January 2023 – Audio Version
I am tenderly sitting in my bathtub. The warm water laps at my bruised skin as I muse on where to begin my latest adventure. Do I ignore the buildup of the evening and merely share the hot passionate feeling of our naked bodies crushed in ecstasy? Or in the middle when his fingers inched up the back of my neck and then slowly drew his nails down the curve of my neck, sending shivers through my soul?
Hmm. No. Like any true story, I must start at the very beginning because it’s a very good place to start.
I was running late, hitting nearly every red light to his house. Not to mention that construction had closed part of the route forcing me to backtrack. Parking, I ran up the small hill and arrived at his door breathless, frustrated, and honestly heartsick. His Lab mix greeted with the incredible joy and affection one can only receive from a good boy. My mask cracked, and my heart melted as I fell to my knees, pulled Bradley close, and sobbed, tears streaming down my face and disappearing in his golden fur.
Concerned and, I’m sure, startled by my wildly unusual entrance, he moved close, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, hey…what’s wrong?” His deep voice was full of worry.
Embarrassed, I rose, my hands never leaving Bradley, and explained how I had laid my old dog to rest just hours earlier. I rambled about how I thought I had cried everything out, but he gathered me up in the middle of my sentence and crushed me to his chest.
“Stop.” Was the only thing he said as he held me. Relief at finally being held, the comfort of human touch washed over me. I cried. He didn’t move until I sniffled and pulled back, wiping my eyes.
I appreciated his offer to stay home and cuddle, and I was sorely tempted to accept. However, I knew he had the evening planned, and honestly, I needed to be around others. Drying my tears, he drove us to The Saxon Pub.
This tiny nugget of Austin proudly boasts 30,000 performances from Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, and tonight’s unique talent, Pat Byrne. This place truly felt like a home for those who like to play and those who like to listen to it. I loved it immediately.
Sipping a salty margarita at our high-top, I looked around. The dark interior felt close and cozy, almost like you were returning to a simpler day. Or perhaps, I had stepped into a portal, and for a short time, the outside world did not matter. Nothing but the music could touch me here.
The red-headed Irishman, the 2012 winner of The Voice of Ireland, took the stage. Alongside him stood an electric guitarist, bass player, fiddler, and drummer, so the evening began. The blend of soulful folk and country/rock had me tapping and swaying the entire time. The atmosphere made me feel connected to those around me, rooted down to the earth and uplifted. At times, I felt the music touch my chest, spread through me, moving and swirling the pain away. The entire experience is difficult to describe and utterly memorable.
Through it all, he was there. He had scooted my chair close, throwing a casual arm behind me. The artist was familiar to him, though the playlist was new. His fingers tapped in tune with the beat, his head tilted back, and his eyes closed. The music had a similar effect on him. There is something ridiculously sexy about watching a man enjoy music. I just smiled. I loved sharing this experience with this incredible man.
While, in general, he possesses a strong and commanding presence, I love that he is neither formidable nor has an unapproachable air about him. He is warm and such a people person with a quick and eager smile. People want to talk to him, drawn to him by an invisible magnet. He is polite and inquisitive with the wait staff and an excellent tipper. When I apologized for not having cash to tip the band, he merely replied, “There are things in life to apologize for, and this is not one of them.” In public, I feel safe but not under control when I am with him, and others feel comfortable approaching me when we are together. I feel seen and respected by him, especially in front of others. He reserves the mastery and possession of my body for the bedroom, and my inner goddess thrives on the attention.
Slowly, the margarita and band began working their magic. My body began to relax, and my inner goddess stretched, waking from her long slumber. I scooted closer to his chest, and my fingers tapped on his thigh in beat to the music. Until that moment, he had been chivalrous and respectful of my aura, remaining close but not pushing himself or making any sexual move. The lack of sexual pressure from him only made me want him more.
