His Goddess (F/M) - repost

His Goddess

 . . . . ‘Felicia Duval’ . . . . ‘Felicia Duval’ . . . . ‘I’m actually going to see Felicia Duval!’

Danny was practically humming with joy. Tonight he was going to see the greatest star in the fundament of ballet. The greatest living dancer and the most beautiful creature in all the world – the great Felicia Duval.

From the time he’d taken his first dance lesson, he’d heard about the greatest stars – Pavlova, Baryshnikov, Nureyev, and others. And they were like beacons to him, shining out over the foggy waters of ambition to call him to safe harbor. But on the day he saw a bootleg DVD of Felicia’s performance of Giselle, he knew he’d found his true calling: his love, nay obsession, of Felicia Duval.

It was a gala night at the Lincoln Center, and the crowd was filing in, their glittering gowns and tuxedos making for an ocean of starlight. Danny found his box, and held his breath, waiting for the show to start. Tonight it was going to be La Sylphide, a revival to be sure, but a good one.

The curtains came down and the lights went out.  The first scene began with the young Scotsman sleeping, and out crept the sylph, Felicia, in a diaphanous outfit, her firm body outlined in gauze and beautiful dress. She was as graceful as a swan and as light as a cloud in her movements. Her golden brown hair was arranged artfully, instead of being in the usual “ballet bun”, and her perfect, chiseled face, painted white and green absorbed the ambient light to give her a ghost-like appearance. It was breathtaking.

By the end of the performance, Danny was so enthralled that he was genuinely startled by the lights coming up and nearly dropped the bouquet of roses he had clasped in his sweaty hands. He got up and ran down the stairs, outside, and around to the side entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of his goddess. Two burly types stood outside the door, but Danny made puppy eyes at them and showed them the bouquet. They looked at each other, and down at the harmless looking amateur dancer, and shrugged in unison – ‘whatever’.

Danny exhaled gratefully and went inside. There was a veritable labyrinth of dressing rooms, but one marked with Felicia’s name. He steadied himself and knocked politely.

“Come.”

Danny cracked the door open and peeked in. She had already changed into a Japanese silk robe and her gorgeous hair was cascading down over her shoulder.

“Hi. I’m Danny Christian. I saw your performance, and I just wanted to give you these roses, and . . . well . . . I’m probably your biggest fan.”

The prima donna just looked at him for a second, an unreadable expression, and then the face softened in to a sweet smile.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you. I don’t get many paramours these days. My teenage days are past. If you could just set them over there, near that vase [which she pronounced ‘voz’]. . .”

“Of course. You know I have videos of your Russian tour and your tours in Italy and France. It was such a shame the company couldn’t get booking in Germany.”

Felicia gave him a sad smile. “Yes. The modern German audience only wants to see contemporary, Forsytheian pieces. The classics are lost on them. I very much wished to perform there.”

“Oh,” said Danny with extreme gravitas, “They don’t know what they’re missing. Say, I don’t suppose you would be free to have dinner with me, sometime . . . “

Felicia gave a light, musical laugh and shrugged. “I’d be delighted. How about tonight?”

“Surely you must have a cast party to go to, or, or something . . .”

“No. I don’t have anything planned.” Felicia was perfectly matter-of-fact.

“Well, then. Shall I pick you up, somewhere, uhm, sometime?”

“No, I have my own car. I’ll meet you at Zizzo’s downtown at 9:30. I have standing reservations, so just show up.”

“OK. Wow, it was great meeting you and I can’t wait for dinner.” Danny sort of half bowed and scraped his way out the dressing room, and ran to his car.

An hour and half later they were seated across from each other over piles of linguine, and instead of Danny being able to pester her with probing details of her performances, she peppered him with lots of questions about his life, his work, and his hobbies. She had noticed his body, and assumed, correctly, that he was a dancer too.

Danny blushed, “Yeah, nothing professional. My mother wanted to me to do ballet when I was young. I later got into modern and jazz in college, but my true heart has always been with classical dance. I’ve stayed true to it, wherever possible.”

