Editor's Note: Hi there! This is a far cry from what I normally do, but I really wanted to give it a shot and think it turned out quite nicely. If you're easily startled by the thought of a powerful woman, flee now, for this be not the place for timid souls. If, however, strong, taunting dommes are your thing, then look no further and enjoy this slice of life-esk smutty little one shot!

Editor's Note II: Yes, please, bask in the genius of my title. Swapping "Bedroom Eyes" for "Bedroom Ears" entertains me to no end.

Charles "Trip" Tucker III cursed, out of breath, before giving it another herculean effort. Pulling back with all he was worth, hands gripped tightly around the shaft, he planted his feet and groaned with the effort. Unfortunately, the only thing that budged was a muscle in his back, and he let the pipe clatter to the floor with a resounding clang as he grasped at the source of the pain.

Standing straight up, Trip arched his back and rubbed at the spot, trying to soothe the angry muscles and hopefully stop it from becoming a welt that Phlox, the ship's resident physician, would probably treat with a Tellarian leech or a Klingon bloodworm. Unfortunately, the pain had allowed him to forget where he was, and he banged his head off the low ceiling. Trip cursed again and hobbled his way out of the maintenance shaft, still holding his back.

An ensign came rushing to his aid, but he waved them off.

"I'm alright," He said in his Floridian drawl, "Damn thing's heavier than a gator in a pig farm."

"Sir?" The young ensign asked, confused.

Trip gave them a second glance, realized how new they were, and shook his head, "Why don't you go get Mindy and Samuels and have them wrench that intake pipe back into place?"

"Right away, sir"," And the ensign was off.

Taking one more look at the maintenance shaft he had just spent the last twenty minutes sweating and working in, Trip let out a long exhale, stretched his back, and looked around.

The Enterprise's Warp-5 engine purred with power, sounding just as lovely as the day he'd first laid eyes on her. They'd been through a lot together, and he'd had to ride her harder than he preferred more times than he could count, but Trip Tucker loved that old thing. She was nearly outdated, but he'd made enough improvements that she might as well still be the best engine in the whole fleet. Still, that engine and himself were probably the only two things in the room that hadn't changed in the past several years.

The entire room had undergone a sizeable refit, with nearly ever panel and bolt being brand new as of last month. Most of his crew were brand new, transferred to a dozen other ships in Starfleet, and those that remained were few and far between. They'd all been issued upgraded toolkits, but Trip had managed to keep his favourite hyperspanner from being reclaimed by Starfleet's tool 'reduce, reuse, recycle all tools' program. It still had a chip taken out of the handle from when they'd been attacked by the Suliban all those years ago. Trip had grown so accustomed to the divot that even imagining holding a sleek, new hyperspanner felt like a betrayal of the most intimate kind.

He patted the device, nestled safely in his jacket pocket. He'd take the tool to his grave if he could, maybe even donate it to a museum. Trip could see the exhibit now: Some horribly misshapen wax figurine of him, hairline all messed up, standing atop some equipment boxes, hyperspanner proudly clasped in his hand, while a tour guide talked about how their museum had the only genuine hyperspanner he used to keep the Enterprise afloat.

The intercom chirping on the other side of the room snapped him from his reverie, and Trip marched over and thumbed the button.

"Engineering, Tucker here," He said, looking back at his other engineers as they went about their business. For some reason, even in moments of calm, he still kept a watchful eye on everyone- making sure they were safe, and that his precious engine was being treated with the respect she deserved.

"Commander," The firm, yet melodic voice of the Vulcan T'Pol answered on the other end, "Are you currently free from obligations?"

Trip could think of at least a dozen things he probably wanted to do, but nothing he needed to be doing right now, other than fixing that intake pipe.

"Nothing right now, Commander," He responded, "What can I do you for?"

"Please meet me in our quarters, when you have a moment," T'Pol responded, before abruptly ending the communication.

The authority in her voice told Trip all he needed to know, and he caught Mindy as she and Samuels were on their way by.

"Hey, I'm headed out, show's yours until I'm back," He said, before quickly slipping out of engineering.

