A Taste of Sweat

byKethandra©

Ron took the opportunity to reach inside his pants, past his belt, to adjust himself to a more comfortable, less obviously protruding position.

"So good!" She turned, relief obvious on her face. "What?"

He couldn't hide his reaction.

"Oh. These little things?" Both her hands smoothed down the soaked white shirt, already clinging to her small, obviously bra-less breasts. The freezer air had encouraged her nipples to harden, showing a hint of darker color through the now-translucent material.

Ron stared as she continued to tease him. Each hand palmed one, pushing the petite mounds up and together. Thumbs moved in unison, circling the small but obviously raised nipples. "Oops. I must have gotten my shirt all wet. Silly me."

He couldn't find words. The kisses had been explainable, even if the explanation was blatantly spurious. Now Trixie was openly, wantonly teasing him.

"Wow. I think you really do have a thing for little titties, don't you?"

He managed a nod. In his head, he added a silent 'Especially yours.'

"Ron." Fingers toyed with a button. "Would you like to see them?"

His blood, his pounding heart, was loud in his ears. The temperature had become a more than atmospheric heat. He forced out words, his voice harsh. "God yes."

"Let me get a drink first." Her grin was wide when she turned away, grabbing one ice-filled glass, running water into it. She sipped, studying him over the uptilted rim, taking her time.

It seemed to take forever for her to put the glass down, for fingers to again find that button. Another age passed before she undid one, two, three. Her hands paused - a lifetime, trickles of sweat running down his back like scurrying beetles - at the knot that held the shirt from together, high on her taut stomach.

Ron sucked in a breath, deep, unsure when he had last drawn one. The simple knot fell away. The twin sides of the shirt clung to her, hanging parted but still covering what he sought. His eyes scanned, helpless and eager, up and down and up again, tracing the stripe of exposed skin hinting at ribs and lean muscles, from throat to belly and back up. In the silence, he saw an artery pulse within her thin, lovely neck.

Ice cubes clinking against one another and the glass sounded loud as she fished one cube from her drink. He was helpless, spellbound, as she drew it down along the line of skin. Melted ice became a dripping stream of water joining the sweat there, running in a shining stream down to the low waist of her plaid skirt.

"Are you sure?" Her voice was low.

The simple question stumped his befuddled mind. "Uh...huh? Yes! Yes, I'm sure. Please!"

One hand held the smoothed remains of the ice cube. Two thumbs and two fingers pinched matching curtains of soaked thin cotton and pulled them wide.

OH.

He mouthed the slow, silent sound in reverent awe. His eyes refused to even blink. Two perfect handfuls, peaked by light rosy-tan nipples each no larger than a nickel.

Even when her hands continued wider, tugging the white shirt off one shoulder, then the other, letting it slide down and off her shoulders, he could not, would not look away. He heard the shirt land in a damp pile behind her white sneakers.

He stayed silent, frozen, until Trixie brought a hand up, the tattooed hand. The ice cube was less than half its original size when she pressed it to a nipple, the flesh crinkling into a harder, stiffer, more constricted circle at the cold contact.

He broke through the paralysis and his silence at the same time. His body gave a single almost violent shudder as a long moan trailed off into a thin, helpless whine.

Almost gone, the last remains of ice disappeared under her cupping hand, massaged into the pale, petite, perfect mound. Ron's knees threatened to fail him and he reached a hand back to the counter's edge, for stability.

Sweat betrayed him. From the still-rising heat it the room, from the tension and his rapid, nervous pulse, sweat covered him, including the hand he trusted to stabilize him. His palm slipped to the side as soon as he leaned weight into the smooth tile.

"Oh no!" Trixie spring forward, strong slim arms around his waist and chest. She hugged him tight, her sneakered feet planted wide, her bare chest pressed close. "Are you okay?"

Ron drew in a deep breath. "Yeah."

"No." He immediately contradicted himself, sucking in more aid as she held him. "I don't know."

Keeping a hand on his hip, Trixie pulled back enough to study his face. "Let's start with the basics: can you stand?"

He couldn't resist his eyes flitting to her exposed nipples and breasts as soon as she eased back.

"I think so."

The corners of her lips curled up in a hint of a smile. "Are you light-headed?"

"No."

She held a palm to his cheek, then his forehead. Everything was sweat-soaked now. "Are you sure? No vertigo? Spinning?"