I pulled my hand up the rough denim of his jeans until I found my prize, slowly drawing my hand along his length under the table. I was surprised and pleased to find he was already semi-erect, and my touch was rewarded, feeling him flex and strengthen under my brief attention. Grinning, he adjusted himself in his seat while my inner goddess smiled devilishly. It felt good to have her back. In response to my teasing, his fingers inched up the back of my neck and then slowly drew his nails down the curve of my neck, sending shivers through my soul. It was my turn to wiggle in my seat.
Aside from little caresses, we behaved for the rest of the show, lost in the moment and the band’s talent. He wrapped his arm around me, my hand on his leg. I love our rough and domineering sex, but to sit there with this kind heart and just exist was a beautiful moment I never wanted to end. I leaned close and breathed in the comfort of his soul. My lonely romantic heart craved his masculine presence, and my eyes teared up, remembering my loss and reveling in the familiar comfort of a man’s chest. For 15 years, I experienced the daily tenderness of a man’s companionship and touch; I never realized the gift I had until it disappeared from my life.
The notes of the last song trailed off as we whooped and whistled with the crowd. All the way to dinner, we excitedly discussed the band, the talent of each individual artist, and our favorite moments. Enjoying our take-out tacos and quesadillas, we mused over the talent of Helen Mirren, the long career of Harrison Ford, and according to the books, which actor portrayed James Bond most accurately. The light, carefree conversation continued to put me at ease, letting the day’s stress fade into the background. I ate enough to satisfy him (he knows I struggle with my calorie intake) but not enough to hamper my excitement for the second part of our evening.
“Would you like to stay for a bit?” The devil emerged in his eyes, already knowing my enthusiastic answer.
After securing my food from the soulful eyes of Bailey, I sat on the floor and attempted to remove my cowboy boots, but to my horror, my foot was stuck in the tight leather of the new boots. Stepping out of the bedroom, he chuckled at my predicament. He watched me wrestle a bit before hoisting my leg into the air and magically slipping one foot and then the other from the confines of my shoes.
“How did you do that?” I was bewildered by the ease and smoothness when I had legitimately been trying, even to the point of abandoning a sexy pose just to free myself.
“I have a lot of experience removing women’s clothes.” A roguish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
I slipped into the next room to refresh myself and remove my skinny jeans. No way was I going to have a repeat audience to witness my struggle to undress. Known for my lingerie, I was a little miffed that I was only wearing a delicate midnight black bra paired with a lace-trimmed buffalo plaid bikini bottom. My outfit was not entirely up to my naughty standards, especially when several new pieces currently hang in my wardrobe, begging to be worshiped. I removed my outer clothes but left on my tank top to cover my delicates. I decided to make him work just a tiny bit for my naked body.
To my astonishment, I opened the door to almost complete darkness, causing my inner goddess to squeal in anticipation while my eyes adjusted to the surroundings. His bedroom door was closed, and I bit my lip, knowing, standing in naked glory, was a god waiting on the other side for me. My fingers found the edge of the door and opened to the flickering light of candles and the warm glow from the rose quartz lamp on his nightstand. His implements were obediently lined up on the side table while a sensual R&B playlist warbled in the background.
There he was. I stood in the doorway, arrayed in my mulberry tank top, and I simply drank in the sight of him. His right hand was pressed against the wall, his left on his hip, his right foot rested on the ball of his toes with the knee bent at a light angle, and his impish grin played in the dancing light. His glory was strong and eager; the tip glistened in his own anticipation. It was the classic guy pose but good Gawd, did it work on him!
“Get over here.” He growled. He grabbed my arm and crushed me in a kiss, sucking the breath from my lungs while his hand ran down the length of my body. Under and up the hem of my tank top, then down to trace the lacework of my panties. His kisses bruised my lips, but I didn’t care. I matched his passion for passion. His lips moved to my ear, where his nibbles turned to bites, causing me to gasp, the fingers of his left hand moving to my goddess.
