After contemplating the Kink of the Week "Summer" prompt for a while, I came up with this idea over the weekend. I wasn't quite sure how I wanted to execute it, though, so it took a little longer to write than I would have liked. There is a slow build and it's a little long, but hopefully hot.
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Hope you enjoy,
Warning: involves come play and dirty talk with name calling.
One Summer Day
By Ria Restrepo
Copyright ©2019. All rights reserved.
How can anyone have a summer fetish? It wasn't the season itself that got me all hot and bothered. It was what I associated with the warm weather, long days, blinding sunshine, and endless blue skies. It was him.
One summer day, I was walking down the sidewalk and there he was. On a street lined with quaint brick storefronts, he sat in a lone Adirondack chair outside a coffee shop. I'm not sure what initially made me look his way. Maybe it was the sunlight glinting off his golden-brown hair.
He was an attractive, but unassuming, guy in jeans and a faded T-shirt. His head was tilted down as he focused on fixing his drink—presumably coffee. Without realizing it initially, I veered towards him, then consciously decided to cross the street to get a better look.
I'd only meant to walk by him—slowly—but as I got closer, he looked up at me. Dazzling blue met beguiled green, and I did something normally unthinkable to introverted me. I made a bold first move.
I gave him what I was sure was an awkward smile. "Is this place any good?" I shrugged. "I'm new around here."
Okay, it wasn't smooth, but it was true. Since I'd never been away from home for any length of time, the university had recommended a summer term to ease myself into college life. I'd been doing summer school for years to get ahead academically, and I didn't have any other plans, so I started college a couple of weeks after graduating from high school.
Thankfully, he smiled back. "Yeah. Nothing fancy, but solid."
Up close, I saw he was older than me—maybe in his mid to late twenties. He was also wearing an old Ramones T-shirt. I wasn't sure which I found more intriguing.
"Cool." I nodded towards the sandwich board beside him. "I think I'll try the special. An iced coffee sounds refreshing."
If I was honest, my internal temperature was more of an issue, and no cold beverage was going to quell that—not while I was around him. A wildfire of need unlike anything I'd ever experienced before flared to life low in my abdomen, getting hotter by the second. It was already melting my brain and turning my good sense to cinders.
As I turned to go before I made a bigger idiot out of myself, he said, "It is pretty hot out here. Mind if I join you inside?"
My heart rate sped up triple-time. "That sounds greats."
While I got my drink, he found us a table by the front window. When I joined him, we made our introductions and exchanged some polite small-talk.
"If I'd been thinking clearly, I would've ordered an iced coffee, too." His expression was wry. "But I was up too late working on a song."
Then I really was a goner. I always had a thing for musicians. Without thinking about it, I pushed my drink towards him. "You can have some of mine, if you want."
"Thanks." I took much more satisfaction than I probably should have from watching him sip from the straw I'd just been using. "Mmmm, that is good."
Hearing him moan with pleasure made me shift in my seat, my arousal building hard and fast.
His gaze fell on the small shopping bag I'd set on the table. "What's in the bag?"
My heartbeat stuttered for a completely different reason. "Oh…ah…just a couple of books."
A slow smile spread across his face. "What kind of books?"
I wish I could say the iced coffee had frozen my brain. But the truth was that I was horrible at coming up with reasonable lies when put on the spot. So, in a rush, I explained, "My mom got this Anne Rice book. I don't know why, because she never read it. I thought it looked interesting, so I commandeered it. I got hooked and started reading every Anne Rice book I could get my hands on. In the campus bookstore, of all places, I found a book she wrote under a pen name."
"What is it about?"
I probably turned every shade of red. "It's…ah…"
He leaned forward and looked at me with his earnest blue eyes. "You can tell me. No judgement, I promise."
I believed him, so I took a chance. "It's a retelling of the Sleeping Beauty story, only…"
I looked around to make sure no one was within hearing range, then said in a hushed voice, "Erotic."
He didn't look horrified or lecherous—only intrigued—so I elaborated. "Yeah. Prince Charming wakes her up by taking her virginity, then makes her his sex slave."
"Wow. I think I'd like to read that."
"I can lone you mine, if you like," I blurted out impulsively.
He seemed lost in thought, then looked down at the bag on the table. "Wait, you said books—as in more than one."
"It's a trilogy. They only had the first book at the campus bookstore. A friend told me about a bookstore in the Commons, so I went there to see if they had the other two. They did."
Of course, this was before e-books and the Internet made it so much easier to indulge in prurient interests. And less embarrassing.
A decidedly wicked gleam filled his eyes. "Did it turn you on?"
I don't know what possessed me, but once again, I confessed my illicit secret. "Oh yes."
"Do you play with yourself while reading it?"
My heart hammered in my chest, but in for a penny… "Yes."
"I'd love to watch that."
Entranced by his burning blue gaze, I really wanted to show him what a dirty girl I could be. Right then. But I didn't. Not that day. However, I did meet up with him the following day to loan him the book. Over that summer, we spent a lot of time together—as much as we could between my classes and schoolwork, and his day job and gigs.
