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In August, a wind blows in Louisiana, cooling nothing, a slow, stifling current of air, laden with water. Of old, the beds were built high, the mattresses at the height of the window sill, hoping to catch some cool breeze. You can see such beds at Shadows-on-the-Teche, the best-preserved of all the plantation houses, in New Iberia. In that lovely house, I have seen a curious bottle holder made of copper, to hold ice and liquor decanters. Against heat, man can make a fire and warm himself, but against the heat of August in Louisiana, nothing but ice can provide any solace.
I leave work in Baton Rouge around 5 PM. I climb into my black Civic, I burn my hands on the steering wheel, holding it gingerly with two fingers and a thumb, I push in the clutch, start the motor, put the little car into neutral, start the air conditioning, and climb back out of the car, to let it cool down. The Arabs say God created the desert to test the faithful. I have known the desert. At night, the desert will radiate its dry heat away, the stars will come out and the air will chill down enough to warrant a fire. In this place, the night is no relief, only a dark wetness of moving clouds, the cruel promise of rain unfulfilled.
Drive back home, to find the air conditioning out, A is cranky and put-out. Even a shower does not help much, lukewarm water, Christ even the cold water pipes require a run-off to get down to cooler water. I take A out for dinner: it’s pointless cooking. At Shadows-on-the-Teche, the kitchens were kept away from the main house. Down Perkins Road, to Louisiana Lagniappe, A has a crabmeat salad, and works moodily on a bottle of merlot, L’Ecole 41 Columbia Valley 2003. There comes a point where misery really does love company, and A began to talk.
“How did people ever live here without air conditioning? What a hell this place must have been.”
“C’est vrai. They sure didn’t work on a tan. That explains those ladies’ parasols. Tans were for the working class” I said, working on an étouffé and yet another Abita beer.
“I swear, I was thinking of going up and hanging out in the grocery store today. That goddamn repairman said he can’t get out until tomorrow.”
“Mumph.” I said. This means I have a mouthful of crawfish étouffé and am trying to say something encouraging without actually dealing with the issue of the AWOL repairman.
“I dread tonight. You’d think being from the Gulf, I could deal with this heat, but my God…”
“Complaining is good for the soul. Robertson Davies says, ‘in large doses, self-pity is invariably fatal, but in small doses, can be a very comforting thing.'”
“Ha! Are you saying I’m complaining?”
It is at such intervals where one needs yet another mouthful of étouffé. Alas, it had all been devoured, and I am reduced to that sort of argumentation akin to Michael Jackson’s moonwalk, slowly retreating while seeming to move forward. Whereas I had spent the whole day in a cool office, she had been parboiled in our home. It is difficult to blame the sufferer for grumpiness, but I was not feeling especially saintly, and it is a sore trial, dear reader.
We hang out until the restaurant closes, at 9:30, walk out into the soggy night, and drive home, listening to Donald Fagen, Morph the Cat.
A opens the door, the place is as close and humid as an armpit. I open the windows, A cracks ice and pours herself a generous slug of Crown Royal. She really is a nice girl. I lug an old fan from the back room and prop it in the bedroom window, and put a fresh cotton sheet over the duvet. She leans up against the doorframe, sipping, watching me. Don’t tell me women don’t know when men are trying to ungrumpify them, it really doesn’t solve anything, but it does amuse them.
She turns off the lights, undresses and lies down on the sheet, spread-eagled. She rouses herself to one elbow for another snort of whiskey, lies down and sighs profoundly.
I put another sheet over her, tucking it between her legs, under her arms, and turn the pillow over. She turns over on her side, pulling her hair away from her neck. I undress and put on a cotton t-shirt, naked in the heat is almost worse than being clothed. I brush my fingernails gently over the ridge of her spine, over the sheet, from her waist to her neck.
I pull a pillow off the bed. “Open your knees.” I put the pillow between her thighs.
Reach into her glass, fish out a cube of ice, and put it against the back of her neck, at her hairline.
“Oh Jesus, that’s nice.”
The smell of Crown Royal is perfume of a sort, sweet and sticky. She sits up in the bed, pulls the sheet around her, her pretty breasts reflected off the streetlight I have an idea, and head back to the kitchen.
From the bedroom: “Now what the hell are you doing?”
I return with a glass bowl, full of ice.
“C’mere, stand up. I have a plan.”
“God, you are terrible when you’re horny, I swear.”