“Gooood Girl.” He growled, releasing my ear, his fingers coming away from my goddess, glistening wet. He brought them to his mouth and slowly, seductively, licked his fingers. I thought I would explode with need; I knew this was just the beginning. Viciously, he ripped my tank top from my torso and over my head. I heard threads snap, but my inner goddess grumbled in disappointment when the top failed to rip completely. With a quick flick, he released my bra, letting it fall to my feet. My panties swiftly followed and I pushed them to the side with my toes.
With a forceful hand on the back of my neck, he broke off another kiss and pushed me down, manhandling my hips until I was at a perfect 90° angle. My hands automatically grasped the column of his footboard as I loudly exclaimed in surprise at the enforcement of the position. I felt my need slick against the inside of my thighs.
I closed my eyes as I surrendered my body to him. I felt his hand’s weight explore my body’s familiar curves. I pushed my hips against him, reveling in the strength of his shaft as he pressed back but refused to enter me, choosing instead to tease while I ground against his groin.
His fingers returned to my goddess, now tripping from his tempting closeness. Deft fingers swirled and stroked my clitoris, flicking, twirling, now slipping inside my goddess to rile my G-spot. I moaned as I rode his fingers. The electric waves began with his fingertips and flowed throughout my entire body. I was on a wave, rolling ever higher, the familiar rise of my first orgasm taking me up and up. I let myself go…I was comi— He stopped and held completely still.
Slightly put out, I wiggled my hips, and he responded by slowly moving his fingers, but only in a caressing manner. I sighed. He was in charge, after all. He did not move his fingers in earnest until I submitted and relaxed against him.
It took me much less time the second round to find the swell of yearning, my inner goddess once more gathering herself for the explosive light of our orgasm. Climbing, building, his fingers a blur as he felt my body rise onto my tiptoes. My breath came in gasps as I focused, each wave growing stronger. I. Was. COMI— NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! Once more, to my frustration, his fingers froze right at the cleft of my orgasm.
Now, I was genuinely exasperated and opened my eyes. To deny me a single orgasm is one thing but twice in a row?! That was uncalled for!
“Why did you do that?! I was coming!!” I wailed, not bothering to suppress my irritation. “That’s not fair!” I protested, and I lifted up to confront him. My almost orgasm had now faded into mere ripples of pure need.
“Maybe not,” He answered mildly. Completely unflustered by my outburst. He continued wickedly. “But you’re not in charge here.” He pushed me back into position. I resisted the intense urge to be rebellious and stand back up, but I worried he would deny me again if I did. I submitted, and my inner goddess pouted in silent defiance.
My eyes closed once more. I heard the rustle of implements behind me, and my body tensed as my inner goddess prepared for our session. My fingers grasped the spindle-like finial of his footboard until my knuckles were white. My heart pounded in my ears while I froze in position.
I didn’t need to be anxious. He would never hit or attack me. There has never been malice or anger in his touch during our sessions. With him, I could safely experience pain.
The nails of his left hand lightly clawed down my spine and my back automatically arched in response. Something rough brushed my hip, moving across my bottom in a slow, deliberate stroke. A ping-pong paddle? No, something more prominent, but what? His fingers grabbed my hair and turned my head back to a downward position when I turned to peek over my shoulder. Sensual music floated through the air as the paddle-like instrument continued to drag across my thighs, bottom, and hips.
Tap. Gentle but firm. I wiggled.
Tap, tap, thump. I sighed—the pattern and more teasing on the other side.
Tap, tap, tap, thump. “Mmmmm.” My inner goddess was giddy.
His fingers tightened in my hair, and I adjusted my grip on the finial. I held my breath…
Tap, thump, smack, smack, smack! I squealed and rose on my tiptoes. Fire flared on my skin. Cool fingers caressed, and I returned to my obedient position.
The paddle brushed to my left cheek, and once more, his fingers tightened. I tensed, bouncing a little from side to side. He growled and bade me to hold still. “You’re not the boss of me.” I thought mutinously. The following impact made me question if he was a mind reader.