Smoothing out his uniform, Trip's step had more than just a little skip to it. His heartbeat was already beginning to rise, and he had to stop at a refresher to catch his breath and wash his hands.

T'Pol and himself had cultivated a… Special relationship over the past few years.

It had started innocently enough, and a relationship of any kind certainly hadn't been something either of them had wanted when it started. However, the… Closeness of Vulcan neuropressure had worked a special sort of charm on them both. Even Captain Archer had picked up on it before either of them had even come close to admitting it, and he had teased both of them in separate, private, moments.

Living life on the edge of the frontier, so close to danger and death, for so long certainly had done a lot to accelerate things. Even Trip had been surprised when T'Pol and him had confessed their feelings for each other, and he usually felt he had a pretty good sense about these things. Well, for others, anyways, it seemed like he was always a step behind when it came to himself.

When the universe had finally calmed down a little bit, T'Pol and himself had taken the time to have several deep, difficult conversations about each other. About the relationship. About what each of them wanted, from each other and from their lives outside of the confines of a starship. Trip tended to fumble over his emotions and his words a lot, but T'Pol, a Vulcan, the supposed bastions of non-emotionality and logic, knew exactly how she felt about things, and, in time, she helped him find his own words too.

Of course, when it came to T'Pol, Trip had always felt like words fell short in description.

Meeting her, working with her, she seemed like every other Vulcan.

Astute, uptight, monolougers who enjoyed the sound of their own lectures more than they did anything else.

Still, there had been something different about her, and they had forged quite a good working relationship with each other. And then…

Well, Trip still wasn't sure what the moment was, but he knew it had happened.

One moment she had been his friend, his colleague, his confidant in private moments, and the next?

The next moment she had been his everything. His past, present, future, yesterday, today and tomorrow, everything he had ever wanted and everything he'd never known he wanted. She glowed when she entered a room, her deep, piercing eyes were oceans he drowned in, and her touch was an electric current that jolted him awake each time her hand found its way to his. Her hair, always neatly kept, never out of place, was soft to the touch, and caressing it brought a soft peace to his heart that couldn't be matched. Her smiles were saved just for him, her emotions kept safely in his hands and his alone, and his worries, his fears, his hopes and dreams, were all likewise kept just as safely in her own hands.

The stolen hugs in the hallways, the shared glances that communicated the entirety of their souls in mere seconds, the hushed nights shared by candelight, the movies that brought them together, and the mere mundane realities of sharing a room- a private space all their own, had set his entire life on fire like a box of uncontrollable fireworks. It still did, but now Trip Tucker simply took joy in the peace that T'Pol brought him, and the safety he felt in her presence.

Of course, her call to him today most likely involved none of that.

A call in the middle of the day, with that tone on her voice, meant one thing and one thing only.

She wanted him, and he was happy to oblige.

Because, at the end of the day, in addition to how strong they were as a couple, T'Pol and Trip Tucker were the undisputed champions on the entire Enterprise for sexual prowess.

Not that they ever bragged or compared, but Trip had a pretty good feeling. He tended to have a pretty good sense for these things, after all.

It had been awkward at first, as they tried to find a good mutual ground, and there had been more than enough embarrassing moments that Trip was still mortified of, but they had worked at it, taken breaks when they needed to, and ultimately overcame a lot of issues they both had. Plus, Trip thought with a sly grin, T'Pol had once said she had crafted her techniques and her approach specifically to please him.

She was certainly right about that, and the mere memory of her saying those words, the breathy syllables curving off his ear as she pushed against him, still sent a shiver of excitement down his spine.

His own work had been a little slower, a little more sloppy, but he had found a good rhythm to serve her with- and there were few things Trip enjoyed more than that. He knew how to make her twitch, make her writhe, and, he thought with no shortage of pride, how to make her grab his head and grind.

Trip Tucker slicked his hair back and tried to hide the cocky bravado, lest every single person on the ship know what he was about to do.