A kiss, a piece of ice transferred from anime porno mouth to mouth, hands in her hair, thick and straight, a perfect moment. The night could stop here, and I would be content. The ice leaves my mouth, onto her tongue, her sudden fierce hug. Pushing her back, she sits on the bed, I put another ice cube in my mouth, pull at her elbows, she falls back, I spread her legs and kiss her belly, pushing the ice cube across her, lower, between her legs. The smell of her, wet, my nose probes into the inner folds of her, parting her, the slick softness of her, opening to me, I expel the ice into her, pushing it in with my tongue
The heat of her, she calls out and arches, holding my hair, “God, that’s cold.” Her thighs close, shuddering, around my head, the ice melts onto my tongue. Searching, my lips close around her, sucking her into my mouth, her clitoris like a tiny pearl. Softly, softly, the tip of my tongue finds it, lifts its elegant little hood, and touches her, holding her thighs, feeling her hairs erect, as I take her, sweet creature. Kisses, a hundred tiny kisses, my tongue opens her again, finds the ice and pushes it back inside her body. A quiet passage in D minor moves through my head, one of the Goldberg Variations. The taste of her is in the melting ice. Her back arches, her bottom rises from the bed, my tongue finds her clitoris and pushes down, firmly. Withdrawing my head and hands, only my tongue touches her, putting my hands under her pretty bottom, lifting her, her head whips from side to side, her neck arches.
The iceberg cracks, tons of white ice descend in a tremendous crash. The wave rises, curling across the bay, rocking the boats. She comes, almost angrily, a roar of release.
She lies on her back, her hair wet with sweat. I put a sheet over her, wipe her face, she gasps like a fish out of water. She sits up and finds the whiskey. A gulp, she holds the glass to her forehead.
“Gimme a sip”
She wordlessly hands me the glass. A mouthful of whiskey burns on its way down. I laugh.
“Whatcha laughing at?”
“Thinking about Bender the Robot, after a slug of booze, belching fire.”
“God, the shit you think about.”
I put a pillow on the bench of her makeup bench. Got it for her, an oval mirror in a pair of spindles, over a kidney-shaped curly maple table, with curved drawers, on four legs, probably 1890s
“Kneel for me”
A tiny awkward moment, I hold her hand as she kneels naked on the bench. She is perfect, the curve of her back, ending in the cello curve of her bottom, her breasts in silhouette. I kiss her shoulder, she shudders. I find her silk nightshirt, and drape it over her shoulders, I give her the glass of whiskey again, into both her hands, she drinks the last of it, gives it back to me, a quiet question in her eye. I put a pillow on her makeup table. She finds a comfortable posture, her cheek pressed into the pillow.
Ice in the palm of my hand, I touch the tip of her nipples, holding the ice to her breast, standing behind her, the soft head of my cock against her, touching into her fur. Holding her breasts, ice melting into my palms, I gently enter her, bending over her, kissing the back of her neck. The perfect tightness of her, one long slow stroke, right to the hilt, her pussy is still cool from the ice. A hiss of pleasure, she breathes in, taking me into her body, pushing her forward with my pelvis, pushing her face into the pillow, her elbows brace, she is completely full of cock. She involuntarily closes tight onto me, like a fist, she clenches and shudders, her bottom pushes back against me.
The feel of the silk, between my face and her back, a kiss into her hair, the warmth of her buttocks as the nightshirt rides up.
A slow withdrawal, and a firm push, swift, right down into her, definitive, almost a slam. My hand reaches under her, finds her clitoris, covers her, a quiet whisper in her ear,
“Come for me”
A slow fuck, in the heat, she arches her back up, almost withdrawing from me, then she pushes back, her head lifts, and she cries out, “Just fuck me”
I hold her hips, pushing and pulling her onto me, away from me. In the mirror, I can see her face, unaware, her eyes closed, biting her lip, as her body takes control and shakes her, a crazy shudder, I press down with my index and third fingers, I can fell myself in her. Her bottom shudders. She puts her face into the pillow and screams, her fingers clench and unclench, I hold her nipples, wet from the ice, between my fingers, like a cigarette,
Reaching around, I hold ice in each palm, and hold her breasts, her nipples in my freezing palms, and I fuck A, a proper fucking, selfish, into her pretty body, her face pushed into the pillow with each stroke.
I reach forward, take her wrists, pull them back, holding her by the forearm, cold hands on her wrist and softly bite her ear,
A sudden breeze blows, moving the curtains, and I cum into her, a burst of asyalı porno red and orange behind my eyelids, holding her to me, for a moment I am fused to her, we are one being, a glowing thing, of great power.