Thump, smack, smack, smack, smack!! Sweet torture flickered through my skin. I moaned, dutifully chastened.
Thump, thump, smack, smack, smack!!! More flames shot through me, and I rose to the tip of my toes as the heat licked my body. My inner goddess was lost in the swirl of hurt and pleasure—more supple caresses.
Satisfied that I was adequately warmed up and that he had established my pain threshold, he began the session earnestly. The assaults came swiftly, varying in intensity and location. Volley after volley fell as I moaned and writhed under his firm grip.
My skin turned from soft porcelain to rosy pink and then blazing red. He listened to my cries and read my body with masterful confidence, never returning to a spot that had taken enough abuse. He took me to the edge of my tolerance, the safe word “yellow” on the tip of my tongue but never needed.
At last, the assault slowed, my mind numb in the release through anguish but perked as something new brushed over my head and down my back. It took me a moment to realize it was the tendrils of a massive flogger. My favorite! My pulse quickened.
Brush, brush…over my hair, down my back, and falling down my sides to skim my breasts, across my raw bottom. The strands tickled the back of my calves and up my thighs, and the process was repeated. The shaft of the flogger pushed between my thighs, teasing my inner lips with its smoothness. I groaned aloud, rolling my hips against it as my eagerness wetted my legs and neck of the implant.
Swish, swish, flick, crack!! Went the flogger across my back. Again, my back arched in pain and yet eager to receive. He avoided my inflamed cheeks, targeting my back and thighs with his blows.
Flick, crack, swish. Fast, now slow. The hits rolled smoothly from his wrist but never wrapped around to sting my abdomen and breasts. Once more, the tresses flowed over my body and tickled my electrified skin. Flick, flick, crack. Over, down, and across. Back and forth, he went with the flogger until my skin felt alive.
Stillness.
Weak, I rested my head on the post, breathing hard. My body quivered in delicious agony. I could feel the heat rising from my tortured bottom. “It will hurt to sit tomorrow!” My inner goddess whispered, and I grinned in contentment.
“Stay there!” His voice came through my haze of conscience.
“Maybe I don’t feel like it!” My impertinent inner goddess challenged him.
(“What are you doing!?!?” I internally gaped at her. “We’re already so bruised!” She refused to answer me, daring him to make the next move.)
“You really want to play that way?” He questioned. I tucked my head and did not respond.
Rip. Footsteps. Rugged hands gripped my hips, nails digging deep into the skin of my hips. Without further warning, he tore into me, burying my tender cheeks against his body. I screamed in shock and pain, the incredible length of his cock piercing me to my core. He held still, allowing my body to adjust. Tears trailed down my cheeks as I clenched my teeth.
(“You did THIS to us!!” I yelled at my inner goddess. “Mmm, you know you love it!” Her response was swift, sassy, and annoyingly, she was correct. I did love it.)
I found my breath, and my cry changed to exquisite joy as I felt his fullness complete me. Damn, it, my inner goddess was right. I really did love it. My need finally met. I moaned, pushing back against him, begging him to start his tirade.
He grabbed the roots of my hair once more, twisting his fingers into the curls for a firmer grip, and renewed his savage attack on my goddess and throbbing bottom as he pounded into me from behind. I held onto the bedpost for dear life as my body matched his thrust for controlling thrust. It was useless attempting to count my orgasms as I came over and over. His growl in my ear, the desired torment of my hair being pulled, made each orgasm stronger than the last. I lost myself to him.
He clutched my breast in a mighty squeeze, pinching my nipple and twisting it as I screamed through my successive orgasms. Still pressed against him and begging for more, deeper, harder, faster. His stamina never faltered as he gave me everything I needed.
