variable Xy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 11, 2005
- Posts
- 712
"Gawd…it's hot as fuck, how can you stand it?" I stare at you, biting into a peach; its juice dribbles down your chin. “Did you leave me some, or did you hog them down?”
Summer in the south, I'd forgotten how nasty it can get. Humidity seeps into your clothes and your skin. You can never get dry or cool. Prickly heat finds sensitive parts and makes you itch like mad, far worse than bites from red ants because it burns when you scratch. The heat makes me cross. Horny too. Horny and cross isn’t a good feeling for me because it’s hard to find satisfaction without total relief.
“Well?”
Annoyed with you, eating your peach without answering me, I grumble curses. Sweat rolls down my back then down the crack of my ass. My shirt is already soaked so I pull it off and toss it aside. Leaning against the kitchen counter, a pathetic stirring of air from a fan blows its warm sad efforts into my face.
A sharp plunk of the peach pit bouncing in the kitchen sink signals you’re done teasing me with it, but far from just simple torture; you have bigger, raunchy things to do to me now. Soft sticky lips kiss my neck, at the base where neck and back meet, giving me a false sense of your slow vein of seduction. False, because your kisses turn into a bite that feels good all the way down to the crotch. I groan as my knees buckle and fall against the counter. You bite harder as you rub my ass, move around and fumble with the front of my pants.
“Curt, what makes you think I feel like fucking right now?“
“This does,” you squeeze my hard cock through my jeans.
Summer in the south, I'd forgotten how nasty it can get. Humidity seeps into your clothes and your skin. You can never get dry or cool. Prickly heat finds sensitive parts and makes you itch like mad, far worse than bites from red ants because it burns when you scratch. The heat makes me cross. Horny too. Horny and cross isn’t a good feeling for me because it’s hard to find satisfaction without total relief.
“Well?”
Annoyed with you, eating your peach without answering me, I grumble curses. Sweat rolls down my back then down the crack of my ass. My shirt is already soaked so I pull it off and toss it aside. Leaning against the kitchen counter, a pathetic stirring of air from a fan blows its warm sad efforts into my face.
A sharp plunk of the peach pit bouncing in the kitchen sink signals you’re done teasing me with it, but far from just simple torture; you have bigger, raunchy things to do to me now. Soft sticky lips kiss my neck, at the base where neck and back meet, giving me a false sense of your slow vein of seduction. False, because your kisses turn into a bite that feels good all the way down to the crotch. I groan as my knees buckle and fall against the counter. You bite harder as you rub my ass, move around and fumble with the front of my pants.
“Curt, what makes you think I feel like fucking right now?“
“This does,” you squeeze my hard cock through my jeans.