(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 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.
