Valentine’s Dinner for Two

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(Inspired by an idea from, and dedicated to the memory of adetaildiva)


She looked at him in disbelief. “I was born at night, but it wasn’t last night!”

“But, it’s such a dark and stormy night…”

“Nonsense,” she interrupted, “and save the blather about hibernation. You might fool others with that faux cynicism but I know that at heart you are still a romantic, and even a wounded romantic deserves, nay, needs, a Valentine’s Day dinner by candlelight.”

“Well, the candles might help if the power goes out…”

This time she cut off his complaint by grabbing his arm and dragging him in from the doorway. As the pathway of escape closed behind him, he noticed that she had set up a cozy table for two, complete with the promised candlelight, in front of her fireplace. She handed him a glass of bubbly and steered him into a seat.

“The light makes those earrings sparkle,” he croaked, his voice betraying how like the frog he felt, with her of course, a princess.

She smiled warmly, though perhaps, he thought, that was the heat of the fire making him squirm.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said, clinking glasses.

The conversation paused as they toasted the occasion. The appetizers were already on the table. “Scallops in champagne, garnished in cinnamon hearts,” she explained.

As he carefully carved the edge of his fork through the warm flesh, he felt her knee press against his leg under the table. He realized that she had arranged it so that he had no room to back away. Accepting his captivity, he decided that even a prisoner deserved a good meal, though hopefully this was not his final meal. “I hope you aren’t planning to eat me all up for dessert,” he heard himself blurt out, not meaning to say it aloud.

She laughed daintily, covering her mouth with a ladylike gloved hand. “Not unless you are an especially naughty guest. Otherwise, I have planned a chocolate mousse tart. I should warn you though, if you are only slightly naughty, I might strip you, dress you in an apron and spank you while you do the dishes.”

This time, her laughter was unrestrained, her throat bared as she tipped backwards in glee. He swallowed his seafood unchewed and tasted.

As her laughter subsided, she stood and reached across to clear his plate, innocently offering him a full view of her well engineered cleavage tightly erected in her slinky red dress. She grinned as she saw his eyes glued to her creamy mounds.

“Oh, silly me, I better not mess these gloves.”

She straightened, leaving his plate in front of him for the moment. Slowly, she eased the above the elbow lace down her left arm, turning delicately as she did so, offering a brief tantalizing appreciation of the thigh high slit in her dress. Then she grasped the fabric at the tip of her longest finger as it loosened. She briskly tugged the glove loose, allowing the open end to toy with his nose, before dropping it almost casually on the table. As she did so, she turned slowly, gracefully, allowing her hip to jut towards him, presenting herself casually but unmistakably like the animals do. The slightest bend of her waist as she raised her right arm high and removed that glove even more theatrically emphasized her intentions. Her ass wriggled inside the tight fabric of the skirt in counterpoint to the motion of her elbow and wrist.

She giggled girlishly as she casually flipped the glove over her shoulder, expertly flopping it into his startled face before it landed in his lap.

“Your face is as red as my dress,” she observed as she turned and stepped close again, allowing him to inhale her perfume as she lifted away the plates. “Just don’t soil that glove with that thing that’s bulging in your pants.”

Her giggling trailed in the air between them as she vanished into the kitchen. He lifted the glove from his lap and found himself staring at it, as if he was a cave man discovering a cell phone. He did notice however that she had guessed correctly — his cock was chubby in his trousers, excited by her seductiveness.

Just as she returned, he placed the glove carefully by her place setting. She carried two salad plates.

“Our next course is hearts of palm grilled lightly with red onion on a bed of romaine.”

“Onion…” he blurted, making her laugh again as she served and settled in her seat.

“Oh, no fear, we have sorbet next to keep our breath kissably sweet.”

He filled his smile with a mouthful of salad. For a few minutes, they ate, the air filled with the scent of crackling birch and the sweet candles. As he chewed, he was drawn to watching her. She was so delicate, so innocent looking, so at odds with the seductress she was portraying. His shaft lurched upwards in his pants as he thought about her breasts, her thighs, her rear.

She dabbed a corner of her mouth with the red cotton napkin and then smiled up at him. Her ruby red lipstick glowed with traces of cooking oils, until her tongue flicked out, wiping her mouth clean so quickly that he was not sure it really had happened.