Commander T'Pol exited the bridge with merely a curt nod to Captain Archer. He acknowledged her in the middle of a big stretch, remarking how he probably needed to take a break too. T'Pol could not find fault with the statement. He had been working for ten hours straight, and had not left the bridge or his chair in at least four of those hours. Even humans like Captain Archer had their limits.

The turbolift doors shut with a hiss, and with a whirr she was on her way down.

T'Pol thumbed the intercom button to Engineering, informed her husband of what she needed, and abruptly ended the call.

A devious smile crept across her lips.

T'Pol and Trip were the only sanctioned couple in the entire fleet, and the fact that they were allowed to serve on the same starship was a privilege afforded as much by the peacetime factor as it was due to their status and seniority. T'Pol took no shortage of pride in this- it meant that she had done a very good job indeed over her years of service. It also meant that she and her husband could share quarters, and, at that, could take advantage of all the bonuses that came with it.

It had started innocently enough, and T'Pol had never had a single intention of pushing things further in her relationship with Trip. In fact, she had actively fought the idea as much as he had. But Doctor Phlox just had to play matchmaker, and, for once, he had been right.

Still, unlike her husband, T'Pol could pinpoint the exact moment things had changed between them.

T'Pol had awoken in her quarters one day, and realized she could not imagine her world without Charles "Trip" Tucker III.

From that moment on, he was always going to be hers.

There was an edge of possessiveness to the thought, but it had never been meant like that, no matter how often Trip teased her about it. She simply knew she could not be without him and if they proved to be compatible in the areas she needed then she would make it work no matter what, and she would make him work just as hard.

It had not been an easy process.

For one, Trip Tucker was perhaps one of the most oblivious men in history. He had not picked up on a single flirtation she had given him. Glances, words, brushes of her hand on his? These meant nothing to a man as brilliantly dense as Trip Tucker. He could calculate advanced equations at warp speed in his head, and was so clearly intelligent in so many wonderful areas, and yet he failed to even begin to ascertain that she had been flirting with him.

Finally, one night, she had thrown caution to the wind and just gone for it.

That had finally gotten through to him.

Although, even with the relationship initiated, that had not made things easier. In fact, everything seemed to get more complicated.

Their days were filled with chaos, and downtime was rare. That adrenaline had kept them going without issue, but there were problems growing beneath the surface, and Trip, though endlessly kind and empathetic, was oblivious to them. Many long, difficult conversations, and no shortage of years, later, they were at a point that both of them considered to be their highest point yet.

Sex was, also, thankfully no longer an issue between the two of them either.

Sexual relations had undergone their own difficulties right alongside everything else, and Trip and T'Pol had worked on it perhaps longer and harder than any other issue. They had taken breaks, tried out a plethora of different things, and finally, this year, had gotten into a rhythm that they both felt comfortable with. It was not necessarily any one person's fault, and that had made it quite easy for T'Pol to handle.

Trauma was trauma, and they both had it, to borrow the human expression, in spades.

Still, T'Pol had done her best to craft herself into the perfect toy for her husband. She knew exactly how to poke, prod, stroke, and breathe around him in those intimate moments to drive him wild. Likewise, Trip had stepped up to learn how to use more than those beautifully wonderful hands and body of his to thrill her, and he had taken to the task with a dedication and joy that had always delighted her. Even when things did not turn out quite right, she enjoyed it because it was with him. Trip failed to understand how she could be so non-plussed by his mistakes, but that was okay. It was about learning, and eventually he'd understand that too.

Her adaptability and ability to create a safe space in their sexual environment was due, in no small part, to the fact that she was a part of the very small minority of Vulcans who identified as asexual. She did not feel sexual attraction, nor did she experience the throes of Pon Farr- that uniquely Vulcan affliction that overcame her species to mate and breed every so often. T'Pol viewed sex as an activity, a highly intimate activity, but not too different from how she viewed spending time together reading, or playing games together. It was intimacy, and that was something she craved deeply.

Trip Tucker, of course, supplied that intimacy without end.

