The French House.

This week we have a prompt that made me dreamy for the summer, dreamy for a holiday, dreamy for laying in the sunshine…..

Hot.  Far too hot.   The sun, harsh but half hidden by the trees behind me bleach the pages of my open book making the words harder to see.  My sunglasses repeatedly slip down my nose and I can barely lift my arm to replace them.  My head back drooping against the sun lounger, every crease on my oiled body wet. I raise one leg and can feel the sweat dripping along the back of my thigh from my knee,  The sweet tiny drip seeps into the edge of my bikini bottom and drys instantly.

S lays beside me, possibly asleep, his book abandoned on the floor, his hand lolling close to the grass.  The rest of the garden is empty.  The house is empty.  There is no sound other than the occasional lowing from the cows in the nearby farm and the faint buzzing of the insects that seem to lazily search amongst the flowers for pollen.  There has not been a passing car for at least 20 minutes.  Summer at the French House.

I become aware of the sunlight as it flickers through the leaves and dances and glitters on my skin.  Unable to resist anything that twinkles I trace the shifting outlines of the sun patches with the tip of my finger on my hot skin.  It darts across my stomach and up across my breasts as the trees sway in the slight breeze and I can feel my skin prickle appreciatively, both from the touch of my fingers and the from the fan breath of air.  My fingers linger over the swell of my breast, feeling the warmth of the scant fabric and my mind starts to wander, thinking of  deliciously heaving sweating bodies sliding against each other, clinging dripping fabrics, the sounds of deep thrusting, the sounds of fucking, the sounds of many orgasms building together – sounds of another place, another place.

My nipple respond almost instantly.  I can feel its bud-like hardness through the flimsy fibres of my bikini top as I skim my finger over it.  I flick my nipple, lightly at first and then harder and can feel my cunt twitch in response, I catch myself involuntarily groaning and bite down on my lip.  I glance to my side, S is still sleeping thankfully, it is far too hot to involve him in my filthy thoughts – I just know I couldn’t have his body on mine.  Too hot.  If I just slip two fingers inside my bikini I am sure he wouldn’t notice.  My nail grazes my nipple as I try to reach inside with the least contact possible and I can feel a dull throb starting to build in my clit.  If I undo the lacing of my bikini I am sure I can lazily play with my nipples  and I am sure I will be much cooler – the triangles seem to fall off all too easily and lay abandoned on the grass.

My fingers devour my breasts as if I have not felt them for weeks.  I had meant to slowly and lazily tease my nipples until my interest in them was saited – but instead I start to maul them, the mixed sweat and oil enable my hands glide over them leading me down, down, down into thoughts of previous weekends.  I can almost smell the sweat from that room in another place, the smell of cum, the smell of rubber, the smell of women and men and men and men and women and women and fingers and dildos and cunts and cocks.  I pull both my legs up and squeeze my knees in tight to try to close in on my clit.  To work the pressure of my thighs against the throb that I know, just know will need to be released.  The heat of the day, the oil on my skin, the slow droning of the insects, the filth in my mind…. I look to the side – S has shifted slightly, his head turned slightly towards me, but his eyes still firmly closed and his chest falling in a regular rhythm – so I work my hand along my stomach and over the fabric that encases my mound.  I finger the edges of my bikini, I am wet both from my cunt and from the sweat, indistinguishable.  I lift my bottom slightly and follow the seam, allowing my finger to dip just inside my bikini and between my lips.  I moan again quietly and drop my head to one side to gaze at the full length of S’s near naked body.  His long legs crossed at the ankles casually, I can just see the outline of his cock in his shorts, his hand laying absently across his stomach. The hair on his stomach wet. His thighs. The feel of his cock grinding into me. I remember him in that place, holding my hips high, his cock thrust deep inside me as she held herself over my mouth, her juices dripping down my chin, his cock fucking and fucking…

I am tearing at my bikini knickers, now forcing my fingers deep into the folds of my lips, deeper into my cunt, one finger then two to try to satisfy the throb that is building.  Easing them out, teasing my clitoris with my thumb, then loosing myself, rhythmically fingering and fucking my pussy over and over and over and over……

I orgasm hard.  My head back, eyes closed tightly. I  raise my ankles from the sun lounger and squeeze my knees together trapping my fingers hard against my clit, the pulsations making me convulse and cry out and pant. I keep my eyes shut tight, rocking my hand back and forth until the pulsing subsides, my fingers now slick with sweat.  And oil.  And cum.

I drop my legs back down, now exhausted and open my eyes.  At first I think the sun has gone in, but I realise it is S standing over me, his cock over my face, his fist around his cock, pumping, pumping until he cums, spurting hot across my cheeks.

I smile.  S smiles.  It was hot.  Far too hot.

If you enjoy being just that little bit Wicked especially on a Wednesday come see who else is writing:

Wicked Wednesday

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