This bahis firmaları time, she stood and walked around to his side before lifting his plate. Her hip grazed his shoulder, making him turn his head instinctively, just as her breast brushed his cheek. This caused her nipple to tease his lips, vanishing as quickly as it touched. He realized that whatever bra elevated her cleavage was not padded and was most likely lace.

She walked carefully to the kitchen, crossing each foot in front of the other like a runway model. He admired how this made her ass twitch, and wondered where her panty line had vanished to. Reaching down, he adjusted the weighty meat in his lap, shifting himself to a more comfortable position.

He was still wriggling when she returned. She giggled as she watched. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but you are supposed to do that as you walk, not in your chair. No one can watch your ass while you are seated.”

She placed the sorbet in front of him. “Cinnamon chocolate,” she announced as she sat, her gaze never leaving his face.

He watched her tongue twist as it eased the frozen treat from the spoon, then disappear into her mouth. She smiled again. “Not that anybody would be watching your ass…. Ooops. That sounds worse than I meant. It’s not that you have a bad ass, just that you have so much more to offer a gal in the front of your body.”

He felt her toes travel up his leg, easing his pant leg upwards. The silky stockings rubbed up, stopping just below his knee. He sat breathlessly as her foot descended even more slowly along the inner edge of his muscled calf. Just as quickly as it happened, her foot vanished again, leaving him wondering whether he had imagined it all.

She sipped more champagne as if nothing was happening. In the silence, the storm crashed against the windows. He wondered about the drive home, and decided to watch how much he drank.

It was as if she could read his mind. “Such a storm,” she said.” I don’t think you should be driving anywhere tonight.”

She refilled his champagne flute as she stood to clear the plates. This time, she stood directly behind him and reached over his shoulder to lift his dish, carefully balancing the sorbet cup on the saucer. Her cleavage surged around his ears, the sound of her heart resounding through their anatomy.

Just before she vanished again, she bent down on his left side and darted her tongue into his ear. It was so sudden, again he wondered if he was imagining things. Regardless, as she walked to the kitchen, he once more enjoyed the rear view, still speculating about her lingerie. He was sorely aware that his cockhead had fished its way out of the fly front of his boxers, and was rubbing roughly against the metal zipper of his pants.

She re-entered just as he was adjusting himself, which provoked another fit of giggles, though throughout she held the plates high.

“Don’t go off half cocked there. The evening is still young.”

He felt warmth not just from the fire as he blushed. He quickly lifted his hand to the top of the table, like a youngster caught playing with himself by his mother.

“Oh, red cheeks for Valentine’s Day, how special.” She placed the plates on the table, bending low to kiss his cheek. The back of her hand brushed over his lap, caressing his hardness through the fabric quickly, casually.

“Shrimp with penne in a fennel cream sauce.” she announced. “Nice and light. I had considered beef, but that’s so heavy, and would have demanded a nice cabernet. This way, we can stay with the champagne.”

She refilled their flutes, and paused to sip before eating. During this interval, he felt her foot again creeping up his leg, the right one this time, but not pausing to lift the fabric. By the time he had speared a shrimp on his fork; her toes were tickling his inner thigh. Reflexively, he shifted, opening his legs wider. “Nice garnish,” he croaked as she tickled his balls through his pants. “Red beets?”

“That’s right, deliciously edible, just like…”

“…you…” they both said simultaneously. He blushed, shocked again that he had blurted out his thoughts. She simply giggled, sipped his champagne and ran the bottom of her stocking clad foot all the way up his trapped shaft.

“I like how you think,” she finally said. “Isn’t this more fun than hibernating?”

“As long as I don’t end up like that poor fellow over there.” He gestured towards the bear rug covering the hearth.

She laughed. “Actually, that was the penalty that he paid for hibernating. Much easier to sneak up on him that way.”

Somehow in spite of the banter and the foot groping his groin, he had consumed the main course.

“Somehow, sneaky doesn’t seem your style, at least not tonight.”

“That only works if the bear is sleeping. For a hungry animal, I use livelier bait.”

“Lovely bait,” he blurted. To cover up, he quickly gulped champagne — too quickly, causing him to choke it back up.

