Melting

It's hot. Far too hot.

We lay in bed, with the windows wide open. The air is still, no breeze to take the edge off, no fan as the noise would keep us awake. I lay naked on the mattress; I always sleep nude, but tonight the duvet lies rejected on the floor. And sleep seems unlikely.

I look at you, laying on your side, facing away, snoring gently. Tonight, even you have discarded your normal comfortable cotton nightie, and are sleeping solely in your lacy French knickers. I struggle to take my eyes off you, and watch sweat beading on your back and running down to soak into our fine cotton sheet. My eyes travel the hills and valleys of your figure; your attractive hourglass shape in profile, hips and shoulders almost twice as broad as your slim waist.

I recall earlier, spooning in behind you; my desire hard and throbbing, pressed into your soft derriere; my hand reaching around to hold your generous breast. You saying those words I dread to hear: not tonight darling, it's too hot. I moved away before my twitching cock could annoy you; the temperature is too oppressive, tempers too thin, to risk an argument. Instead I lay awake, torturing myself with the sight and scent of you.

The sun has set; in an hour it will be fully dark, perhaps that will stir a breeze and take the edge off, so I can sleep. The air is thick, and it seems there is a heat haze even across our small bedroom. I throw my arm over my eyes, trying to cut out the dying of the light.

I feel you moving, fidgeting in the heat. I try to ignore you as best I can, keep my mind still. But it reminds me you are there, of what we could be doing. I am achingly hard, but dare not touch myself lest the movement of the bed wake you and you catch me pleasuring myself. I lay, hot, frustrated.

I feel your breath against my skin; the tickling irritates me. I try to ignore it, but it persists. I open my eyes, turn to look at you, in my anger ready to say something short. But you aren't just breathing on me in your sleep. You are blowing on my nipple, staring at my hardness, eyes twinkling.

"Can't sleep?" you say. I shake my head. "I'm not surprised," and you reach down and wrap your slender fingers around my manhood. "Let me help you with that."

I watch your magnificent breasts swing as you manoeuvre your head down towards my lap and take me into your wet mouth. Your tongue laps at my tip, tasting me, as your lips wrap tightly around me. I exhale, swearing, and I feel your lips twitch into a smile. This is a rare treat for me; it's neither my birthday, nor Christmas, nor our anniversary. Why tonight? But I dare say nothing; don't question it, just enjoy.

Your mouth, your hands, drive me wild. I watch you bob up and down, taking my length into your mouth, pressing me into your throat. Your full breasts squash against my abs and thigh. My hand reaches for your waist, glides over your hip, caresses the soft flesh of your arse. I study the lace, as it curves across your cheeks and disappears into the glory between your legs. I want to follow it with my fingers, my tongue. But I dare not move lest you stop what you are doing with your mouth.

I feel myself getting close. I know you won't let me finish in your mouth; one of your red lines. You can taste how close I am, and you pull away, lie on your back. Beckon me over. I stroke the silk covering your pussy, knowing just the pressure and place to touch you, having brought you this way many times. But tonight, it's not enough for you. "Make it quick," you say. Neither of us wants to move too much. I sit up, pull the knickers down your long shapely legs, toss them aside. You spread for me and I slide my fingers inside, feeling how ready you are. I curl, and stroke, and tease, loving the expressions that cross your face as I touch you there... And there... And like that. Frictionless, feeling the silkiness of you.

You can't help but cry out as my fingers work inside you, teasing over your g-spot, as your own fingers work your clit. I cannot stop myself any longer; my mouth dives onto your large breasts, rippling from the motions of our hands inside you. Your nipples are salty from the sweat; I lick and suck across you, burying my face between them, tasting your breastbone and feeling your heart pound. You moan loader as I ravish your breasts, three fingers deep inside you, stretching you.

You are getting extremely vocal now; the windows are wide open. I wonder if I care if anyone hears us. I feel proud... But equally, know you will feel ashamed once we are done. "Shut me up then," you say. I press my hand over your mouth, and you lick my palm, shaking your head. "Not with that," you say, winking.

I kneel by the pillow, fingers still buried inside you, thrusting in and out at that fast insistent rhythm you love. I bring my cock back to your mouth; you turn your head to face me and swallow it gratefully. If anything, your moaning gets louder; I can feel you choking your screams with my meat.

The bed is a lake around your groin, you are so wet, slick across your thighs, which are trembling in pleasure. I stop holding back, pound my hand into you, and am rewarded as you spray my arm, squirting so hard it wets your feet and the floor past the end of the bed, jet after jet of pleasure. You force my cock deep into your throat, and I feel you convulsing at both ends, which drives me to the edge.

Quickly I whip myself back out of your mouth - there are limits to what you'd allow, even in this state of horniness - and unload across your fabulous breasts. I lay rope after rope of thick sticky cum over your flesh as my hand continues to stroke you down from your own orgasm.

Eventually, I am spent, and I collapse to the bed, admiring my handiwork. The sheet is ruined; drenched from our sweat and your juices.

"Cold shower?" you suggest, gesturing to the mess I've made of your cleavage. But I am content, consciousness fading, already falling asleep.