He still didn't quite understand it, but he never judged or demanded more. It was, to Trip Tucker, simply something he couldn't understand, but he'd fight, in his own words, "God, Heaven, and all the stars in the sky" to let her feel safe being who she was. It was a preposterous statement in the realms of logic, but T'Pol had long since come to enjoy his aphorisms and exaggerations.

Recently, one of those exaggerations had landed him in quite a precious situation- one that, consensually, T'Pol was all too happy to take advantage of.

It had been during a recent, rather slow, sexual encounter. It had been very late at night, but neither of them had the duty shift in the morning, and, even if they did, neither of them quite cared at that moment.

Trip had spent forty straight minutes doing all he could to stimulate her and drive her wild. From caressing her inner thighs, massaging her shoulders, and leaving soft kisses in the crook of her neck to focusing the vibrator in maddening repetition on her clit and finger fucking her into ecstasy, he had been putting on quite an impressive performance. That night was made all the better, of course, by the fact that they had been so busy that it had been exactly three weeks and two days since their last intimate moment like this.

On the come down from her second orgasm, she had grasped his arm, enjoying the sweet sensation of how firm his muscles were beneath the skin, and looked at him with pure lust in her eyes. Likewise, her precious husband was drunk on lust, and they shared a deep kiss that took his breath away.

"Oh, Trip," She had said, barely more than a whisper, "How do you do this?"

"You're my goddess, T'Pol," He said, taking her hand in his and kissing it, "I'd worship you forever."

"Oh?" T'Pol had said, immediately taking back her faculties, raising an eyebrow with such an arch that Trip knew he had just landed himself into a very dangerous position, "Goddess, huh?"

Slightly nervous, Trip fumbled over the start of his sentence, feeling the power dynamic shift between them, "Oh, yah, honey, you are the center of my universe, the only goddess I could ever know."

The idea of gods and goddesses was, simply put, a scientific and logical impossibility. Beings could impersonate these mythological creatures, but they were aided by advanced sciences, or an easily duped audience. Gods and Goddesses and Demigods and the like were impossible, and T'Pol had never even entertained the idea.

But the way her husband said those words, the very conviction she saw in his soul…

Oh, now that she would entertain. If he viewed her as such, then T'Pol would become his goddess- she would endeavour to, consensually, become his entire existence, the very air he breathed, and he would bow to her and worship her as she demanded.

After asking permission, T'Pol had very easily turned the tables that night. And that was three nights ago.

T'Pol was a simple woman. She lived austere, she enjoyed the simple mundane parts of her relationship with her husband, and she lived her life according to an exacting set of standards and principles. But the thrill of being someone's goddess?

The Vulcan had completely overpowered her precious little human husband, and he had been powerless to stop her. She had stopped him wherever she want, found him when he was not around, and had absolutely done her best to become his everything. She had checked in from time to time, to make sure his consent still stood, and Trip had lovingly assured her it did.

The wicked smile on T'Pol's lips grew wider as she entered their quarters, the doors sliding shut behind her. She was not looking for anything so dedicated today, nothing so overly long, just a quick jaunt and she would be happily on her way again- and hopefully would be leaving her dear husband breathless and clearly marked as hers.

Slipping out of her uniform, a process in and of itself given how sweaty she had become, completely consumed by her thoughts of lust, T'Pol turned the temperature in their cabin even higher. Trip always enjoyed a temperature increase during sex, which suited T'Pol just fine- for her, in these primal, intimate moments, the hotter the better.

Sprawling out on their bed, she turned her eyes to the door, and waited.

Trip's first step into the quarters he shared with his wife was more of a stumble, as the mere sight of T'Pol caught him off guard almost as much as the sudden blast of heat that met him full force in the face. The door slid shut behind him, and a quick flick of the switch ensured it locked as well. His wife, her head resting on her hand, looked him up and down, slowly, a predator admiring her prey.

A few more moments passed before she spoke, her voice authoritative but not harsh.

"Are you going to undress, or have your faculties ceased to function?"