Suddenly he withdrew himself, leaving me panting and dismayed at the overwhelming emptiness now consuming me. Before I could protest, he circled his right arm over my back and between my breasts for support while the fingers of his left hand entered my goddess and, with expert swiftness, brought me to a shouting, squirting, G-spot orgasm. All of his movements happened in mere seconds, but the orgasm pounded through me and lasted for what felt like hours. I was left helpless and quivering against his body. The effects of his efforts ran down my thighs and calves and pooled in a giant puddle on his wooden floor. I whimpered something about a towel, but I was ordered onto the bed.
“I can’t move!” I whispered, still clinging to the bedpost. A breath of wind brushed over my face; I was suddenly moving through the air, my fall cushioned by the plumpness of his comforter. I never registered him picking me up. I still do not know how or where he grabbed me. One moment I was looking at the floor, and next the rhythmic rotation of his fan was in my view. I raised my head in time to see his face as he crawled between my legs and onto the bed. The look in his eye was both thrilling and alarming at the same time.
There is something carnal about being demanded so profoundly. To have every piece of clothing stripped from my body and ravaged until I am utterly used up. To be hunted. Dominated. To be claimed as his own and thoroughly at his mercy. To know that he would have his way with me based on his primal need to satisfy both his needs and mine.
This. I wanted him and his savage dominion.
Once more my body was utterly his when his fingers found my secret place, and my fluids soaked the towel beneath me. I felt his breath on my thigh before his tongue lapped at my goddess, seeking my pearl. I gasped.
I clawed his back, his arms, and the bed as he feasted on my orgasms. I barely had time to catch my breath between orgasms before his next onslaught. Again he ruthlessly entered me, filling me with the blessed fullness of his girth. He maneuvered my body and legs as he saw fit. Fluctuating between allowing my legs to rest on his shoulders, only to push them back behind me the next moment. Faster, slower, deeper than shallow, his movements never halted as he demanded a screaming orgasm from my body with every thrust.
I felt his hands on my throat, the pressure slowly increasing as my voice quieted. My orgasms continued with his welcome assault, yet I no longer felt them. My mind withdrew and quieted. There it was, tranquility. My inner goddess floated in the noiseless serenity of subspace. Blackness enveloped me as my mortal body went limp, no longer of consequence. My soul was at rest.
He gently withdrew his hands and leaned down to place a kiss on my lips, returning my soul to my body.
I could only whimper, “Thank you.”
We rested for a moment, his fingers tracing and fondling my breasts, but I could feel him twinge inside me. Glowing, I knew it was time to reward him for his magnificent performance. A bit lightheaded from my orgasms, I pushed him back onto the bed.
“I want to ride you!” I attempted a growl, and a boyish grin covered his face.
“Yes, Ma’am!”
I mounted him and cooed, taking his entire length inside my goddess, reveling in the new position and sensations. His muscles rippled as I moved above him. My hands were on his pecs to steady myself while my thighs gripped him. He turned his head to see our movements in the mirror of his closet, his hands finding my breasts as he watched himself nuzzle and squeeze them. The pale light of the room shimmered off the sweat covering our bodies from the excursion.
“I want you to rub yourself against me and get yourself off.” He said, still watching our reflection. I started to protest, “Just try it.” He answered.
I closed my eyes and focused on my pearl, seeking the perfect position as I arched and rolled above him. He adjusted and tightened his abs, managing to create the perfect angle, and to my amazement, my orgasm began to blossom again. Panting and groaning, I moved faster and faster, making slight adjustments as I used him. His hands on my hips steadied me as I gave in, grinding against him so that the magic could course around and through me. Breathless, I rested my head against his chest.
“That was a first! I didn’t think it would work, but…you did something with your hips and the angle…” My words trailed off as I tried to work out how he had achieved it.
“Oh, I know. I did some research and couldn’t wait to try it.” He beamed with pride at his accomplishment, taking full credit.