"No." Her questions at least brought him a focus apart from her incredible, provocative display. "Why?"

She took her time, let her own eyes slide down his front, before returning to look up into his own. Her smile was wide. "Well, it looks like a disproportionate amount of your blood flow has been directed south."

The hand at her hip left, sliding down and to his center. He moaned when it found his hard length, tracing the obvious shape with a gentle squeeze.

"Trix...we..."

"I don't see how your brain can function at all when this much blood," She let the second hand drop to cradle his shape in both palms, "and the precious oxygen it carries has to fill something as big and thick as this."

"Oh god, Trixie."

Her eyes locked on his, her lips parted. Fingers traced his head, and the defining ridge at its base, obvious even through the fabric. A tingling electric charge swirled up his spine from its very base. Her voice was low, nearly a growl. "I showed you mine. You show me yours."

She tugged the tail end of his belt from it's loop, then stepped back. Strong lean arms, one covered in the art of pain and betrayal, the other bare and smooth, both slick with sweat, crossed. The action pushed firm small breasts higher and closer together.

"Sorry about getting your shirt all sweaty, again, by the way." Her quip gave him a moment's reprieve, to catch his breath and his still-spinning thoughts.

He tugged at his waist, pulling the shirt's tail out. Then he yanked the garment up and over his head.

Surprise, confusion, were followed quickly by amusement on her face. "Damn. You do have a nice, thick chest, Ron. Definitely enough to balance out my little tittties. But I was not talking about your man-boobs, impressive as they are."

She pointed down with a single finger, pale and distinct as it extended from its heavily inked knuckle. "I mean that."

Looking down, they both saw the dark circle of wetness that was not sweat-induced marking the place his crotch jutted outward the most.

"And in case that's not clear enough for you..." She tugged at her own skirt, slipping thumbs inside the plaid waist band. Wiggling slim hips, she eased the the skirt and the panties underneath down.

Ron could only stare as she exposed her body to him, slender, toned and flawless, and kicked the limp ring of grey, white, and Stewart plaid off of one sneaker at a time. Her flat, trim belly now descended into shadow, a thin manicured patch of red-brown hair marking its boundary. In the absence of the skirt and shirt, the narrow band of lace frill showing above her shoes stood out, a glaring contrast to both her nakedness and the tattoos covering her arm.

He hoped the faint, lost whine of shock and helplessness that he heard had been inside his head and not allowed to escaped into the outside world.

"Now show me yours."

His hands found the belt she loosened, paused.

"What about your crush?" He regretted saying it as soon as the question blurted out. He could be ruining his best, only opportunity to fulfill his deepest longing, and his voice sounded bitter, petty, in his own ears.

"Dummy."

"I know. The lucky bastard has no idea he won the lottery. You said he was smart."

Her crossed arm tightened. "I'm talking about you."

The silence was thick. Ron felt a thick drop of sweat release, cascading in a rough line down his bare chest.

Her face looked stern. "I'm going to use small words, speak slowly and steal one of your lines from earlier. 'You. Just. Don't. Get. It. Do. You?' "

He barked out a short, humorless laugh, shrugged, looking down. "What? I'm jealous. Is that okay? I can't help how I feel. How I've felt about you for years."

More sweat ran down his back. His eyes came up, shy, when she didn't answer. Her mouth was a still half-smile. His shoulders dropped even further.

He turned away from her, or would have if she hadn't grabbed his arm in both hands. "Not so fast."

She waited until he faced her before adding, "Idiot."

"Your crush? Yes he is." His face felt hot, anger bubbled near the surface, fueled by her teasing ignoring of his confession. "At least we agree on something."

"It's good to see your sense of humor back; you were looking like an abandoned puppy for a minute there."

"Ouch! Your crueler than I thought. Maybe I'm not so jealous."

"Really?"

"No. I still want to kick his ass."

"Kick his ass? Why?" She had a broad grin now, crinkling the corners of her eyes.

"Does he know you like him?"

"Well, he ought too. I think I've made it pretty damn obvious."

"And he hasn't asked you out or made a move or anything?"

"Nope."

"The stoner."

It was her turn to laugh. "Yeah. He must be a real stoner. I got dressed up sexy for him and let him get me alone and vulnerable. I..."

"Hey! I don't need to hear this." His palm was up and out. "Too much."

"Hey! Back at you. You know, I'm beginning to think you really aren't as smart as I thought."

"What are you talking about?"