He looked down at himself, patting his uniform, as if he even he was surprised it was still on. Quickly, with rapid zips and an amusing struggle with his boots and pant legs, Trip quickly removed the uniform, tossing it as fast as he could into their closet, as if it were some offensive secret he had to hide.

It's cute when he panics, T'Pol thought, He still gets so flustered at the sight of a woman in her natural state like he's a teenager.

He certainly didn't look like a teenager though, and T'Pol admired his human physique. He was not all muscled up, but he certainly was not out of shape either. Deceptively strong was perhaps the most appropriate word, and she could attest to that if nobody else could. Trip was tanned, thanks to a recent two-week bout of shore leave he and T'Pol had shared, hiking the cliffs of what had once been known as Texas, and enjoying the beaches of his native Florida. His chest was well-rounded, his pectoral muscles perhaps the most well-defined part of his body, even without flexing. There was enough hair to add to both depth and aesthetic, but not enough that T'Pol would have been repulsed, and he maintained it all very well.

T'Pol had not been as lucky on their shore leave, and had only recovered from her sunburn the previous weekend. Vulcan skin was not fair, and could take a fair beating from ultraviolet rays, but she had still failed to listen to common sense when they were on the beach. Of course, she knew she needed to go back inside, but instead she had chosen to listen to the absolute bastion of common sense that was her husband, when he said the water would do just as well as being inside.

The clear, blue water did nothing of the sort, and he had apologized profusely for hours while he rubbed aloe vera oils and other ointments onto her burned skin the next day.

T'Pol finished the thought, bringing herself back to the present moment as she admired Trip again. That boyish smile played across his face, and he stood even straighter, hands behind his back, while she evaluated him. His cheeks flushed a hint of pink as he stood there, somewhat embarrassed.

"Nervous?" She nearly spat the word at him. An accusation, but also a question of consent without asking.

"Me? Oh, heck no," His cheeks blushed an even deeper red, "Just waiting for permission."

"Permission?" She asked, innocently, "Permission for what, my dear?"

"C'mon, T'Pol," He rocked on his heels, "You know for what."

"No," She put a hand to her chest, feigning ignorance, "I have no clue. What permission are you waiting for?" T'Pol teased him, hiding her amusement behind a façade of complete, Vulcan impassivity.

It was a fun game they played. Trip hated it, T'Pol enjoyed it. The teasing, the innocence, especially when she refused to show even the faintest hint of emotion. It made him uncomfortable in that playful way. He could end the discomfort at any moment, of course, if he just answered her.

"Permission to," He looked around the room, but there was no escaping his wife, and he pursed his lips before laughing at her, "Come on, you know."

Her gaze did not waver, and he crumpled further under it.

"Permission to come touch you," He half mumbled, sheepishly.

"Oh, that permission," She rolled back, exposing herself to him further, and she enjoyed watching how his eyes immediately drifted to her breasts, "Yes, you have permission."

That boyish charm exuded itself as he eagerly came over to her, pressing his body against hers, stealing a kiss, and enjoying the sensation of skin-on-skin contact. T'Pol enjoyed it immensely as well, but she was not interested in playing for long. Just enough for her husband to relax, to ease into it. He enjoyed the closeness, the intimacy, before slipping into their more sordid affairs.

She played her fingers through his hair, dragged her nails softly down his arms and then his back. He caressed her neck, ran a hand down her thigh with a firm touch, giving little squeezes as he worked his way back up. Their lips parted and connected again, tongues dancing across each other. She lifted her leg just enough, and he lowered himself until he was resting on her thigh. A little nudge, a bit of pressure, and she had him right where she wanted him.

Trip fell forward just a little, a soft moan in her ear and he grinded on her thigh, getting harder with each little movement. Her nails dug into his shoulders, precisely just enough so she could move him where she wanted. She kissed his neck roughly, a quick bite to let him know which Vulcan wife he had in bed, and then worked her way up to his ear. A few hot exhales had him shaking and moaning, and her free hand greedily grabbed onto his hardening cock. A firm squeeze and some gentle strokes had him coming to his full hardness almost instantly, and T'Pol felt a surge of pride.

