirking inner goddess and her outrageously bold words and actions. His face looked grim, and he forcefully pushed my legs apart. My inner goddess ignored me entirely and squealed in unfettered anticipation. While I had been stretched and lubricated from my previous orgasm, the force of his entry still caused pain. Not cruel pain, yet it radiated through my pelvis. My inner goddess was entirely unconcerned and screamed for more as the forceful build of my orgasm quickly replaced the agony. His hips moved like the side rod of a locomotive, back and forth, back and forth, formidable and unstoppable. How to describe the experience of the exquisite and forceful pleasure that followed? Never content to leave me in one position too long, my bent legs would rest on either side of his hips, gripping him between my knees, only to have him lift my feet to his chest and my toes digging into the muscles of his chest as my orgasms raged. Now my legs were on either side of his head. Peeks between orgasms, his jaw was tense as his stress momentarily slowed, and I watched my garnet toes dance just behind his ears. Finally, he pushed my feet up, with my knees bent to my chest. I began to whisper gratitude for all the happy baby yoga poses, but my mind was snatched from me as he picked up speed. My orgasms unfurled through me, the next one more delicious than the last with each changing position. I was indeed in awe when he pressed my legs all the way back above my head to the headboard, and I realized that my toes were gripping the iron filigree alone with my fingers. I was utterly at his mercy, and at that moment, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. With bestial ferocity, he rode me over and over. His arms were on either side of my body, supporting his frame. I opened my eyes and traced up his arms with my fingertips, his muscles and veins bulging at his severe exertion. Up across his broad shoulders, my nails dragged down his chest. He threw his head back at my sadistic ministrations, loving the sinful pleasure. I close my eyes and feel him lowering his body over mine. I can feel the heat of his body rushing over me. He bites my ear in retaliation, causing me to win, but he quickly covers my whine with a kiss that bruises my lips. His nails imprint on either side of my hips, his braving harsh and fast on my cheek. His hands are on my throat. My breath restricts, but my body relaxed. Finally experiencing the release, my mind had been in such desperate need to share. My inner goddess floated above my body. We were free. There was no rush tonight, no need to reserve my strength for a long drive home. Tonight, I could genuinely and utterly give myself over to him. He released me, and I returned to my mortal form. Hands slap my breast. One, two, three slaps, each a little harsher than the last. His right hand clutches my left breast, weaving and making me gasp as he continues to pale inside me. His lips take my breast in his mouth as he sucks, drawing more and more of my breast into his mouth. Finally, he pulled back, taking my nipple between his teeth, and just before I tapped him to stop, he released my perked nipple and soothed the pain away with his calloused thumb. He pulls out of me. My entire body goes limp, allowing me to sink into the bedsheet. He stands beside the bed. His fingers tease my pearl for just a moment before they slide inside, tempting me by surprise and making me come over and over and over again on his fingers. They scream my pleasure. I feel my nectar splashing up my hips, my abdomen, and my breasts. I pulled him close and took him in my mouth. My tongue tingles with the lubricant, but I barely notice. He straddles the bed, left knee resting on the bed, while standing on his right leg next to the mattress. I glance in the wardrobe mirror. His body strong as an oak, and I worship his outline. I suck, slurp, and moan, my orgasm still rippling through my body as his fingers move within me. As my orgasms fade, he takes himself in his hand and strokes in a frenzied manner. I cover his loins with kisses and licks while his left hand clutches and pinches my breast. He's close. I can feel it. He grooms above me. Come for me, I order, and he instantly explodes across my skin, yelling savagely as his orgasm claims every cell of his being. His movements slow. Weak and exhausted, I pull him onto the bed beside me and push the soaked waterproof towel to the side. The relief at not having to go home is unexplainable after so many orgasms. I feel his entire body begin to relax, first in his toes, then slowly creeping up his calves, and finally his chest. His breathing evens, and he pulls the blanket across our bodies. You okay? I barely whisper to him. It is well past midnight, and I am already half asleep. We are full, happy, and highly sated. At last, I fall asleep, listening to the gentle rhythm of his breathing. I'm lying on my right side, lost in my dreams when I am stirred to consciousness. The room is dark, the streetlights lamp barely filtering in. I feel his hand on my breast, his heavy breath in my ear, and his hips undulating against me. I feel the animal within him