I hold her hand and walk her around a bit, kneeling is hard on the knees, especially after a good sound fucking, she’s a bit wobbly, grinning weakly. I pick her up, lay her down on the bed, she curls up, I pull the sheet away, unfurl it with a snap, and let it fall over her. I paddle away to the kitchen, and fish around in the fridge for iced tea, bring back two glasses.
“Brought you some iced tea, if you want some”
She sits up, takes the glass and drinks almost all of it in a rapid set of swallows, holds her hand to her chest and belches delicately.
“Urgh, you’re a madman”
“Humph. What was that about ‘just fuck me?’ hmmm? “
I jump into the bed, and curl up to her, her hand against my arm, absently touching me, she drinks the rest of her tea.
“Christ, it’s still hot” she murmurs
“You’ve gone through a whole tray of ice already, A”
“Well, I’m still hot, dammit”
“I have an idea”
“Oh Lord. You and your ideas. I know where this is going.”
“Come oh, you’ll love it”
“That’s the general tenor of it, A”
I receive another of her fierce little kisses.
I bring her the silk nightshirt, she puts it on, lay back down on the bed, her legs hanging over the edge. I go to my closet, silently retrieve a silk tie and sit down behind her.
I hold her arm as she sits on the edge of the bed. I reach around her, put the tie gently over her eyes and tie the blindfold in an open bow behind her head.
“Now you look like a birthday present. I’ll be right back”
“Don’t be long, you bastard”
I went to the freezer, got a pint of chocolate chip ice cream and a spoon.
“Open your mouth”
“Sausage?” She smirks.
“No, you wretched creature, blow jobs are off the menu tonight”
I put the spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, her mouth closed. For a moment, she is perfectly still. I withdraw the spoon, and she gasps in happiness.
“Gimme nother” she says with her mouth still half full of ice cream. I feed her ice cream, then a triangle of Toblerone chocolate, from the back of the freezer, where I’d hidden it from her behind a package of frozen spinach for just such a moment.
I take a turkey feather and stroke her breast. She flinches, sighs, her nipple erects. I take the pillows and lay them behind her, easing her back, her knees at the edge of the bed, her calves dangling over the edge, her eyes covered, her hands moved about, blindly.
“Relax, hands on the bed” I whisper into her ear.
The turkey feather curves and curls over her, under her breasts, between them, gently flicking against her areolas, against her neck, into the hollow of her throat, under her chin, and against her cheek.
The feather traverses her ribs, making her laugh and squirm, over her tummy, over her fur, onto her thighs. I kiss her belly button.
The feather finds its way to her inner thighs. She moves, her thighs opened, and she sighs, arching, her pelvis slowly rocking. My mouth closes over her right nipple as the feather first touches the whorl of flesh at her clitoris, her legs spread wider, the feather smoothly travels from one thigh, over her pussy to the other thigh.
“Ssssh, hands down, no touching yourself” I hiss in her ear.
The feather — o that feather, with just enough resilience to find her, she whimpers, her head turns, her mouth opens Whirling like a bit of down flying from a nest, her mind turns, rising, my mouth against her nipple, my tongue pushing it back into her breast, then flicking it. The feather strokes her inner thighs, slow and mysterious, she arches with each stroke.
I roll her over, lifting her silk nightshirt. She spreads her legs, inviting the feather again. I stroke the back of her thighs, her buttocks and her back over the silk itself, over the hair of her outspread arms, over her fingers. The feather is hypnotic, where it goes is the entire focus of attention. With the feather, I enter into her mind, I become an observer, detached, watching myself, watching her slight movement, listen to her breathing, in the heat.
I put a pillow under her hips: her bottom is in the air. I spread her thighs and touch her pussy with the feather, brushing softly over her. The feather curves over her bottom, into the small of her back, she is completely relaxed, when my curved hand holds her pussy, it seems to come as a shock and relief. My middle and ring finger slowly curve into her, she is parted and she is entered. My left hand holding her down between her shoulder blades, she is softly finger fucked. My right hand backs away, leaving her open and empty. The hand returns with a little sliver of ice, I hold it to her perineum, between her pussy and her ass. The slow ice cream cold babes porno spreads, rich, not biting cold. I lead the ice down, across her pussy lips, and into her body, pushing the ice in gently, middle and ring fingers, curling up, the cold sinks into her, into her heart.