Nobody could ever hope to work Trip like she could, he was putty in her hands and she played with him exactly how she wanted to.

T'Pol lived to hear his moans, his groans and grunts. Especially when it was right next to her ear, where his exhales easily stimulated her sensitive Vulcan ears. The moans, soft or loud, gave her a unique pleasure, and she could already feel herself getting wet as she worked him over. Playing her tongue around the curve of his ear, forcing him to ride and grind on her leg, her hand's deft, tight grip around his cock stroking him at just the right speed.

He was already shaking, and braced himself with one leg on the floor, and one hand on the bed, the other still exploring her body. He cupped her breast, squeezed it, giving her nipple a nice, gentle twist. A jolt of pleasure went through her as he did so, elevated her more as she trapped his other leg and pulled it in close so she could grind on it.

Two lovers trapped in embrace, grinding on each other, moaning in each other's ears, sweaty from work and the oppressive heat of their room. Their bodies worked in perfect synchronization, exactly to T'Pol's rhythm.

Gods, she thought, lost in the passion for a brief moment, If we don't stop I could go on like this for another hour.

Of course, she remembered, that was not what her plan was.

T'Pol stopped Trip, and he paused, breathless, to look at her.

Her fierce gaze told him all he needed to know, and her next words were exactly what he expected.

"Your goddess," She let the title hang in the air, tracing his jawline with her nail, "Demands worship."

"Of course, Goddess," He nearly fumbled the title, due more to the fact that she nudged him with her knee, enough to send another little shock of pleasure through him, "I'm yours."

T'Pol smiled. It was one of amusement, of pleasure. She enjoyed needling him like this. Trip played up being a self-made man, a can-do-anything engineer, a hero of the day to everyone else, and, in many respects, he was. He could throw punches with a MACO sergeant, and had stared death in the face more times than he could count, happy to thumb his nose at it and take the laws of physics in a brand new direction. Yet, when T'Pol got her hooks into him, he sunk to his knees faster than anything else- completely subsumed by her will, eager to please, embarrassed because he, too, recognized the differences.

This slim little Vulcan had him wrapped around her finger, and he loved it.

There was no shame, and he took great pride in it when people like Captain Archer joked about it. Serving her as both husband and friend was his greatest pride in life, of that he made no secret. Yet this private little thing they shared, this submission of his, was complete, total, and absolute. They traded the role with ease, but when Trip submitted to her, he gave her everything with very little challenge.

Even if he was embarrassed by it, if she questioned him now, as his Goddess, he would never admit it. To serve her, here and now, was his one and only wish.

T'Pol kissed him, deeply, forcing her tongue into his mouth.

She'd be more than happy to grant that wish.

Uncoiling from him, she stood at the side of the bed, and he turned to look at her, waiting her next move.

"Lay down, flat, head on your pillow," T'Pol said, firmly, "You're going to worship me until I'm satisfied, understood?"

Trip immediately adjusted into position.

Communication, of course, was still key, and even though Trip had consented several times before to just letting T'Pol lead without a word, she still preferred direct communication. And, unlike Trip, she tended to do a very good job of not breaking character when she did so.

"I am going to sit on your face, you are going to eat me out for as long as I want," She began, her tone unwavering and powerful, as if she truly were a goddess laying out instructions to her devoted worshipper, "You may tap my hip if you need air," She patted her hip once to show him, "When we are finished, you are going to go back to work as if nothing has happened. You may wash your face with water, but nothing else. I want every little catty, chatty bitch out there to know who marked you."

T'Pol came closer, leaned in so she was mere inches away from him. His breathing was hitched with excitement, but he never broke eye contact. Listening intently to her instructions.

"There will be no doubt from your slutty little ensigns, those disgusting, jealous whores who see you every day, that you are marked, and that you are mine, and that you worship the Goddess T'Pol. Understood?"

T'Pol felt a little weird saying it all. She did not care if other girls flirted with him, his commitment to her was resolute, and she had never doubted that. Besides, they had broached the topic of polyamory more than once, it had simply never appealed to them, but it had been a fun conversation. However, there was an undeniable perverse pleasure she got from giving him such an order, to wear her scent in such a dirty, sordid way. T'Pol was getting wetter just thinking about it.