stirring. As the little spoon, I know what is coming next, and my glee is uncontainable. This is not morning sex. This is morning taken. I am still on my side when he bites my ear. His fingers bury themselves into my goddess. I am already wet and ready for him. I come on his fingers once, twice, three times. He is purcelessful and in absolute control. My inner goddess pushes sleep from my mind. Our only pleasure exists in the quiet silence of the night. I am still the little spoon when he enters me. My inner goddess writhes in satisfaction. I am already coming. He pushes me onto my back and presses my legs to my ears, and they curl once more around the cool iron above my head, my fingers already locked in position. You are mine! Each accentuated word sends me over the pinnacles, and I dig my nails into the covers for support. Four, five, six, seven orgasms, and I am gasping for breath. Still kneeling between my porcelain legs, he withdraws and reaches for the oil. Instead of using it on me, he pours the amber liquid on his strength and begins to stroke himself furiously. My inner goddess undulates beneath him in desire. I have the perfect view. Although on his knees, his six-foot, three-inch frame still towers above me. The soft glow of the nightlight washed over his body. I watched as this demigod, while I dragged my nails over his powerful thighs, before ordering him to come on me. Seconds later, he explodes. Yes! He roars. His pleasure shoots across my body, coating me in his creamy whiteness. He ignores this and collapses on top of me. I lay cocooned between his weight and the mattress. Gradually, his heart rate returns to normal as I hold him. Time passes, and he slowly rolls off of me and pulls me onto his chest. I now feel close, drinking in his masculine scent. I've missed this, he murmurs. I haven't had morning sex in over a year. I encircle him in my arms. Once more, sleep claims our minds. Pale morning light was just beginning to filter through these curtains when I felt the press of his knee against my lower back, finger sinking the warmth of my goddess once more. I grin, my eyes still closed. This is just the part where I'm supposed to say, no, no, let me sleep, I chuckle. He pauses, a note of concern. Do you really want to sleep? No! I giggle and push my hips against him, forcing his fingers deep in the warmth of my goddess. I love morning sex. I crave morning sex. Oh God, have I missed it. Is there any better way to begin a morning? Daily to-do lists and worries are still on the far horizon, not quite entering into conscious thought just yet. The two of us are alone in a quiet nucleus all our own. The messy hair, blurred eyeliner, soft horns of a sleepy body pressed against mine. His growing knee acting like he's been ignored for days. My inner goddess is a queen in her element today and her subject a willing slave to her desire. She orders him onto his back and clambers between his legs. She is the Keda, queen of Shiva, the world at her feet. She shushes his comments about stamina and two orgasms in ten hours, taking his weak protest as a personal challenge. I gently take him in my fingers and while tightly squeezing, pull down, drawing the pulsing skin taunt over his moist and drippy member. His cock and I have other plans for him. I feel a lick and fondle. I moan at his warm, sleepy aroma. I was wildly aroused once more. It is his turn to curl his fingers around the headboard. I take my time. There's no rush and no agenda. This is a sleepy Saturday morning, my inner goddess' favorite activity. Stroke, lick, swirl. Hands never stop stimulating and compelling his orgasm forward into my eager mouth. My moans vibrate against his pulsing head as I take him deep, deep into my throat. My drool collects and drips down until my fingers are coating him completely. I have him. There is a particular scent and voiceless gasp from his split right before his glory convulses and covers my mouth in sweet ambrosia. I love that when he has an intense orgasm, his body seems to levitate off the bed. The familiar, Don't stop! Don't you dare stop! causes my inner goddess to smile in absolute smug satisfaction. His furs are smaller and shorter, but just as powerful as they rock his body. I swallow and lick, never bitter or foul, but the sweetness of this orgasm takes me slightly aback. I eagerly seek to taste more of him. We collapse once more on top of each other and for the moment my inner goddess and I are stated. He lies panting beneath us. We are triumphant and beautiful. I play with the hair on his chest and we whisper sweet nothings until my stomach growls and begs for substance. The light is stronger now. The clock shows it is after 8 a.m. The moment is almost magical as he stands in his white kitchen. The morning light played against his naked chest, his grey sweatpants loosely covering his muscular hips. They look comfortable yet fitted and perfectly accentuate the curve of his tight buttocks. Scent of cheese, eggs, rosemary, and potatoes waft through the small kitchen as he prepares roasted potatoes and omelettes for our breakfast. I sip my tea and sheepishly grin at the red claw marks