Sweetness 1

After I've prepared you a light but flavorful dinner, and we've lingered long after over wine and beautiful words; long after my fingers have intertwined with yours and my thumb is gently stroking the back of your hand; I look deep into your eyes and grin a little wickedly and say, "So, are you ready for dessert?" deepening my voice comically on the last word. Then I stand, lifting your hand with mine as I rise. I then disentangle my fingers but, keeping hold of your palm, kiss you there and in one-inch increments up your forearm to your inner elbow. There, I perhaps use just a hint of tongue before pulling back and offering you a small cream-colored card. You open your mouth to speak, but I put my finger to your lips and indictate that you should read.

"GO BACK TO THE BEDROOM, UNDRESS, AND WAIT IN BED WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED."

You look up at me, and I raise my eyebrows. You stand, trying hard not to giggle, and for a moment I forget the game -- I pull you into the circle of my arms and crush your body against mine, bending my face down to kiss you deeply. I drink deeply of you; I inhale you into my chest like smoke. We are tongue against tongue and I am sure you can feel my hardness rising against you. Then all at once, I break the kiss and gesture toward the bedroom.

Quietly, I clear the dishes to the kitchen and gather my supplies. Admittedly, I take longer than I need to -- until I am sure you are quivering with anticipation.

I tiptoe into the bedroom, and you are lying there, eyes squeezed shut (which means you

must have heard me coming), your chest rising and falling quickly. My eyes feast on your body; your hair tangled like marshmallow roots, your lips dark like apple's peels, your nipples like licorice tips, and the sweet hint of color between your legs like the stripe on a stick of peppermint against your ivory skin. I would reach down and adjust my cock, which by now is sticking straight out of my boxers (yes, I undressed a bit, too)

... but I do not want to joggle what I am carrying.

You can hear me breathing, and can sense with that limited radar our ears bring us that I am next to the bed; but you are being good and keeping your eyes closed. I'm sure you are wondering what I have planned. You're sure I'll follow through on the theme of dessert, but am I bringing the sticky dripping of chocolate sauce, or the slick cool hiss of pressurized whipped cream, or the still-tart sweetness of the strawberries you noticed on the sideboard in the kitchen? Your hands are clutching at the sheets now as you try to prepare your skin for whatever sensation I have prepared for it.

The first lighter-than-air touch is against your face, tickling your nose, and you aren't even certain that it is me. It could be dust, or any airborne bit of something landing against you, and you reach up to brush it away. But I gently catch your hand and move it back to the bed. Whatever it is falls a bit more heavily against your face, like talc, and you almost open your eyes. But you stop when I make a noise of, tsk, tsk.

It feels almost as if I am brushing my hair against your skin, but there is enough weight for you to know something is falling and remaining. It falls across your forehead, eyes and nose, then stops for a moment. It skips from there to your neck. You stretch a bit, and breathe in more sharply trying to get a sense of what is covering your skin. You sneeze.

Inch by inch, I am scattering some soft, fine substance across your body. It falls across your breasts like drifts of the softest snow, but there is no sense of chill or wetness. I continue to move down your body, and you hear some slight mechanical sound associated with the scattering. It sounds vaguely familiar.

I have moved across your stomach, your hips, your spreading thighs, your knees and calves and between the toes of your feet. Whatever it is, you must be covered by now. And finally I move back up above your face, and you feel the softness sprinkle down across your lips. Automatically, you lick them, and the sweetness that assaults your

tongue gives you your first true suspicion. You start to open your eyes, and it's difficult

because they're being stuck together by the stuff, but you get them open.

I am standing above you, stepping out of my boxers, and on the bedside table is a flour sifter and the remains of what is obviously powdered sugar. You are still licking your lips and trying not to move when I crawl into the bed on top of you.

I start by kissing you, carefully but thoroughly, tasting the sweetness on your lips and against your tongue. Below, my cock drags across your skin, becoming frosted. Otherwise I am being careful not to touch you too much, not to shake too much loose to the sheets. My tongue moves quicker and more fiercely against yours, though, and my hair falls down to be brushed in the whiteness, too.

God, it is so hard not to fall down upon your body right now; not to thrust myself against you and raise clouds of the stuff between our bodies' motion. But I didn't plan this so I could lose control now. Gently, almost delicately, I begin to lick it from your face, starting at your forehead and working down.

Feel my tongue finally against your waiting skin, lover. Feel the slick coarseness of each tastebud as it moves against you. These aren't the long, langorous licks that I usually cover your body with while we make love. You are almost being patted down with the flat of my tongue; like a slightly moist sponge or a washcloth refreshing you. And yet the tip is still working, wriggling against you each time, caressing you. Feel it. Feel me licking the sweetness from your forehead, from your eyebrows, from your cheeks and the tip of your nose. Feel my breath against you, feel how sticky you are getting already, how my tongue adheres to you as I move down your cheeks, check your earlobes to be sure, begin to lick down your neck.

Inch by inch, my tongue moves across you, wetting and picking up each powdery grain of the sugar from your skin. It covers you like tiny liquid footfalls, missing no curve, no corner, no drifting nook. Occasionally, I press my whole mouth against you, then look up, licking my lips. I can feel your body starting to shiver a bit from the sensations -- or are you anticipating my cleansing of your breasts about to begin?

I have reached those delectable morsels, smacking my lips in my own anticipation. Now I begin by returning to my usual long licks about the entire globe of each one -- sweeping the delicious dust along the spiraling path my mouth takes until i pile a small heap at each nipple. And when I have done so, when you are panting from my assault on each syrupy slope, when you are searching the corners of your mouth for anything I may have missed ... I will dive down on first one, then the other, popping that candied morsel into my mouth and sucking at it until the sugar has all gone and you are arching your back forcing each one further between my lips ...I will suck at them and tease them with my tongue so long that you begin to wonder if I am waiting for them to dissolve ...

From there I will move down across the sweet expanse of your stomach, not missing an inch or a dusting of sugar, covering you so fully and so closely that I am getting sticky spots all over myself, brushing against you. I move down to your hips, first one then the other, but avoid altogether the sweet that lies between to continue moving down your legs, to taste every bit of you, every delicious morsel.

I get to your feet, and it is necessary for me to clean carefully between each toe. I try to avoid getting kicked as you thrash about a bit, tickled by my ministrations.

Finally, I move back up your body, surveying all the places I have tasted you. I spread your thighs a bit wider, and sugar falls from them down further between, against your pussy and dissolving in the wetness there. I cannot wait any longer to taste you.

I thrust my face against you, needing to devour this final morsel of your body. My hair tangles and sticks to your thighs and stomach as I begin to lick you, god, so sweet, the taste of your candied cunt as my tongue parts it and takes in your honeyed wetness ... the glistening confection that is your clit as I lick it like a lollipop ... the dusky, almost toffee taste as the tip probes deliciously into your ass. God, sucking and tasting and touching each part of you with each tastebud until it seems we will both be overcome with sweetness, until you melt in my mouth like a gumdrop, until you spill, stickily, between my lips like a candied cherry and my face is glued to you as you come, as you burst with such force that you sit upright on the bed and fall back, not once but several times, and lie there shaking as I delicately finish cleaning each toothsome ridge and curve of your still-twitching pussy.

That is when I will get up on my hands and knees, climbing until my face is again above yours, my body against yours picking up sweetness. I will kiss you, not once but several times, sticking to you in various places. Then I'll grin and say, "Now was that your dessert, or mine?"

And I'll move your hand down until it adheres to the stiffness of my cock ...