I remember this one day in his tiny apartment. We were sprawled out naked on a mattress with no box spring, frame, or headboard. It was just on the hardwood floor up against an exposed-brick wall. There was no air conditioning, only a box fan in the window. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so.
Lying side by side, we were pleasantly slick and languorous, our breathing slow and even. I noticed the condom he'd discarded towards the end of the bed. On impulse, I reached down, grabbed it, and lay back contemplating it.
I looked over to see him watching me with a faint smile playing on his lips. "Whatcha doin'?"
Shrugging, I turned my attention back to the used condom. "Just curious."
I'd never actually handled a condom before. It was a summer of firsts. The latex was tacky and filled with a good bit of still-warm come. Turning it upside-down, I let all the pearly white spunk drip onto my stomach, then tossed the condom aside. I trailed my fingers through the puddle and felt the thick texture between my thumb and index finger.
Bringing my messy finger up to my nose, I smelled the slightly acrid, but not entirely unappealing, scent. I only hesitated a moment before I put my finger in my mouth. His salty-sweet taste was surprisingly enjoyable.
I smiled at him. "You taste good."
"That was fucking hot." His voice was husky and his eyes were heavy-lidded. When I looked down, I saw he was getting hard again.
I loved turning him on. There seemed to be a symbiotic relationship between his arousal and my own. My banked desire flared back to life and renewed excitement surged through my veins. The familiar needy ache between my legs urged me to go further, to be naughtier, to revel in the hedonism. For him. And me.
Certain he was watching my every move, I dragged my finger through his come, painting it up over my breast and around my nipple. "I like wearing your come."
Pinching my nipple, I moaned at the sensations rippling through my body. "It makes me feel like such a dirty girl."
He already knew I was a long-suffering good girl and that I got a thrill out of doing supposedly naughty things.
"You are a dirty girl." He groaned as I smeared his come all over my other nipple. "A very dirty girl."
That he appreciated and admired my secretly deviant ways made me even hotter. It was an accelerant on my raging lust.
"What if I said I wanted to be your filthy little come slut?" Just saying it made my inner muscles tighten wonderfully and a fresh wave of cream flood my cunt.
His nostrils flared and his gaze became steely. "I'd say I want to fuck your tits."
I hadn't really considered that possibility before, but I immediately knew I wanted to try it. I wanted to do so many things with him. "Okay."
I thought I was going to go up in flames. "Please, fuck my slut tits."
He didn't waste any time straddling my chest. Our skin was still lightly coated in perspiration, but he used the rest of his come to make a slick path between my tits. When he situated his hard, hot length along my breast bone, I saw that he was already drooling pre-come.
Totally fascinated, I watched as he pressed my tits together, making a nice, tight sheath around his cock. He pulled his hips back, then rocked forward. It must have felt good, because he moaned, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. He did it again and again, progressively fucking my tits faster and harder.
Much to my erotic delight, everything about it appealed to me—his dominant position, the feel of his body over mine, the sensation of his cock moving between my tits, and the way he was using me for his own pleasure. It wasn't a completely selfish act, though. He shifted his hold on my breasts so he could squeeze my nipples while he fucked my tits.
As he gradually tightened his grip on them, the pleasure-pain ripped through my body, increasing the ache in my cunt. I realized I was sliding my thighs against each other, desperately trying to create some much-needed friction. It wasn't really helping, so I focused on making him come.
Lifting my head, I licked, kissed, and sucked the head of his cock every time it emerged from my cleavage.
He groaned. "You're such an eager little cock whore."
I totally got off on the dirty talk and filthy names. Humming with pleasure, I redoubled my efforts, tightly gripping his clenching ass cheeks while he carried on a nasty litany. His fucking motion increased so much his balls where slapping the underside of my breasts.
"Fuck!" With a few final thrusts, he shot several thick ropes of come all over my chest, neck, and the underside of my chin.
Panting, he released my tits and looked down at me with a very satisfied expression. "Now you really are my filthy little come slut."
"Mmmm, yes." I rubbed his spunk all over my upper chest and tits.
Grinning at me, he slid down my body until he was kneeling between my legs. "Let's see how good you taste."
So many years later, remembering the feel of his clever tongue on my clit, and the way he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of me, made my cunt demand immediate attention.
Leaning in the doorway, I listened to him play an enticing melody on his guitar and admired the way the sunbeams highlighted his now silver hair. Not wanting to disturb him, I pressed my thighs together to relieve some of my neediness.
As usually, he sensed my presence anyway and looked up. My lust must have been written all over my face, because he stopped playing and a knowing smile spread across his handsome face. "I know what you're thinking."
"It's the first day of summer."
"Yes, it is."
"My dirty girl wants to play."
I grinned. "You'll have to catch me first."
The chase didn't last long before I surrendered and let him have his wicked way with me, because…
One summer day, good fortune smiled on me and led me to the man of my dreams—in every season.