criss-crossing his back. The house is serene and I clasp my warm teacup between my breasts. I share a black robe falling over my knees and past my garnet toes. Our conversation was light and sincere at the table. But I could not tell you a single thing we talked about. The sheets were stripped from the bed and fresh linens once more covered his head. I was insistent on his Valentine's massage, although he put up little resistance this time. The stress of a long week could still be seen clinging tightly to his neck and shoulders. I instructed this demigod to lay on his stomach, gently pulling the covers over his body to protect him from the chill of the fan above him. I removed my robe, draping it over the bedpost finial. My body clad only in a soft black nightgown. The eyelash lace whispered over my breath. As I reached for the massage gel, I moved closer to the bed. I warmed the gel on my hands, the swish, swish, swish, back and forth, before placing them on either side of his neck. He groaned at this simple introduction, anticipating my next move. His muscles were far tighter than I expected. This was not going to be a simple back rub, and I intended to touch every inch of his selectable body, bringing as much relief as possible without causing him pain. I swirled and kneaded over his shoulders, starting gently with the upper layer of muscle, spreading my hands from his neck across his shoulders back to his neck and down his trapezius. My fingers began to deepen their strokes over his back, digging into the hollow of his shoulders, up his neck and behind his ears. My middle fingers and thumbs worked diligently to find the knots and work them loose. I was deliberately slow, working my way from his neck and his shoulders, his back and down to his waist. He moaned here, unaware of the knots, eager to be untangled over his hips. Kneading, swirling and stroking, my fingers worked ceaselessly and tirelessly up his spine. My fingers flowed down the left side, pulling from the mattress, crisscrossing his ribs, and back up to his spine, then right back down to his hips. Shoulders, down the spine, across his hips, only briefly pausing for more oil. Next, I moved to his right shoulder, my hands never leaving his body as I made my way to his deltoids. I was again kneading and stroking, alternating between using my fingers and knuckles. Flipping my hands between him and the mattress, I used the weight of his resting body to pull on the muscle on the front of his chest, down his arm, over his elbow, and descend over his forearm to his hands. I cannot express the immeasurable pleasure I derived as my magic seeped from my fingers, working through the gel and entering his body to find the point of distress, untangling the knots and healing away the pain. His calloused right hand was next to feel my firm caress. I cherished taking each finger between mine and willing the stress away. Stroke, caress, finding every tight tendon, asking it to release the tension it was clinging to. I worked on his left arm with the same attention. My strokes always started light as I assessed the tightness of each new area and eased the soreness from his deep tissue. His left hand was completed, and I gently covered him with a sheet. My massage training skills came back to mind as I tucked the sheet under his split hip, between his legs, a technique that allows privacy but free access to the leg for massaging. For me, it exposed the perfect example of male buttocks, the thick, oak-like thighs, and the outline of his powerful calf. Clarity, my inner goddess, contained herself, I ordered. This is not the time. She bounced onto her satee with a pout and shot daggers in my direction, but I ignore her. Once more, I started with a lighter touch. I took my time easing the tight glutes, hamstrings, and especially his IC bands. Several times I struck on a particularly soft point and cried out. I instantly lightened the pressure, but he was a good patient, and I insisted I continue. I worshipped his body, stroke by stroke, as I finished his left leg, and repeated the process, massaging down his right leg. His thighs, his calves, moving down his Achilles ankle, his rough heels, and the high arches of his feet. Not even his toes would be ignored. My fingers touched every inch of his skin, not once or twice, but over and over as I pulled the stress and negative energy from his glutes, down his hamstrings, over his calf, down and out through his toes. My touch was my gift to him, and my mind had truly silenced my inner goddess, allowing me to enter a massage therapist mindset fully. While I adored his body, my mind was professional, my touch sincere. Yet his response startled me when I asked him to roll over so I could start on his front. Not before I have you again, he said, rolling over, and with a flourish of the sheet revealing his giant, engorged glory once more, already glistening with desire. What? How long had he been like this? Even my inner goddess was caught off guard and stood there dumbfounded. Oh no, I exclaimed. Not until I'm finished with your massage. I wasn't trying to arouse you. You're supposed to be relaxing, I protested. He