“That’s your hobby, and your passions, I see that,” said Felicia kindly. “And what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a sound mixer for a studio in Manhattan. We film commercials, performances, that sort of thing.”

“So that’s how you got all my tapes.”

Danny lowered his eyes. “Yeah. I know some people in the business.” He looked up again. She was smiling.

“It’s nice to know I have a true fan, and a devotee of the arts. No woman could ask for anything more.” Danny’s heart bloomed like it never had in his entire life.

As they were leaving, Danny asked if he could take her out some more, and Felicia cocked her head to the side, with a curious, assessing look on her face.

Finally she said, “OK”.

And that was that.

Danny attended virtually all her performances, and brought different kinds of flowers each time, politely knocking on the door, and peeking his head around, and each time, he would bend down on one knee before her and present the bouquet, as if he were offering up his soul to St. Peter.

After a month of this, Felicia seemed to let her natural guard down a little, but still referred to him as “Mr. Christian.” After two months, flowers were getting rather old, so he started bringing chocolates, then moderately expensive jewelry, and then vintage cloths (which he’d learned she collected). There was never a man so ardent in his wooing of such a refined, beautiful and artistic woman.

It all came to a head one night as they were walking along the edge of Central Park, admiring the lights, the warm glow of the city, and the brisk zephyrs which smelled of home cooking. Felicia was telling him about a Russian choreographer she’d dated and how abusive and selfish he’d been. Constantly drinking (Vodka of course), unreliable at work, and frequently blunt and abrasive. Abashed, she even related to Danny how his brutal treatment made her fell so trapped that she’d felt like bursting the choreographer’s balls in self-defense.

Without thinking, the words just spilled out of Danny, “I would never do that to you. You’re the sweetest angel I’ve ever met.” He stopped and bent down on one knee. “Please give me the chance to prove my love for you.”

Now it was Felicia who seemed a bit embarrassed, though she let him make this minor scene, in public. Danny held her hand. He could see she was hesitating to accept him as a person, boyfriend or partner.

“I’ll give you anything I can. All of me. You only have to ask.”

“Danny,“ it was the first time using his name, ”I already have everything. I have a career, several homes, friends, parents and siblings who love me. What else can you give me that I don’t already have?”

Danny’s throat stuck, and he just gazed at her with a pleading look, and then the recent conversation about the choreographer’s balls shot through his brain. It just came out.

“My balls, Felicia. You can have my two precious stones. I meant you could have all of me. I don’t know of any greater gift a man has, and they could be yours to do with as pleases you.”

Felicia laughed, until she saw the utter sincerity of his face.

“You’re serious.”

“I am.”

“Is that a wise gift to give?”

“Probably not, but it’s a profound one.”

Felicia gently cupped his face with her white, gloved hand.

“OK, Mr. Christian. I accept your offer. Let’s go to my place. It’s just up the way.”

It was their first night of intimacy. Felicia proved to be a sensual partner, and Danny a sensitive one. Their relationship grew close, and it wasn’t long before they would stretch together in a small, private studio in the mornings before Danny went to work. He wore his tights, both for reasons of tradition, and to proudly display his ample package. He used to be embarrassed at the exposure, now it made him proud.

On one such morning Felicia commented that she worried her battement’s were getting weak. She reasoned she needed some resistance to work her muscles against.

“Well,” said Danny, “Why don’t you use me?”

“You?”

“Yeah. Use my crotch. My balls will cushion your foot, and I can do something useful for you.” He grinned happily.

Felicia looked at him like he was the sweetest man in the whole world. She had the most beautiful, sparkling eyes.

“Don’t worry about me.” Danny braced himself against the barre, and spread his legs for her. His fat package bulged in front of him, and Felicia could see each ball distinctly through the stretch fabric.

