Just A Taste


Have you ever wanted something so bad, you could taste it?

Naked and fresh out of the shower, smoothing my favorite Moringa Body Butter down my body. Over my neck and arms, giving special attention to my breasts and my very sensitive nipples, down my stomach; looking at myself in the mirror. I'm average height with a runners build and take pride in my muscular body as my hands move down. Fuck, your pussy looks hot! Looking at myself I couldn't help but giggle at my mental play on words, the Jordan Sparks song "no air, air" had me singing "no hair, hair." I had just finished my monthly touch up waxing. Smooth all over. I love that feeling and enjoy it as I stand there.

It was Friday night, I hadn't decided what I was going to do – stay home and read a book or stay home and watch my favorite program on TV. It didn't matter; both ideas would have me sitting comfortably on the couch, warm and snuggly, in my pajamas. My stray thoughts wander to earlier when I had called the photographer about setting up a time to take my picture. He wasn't in his office and I had gotten the machine. It isn't every day that something stops me in my tracks, something that makes the hair on the back of my neck slowly rise while shivers run down my spine. But there I was, phone in hand listening to this guy's message. There was something about his voice that captured me. Thinking of it has my heart racing. Looking at myself in the mirror as I stand in front of the sink…my vision starts to blur. I imagine the man behind the voice. He is perfect in my imagination; laughing when I want him to, grabbing me forcefully before I can see his face, wrapping his arms around me, I can feel his dick riding up the crack of my ass as he fits himself flat against the back of my body. My hands are now his hands as they glide over my smooth pussy. Working my pleasure spot as though I am racing to the finish. He knows how to touch me, he knows my secret need. Oh ya, this feels good. I'm too close, WAIT… STOP!! Eyes closed, still snuggled in his warm arms, I remove my hand and lean over onto the counter, trying to catch my breath. I know if I save it for later, maybe when I am cozy on the couch or lying on my bed, I can build it up again for an extra special treat. It was so close I almost couldn't stop. Damn that man's voice turns me on.

The phone ringing snaps me out of my daydream. I grab a towel and start to dry off my body as I let the answering machine take the call. "Oh…uh… hey, this is Matthew, the photographer. Sorry to be playing phone tag. Hey, um, ya, I would love to set up a time to take your photo. If you don't mind talking business at the bar, I'll be at The Wine Cellar around 6 p.m. Catch me there. I'll be wearing a white oxford, I'm a tall guy at 6', black hair, and I have small stars tattooed up the back of my neck, you can't miss me. I hope to see you there. If not, give me a call tomorrow and we can set up a time for Saturday."

I stand there looking at the machine as he talked into it. It's the third time he had left a message. I originally called him last week and nearly came when I heard his voice on the recording, "Hi, you've reached Matthew" Damn YES, I'd like to reach him! I don't know what he looks like but his voice - it licks me when he talks. I can't get enough, so after I left a message, I called the number 5 more times okay, more like 8 times just to hear it again.

I know it sounds a little over the top – but who was to know? Exactly! No one.


I was just thinking how boring my days have become, when ‘crazy' happened. I'm a photographer and with the economy taking a shit – my business is in the crapper (no pun intended). As I walk into my apartment I am always glad to see the blinking light of my answering machine. Makes me believe things will be better and I won't have to sleep in the gutter any time soon. Not that I am there - yet, but two more months of slacking jobs really is cutting into my savings. I have two weddings this weekend and a professional photo shoot that I still have to confirm a date and time. I walk over to push the button, "Hello Matthew, this is Dee, your not there, I will try again later." This is the second message I have gotten from ‘Dee', she's the ‘professional photo' job I need to line up. She sounds nice, but my caller I.D. shows she has called 11 times – in a row. Can you say crazy? I plan on going to the Cellar tonight; I'll call her and see if she can meet me there. I hope she shows up so I can book an appointment and get it done and over with, I don't have time for crazy.