She reached across and tenderly wiped his chin, not allowing him kaçak iddaa time to be embarrassed. One red polished finger tip drifted across his lower lip. His mouth opened without his thinking about it. Her finger slid past his teeth, allowing his tongue to taste her flesh. Just as swiftly, it darted away. As he recomposed himself, he realized that she had risen out of her chair to reach him, and her full bosom was displayed before his eyes, pendulous breasts displayed in a red lace underwire halter, the cups cut low so that he could tell that she had rouged her nipples in the style of some old time burlesque starlet. A heart shaped pendant of some rose coloured stone dangled between her mounds, spinning like a hypnotist’s pendulum. He was certainly in a trance.

“Like the view?” she laughed, straightening up and lifting away the plates.

“Shall we take dessert on that rug, right in front of the fire?” she suggested as she slinked into the kitchen. He distracted himself from his erection threatening to rip through his zipper by wondering how she slid her feet so easily in and out of her stiletto heels.

“Won’t that be messy?” he croaked, still feeling amphibious in the land of enchanted palaces.

“Oh, I sure hope so,” she laughed over her shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen. “But, just in case, can you come in here and help me for a second?”

He stood, awkwardly wondering whether he ought to try to hide his erection, but deciding that they were well past that point.

“Do you want me to carry my own plate?” he asked as he entered the tiny pantry. The wind was rattling the ancient window panes, curls of snow driven into the corners of the outside frame. A dark and stormy night indeed.

“No, I want you to help me with this,” she said.

Her back was to him. She was bent slightly at the waist, her heart shaped ass thrust towards him. Her hands were both behind her neck, apparently fiddling with some sort of clasp that held her dress together in the back.

He froze, uncertain what to do. She turned half around. “Well, I can’t be ruining my dress if we make a mess, can I?”

As she spoke, her fingers finally accomplished their task — instinct triumphing where conscious effort failed. The top of the dress fell forward, loose, to her waist. Her hands were still behind her head, which pulled her shoulders back. This thrust her chest forward, fine ripe melons slung in lace reaching towards him, begging to be squeezed.

His hands instinctively rose up and out towards her, but his feet remained frozen as if in ice. Even in the tiny kitchen, she still was beyond his grasp.

She lowered her arms, caressing herself casually, not pausing, simply allowing her hands to graze along her curves and across her gently rounded tummy as if to say “this is the most natural moment in this enchanted kingdom — a half naked princess offering shelter to a hapless frog on a dark and stormy night, hoping he might turn out to be her prince.”

The natural continuation of her self caressing was that her fingers captured the waist of her dress. It took only the slightest nudge for the sheer fabric to fall flat to the floor. She shifted her feet just a smidge, the better to display the curve of her hips, the toned legs meeting in a well trimmed bushy juncture. The riddle of the missing panty lines was solved — her stockings hung from a red garter belt, but her bush was bare. The blonde matched her hair.

He stood speechless, drinking in her beauty. Her hands rested on her hips for a moment and then she reached up and loosened her hair, allowing it to cascade freely to her shoulders.

“Time to share dessert,” she breathed, her voice almost lost in the wind rattling the window.

“Here?” he croaked, his voice dim as well.

He finally thawed enough to step forward, and at last, the frog kissed the princess. Their lips brushed, but his force drove her back against the counter, her balance compromised by the high heels. As she thrust her arms back for support, she tilted her head back. His lips glanced off of hers, brushed along her chin, but then he improvised smoothly, more princely than frog-like, trailing a flattened tongue slowly down her curved neck. She ran her fingers through his hair, steering his head lower, seeming to want him to feast on her breasts, but he resisted, planting a line of kisses along her collarbone out to the point of her shoulder instead.

“Oh, there…” she moaned, her fingers ripping at his scalp as he nibbled the flesh where it rounded down towards her arm. Something about how the nerves stretched across that tight curve made it especially sensitive, yet no other man had spent so much time just exploring how much it pleased her.

As passion warmed her flesh, she felt his hardness rubbing against her belly. Her hips responded without conscious command, humping away from the cupboard, meeting his thrusts. Her mind was still alert enough that she thought how if he was not still clothed, they could be fucking already. Perhaps, like the rugged hero of a dime kaçak bahis store romance, he would lift her onto the countertop and ravish her as the washing up clattered to the linoleum, her arms thrashing, her head spinning… but that was just a dream.