“OK.” Plié, relevé and WHAM. Felicia’s training shoes rammed right into his cahones. Danny grimaced a bit. He hadn’t known what to expect, and it kinda hurt. But he didn’t move. Felicia was no stranger to pain herself, being constantly en pointe, and accepted his sacrifice implicitly, as that of a fellow dancer. WHAM. Rond de jambe, WHAM. Three pas de basques into an arial 5^th, right between his legs. SMACK. Danny was starting to sweat.

For twenty minutes, Felicia tested her metal against her boyfriend’s genitals, applying different techniques and positions on them. Danny took it like a champ, and was able to hobble out to his car to head home and change before work. The pain in his lower belly was terrible, but just knowing that he was her boyfriend made it all worthwhile.

The following week, he noticed that her jeté’s were a little less inspired than normal, and he invited her to take leaps between his legs and splatter his balls again. Felicia was only too happy to, and made running leaps right into his groin, scissoring open her legs to bury her shin into his nuts. Danny was glad she left before him, because he had to hold himself for about twenty minutes before crawling, not walking, crawling out to his car and slowly driving to work.

The week after that, Felicia received the new en pointe shoes she’d had made, and she was testing them out in the studio. This time, she asked him if she could use his genitals to practice with, but now she wanted to use both his cock and his balls. Danny closed his eyes, and called up some fantasies to get himself hard. While jacking himself off, the idea of her crushing his cock and balls popped into his head for no reason at all, and the stiff tube sliding in his hand became all the harder.

When he was nice and stiff, he took the piano stool, placed it in the middle of the room, and kneeled, letting his package lay flush with its hard surface. Then he nodded to Felicia. She smiled back, took a running leap, and gracefully landed on Danny’s goodies. She may seem light, but the pain in his mashed cock and flattened nuts said otherwise.

Then, as he watched, Felicia began to rise on her toes, on his junk, until her whole weight was concentrated on the box points of her slippers; her left shoe crushing his woody into the stool, and her right foot pressing his left ball into goo. The pain kept him immobilized. Felicia made a small hop to her left, and suddenly less pain, then more! Now his right ball was being squished and her right leg was cracking his cock. Danny started to tremble. He felt like puking. Felicia started hopping back and forth, somehow making it seem as if she balanced on stools and men’s tools every day.

This time Danny took almost an hour to recover, and he swore his balls were no longer round, and his dick was all bruised. But that one thing, the fantasy of her popping his balls and crushing his cock stuck in his mind, his imagination. Two nights later, they were having sex and all it was all he could think about.

For several months their warm up sessions included abusing Danny. She started using his whole body to balance on, trampling him and making him catch her, lift her, and do everything a male dancer would do. Danny’s whole body was covered with bruises and marks, but hey, that’s what being a dancer was all about, pain! Suffering for one’s art.

Felicia enjoyed trampling him so much that Danny went out and bought her some special stiletto boots just to use on him. He was a little nervous about her using them on his testicles, she might spear them! But she was a master of weight distribution and only made dimples in the heart of his nuts (although these lasted for several days).

When spring finally came to New York, and cherry trees were shedding their pink and white flowers, Danny proposed to his beloved, once again on one knee, offering up the most expensive engagement ring he could afford - a floral ribbon of small, flawless diamonds on a smooth band of white-gold. It was breathtaking, and to Danny’s eternal joy, Felicia said “Yes, of course I will.”

Their betrothal was bliss, her performing, and him providing his body and his company to her. There was one thing, though, the desire was growing in Danny to have Felicia work some permanent damage to his wedding tackle, and it came out, one night, as they were watching TV together on the couch.

Danny was in his boxers and a shirt, while Felicia was in a sweatshirt, sweatpants, and had on cute, fuzzy pink socks. She was resting her feet in his lap, on his package, and they were watching “House”. Danny made a weird sound in his throat. Felicia knew that meant something was on his mind.

“What’s wrong, love?” she asked.

“Oh. Well, I’ve been wondering, is there anything special I can give to you as a wedding present?”

“You’re my present.”

Danny smiled shyly. “I mean something that’s more enduring than this, your humble servant.”

