I kiss…nibble…and lick…my way to your other ear…I devour this ear as thoroughly as the first… I pull away from you slightly…standing ther... before you…I begin to undress for you…I let my dress fall softly off my shoulders and I step out of it…I reach up and slide the spaghetti strap of my gown over my shoulder…then the other. I run my fingertips along the lace edge of the gown above my breasts..slowly letting it slip down over my breasts…never having removed my eyes from yours…I watch you. "Cherry giggled, "Hi, yourself. I'm making dinner." She jumped down and ran back into the kitchen.Mike followed her, bemused. "Hey, you taking over here? You think you're my wife or something?"She turned toward him, a serious look on her face. "As much as I can be, yes." She turned back to the stove.That rocked him a little. In order to gain some time to think, he asked, "What're you cooking?"She pointed at a cookbook open on the counter. "I used to cook at home. Mom didn't like to cook. I. And I found myself wanting that. Wanting that power to make him spill his seed as he thought of me with him – for the pleasure of hearing him gasp as he reached orgasm. He begged me to tell him what he could say that would bring me to that elusive peak. I wouldn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell him of the hours alone in bed when the thought of him would bring me to the edge. I never crossed the line and allowed myself to go all the way. He encouraged, teased and assured me that I needed to let him. "Water, spunk, same thing." "It oils dear, they don't mix with water." Corrected Jane studying the spunk trying to mix with the paint. Jane looked down and thought. "If I mixed it with watercolours?" She broke off.Jane was suddenly struck with an Idea. The zeitgeist of the time was "Organic". It seemed to permeate every aspect of artistic media. Marc Quin had once sculpted his own head using ten pints of his own blood immersing it in frozen silicone.Semen was organic. It would be a great idea.