Elbows cocked out, hands on naked hips, she looked so strong, so much the girl he had dreamed of when he accepted the job to come back to this miserable little town, he could hardly look at her. But he had less power to look away.

"Can you think of a certain potentially lucky guy, who a certain girl might have dressed up all special for, in a sexy outfit that is totally not like her? I guy who has - at THIS VERY MINUTE - the girl alone in his apartment, a little stoned and a lot horny, and naked for goddam sake, begging for a glimpse of his big, fat cock, and he still doesn't know he's been handed the winning lottery ticket?"

He could only stand, mouth hanging open, realization washing over him.

"And then he goes and commits the most sensitive, intimate, heart-wrenching act conceivable, recognizing my most secret pains, honoring my most sacred attempts at healing, one soft healing brush of his lips on each of my many tattoos."

Her voice softened. "Do you get it now?"

She stepped close, letting her hands come up, to rest on his chest, before they stroked through the thick, slick sweat, palms wide. "I really hope you get it. Or at least..."

Her hands traced down from his chest to again tug at his belt.

"At least what?" Escaped him as little more than a breathless, constricted squeak.

Her eyes held his, slowly scraping her teeth back over her lower lip. "Even if you don't get it, I hope you can at least give it, give it good. 'Cause I want it bad."

"Oh, Trixie. I am such an..."

"I know, believe me." She released the belt, now undone. "Quit talking, and show me what you got."

She leaned back against the counter, watching.

Ron still paused, but only for an moment. Then his hands worked at his fly while kicking off his shoes.

After the prolonged confusion, he was not fully stiff, but still thick and heavy, jutting out toward her. He saw her eyes were wide, staring at him there, lips open.

He was aware enough to realize his brown work socks alone did not make the most attractive outfit and stripped them off too. He kicked shoes and pants aside, into a rough pile with his shirt.

The silence was almost as oppressive as the heat. She stared at him, eyes down as she stepped close. One hand, the inked one, reached out.

His body responded, swelling, straightening with a lurching twitch, rising to meet the touch. He held his breath.

Her hand stopped.

"Nah." Her face tilted up to his with a brief shake of her head. "I showed you how I could get my little nipples all hard and erect, didn't I?"

"Uh-huh." He nodded agreement.

She moved back to again lean, gorgeous, naked and covered in the sheen of heat, against the counter.

"Now you show me."

"Do I need to use ice?"

Her giggle helped him relax. "No. But that's a good idea. For me."

She fished a dripping handful of half-melted cubes from the glass. Her gasp was clear when she palmed the coldness to her chest, spreading ice and cold water side to side, letting it flow down. One, then the other nipple crinkled hard again.

"Your turn, big boy." Her hand continued, smoothing over her taut belly, then lower.

"That's it." She encouraged him when his hand wrapped around the almost stiff shaft, hefting his weight, and began a slow, tugging pump. He watched streams of water stripe her body, tracking at angles over her hips, down her bare legs. Two continued down to disappear, trickling behind the lace sock tops surrounding her ankles. Her hand pushed the last bits of ice lower, between her legs.

"Yes!" It was a hiss, and he had no idea if his immediate response, his rapid stiffening to full, stiff arousal was the cause of her utterance, or if it was inspired by her own touch.

He saw the back of her hand flex as fingers curled under, out of sight. At the same time his own fingers found slickness leaking over his suddenly more-sensitive head. He spread the lubricating emission around, his hand's pace increasing.

"Ron." She sounded almost dazed, her eyes half-lidded. "I'm really wet."

He had regained enough control over his thoughts to quip, "Ice water and sweat can do that."

She managed a dim smile. "That and seeing you, stroking that big, fat, cock. Chrissie was right."

The hand retreated, easing back out from between her thighs. Two fingers glistened as she displayed them, examining. The tattooed arm extended, reaching out to him. "Wanna taste?"

Every time he felt a modicum of control returning, she threw him off balance again. He couldn't answer, except to nod, stepping closer. The hand matched his motion, pulling back.

Eyes twinkled at him. "What kind of girl do you think I am? Letting you taste that, before we've even really kissed?"

Then the fingers were in her mouth, lips sealed around them. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, but only for an instance. Then she was close, on her toes, arms around his neck. "Taste me."

Eager lips found his, her tongue pressing onward, swirling, offering the precious nectar. Was it their first kiss? He had no time or inclination to ponder. His arms pinned her slim, firm body to his, nothing but sweat between them.