grinned devilishly. I tried to resist, but the sight of his glistening pre-cum dripping from his tip was too much for my inner goddess. She reinserted herself into my mind and took control. Gathering my sapphire hair from my neck, I bent between his legs. Very, very slowly, ensuring he was watching, licked him from base to tip, swirling his nectar with the end of my tongue. Carefully, I flicked my tongue up to show him as his pre-cum dribbled down my bottom lip. A fierce growl started in his chest, and before he could force me, I dished my head down, taking him deep into my throat as his hands rolled deep into my curls and began controlling my movements. Get up here. He tried to take command, but my inner goddess would have none of it this time. She's on too much of a high. It was my turn to growl as I scrambled up and spread my legs over his hips. I impaled myself on him, and my inner goddess crowed her delight as he stilled and stretched us once more. My nails dug viciously into his chest as I rised above him. Orgasm 62 through 66 I'm riding him, grinding, rocking, and using him. His hands alternate between gripping my hips to steady me as I ride him and resting above his head as he watches me use his body for my own delight. 66 is my record for orgasm, but my inner goddess was not done. For number 67 through 68, I'm leaning back, his great girth still impaling me, and use my fingers on my curls, slowly, slowly rising up and down on him. His hands are above his head, and he grins like a Cheshire cat. I come again, just looking at his face. Orgasm 69 I'm still riding him, but leaning back to try and catch my breath when his fingertips press my curl. Then, with just the lightest of touches, I'm on the journey again. Slowly, slowly, slowly, he brings me to one of the most gentle but memorable orgasms. I shudder, then collapse onto his chest, breathing heavily. I lay against him, my body glistening. My last two orgasms, 70 through 72, he moves his hips underneath me. My face is buried against his neck, panting. He wraps his giant arms around me, pulling me into his chest. I moan as the air is pushed from my lungs. God, I come just as hard as the first time. My inner goddess has never experienced such delirium. Enough! I wanted him to scream my name. In one motion, I dismount him, slipping my right leg between his thighs, removing the sheet encasing him as I once more entombed his glory down my throat. I can't! He rasps, but his body betrays him. His eyes clench tight, hands balled at his hips as I sucked and stroked faster and faster. I teased his lips with the tip of my tongue, both hands gripping and working while my tongue licked and teased. Finally, my efforts were rewarded with my three favorite words. Don't you stop! Don't you dare stop! His body chirps and spasms one, two, three, four times, his cream coating his chest and dribbling down my fingers and lips. The things you do to me. He was sweaty, and lumpy against the pillow. No more, please, he begged. When I started to suck the last of his sweetness, just rest while I finish your massage, I lovingly crooned. His mumbled response was unintelligible, but made me grin. I was astonished by my energy. Theoretically, 32 orgasms and sex should have worn me out four times, yet I felt energized and glowing. See what happens when you turn over control to me? My inner goddess could not have had a more oversized ego. We felt dazzling. I trusted her. We spread our wings, pleasing him, and now he was lying limp beneath us. I oiled my hands once more, and the next hour devoted my touch to his body. I began to gently massage his now exhausted glory, his groin and up his abdomen. I marveled at his sculpted muscles as my fingers massaged his pecs, traced down his sternum, and flowed underneath his nipples, down the thighs to his hips. Usually our frenzied moments together in the candlelight left little time to explore the details of his body. Now, I took my time to catalog every dimple and freckle of his divine body. His arms followed, the left one first as I knelt on the bed beside him. I began kneading his deltoids to the point of relaxation. As I worked his tense forearms, I adjusted his hand to rest on my exposed thigh. Not strictly professional, but the tiny smile curling at the corners of his mouth assured me he had noticed the gesture. Next, I worked the canyons on top of his hands, taking each finger and pulling the negative stress out of his very fingertips, covered his arm with a light sheet and maneuvered over to stand on the floor beside the bed without breaking contact. I repeated the process on his right shoulder, following my movements downwards, piling on the flame's pressure points until the heat lessened and a steady pulse resumed. His head and neck did not escape my touch. Resting on his back, with the crown of his head at the edge of the mattress, I stroked the back of his neck, letting the weight of his head increase the pressure from my massaging knuckles. I reached deep beneath him, my fingers digging into the flesh on either side of the spine, slowly pulling the tension towards his head and away. My fingertips circled behind