So much for the date I had planned with my book and my couch, not that I am complaining. After listening to the message it doesn't take real brilliance to figure out that I will NOT miss the 6:00 p.m. appointment. This means I have 30 minutes to get dressed before I need to rush down there. It has crossed my mind that I have no idea what this guy looks like. He might have a bulbous nose and drink way too much; I mean… his appointment at the bar could totally be indicative of a rowdy alcoholic lifestyle. If that's the case, I don't want to look too sexy and show too much of my hard to achieve, pushed up, cleavage. However, I also do not want to look like I just left Wal-Mart. I decide on casual but nice, it IS 90 degrees outside so I believe flip-flops, a Hawaiian print rayon skirt, and a tank top are in order. I put my hair up in a pony-tail and decide to skip the makeup. I'll also skip the underwear. I am still too sensitive, after waxing earlier today and then my extra curricular shower time activities, underwear is going to have to stay in the drawer. Without hair down there, the silk touches and moves on my clit to the point that I need to remove it anyway, so why bother?

I live close to town so today I will walk to the bar. The only reason I am going to meet this guy is to make arrangements for my photograph to be taken. Anyone who believes that is a fuckin' idiot! I'm going so I can meet this man and decide: if his voice licks me, maybe his tongue will?!!? As I walk in, the first guy at the end of the bar, with his back to me, is him. I know it is. He has on the white Oxford shirt and even from here I can see the stars. Hell yes…I'm seeing stars, I think I might also pass out from holding my breath, I'm so nervous. I walk up next to him and immediately lean over to say hello to the bartender, crap, I'm afraid to look, I order my drink and commence to arrange my area; jacket on the seat (had to bring one, sometimes it's cold inside establishments – what?), purse on the bar, money at hand it's now or never, I sit back and turn to look at my dream voice.

My first hello and I… am nearly speechless. The chemical attraction hits me like a brick – it is thick in the air. Not sure he felt it, but I was having a hard time concentrating. I was taking it all in, his build, his face, his hands, his long fingers, his lips. Oh Fuck! Those lips… I could see them moving over his beautiful teeth. His smile nearly had me dancing from the tension he was producing on the inside walls of my very wet, getting more wet as I stand there, pussy. I have a vague thought about his smile. Is he smiling because he can literally SEE his effect on me or is he smiling because it's polite to smile when one first meets someone? It doesn't matter, as I stare at his lips, his face, his beautiful eyes, and back to his lips. I become obsessed with my wondering thoughts. Oh God, I need to taste him! Now! Not just those lips… all of him. Just one taste…or three; his lips, his body, his cock. Oh hell ya, I want his cum for breakfast or a mid day snack! >trying to breathe< Why is he still talking?

His lips are moving again and I'm not sure what he is saying. I don't care. If I could have a taste I am sure I could concentrate once again on the subject at hand, whatever it was or is. I don't dare ruin the taste by wanting to mask it with chocolate or strawberry hot gel. No, I want him. I want HIS taste, in MY mouth.

Could I please have one hot Matthew, photo guy, shaken, not stirred, latte… to go?

OH Damn, this is a special kind of hell! I can feel myself getting wet. My pussy is pulsing as he is still talking, saying who knows what. I think I nodded my head like I was listening, but I simply can't hear him – his lips are moving and my mind is racing as my eyes start to wander down his body. What would he do if I leaned in and smoothed my lips over his…a soft glide, just to feel our breath mingle and the soft nature of our lips as they touch for the first time. Going further to lick and kiss his lips, past his lips, breathing my whisper in his ear, "Oh Fuck yes, you are HOT, you are making my pussy so wet, I need my meal – Fuckin' strip down baby, let me get a taste!"

His lips are still moving. Somehow through my daze I can see that he is starting to look concerned. Maybe it's because of my lack of vocal response? Maybe because of my overwhelming blatant body response that is about to consume me. Does he notice?