Hands roamed, throats moaned, hard nipples poked his chest and a much larger, equally hard shaft pressed against her belly. Neither could hold back, both allowed animal passion to take over, to overrun what doubt and intellect had held in check.

Teeth nibbled, bit; lips sucked and panted. Tongues explored, tasted, tangled. His weight and strength pushed her back, pinned to the counter. Her hips pushed against the pressure, grinding his caught thickness between them.

Strong slim arms tensed around his neck, the slippery layer of mutual sweat allowing her body to slide up, rising higher against his. Smooth thighs squeezed, bare legs encircling his hips, sneakers wrapped behind his back.

He felt a new, richer, deeper slickness against his shaft, each clench of her legs massaging it up and down his length. His fingers sank into the firm softness of rounded cheeks, half supported now on the counter.

Her lips left him long enough for a wild-eyed, panting stare before sealing back onto his. His body responded on its own, rising up on his toes to grind up between her thighs, lowering until his swollen head found the center of the widening, deepening, slippery heat, his own lubrication combining with hers at the center of their closest contact.

A mutual gasp tore the kiss apart when contact altered into penetration, combined motions conspiring to to initiate an ancient, primordial connection. Four wild, wide eyes registered the shocked return to awareness, to conscious decision. Chests heaved to regain an accumulated deficit of oxygen.

"Can't..."

"We almost..."

"So close..."

Hips held in check, another kiss ended the words until Trixie pulled back again. His lips, tongue, teeth found the throbbing pulse in her neck.

"Do you..." She sucked in air. "...have a condom?"

"I. Uh." Ron struggled to process thought. "No."

Her hands eased him back, enough for her to slide down, close against him, and regain a standing position. "I do."

Every bit of skin was coated in their combined sweat, and she used it to slide out from between his body and the counter. Both panted for breath after the intensity of their finally-released passion and the pervasive heat of the air.

Ron leaned a hand on the counter's edge for support, feeling how slick it too was. He watched her feeling among plaid pleats, finding the small ID card-sized pocket sewn inside. She pulled a familiar foil square out. Without fanfare, she brought a corner to her teeth and tore the packet open.

"May I?" She was already bending, reaching for his waist.

"Wait." Ron stopped her, pulling her upright, then shifting his grip to her waist. "I need something first."

He hauled up on her small frame, to lift her up, to sit on the tile edge. He failed. Too much sweat, too hurried a motion, and she barely reached her toes before his hands slipped, sliding up her flanks.

She squealed, both laughing, and kissed again, this time without the frenzy both had given in to. His hands moved inward, to cup, fondle, tease the breasts he had so long fantasized about.

Again, Trixie broke the kiss first. "Did you want me up here?"

Her hands slipped on the tile too, but her leap upward was still enough for her to regain the perch on the counter.

"Yes." Ron eased her knees apart. "Now that we've kissed properly, I need a real taste of you."

He squatted low, tasting salty sweat mingled with her subtle but still thicker, muskier flavor. One hand held his head close against her while the other reached back, behind her arching back for support. "Oh, god, Ron. Yes."

He lapped at her, tongue making a deep passage between swollen, open petals. He sucked, slurping, eager to taste her, sucking at the soft folds.

"Enough." Fingers pulled on his hair, urging his face away from her. "I need you inside me."

The hand that had supported her displayed the opened packet once she returned to the floor. He watched slim, shaking fingers release the condom, stretching the tip over him, rolling the latex down to cover his length with careful, nervous motions.

Her eyes found his, bright, suddenly unsure. One hand still held him. "How do you want me?"

Ron's throat felt tight. "Every...all ways. Trix, I have never wanted anything as much I want you."

He watched the pointed tip of her tongue appear, curling up to the bow of her upper lips. "How you had me before, up here..."

She leaned back against the counter. "That seemed to be working almost to well."

Arms snaked over his shoulders, hands at the back of his head pulling him near, guiding his lips down to kiss hers.

"Ready?" He felt her knees bend, tensing for a jump. Together, they caught her, half-sitting the counter, half pinned against it. Her arms and legs wrapped tight around him, his length pressing high between her thighs.

"Are you?" He growled the answering question, bending his own knees now, feeling his protected tip settling into a welcoming, heated space.

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byKethandra© 13 comments/ 51653 views/ 53 favorites

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