by Laura Dee
(7/12/00)

I stand at the kitchen counter with my back to you. We finished eating dinner hours ago and I've been chopping vegetables for tomorrow night's salad. I like it nice and cold, so I like to make it ahead and chill it overnight. You walk up behind me and your big warm hands slide around my waist and under the edge of my top. Your fingers press firmly across my tummy, meeting just over my belly button, as you bend to give my neck an open-mouthed kiss, and slowly nibble up my neck.

I've scooped up all the veggies, deposited them on top of the chilled spaghettini, and I'm pouring on the cold Italian salad dressing.

"Mmmmm, keep that up and I'll never get this finished," I whisper in your ear, as I lean my head back against your shoulder and give your earlobe a quick nibble. I begin to slowly stir the salad with a big fork. The noodles slip and slide and all the tiny bits of onion, green pepper and tomato fall down over the sides, landing in the bottom of the bowl.

I raise my head again and continue with my work, but my efforts now seem fruitless. You chuckle and ask me why I'm using a fork instead of a big spoon that will lift the veggies from the bottom and distribute them evenly into the noodles. I explain that I tried a spoon, but the noodles are next to impossible to move in the slippery oil without something to grab them and hold them while you mix them up.

You reach into the drawer, grabbing a big spoon, and soon discover that the long, oily noodles defy scooping. We both laugh at your efforts, and then you dig your hand deep into the bowl and begin to mix the whole mess. I chuckle softly and let you continue, because it seems to be working. "That'll do it," I say, laughing.

I reach into the bowl, snatching a cluster of noodles and tomato bits between my fingertips, raising them high above your head so you can catch the tail end on the tip of your tongue. Then I slowly lower it in a spiral onto the surface of your tongue. When it lies in a small heap there, you draw it into your mouth and begin to chew. "Yummmm," you say with a surprised grin, "this is really good!"

I wait for you to swallow your mouthful, then slide my fingers into your mouth, one by one, for you to lick and suck the oily mixture off. I lie back against your shoulder again, closing my eyes and letting myself experience the wet heat of your tongue along the surface of my fingers.

"Mmmmm, that feels good," I murmur. "Mmmm, that tastes good," you counter. I smile in answer and your mouth lowers over mine.

You reach into the bowl, taking the end of a stray noodle and -- raising your mouth from mine -- trail it across my lips. The oil clinging to the end gathers at the corner of my mouth, and a big droplet forms, sliding down towards my chin. Your tongue quickly laps it up and continues along my lip to the far corner, slurping the noodle in as you go. I chuckle at the tickling sensation this creates and you chuckle too, a few seconds later.

"Hmmm, creative way to eat a salad," I mumble, as your tongue traces my lip once more, back in the direction from which it came. "You think that's creative," you say with mounting enthusiasm. "How about this?" Scooping a modest handful up, you bring it over my cleavage and let the noodles slip over the edge of your palm, a few at a time, down the front of my low-cut top. Then you lower your hand to rub it in.

I let my head fall back and begin to giggle. The cold noodles feel good against the top of my breasts. I feel the oil dribble down between them.

You turn me to face you now and bend to grab the stray noodles clinging to my skin with your tongue and teeth. It feels so good. The contrast of cold pasta and warm tongue sends shivers up my spine and my body arches against yours. I reach back, grabbing a large handful of noodles without you realizing it. I grab your belt, giving it a little tug, and dump the cold, slippery salad down the front of your shorts. You let out a loud yelp and my hands immediately begin to rub you through the thin material.

"What are you doing?" you say, as you squirm under my hands. "Just warming my pasta," I grin. "That's my favorite way to eat it," I say, looking up into your eyes. You raise your eyebrows and give me a wink. I hold your gaze as I slowly lower myself to my knees in front of you, pulling your fly down as I go. Your eyes get bigger and bigger as you anticipate what I might be about to do.

I feel your member poking outward at me, begging for my attention, and I open your pants. Spaghettini hangs from your shaft like tinsel from a Christmas tree, and I smile, looking forward to the feast I'm about to enjoy.