In reality, he licked down her left arm to the inside of her elbow. This sent ripples of electricity through her body, her nipples tingling, her knees buckling; her labia blooming as her juices seeped out, starting to dampen her thighs. Shifting positions created a space between their bodies, and the contact from his cock was less constant, the tip bobbing against her intermittently as they moved.

She barely noticed however, as he held her arm at the wrist, gently rotating it to his lips. The back of his other hand casually brushed against the side of her left breast. Even through the bra, this sent further bolts of electricity surging to the tip, from whence they spread throughout her body as heat. Once the warmth flooded her groin, it leapt out her labia, drawing wetness to the surface as if her womb was a deep full well.

“If I was wearing panties they’d be drenched,” she moaned.

“Good thing you aren’t then,” he said, pausing his oral attentions as he spoke.

She felt his arms slide down her flanks, the hair caressing her flesh gently, keeping the tingles flowing in waves. She shivered as she strong hands cupped her rear, each glute grasped firmly in a palm, his fingers spreading wide, lifting, and spreading her cheeks, fingertips pulling her crevice open. His head moved across her body, his tongue now exploring the soft white flesh pushed up by the bra, as if trying to define just where her boobs began.

Kneading his hair roughly with her fingers as she moaned, she forced his mouth lower, enjoying his whiskers rubbing on the tops of her curvy mounds. He stabbed his tongue out, just once, as if probing, striking the spot exactly in the middle of her chest where the valleys met.

Their pelvises rocked together as she pushed out from the cabinet, and his heaving repeatedly bumped her back.

‘If he lifted an inch, he’d shove me on the countertop and fuck me right here,’ she thought.

He was too busy licking the heaving curves of her bosom to speak, or even to think. He was operating on automatic pilot; animal instincts revived that survived from Neanderthal ancestors. His tongue explored the flesh that bulged below her left shoulder and then he licked downwards, tracing the arc as low as the bra allowed. He paused there, his tongue curling into a tube, rotating in that junction, stimulating her breasts both from the inner edges. His hands slid up her flanks, rubbing the soft firm flesh of her well honed body, not stopping until he cupped both of breasts in his palms.

Before tonguing her right breast, he lifted his head, looked her in the eye, smiled boyishly. “Nice tits,” he grinned.

She found this hilarious, tossing her head back in laughter, which lifted her chest so that his fingers found themselves grasping her rock hard nipples through the lacy bra. He gently grazed his thumbnail across the tips, just hard enough not to tickle. She felt the ooze of her juices becoming a flood, knowing that her wetness was coating her thighs.

He lifted his head and placed one hand under her chin. Their lips met and melded as tongues twisted, probing past teeth, tasting each other’s hunger, warm breath and saliva flowing together, passion so intense that flesh was puffing, bruising. Her hands pulled his ass closer, so that his cock was dry humping her as fiercely as they kissed. His palms slid out along her collarbone, until he grasped her shoulders, using them as handholds, pulling her into him.

This continued forever, or until they had to come up for air. As with the near fucking, they moved in unison, so that it would be impossible to say who broke contact. As they eased their heads back just a half inch each, they pressed together more tightly, as if each was desperate to fully engage. Her nipples were so hard that they drilled into his chest in spite of the fabric between them.

“If your zipper burst, we would have been fucking right then and there,” she gasped, and then she giggled.

“Would that be a bad thing?” he replied.

She leaned back and pushed her elbows down on the counter, hoisting herself up. She scissored her ankles behind his butt and held him tight to her groin. “I like how you think, but how about dessert?”

“Well, you look good enough to eat.”

She blushed as red as he had earlier, but he could see her nipples rising even larger, her chest swelling with excitement, and he felt a fresh flow of her juices drenching his pants where they still were pressed tightly together. Instinctively, his hips rotated, grinding his hardness against her aroused flesh.

“Even if you fucked me first?”

“I love a shot of cream on my pie.”

His weapon throbbed excitedly against her as he spoke, confirming his passion. She suddenly realized that without consciously thinking about it, her elbows had begun rocking her body into his, thumping and humping, slowly at first, but more quickly as his hips responding in kind. Her legs flexed, drawing him tighter and then allowing him to ease back but never losing contact.

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