his ears, his TMJ joint, down his jawline and over his chin. I repeated the process over and over before spiraling circles across his head and forehead, swirling, swirling, and pausing on his flame pressure points. My thumbs circulated above his eyebrows and my ring finger traced up the ridge of his nose and then out as I smoothed the lines of his forehead. I was focused and intentional with my movements, zoned into the knees of his body, and I heard a slight chuckle. I glanced down to catch his eyes, nearest lips gazing at my heavy breath as they dangled above him. Shh! None of that! I teasingly reprimanded. We were supposed to be relaxing. However, I did lower my breath to his lips, the barest of kisses. His warm breath on my delicate skin caused my inner goddess to sigh in delight. The soft central music could almost be seen as it floated through the room, and the pure morning light filtered through the shades, creating tranquility. Peace. The demigod lay relaxing beneath my fingers, drifting in and out of sleep. My inner goddess lounged on her plush shave, while the short hem of the nightgown teased the tops of my thighs as I continued his massage. For a brief moment, life was intoxicating. I released a bit more oil from the bottle at my hips and vigorously rubbed my palms back and forth, heating the oil from the friction of my movement. Finally, I rested my hands on his face, my thumbs across his cheekbones, and my elegant fingers warming his cheeks down to his chin. I repeated the process twice to feel the massage and complete the moment. My lips brushed his as I bent over his face. All finished, I whispered. His right eyebrow moved slightly in acknowledgment, but he pulled me close when I joined him on the bed, curling into his body, perfect harmony. I think I dozed. Something caused me to stir. Hmm? You promised me a state of soup, he croaked. Hungry, are we? My inner god is green in smug self-satisfaction and his evident exhaustion. He nodded, and I beamed from ear to ear. Feeding a man and sexually pleasuring a man to depletion are two of my favorite pastimes. Lazily we untangled. As soon as we parted, the fan above chilled our skin where we'd been pressed together, and I could feel goosebumps rising across my skin. I slipped into my sheer midnight robe and meandered to the kitchen while he took Bradley for a walk. I'd never seen him move so slowly. I smirked, and my inner goddess gave me a high five. Mission accomplished. Mentally, I thanked heaven that I had had the foresight to do much of the preparation at home. I combined the cold but cooked potatoes with the homemade condensed cream of chicken, adding the cheese once the pot began to simmer. Leisurely I stirred, the warm steam drifting up, and filled the kitchen with the fragrant aroma of sage, onion, and potatoes. I mused as I tidied and washed the breakfast dishes. I examined my exhausted heart and noted how it was beginning to fill with joy, and the weight of my stressful weeks had thawed and melted away. We had not had an actual dog session this time. Sure, a few spanks here and there, but nothing like our usual sessions, yet I felt the same sort of relaxation coursing through my being. Perhaps this time my inner goddess and I had simply needed the gift of touch and companionship, more than the usually requested torture of subspace. I was leaning against the counter, sipping my tea when he returned, a little brown fat between his fingers. On his walk, he had stopped at a local bakery and returned with hearty rolls and two Mexican pastries, one pineapple and one raspberry, my favorite. I filled our bowls while he turned on the British soccer game. His favorite team was not on the field, but the outcome of this game would determine who his British team played next. I curled up on the couch with my suit, my toes tucked under his gray sweatpants for warmth. I blew on my suit, listening with racked interest as he, without me explaining, explained the rules and details of European football. We shared our lunch and the surprise treats as the soccer ball flew from goalie to goalie. We remained on the couch cuddling for the next hour, my legs folded beneath me, my arm resting against his naked shoulder. He held me close, his arm resting around my waist as he answered my questions with sincere grace. He never made me feel silly or naive. This is how Saturday mornings were meant to be enjoyed, I mused. Sex to the point of exhaustion, tender caresses with foos and cuddles on the couch afterward. The game ended in a tie. Both teams would be advancing, and he was happy. I gathered my things and slipped into the comfortable familiarity of my loungewear. I was not sad to leave. My heart was glowing, and my goddess felt tender as I moved about his bedroom. At the front door, I pulled him close, kissing him with all the enthusiasm and ardor of a hello kiss. Get out of here, you damn succubus, he growled, but his fingers lingered around my waist as he passionately returned my kiss. I skipped to my car as a spring breeze ruffled my curls and the songbirds chirped a salutation. This was a Saturday I would hold close to my heart for ages.