Sunday, August 8, 2010

Soft Serve

Adult Content

A golden thigh and singlet of gelato colours, still moist from her afternoon swim. Not a common sight here in the suburbs, but what a thigh pressed firm against a horse's flank. The heat haze rises from the suburban road and liquorice bitumen begins to melt.

She bends down towards the hatch, still mounted bareback on the horse, the tease of unbridled cleavage exposed, beaded with honey drops, not too full but not too small and makes her request. "Soft serve, chocolate dipped" she whispers and drops change into his open palm.

He depresses the valve and swirls of soft-serve fall into their waffle cone in slow concentric spirals. Lascivious thoughts fill the bottom of the cone as quickly as the ice cream it contains. He dips the swirl into warm melted chocolate and twists with expert hands to ensure even coverage before passing her the summer delight. She licks her approval but it's not ice cream his mind's eye sees her tongue caress.

He observes her often, riding bareback up that hill and memorises every detail. Each strand of cocoa hair, retreating rhythmically across her shoulders with every lunging footfall of the horse. Wayward locks obscure small portions of her profile, rendering her mysterious. He knows her eyes are brown as his dipping chocolate, her lashes long, her lips full of the flush of youth and glazed with strawberry gloss. Her legs are caramel, her arms glow with summer sweat as she sits, hips rocking gently back and forth, relaxed and sensual and perfectly melded to the mount she rides. How he envies that creature's spine.

Their encounters are more frequent and conversations are engaged.  And with each pressure push, each topping applied, he feels his own blood pressure rise and he craves another flavour.

She waits for the sound and makes an auditory calculation. He's just two blocks away. Her crush increases with each decibel and she chooses her moment to sashay across the street and meet his gaze. He'll linger this afternoon, his day is almost over, children's appetites are sated but not hers, her sweet tooth now craves salt.

He smiles at her approach and her  'I dare you' grin, but his arms are folded in firm resolution. He waits for her familiar order, "Soft serve, chocolate dipped. . ."  she tilts her head, her hands clasped behind her back, waiting for his counter. "Nope, my shift is over"  he declares remaining square and resolute.  She feels somewhat chastised until he beckons her close, bends down towards the hatch and whispers, "You can come make one yourself?"

He slides the door and lifts her into the tiny space then closes it behind. The smell is hot and sweet and sticky. She takes a cone and his hands guide hers, pushing on the valve. She can feel his form behind her, pressing firm and hot. He smells of vanilla with a hint of salt.

Sweet swirls spiral ever downwards. She doesn't want ice cream today but is aware of the metaphor she's creating and can feel its impact on the body behind her.  Once made they share ambrosia, their mouths drawing closer and the cone is soon discarded for a kiss.

His hands clasp on to hers but do not let go, instead one moves slowly around her waist and draws her in. The other remains held tight, there is no escape.  The compact space heats up beyond the exhaust of the ice cream machine. Sweat combines with sweat and sweet carbon-laden breath induces euphoria. She is now his soft serve, pliable and smooth and he the sweet and melting chocolate.

She disengages from his mouth and licks the sweet remnants from his lips. She tongues his neck and licks his ears as hands unfurl his shirt. Cotton rolls from his torso to be discarded carelessly as a disused serviette landing softly on the floor. Sliding down from his chest, moisture dampening her touch, she caresses with her tongue and deftly undoes his belt.  There is no ambiguity as to her taste as now she consumes his centre. Thick locks caress his thigh, his hands pressed gently on her shoulders as he leans back against the serving bench spilling flavour, wanton as her desire, toppling sauces and confection while she trades her sweetness for his salt.

Replete she rises. He is eager to reciprocate and slides a slippery hand beneath her dress. Its wrap-around tie is easy to release as it too, falls silky and silent to the floor. He stares at her a while, stripped bare but she's no innocent. This nubile nude teases with an eyebrow raised, her turn to beckon and this time there is no catch.

He embraces as he lowers to taste that tender bud, drawing nectar from its source and sending shivers through her thighs. Her head thrown back against the hatch, rainbow sprinkles tangling in her hair as she moans her delight. His hands and mouth are gently forceful and she's consumed by their assault.  She bites her lip as he savours the succulence of her body, creating sherbet tingles that rise to a crescendo unwilling to subside. His mouth now traces upwards towards her navel and explores its depths.  He expertly navigates her breasts, stained sweet with syrup and sweat before he once more connects to her lips and their flavourful finale.

8 comments:

  1. off to take a shower...
    or get some ice cream...

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  2. gadzooks--of course i happen to have a bowl of chocolate right here, but i don't think i really want it right now. good thing the sun is going down...

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  3. Well, this was certainly hot in an "in your face" (so to speak) sort of way. But just as I prefer psychological terror over slice and dice horror, I tend to like erotica that is a bit more subtle and suggestive.

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  4. Suddenly, I'm considering a career change.

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  5. Tea, toast and titilation great start to my Thursday.

    "The heat haze rises from the suburban road and liquorice bitumen begins to melt." Our summer in a sentence*!*

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  6. oh my my! what vivid word imagery you weave!!

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