My tongue reaches out and wraps around the end of one of the long noodles and I slowly suck it into my mouth. The slippery spaghettini slides across your erect member and disappears between my moist lips. You moan at the sight, wishing it were you being sucked into my mouth instead. Shivers tingle up and down your spine as I do it again, and again, and you hear the slurping, smacking, sucking sounds so close to your anxious flesh. You lean back against the side counter and close your eyes, trying to imagine what my next move will be.

I take you by surprise and wrap my lips around your member, sucking you deep into my warm mouth and sliding my tongue around you, over and over. You let a deep growling moan escape your lips and push your hips towards me. My hands cup your cheeks and pull you in as far as I can. I moan loud and long, sending vibrations up into your groin.

Your body quivers. I feel you growing tenser with each thrust. I squeeze you gently with my tongue, moaning over and over, creating a wave-like effect. Your knees grow weak; you hold onto the counter and let the feelings engulf you until your body allows you to release. Your cheeks tense tightly. Your whole body begins to spasm, and I feel your warm fluids against the back of my throat. I swallow all you have to offer, and when you begin to relax I let you slowly slide off my tongue.

I return to my feet, kissing your chest as I open the buttons on your shirt. My hands caress you and find your hardened nipples one by one, giving each a little attention. You've been working on my buttons too, although it isn't easy with the oil all over your hands. You peel my clingy top away from my breasts and off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Then you reach around and unhook my lacy bra and let it follow suit.

Your hands feel wonderful slipping across my breasts, rubbing the oil into my skin. You reach down with your eager tongue and lick the dressing that clings to my skin. My breasts are covered with goosebumps. I've known you to be playful at times, but never quite like this. You pull me into your arms, my pelvis against yours, warm through my remaining clothing. I feel your hard shaft against me; I reach down to unfasten my jeans and slide my panties down, allowing it contact with my warm body.

Your hands seek out the warmth within and it's not long before your fingers find my moist hot center. I gasp at the swiftness of your oil-slick digits. I let out a low, long sound like soft purring as you work my flesh.

There's a fire within you tonight I've never seen. I feel an urgency that ignites my passion, bringing the flame to a white-hot glow. You push my jeans down the rest of the way over my hips and bend down on one knee to pull them off, one leg at a time, my panties following close behind.

I feel your warm breath tickle across my naked mound, feel your tongue sneak a taste. My hands begin to gently play with your hair as my hips move in rhythm against your face. I lean the small of my back against the counter as you grasp my derierre and plunge your tongue deeper, spreading my legs with your hungry mouth.

You moan and growl, unleashed, breathing my musky scent. Your passion feeds on itself and I reach a summit. I feel your tongue rubbing against my most sensitive spots, driving me into a frenzy. My knees grow weak; I might collapse altogether.

Your tongue flicks harder and harder over my aroused flesh and I soon feel the warmth spread from my center, upward and outward, bathing me in a warm glowing awareness. I feel my pelvic muscles contract with pleasure around your tongue.

You moan at the taste of my nectar; it moistens your face and dribbles down your chin, and you press me closer still, not wanting to waste one precious drop. Exhausted, I cling to the counter for support.

You lower me to the floor and caress my breasts with your open hand. When my breathing returns to normal you play with my nipple, using your tongue.

You kiss up and down my body and I pull you to me with my hands. Your knees straddle me and I coax you upward over my body, until your hips ride my ribcage. Your hard member slides between my breasts in a rhythmic rocking motion. I feel you grow slick and slippery and I long to taste you. I reach with my tongue to touch your tip and you slow your pace, wanting more.

I purse my lips and your head slides between them into the moist heat of my hungry mouth. "Mmmmmm, you feel so smooth. Like liquid velvet." You become more and more urgent. Raising yourself, you drive your slick firmness deep into my throat. I yield, sucking gently, then firmer, in rhythm with your body. I feel you pulsing against my tongue, longing for release. I long for it too.