Wet cold fingers reach under her, holding her clitoris, gently shaking it. She rises from the pillow onto her elbows, moaning, almost crying, her heart melting. Cold water oozes from her, onto the pillow. Her pussy wants to expel the ice, my fingers prevent it.
In a moment of tenderness, I kiss the small of her back, and try to give her release. My thumb parts her buttocks, my left hand holds a chip of ice to her back door, gently pushing it into her, as my right hand cups her pussy, closing on her clitoris, firmly gripping her. The ice slips into her, her shocked bottom senses it, her mind twists, rises, and the familiar heat of an orgasm spreads from her thighs up into her belly, like a brushfire.
I pull her to her knees, her bottom out, my cock tucked under her, its soft head against her clitoris, her thighs closed together, she feels the cock between her thighs, and the velvet head knocks against her clitoris, in one smooth motion, your pussy is entered. Her head droops, her mind collects itself, focuses and the orgasm seizes her.
I turn her on her side, spoon up behind her. I hold her, shuddering and sweating, sobbing, almost crying. She pushes back against me, pulls off the tie.
“Gimme the rest of your iced tea” A says.
She gulps down the tea, the ice clinks at the bottom of the glass. She sits, meditatively, pulling back her hair, reaching for a scunci, does her hair up in a ponytail.
“You haven’t come yet, have you?”
“Well, that’s true.”
“You want my ass, don’t you? You always do me like this when you want it.”
“Yeah, but you know how I get about it, you have to ask, A.”
“Consider yourself asked. I need another orgasm. I don’t feel like I’m quite done yet. Christ, you get me all worked up and it usually seems to end with your cock up my ass.”
“It’s like Star Trek, darling: going where man has never gone before.”
“That is so lame. Never seems to occur to you that I might actually like it.”
“That’s part of the schtick, A. Anal is something sorta special, a matter of trust, it’s like a gift you give me.”
“Yeah. It is a gift. Pleasing you matters to me. Anal is something special I do, just for you. This time, tie me up, be selfish for once, this one is for you.”
A is silent for a moment. She picks up the glass, turns it up, the ice slides into her mouth. She crunches ice in the darkness. The moving curtains cast shadows on her. She mutely holds out her crossed arms to me, I wrap the tie around her wrists, tying it off with a bow. She kneels in the bed, her elbows against the headboard. I get another tie, and bind her ankles together. I stand beside the bed, in an odd state of detachment, admiring her body, the tiny hairs on her calves, the curves of her bottom, her breasts, the dark mass of her long straight hair gathered together on her back.
“You’re beautiful, A.”
“I love you. I’m all yours.”
Aroused, delighted, my mind detaches again, I am an observer inside my own body. I lubricate myself, I kneel behind her, I kiss her shoulder. My cock touches her bottom, she moans, pushing back. My right hand reaches over her thigh, to her fur, finding her clitoris. The slick cock parts her cheeks, I press against her, the length of my cock stroking upwards, nuzzling upwards, not entering her, but laterally. My pelvis closes on her, my cock rides up and down the furrow of her ass: the tip crosses her pucker, up and down.
Then holding my cock in my left hand, I hold it against her back door and softly press home. A presses back, we gently rock in tandem, not entering, not yet, feeling her will the cock past the tight pucker. Our motions collide, and the head pops into her, she gasps. I stop completely, as still as a statue, her breath is ragged. Her breathing comes back to a soft inhale and exhale, as she adapts to me. I feel the incredible tightness, almost painful, as she slowly dilates around the neck of my cock. I slowly withdraw and lubricate myself again, then softly re-enter her bottom. She pushes back gingerly, accepting me. Time stops, each second lasts an eternity, and my cock slowly finds its way to the core of her, my pelvis pressing against her cheeks.
A pushes back, then moves her pelvis in a slow motion, pulling and pushing me in and out. The fingers of my right hand play counterpoint to her motion, and I begin to fuck her ass in earnest, in largo tempo.
“You are my gift, A.” I whisper in her left ear, and gently bite her earlobe.
A sighs, a low sound emerges from her with every stroke.
“Oh god o god o god fuck my ass.”
And I do fuck her ass, holding her hips with both hands. She puts her hands between her legs, and furiously touches herself. Her ass clenches around me, hard enough to trap me, as tight as a fist, as she erupts in a series of sharp cries, as she comes. She pushes back against me, biting her lip. Shattered, she pulls herself away from me, then turns and kisses me, her bound hands over my head.
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