Sunday, July 09, 2006
Hot and Cold
Well! Wonders will never cease.
There I was thinking, there’s no way I’m getting any this week. Last night I was perfectly happy to sit and watch my British comedies, while Monsieur tucked in the Two Bigglest Boys, and adjusted the window AC upstairs so that they would get the maximum effect.
Our AC is out at least until Monday when we hope to get a repair tech all the way out here. Meanwhile I’m covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It would look like a healthy glow if I weren’t panting for breath during the heat of the day. At night, I try to move as little as possible.
I had stuffed an icepack into a pillow and was leaning back against that, trying not to feel like a wimp. I watched the end of my favorite Judi Dench sitcom while Monsieur cleaned the kitchen. I was about to go to bed when he came in to the room.
“It’s hard for me to admit I am not accustomed to the heat,” he said, half to himself.
“Why should you be accustomed to it, if you have spent most of your time in air conditioning?” I asked.
“Well, in Africa, and in the Middle East, I spent most of my time without it, and I don’t think it was nearly as trying as this.” He paused, then said, “I’m going to take a shower.”
“All right,” I said, my eyes on the TV.
“Would you care to join me?” he asked.
I looked up at him. He didn’t smile but there was a twinkle in his eyes. I liked it there. I smiled. “All right,” I said.
We stripped out of our sticky wet clothes and stood in the master bathroom. He turned the water on, not freezing cold but not as hot as I usually take it. “Too cold?” he asked me.
“I don’t think I’d mind if it were,” I said, parting the shower curtain and slipping in to the tub.
We soaped each other and rinsed each other off. I got a chance to really look at his body in the bright bathroom lights. I was finished cleaning his chest and stomach when I found a little scar on his abdomen, on the right side. It looked years old. I touched it. “How’d that happen?” I asked.
“Someone took a shot at me,” he said evenly.
“Someone shot you?” I asked, not believing that someone would have a reason to.
“Yes,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate.
“When was it?” I asked. “In Kuwait?”
He laughed a little. “No, actually, this was in Houston, and I was very much interested in someone who turned out to be someone else’s wife. She neglected to mention her husband,” he added, turning me around so he could clean my back.
These were very deep waters, indeed. I wanted to find out more but the circumstances of it made asking a little difficult. I knew from experience that Monsieur did not volunteer a lot of information about the parts of his life which he found embarrassing, so I let it drop. Besides, his hands on my back, the cool water, and being naked with him were starting to feel good. I figured I’d ask later.
He had moved down to my bottom and was soaping it and rinsing it off. He had me part my legs and then he cleaned my thighs and calves, down to my feet. I turned around and he scrubbed my chest, stomach, rinsing the soap off of me with the detachable shower head.
His cock was bobbing and the water ran off the tip, flowing down and making it look like he was leaking. It looked good, so I knelt on a washcloth, swept my wet hair back, and took it in my mouth.
I ran my tongue all over the head then popped it out and licked it all over. The water ran down my hair and back as I licked and bobbed my head. Once he was completely hard it was impossible to put him in my mouth at all so I contented myself with licking it. I couldn’t take it anymore though, so I kissed it and stood up, smiling.
His eyes burned into mine. He turned me around, facing the shower head which was now back on its holder, and told me to put one foot on the edge of the tub. This lifted one leg and parted my vulva, and he ran the tip of his cock over my labia until I gasped. I was very wet and pushed back against him, trying to capture him inside me.
He reached between us, finding my labia and parting them, then rubbing the thick head of his cock up and down my slit until it was coated with me. He asked me, “Are you ready?” and I nodded, facing the other way. Then he slid that thick head in, and I gasped again, pushing back as firmly as I could.
It burrowed in, spreading me, filling me, and bringing a warmth up from my thighs to my face. I’m sure I flushed pink despite the cool water. I reached forward, bracing myself on the tile, and moved up and down, back and forth on his magnificent cock.
I wanted to touch myself but I was afraid if I removed my hands from the wall I would fall forward, and spoil the moment. I tried leaning over more to get my clitoris to rub against his moving shaft but I couldn’t do it and still maintain my balance. I think he sensed that I needed more, and he reached between us to feel where we were joined, then ran his fingers up, up, up to my clitoris, not touching it directly, but holding my labia together between his fingers and letting it rub against his closed fingers and my slippery lips.
“I can’t hold out,” he confessed in a whisper.
“Don’t wait, just … I mean, I need you to come for me,” I moaned back at him.
He reached forward, holding my hair in one hand. I loved that; I wanted so badly for him to pull it. With his other hand, though, he did something that really blew me away. He adjusted the shower head so that it was hitting me on my upturned ass, and he turned the hot water off, so instead of cool water it felt almost ice cold.
“Aaagh!” I screamed, clenching on his cock.
“Yes, mon ange, that’s it,” he gasped.
“No!” I screamed. “COLD! I …”
He grasped me, embracing me around my abdomen and forcing me to an upright position. The icy water hit me right in the chest, and I came so hard, making ridiculous noises like, “GANGH!!” and “Nuhhhhh!” and my nipples crinkling up with the cold and the arousal.
He gasped too, and I could feel him swell and pulse, then cover me inside with his warm wet load, filling me to overfull and more. I thrust back against him, oblivious to that frigid spray of water, greedily fucking him. His arms held me close and I rubbed myself once, twice, three, four times, then came again in his arms.
I must have blacked out, as my eyes were swimming, but when they focused again he was wrapping a towel around me and I was sitting in the tub, the water was shut off.
“That was … hot. And cold,” I said, smiling dreamily.
“Indeed it was,” he agreed, “and we needed that.”
“Thank you, Monsieur,” I whispered to him.
He helped me to my feet, and I moaned weakly. “Thank you,” he said.
We went to bed, me much cooler on my skin – but much warmer in my heart.