Felicia laughed. “Well, I have always wanted a mink coat, but I’m always afraid those Greenpeace types will throw paint at me.”

“Fur coat. Got it. I think I’ve heard of a truck where such things have been known to fall off of. Very cheap.”

Felicia laughed again, and snuggled her feet into his warm genitals.

She bent her knees a bit and leaned forward to kiss him gently on the cheek. “And, is there anything I can do for you?” She nuzzled the cheek with her nose.

Danny blushed.

She kissed him again. “It’s OK. Tell me.”

“Well, *cough, ever since I’ve been helping you with your training, I’ve started to wonder what it would be like if you actually . . . “ a long pause, “popped one of my nuts. Just one,” he added hastily, “you know, I’m not a weirdo or anything, but your foot looks so sexy when it’s standing on them I, I just can’t help it.” Danny turned his head away in embarrassment. Felicia used one finger to gently turn his face so she could look into his eyes. Her eyes smiled into his.

“I’ll give you whatever you desire, my love.” She gently stuck her hand down his boxers to gently squeeze his eggs and caress his cock while they kissed. It was a blissful moment.

 The wedding arrived and it was the event of the dancing community season. Everyone on the cast and in the company was there, family, friends, friends of friends. It was a mob, held at St. Patrick’s cathedral, the largest Catholic church in New York. Felicia looked stunning, a silk and lace Vera Wang dress and a beautiful diamond studded silver tiara. Danny looked no less handsome in his silver tuxedo with tales and a smart top-hat. White rose petals dusted every surface and a live string ensemble played Bach’s Cantata no. 208 and Pachelbel’s Cannon in D. Such a perfect wedding, no one had ever seen before.

The reception went off flawlessly, with her bridesmaids performing a choreographed ballet in the center of the hall. After the party, a limo whisked them off to a plane where they flew non-stop to Paris, the City of Lights. It was a glorious honey moon – the food, the wine, the five star hotel and each other. Hours spent talking, laughing, seeing the sites and art of Paris, and all in the most magical company of the other.

On the night they returned, Danny cooked a special meal, and when they had finished, Felicia stood up, untied the pink silk scarf she had around her shoulders and walked over to Danny.

“Close your eyes,” she said. Then she tied the scarf around them. “Wait here.”

Danny waited.

Eventually he felt something disturb the table in front of him.

“Go ahead and take it off,” came Felicia’s gentle voice. Danny scrambled to remove it.

Before him, on the table, was Felicia in the exact costume she wore, all those years ago, for Giselle. She was a vision of glory. Danny just gaped at the fantasy come true.

“I’m ready,” she said simply. “Are you?”

“Oh my god, yes!” Danny unbuckled his belt, pulled off his shoes, then his pants, and finally his underwear until he was in nothing but his socks and his blue Oxford shirt. He gently lifted his right testicle and put it on the table, and held it there for her. It was a fat pink man-egg, warm, alive and pulsing in the lamplight.

While Danny watched (her, not his nut), Felicia began to effortlessly dance on the table, like some magical creature, floating, twisting, kicking and extending, until she was just inches from him. She leapt, en pointe, to one side of his testicle, just fractions of a millimeter from it, then she hopped to the other side of it. Back and forth, with the control of a master. She was building the tension and the drama of the moment. Suddenly, she leapt backwards and then  forwards, right on his testicle and twirled in place. Danny’s right ball gave way with gentle “POP” and its meat squished out between his fingers and her slipper. Danny’s dick, fully erect and pulsing with a life of its own, squirted out an enormous ribbon of semen, pressed straight from his right ball, and which landed on his shirt.

Just before he passed out in the chair behind him. He felt Felicia lean close and whisper in his ear. “When we’re parents, I’ll take the other on our wedding anniversary, Mr. Christian.” Danny’s grip on consciousness was slipping, but a beatific smile swept across his face. Felicia truly was a goddess. His goddess.

“I love you, Mrs. Christian,” he said as darkness took him.

“I know.”