The woman lies naked on her bed, the cool air from the pedestal fan brushing over her body as she strokes her nipples langorously. The dream had been so vivid, so sensual, and she has woken up in the early hours with a heavy throbbing between her legs. The heat and humidity has made her sweaty, too, and she can feel the dampness of the bedsheet against her back. The wetness from her aching cunt has not yet spilled far enough to soil the sheets, but it is only a matter of time, she knows. Desire like this is like the magma from a volcano, with unstoppable heat and liquid oozing unchecked from fiery caverns.
Where is he? Her lover? Did he leave while she was asleep? Sure, they are just a fling, but he would usually at least stay until the morning. She can’t hear any sounds from the bathroom. She must be alone. One hand continues to stroke a hard bud of her nipple, while the other slides down over her belly, and into the little hairy triangle of her mound. Fingers pinch at the nipple, and pull at the little tufts that frame her swollen labia, and she spreads her legs wider, enjoying the sensation of the fan’s breeze against the pool of wetness that is seeping from between her lips and coating her vulva.
She pulls the lips upward, exposing the prepuce and the hood of her clitoris to the air, and with slow, gentle strokes, begins to massage. Circular motion, to start, to tease the clitoris into peeping out of its little papoose of pink flesh. She can hear the click-click-click sound of her wet folds rubbing together, sodden with the milky fluids that are seeping from her vagina. She dips her fingers into that fluid, and massages it into the labia; it sticks to the light hairs around her perineum.
The finger now; middle finger, slipping inside, just inside, just enough for her to feel it as she wiggles it back and forth. The crook of her forefinger is bent in just such a way as she can use it to rub against her clit, and the combination of sensations is divine. She sighs and moans, and pushes the finger in deeper.
What was that sound? A wet sound, a breathy moan, the sound of self-pleasuring, but this sound is not coming from her. She raises her head and looks up, to see him there by the bedroom door. She can see him in the glow of the street lights, standing there watching her, palming his cock.
“Don’t stop on my account, baby.” he drawls with a smile, and switches on the light. “I’m rather enjoying the performance.”
“Jesus! I thought you’d left.”
“I was downstairs in the kitchen getting a cold drink. This heat is fucking brutal. But this heat,” he murmurs, stepping slowly towards the bed and crawling between her thighs, his face just centimetres from her pussy, “is very heaven…”
He places a gentle kiss on the inside of each leg, and then runs his tongue over the flesh to taste the slick wetness on her inner thighs.
“Keep going. Keep rubbing your clit. I want to watch,” (a kiss on her labia), “I want to smell,” (a deep inhale and a cheeky sigh), “I want to taste”. His tongue forms a point, and he slides it in between her arousal-slicked lips.
“Mmmm,” he moans. “You taste yummy…….”
She feel electric pulses in her belly and her mound, nerves and synapses dancing in pleasure as he slowly licks her cunt with light upwards strokes. She starts up the rhythmic circular motion over her clit as his tongue teases her labia minora and the tight opening of her vagina.
He dips a finger in her wetness, and trails it down between her ass cheeks, tickling at her tight hole, before grabbing both fleshy buttocks in his hands and burying his face in her cunt. He moves his tongue deeper inside, fucking her with it like a minature cock, while she rubs frantically at her clit, feeling the brush of his hair against the back of her hand, and the occasional wet stroke of his tongue on her fingers as he laps urgently at her soaking, sticky digits. When she cums, it’s with one hand on her clit, one hand tugging at his sweat-dampened hair, and his tongue thrust deep inside her.
He peppers her belly with light kisses, as he moves up her body to lie face to face with her. With a smile and a soft chuckle, he murmurs, “Perhaps these hot summer nights aren’t so bad after all.”
Title inspired by the classic Neil Diamond album. I’ve always thought the sleeve photo looked kind of masturbatory, too: