For the Taing

It isn't hard to picture me doing it.

Taking her I mean.

And I bet I'd excite the shit out of her too.

I don't even think I'd ask permission.

Nah. I'd just walk up to her one day, like when she's doing the dishes or preparing for a party, or fixing something.

I can see it as clear as a crisp blue winter's sky....

She has her back turned to me and she's fiddling with a dish or handling some tool as if it were an extension of her own arm. I walk up to her and turn her to me by her broad shoulder.

She doesn't know yet what I want and she's a bit annoyed that I interrupted her.

I ignore that and gently, but with no doubt about it, move her to a chair.

No, wait, not a chair, a corner of the kitchen. Yeah...

She quickly grasps the meaning of my invasion into her productive moment and she looks at me with her, 'Hey, I'm the one in control' look. But my eyes flash right back that I won't be having any of that right now. She can control me all she wants later, and tomorrow, and the next tomorrow... but not right now.

This is my fantasy, woman, and I won't let you change any of it.

She sees I mean business and her evergreen eyes register surprise, but only for an instant. Surprise is quickly replaced by want, and that just instantly makes my juices flow.

I take the dish, or tool, or whatever it is out of her hand and drop it to the floor.

In another reality she would balk at my improper treatment of the object, but in this time and space she's figured out that she better not even bat an eyebrow.

She is firmly against the kitchen corner now and I raise both of her arms above her head and hold them with one hand. Taller and stronger than me, she knows as well as I do that she can break this hold whenever she wants, but she plays along.

I kiss and nibble at her neck as my free hand finds the buttons on her work shirt and makes them yield the skin they are selfishly concealing. Not roughly, but with a tug, I move her bra over her breasts and out of my way. It's not often that I get to play with her like this, at my own timing and pace, so I take my time and trace her breasts, one at a time, with my fingers.

As my fingers are engrossed in her creamy smooth breasts I find that my mouth has migrated from her neck to her own mouth and my tongue is explaining to her by its rolls, dives, and lunges that she is now mine for the taking. I half expect her to escape from my grip and turn the tables on me. And I wonder if that's what I actually want. Usually, maybe... but not now. She has accepted the fact that she's not playing the lead role for now and I continue drawing on her breasts with my finger, like they were my own personal canvas, simultaneously encasing her mouth with my own.

After a while, my mouth leaves hers to find those two heaving mounds whose points are stretching out to reach me.

That's when I hear her anticipatory moan.

Oh, yeah baby. I love it when you moan.

"So you want me to take those wonderful round breasts into my mouth do you?" I say to her through neatly placed nips and tugs on her rapidly heating body.

I can feel that she's about to answer but I quickly look into her eyes and whisper for her to hush. She groans again, but says nothing.

My tongue circles around, under, and hovers just over her breasts, just so she feels my breath. She tries to lunge forward to catch my mouth with her nipple but I'm just a bit quicker, and I win.

But she doesn't like that. No, she doesn't like that one bit.

But she's giving in, because it just feels too good not to right now.

As a reward I gently touch each nipple with the tip of my tongue and, oh God, do they respond like playful little puppies. They jump and reach and maneuver to be the one that's touched first. I move slowly at first, but then I build up momentum and speed as I travel back and forth between her breasts so fast that she must think that my mouth, in its greed, has split and become two so it could savor more of her.

She slides a bit down the wall but I don't let her move us to the floor. I raise my head above her breasts and make her come back up to me.

Oh yes, that groan again. God, she's killing me with that groan!

She knows I'm playing with her, but no, there's no smile on her face. Hers is a look of pure want and need. She's not letting on, but I know she likes this.

I think.

But I see that I am good at this – the moan inducing touches, and I smile as she rolls her eyes in enjoyment behind her half-closed lids.

I get a grip on my moment of conceit and return my full attention to the woman in front of me.

Slowly I slide my hands off of hers and down her tan and molded forearms to her involuntarily flexing biceps. I stop there and give a massage just for a second, just to prolong this adventure a bit.

My hands travel down over her strong shoulders to become partners with my mouth at her breasts and nipples, which threaten to cut glass with their hard peaks. Now that reinforcements have arrived in the form of my hands my mouth will be able to move on to other glorious escapades.

My teeth nibble their way across my now almost hyperventilating partner's ribcage moving from one side to the other.

Then, all of a sudden, I feel hands on my head. Massaging, kneading hands, trying to position me. Trying to maneuver me!

Hold it right there lover. This is my fantasy!

So now I have to take my hands away from her breasts -- what, was that a whimper? -- then take her disobedient hands and place them back where I placed them. "Yeah, that's it, nice and high above your head," I say while staring directly into her needful eyes.

My mouth takes possession of hers, roughly, to let her know that I'm serious about this. She says okay by placing her hands flat against the wall.

Oh my baby, I love how we can communicate so much by saying so little. I whisper, "Be still baby... be still." My one hand is still on hers and the other forging down the curves and turns of her body to the front of her jeans.

God I love jeans. There's something about hearing a zipper open that just hits me as being incredibly erotic. My hand traces her zipper and then her crotch area and I just can't believe the heat pouring off that thick material. I smile involuntarily.

Now she's wiggling around in a desperate attempt to have her hips grow hands to open the zipper.

Calm down baby, I'm getting there.

My mouth travels from hers back down to her breasts and continues heading south giving her ideas about its eventual destination.

Apparently she keeps forgetting that I'm the pilot here. I take my hand that's been holding hers and place it flat against her chest, holding her still, and me slightly away from her. My left hand, the one that's been enjoying the roller coaster ride of her hips, now unfastens the lonely metal button on her Levi's and slowly pulls the zipper down.

She tries to make her hands obey me by keeping them flat against the wall above her head but she has an incredibly difficult time doing so.

I crouch down and my mouth now hovers just over the V opening in her jeans as my hands suddenly, and with a forcefulness I didn't know I possessed, tug them off her hips and down to her knees. With pride I see that I've also done away with her underwear at the same time.

I stand up and step back just a bit, in order to admire this incapacitated woman in front of me. My hands move of their own accord back to her breasts as I see her soft fuzzy mound move in front of me.

My mouth waters from want to taste her. I rake my nails down her body as I oh so slowly kneel between her legs. She is soaked, and that just causes a renewed flood to pour from me as well.

I nip at her wet curly hair and pull with my teeth. Moans and sighs stream from her. My lips graze the most sensitive part of her body and I swear she leaps to the ceiling and touches down again in the same spot in one single instant. Slowly, luxuriously, I taste her in this way. Nipping, swirling, licking, sucking... I bathe myself in her essence.

Then, without warning, I thrust two fingers into her so deep that she cries out in ecstatic surprise. Liquid pours from her as if she harbors an internal lake. Her muscles grab at my fingers, pulling me in as deep as I can go. I focus all of my strength into the rhythms and pulsations of my hand and dance of my tongue as she grabs me by my shoulders and molds them like clay ever increasing in tempo.

I briefly gaze up at her and see her teeth gnashed and neck flushed and I know she is about to explode. My forearm begins to burn and the sweat stings my eyes but still it seems too soon when I feel her body gain a sense of urgency and movement that leads her to a seemingly endless undulating, screaming rapture.

I fall backwards and feel her catch me as we land exhausted on the floor holding each other, looking into each other's satisfied, glistening eyes.

Yeah.

This is definitely something I can picture me doing.

As a matter of fact, is that the dishes I hear her doing downstairs?