I feel your cheeks go rigid and I intensify my grasp on you, pull you into a higher orgasmic state. You howl out loud like a wounded animal, and let the sensations engulf you. Your leg muscles quiver and I watch your face as your creamy liquid lust shoots against my palate. I swallow in great gulps. You get a look of peaceful bliss on your face, a tiny smile touching the corners of your mouth as you roll onto the tile floor beside me.

I rise quickly, rubbing my hands in the oily salad and kneading your overworked muscles with expert fingers. I touch even the deepest chords and soothe the ache within you. My hands dart off on playful detours here and there as I work up and down your body. My hands are warm and delicious against your flesh.

This touching arouses you again, and coaxes my senses into readiness. I smell your musk beneath my fingers. I hear your low moans with each caress. I feel my nerve endings react to the sights, sounds, smells and touch of you. I can't get enough and I surround your more-than-willing penis with my red painted nails and begin gently stroking its length, daring it to grow thicker, more rigid.

Tiny beads form on the smooth head and I sample them with the tip of my tongue. Your body quivers. I smile and give you a sexy wink. Your head is propped up on a sack of potatoes beside the cupboard, so you have a good clear view. I continue to play with your glistening shaft, licking it each time it dribbles until I think you might be close to orgasm. Then I back off and kiss your chest or your thighs until I feel you are under control again.

After teasing you for a long time I straddle your pelvis and slowly lower myself onto your shaft. You watch. You moan with pleasure at the sight and feel as my body squeezes around your thick shaft and it disappears inside me. You lift your knees to drive yourself deeper. You thrust upward each time I rock on you. It turns you on even more to watch my body swaying and rocking, to watch the pleasure on my face. I'm lost in the motion.

I ride you fiercely. Your hands grope to find a firm hold and find none. Everything is motion. Fluid and ever changing. We become lost in it until the final wave explodes and we lay spent again.

We lie side by side, spoons style, breathing in a jagged rhythm, trying to pace each other back toward normal range. I feel the dewy sweat of our repeated copulation clinging to your body, brushing against mine. My senses are heightened. I feel you rising to the occasion yet again and smile secretly.

My body hungers to feel you inside yet again. I can't get enough. As if in an alcoholic stupor, I seek out that one more drink, but it isn't a drink I lust after.

You sense my urgency and draw me to my knees, my face close to the tile. My knees are together, making a tight entrance for you. You linger at my thighs, rubbing gently against me, arousing my already active nerve endings. Then you slowly slip between my soft lips.

I moan as you enter, swaying my hips to the music in the background. Slow and sensual and deep is how I want it and you read my thoughts, following my movements and the music. When the music peaks, you thrust deeper into me with each crescendo. I rock back on you to meet your thrusts.

The music builds and we both step up our motion until we explode and collapse on the floor again. Your body covers mine, skin against skin, warm where it touches and cool where it doesn't. It's hard to believe we've made love to each other so many times and in so many ways and never got near a bed.

I let you catch your breath and then shimmy out from under you. I stand and take your hand, raising you up by sheer will. You back me against the counter and bring your mouth down on mine with great force. Your passion is almost overwhelming. It takes my breath away, leaves me light-headed. When you finally release me, I bury my nose in your chest and take in great deep breathes of you and of whatever oxygen might be clinging to the air around you. My dizziness subsides and I pull you towards the bathroom.

I reach into the tub and turn on the faucets one by one, then pull out a box of matches. I strike one on the box and touch it to the wicks of several candles. I close the door and turn to you. I dowse the light and let the flickering candlelight engulf us.

I think what a handsome creature you are, under all that tousled hair. I see love in your eyes and remember with great clarity who and where I am. We forgot for a little time in the confines of our kitchen, but now this peacefulness reminds us. We sink slowly into the warm water of the tub. We wash the greasy slick of spaghettini from our bodies.

There will be other nights, other wild, passionate interludes, but for now, we are complete.