A quick glance downwards showed that her husband clearly had no reservations about it, as his cock stiffened even further as she finished the orders. He'd have his chance to back out, now or later, if he wished.

"Of course, Goddess," He said, breathlessly.

"Good," She smirked, gave him another firm kiss, and then smacked his head back to face the ceiling, "I like boys who know their place."

Stepping over him, T'Pol squatted over his face, then gently lowered herself down until her knees rested on the bed. Of course, she'd also trapped his arms under legs in the process. He could still tap her hip if needed, but she wanted him restrained as much as possible for this. The feeling of control was something T'Pol was relishing right now, and she wiggled her butt as Trip eagerly started in.

His tongue quickly made its way past her folds, working its way inside her with fast, greedy licks and thrusts. Trip made sure she was good and wet before deftly finding her clit, circling it one way, and then the opposite, before sucking on it with just the right amount of pressure.

Thank the gods he has great lungs, T'Pol thought as he bit her lip, writhing and wiggling on top of him, grinding her cunt into his face as he kept up the pace. Alternating between bursts of speed and passion before slowing it back down so he didn't wear himself out, Trip did his best to eat her out exactly how she enjoyed. His enthusiasm more than made up for any weaknesses when it came to his head game, and, once he got into a rhythm and figured out exactly how much he could get away with, Trip really let loose.

His hips bucked slightly as she pressed herself down on him, her hips wiggling with a mixture of joy and pleasure as he continued his tireless efforts to worship her. T'Pol loved this- no worries, no thoughts, just focused on the sensations, the ecstasy of it all. Her mind was a constant cacophony, focused on every little feeling, sensation, idea, everything. Moments like this, however, silenced all of that, and only added to her enjoyment.

After twenty-three minutes, with a few breaks for air, T'Pol reached down and dug her nails into his thighs, grinding her pussy into his face harder and harder, crying out as the orgasm overtook her. Trip, damn him, kept on licking and suckling and working her over. With his arms free from her collapse, he pulled her back and kept working, teasing her tortured clit into overstimulation. T'Pol was writhing in pleasure, but another orgasm could easily knock her out.

It was not easy to free herself, but the Vulcan managed to escape Trip's grasp, collapsing on the bed next to him, her feet lazily on the headboard near his head, panting and gasping for air. The aftershocks of her orgasm were still rocking her body, and his damned overenthusiasm had her aching good. She could feel him shaking with laughter even if she couldn't see it, and she gave a half-hearted smack to his thigh.
Trip was quite pleased with himself, soaking in his own feelings of pride and pleasure as he put his hands behind his head.

T'Pol could barely move, but she found the strength to turn herself around with, admittedly, some help from her husband. She nestled her head against his chest, listening to his rapidly beating heart begin to slow back down as soon as he did so. A hand on her back gave a firm squeeze to ground her back to the moment, and he rubbed her back as her own heart rate came back down. T'Pol sighed with contentment.

They were both incredibly sweaty, and the room reeked of pungent sex that her heightened sense of smell would've normally been overwhelmed. However, in the afterglow, none of that seemed to matter, and she nuzzled in closer to him.

"Was that good?" He asked with a euphoria-induced giggle.

"Very," She answered curtly, giving his chest a pat, "And you can actually wash your face, if you want to," She added, letting him know the dynamic had come to an end for now.

"Thank you, I might," Trip joked, eyes closed, still enjoying the pride of having brought his wife to another orgasm that he'd be all puffed up about for the rest of the day. He could be insufferable sometimes, but T'Pol still enjoyed him, his puffed-up ego was always a little amusing, even if it could be at her expense.

There was still a lot to do today, and a shower was definitely in order once they found the strength to move again, but for now, T'Pol happily soaked in the feeling. She was safe and satisfied, and Trip… Well, even as she listened to his deep, steady breaths, she could still feel him beaming ear to ear.