He is starting to look more concerned, so I quickly mumble, "Excuse me" as I dash down the bar in the direction of the ladies room. On the way, and just to the left of the door that I must get to, is an older couple. Crap, I know the man with his wife. I paste a smile on and say "Hey Paul, how are you?" as I pass by – not waiting for his answer. I just need release as I go to the handicap stall, I don't bother with the door, as I hike up my skirt and slide my hand straight to my clit. Leaning against the stall wall, I rub like I am back in the race from earlier, like I am trying to start a fire and I'm already smokin' hot! I just need to go that one step further. As soon as I close my eyes I can feel him there with me, can hear his voice, and can smell him near. I dip my fingers just a bit; if I can't taste him…I'll taste me. I groan…"Oh Fffuuck, you sexy bastard" What? Oh my, that was loud! That's awesome! I hear my words echo loudly in the bathroom and can't wait to say more just to hear myself echo. "Uhhhhh," again the echo is loud as it fills the room.

"I knew you would be so fucking hot that I'd dream about you!" as I race to the finish, fast and furious. "Ya you'll taste me, too." That might be wishful thinking but I wanted it to be true. "Do you hear that!" Fuck that is hot…I bet they heard those words down the street. Hearing myself propels me further, making me so excited and hot just thinking, even if in my imagination, that someone outside the door can hear me.

"Fuckin' bastard making me want you this much should be a crime!"

"Oh Fuck Meeeeee~~~~~~~~you know I want you." As the ‘YOU' bounces around the room before it finally diminishes.

Then silence.


I still have not decided if she is crazy or not, but it is a turn on when I meet someone and they look at me like I might be their next supper. Maybe it's a guy thing, but I like that look. I could see her checking me out and I smiled and chuckled a bit at the thought. I don't think she heard a thing I said before she ran off to the bathroom. This is where I know I will have a date with her. Who could say no to the unconcealed invitation? Out of concern, I moved to follow and before I could get to the door I could hear her moaning – I thought she might be sick so I cracked open the door. I was about to ask if she was okay when I caught movement; her movements - in the mirror. I could see her in the handicapped stall. Her pussy was as bald as a baby bottom and my dick was rock hard before my mind could register how fucking hot that was. I could see her eyes closed and I was tempted to join her. I'm not sure what held me back since I am pretty certain she was talking about me when she slipped her fingers into her wet pussy, moaning what sounded like my name. I watched her entire performance and then, quickly turned back to the bar, against my dicks better wishes. Having a mind of its own it was like a water witch and I think it knew where the moist spot was. As I turned, I passed an old couple, who was actively listening to Dee's echoing wishes. I have decided that I don't care if she is crazy; I'm going to tap that well.


Now all I can hear is my heavy breathing and even that echoes in this small chamber. Looking around, I feel a little silly. Lust is a crazy thing with a life of its own. Now that I found my release, I breathe a sigh of relief and know I can now go and have a rational conversation with the hottest guy I've seen in a while. I step out of the stall, straighten my skirt in the mirror and as I pass by the sink Ya, skip the wash. Let him smell me…I smell as good as I taste, I push open the door and leave the ladies room.

It is apparent, that the old couple that I walked past on my way in heard my moans and they want me to know it as I rush past them on my way out. The lady is shooting daggers and the man is smiling, nearly blushing. I wink with a smile, how could I not? I feel refreshed and ready for more of my night. Not sure how long I was gone, but my man (notice how I call him mine?) is still at the bar. I take that as a good sign and I walk up to him and introduce myself, blushing, "Hi, I'm Dee." holding out my hand, as if to shake on it. He grabs it, holds it, turns it over and… lifts it to kiss it. What is he doing?? I can tell when awareness hits his olfactory, his eyes shoot to mine. I can't help but shyly smile as his grin grows. He puts his mouth on my hand and boldly breathes his moist warm breath, lips still gliding on my hand as his tongue dances out, hot on my skin. He moves his lips and tongue down my hand to the essence of where my treat has been. His eyes look mischievous as he tastes me.

I smile as I say the only thing that comes to mind, "turn-a-bout is fair play." Of course, he has no idea what I am talking about only I know my private lust filled hell, but his eyes and his smile are indicating he does know when he says, "Your place or mine?"

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