Now, I desperately wanted his orgasm. Carefully, I lifted myself up and kissed his chest. The hair tickled my nose as my fingers found his treasure. I moved lower. Kissing, licking, and sucking him while my right hand stroked his shaft, causing a moan deep inside his chest. My lips parted over his glistening head, and I swirled my tongue around the slit, my right hand never stopping to stroke and squeeze. Clear precum oozed out, and I lapped it up, enjoying the look on his face as I did so.
I took his bulbous head in my mouth and sucked. I was rewarded with another groan, and his hands clutched the bedsheet. I play with him, drool running down my lips and over my fingers. I adjusted my hold as I deepthroated him until I choked and could take no more. I flicked my tongue on the underside of his head, seeking to stimulate the 4,000 nerve endings before swallowing him again. Back and forth, I enjoyed him, sometimes just with my hands, then back to licking and sucking with my mouth while my fingers played. A mixture of teasing, pleasing, and reading his body and the need I felt building.
“Goddddd.” Came his groan.
Wrapping both hands around his shaft, I strove with more force and intention, my mouth never leaving the head. His groans were a constant stream now, pushing me to work harder. His body began to elevate, every strand of his muscles straining at the imminent explosion, his head thrown back in the pillows. I could feel his orgasm coming. “Yes, yes, yes!” My inner goddess cheered. “Come for me!”
“Don’t you stop…don’t you dare stop…Ohhh, Ohh….GOD!!!!!” He yelled.
There it was, the climax of his orgasm. Pearly white magic shot into my mouth, both hands still a tight blur as I milked him for all he was worth. I never stopped. I basked in his cry and explosion. I love a man who is vocal and enjoys his body so thoroughly.
“Ohh, GOD…Yes!!” He repeated over and over.
I cooed over him as I tenderly licked and softly blew my warm breath over his body, just as he liked it. My touch was delicate as he descended from heaven, his body slowly relaxing into the comfort of the mattress. I drew my fingers over his thighs, over his hips, toward his chest in mindless designs, drawing out his experience and allowing him to relax.
I barely heard him utter, “Ohh, God, I’m going to need a minute.”
I lay beside him with a contended smile and nestled into his chest. He had enough energy to languidly drape his arm over my body. We sighed in unison. It was perfect.
My goddess was fabulously tender, and my entire body felt sore and bruised, yet I loved it. I knew he was careful, and aside from some nail marks on my skin and perhaps a tiny bruise here and there, I would not be visibly marked from our time together. I wasn’t so sure about him, musing that he might be sporting claw marks for a few days.
I gazed at his body, marveling at this god among men. After eight months, we are no longer strangers, yet every time is just as remarkable as the first time. He holds such power over my body. It never ceases to puzzle me why he continues to seek my company. This Adonis could have any woman he desires, but he lies with me in his arms on an ordinary Monday night. I will undoubtedly enjoy every inch of him as long as he allows me.
In the quiet moment, our breath returned to normal, and as our heart rate slowed, my emotions once more threatened to undo me. Exhausted from the afternoon’s heartache and the evening’s exertions, I wanted nothing more than curl against him and fall into a blissful sleep. Once again, I was confronted by the reality that staying in this bed was not my place. Our intimacy was temporary and fleeting. His masculine companionship drawing to an end. Hot tears filled my eyes and trickled silently down my cheeks.
No, I wasn’t going to end our time together like this. Tears were for the solitude of my car. I breathed. I would enjoy this moment and bask in the glory of the naked man entwined against my body. I trailed my fingers down his trunk, wrapping my fingers around his treasure.
“Ready to go again?” I teased. He lifted his head to look at me, his eyes desperately searching mine to see if I was serious, and I burst into laughter at the look on his face.
“You are going to have to find someone else!” He groaned, his head falling back into his pillow. “Damn, Succubus.”
Year of the Inner Goddess 
One response to “The Dom II”
Wow! You are such a great writer! Keep up the great work. A and I talk about you often, some of it sweet and innocent. 😈 Thank you for the sexy and vulnerable insight into one whom we greatly admire and desire. Bucky
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