by Silkinn
You know the sort of day. When it's so hot, that even the trees
That's how hot it was.
I licked my dry lips with the tip of my tongue as I lay on my back
I could feel the perspiration pooling between my shoulder blades
I tried breathing as shallowly as possible, trying to conserve
A hand.
It lightly gripped my left ankle, the thumb and forefinger easily
Sliding, slippery-sliding, up my left leg. It had reached my shin.
It moved again.
Now it had reached my knee. It seemed to slow its progress, as if
The dress slid higher, and I wondered if the hand could feel how damp
Again, it paused, then again slowly moved, briefly crossing the silky
Then, it changed direction, and moved horizontally, barely touching my
Then back again, to my belly button, and now a finger slowly explored,
A button unfastened, then another, as the hand made its way up my body,
Now I felt fingers, slowly moving towards my left breast, sliding effortlessly
I felt a palm, pressing gently against my nipple as it rose up to meet it,
The hand slid across to my right breast, cupping it easily, catching that
Then the hand slid down, over my belly button, across the faint swell of my belly, down.
Further down.
Until I felt the tips of the fingers briefly touch the elastic of my panties.
The hand crept lower, trailing fire across my skin as I felt it pass through
Another finger slipped down surreptitiously to join it, and they both gently
Again and again the pattern repeated, and I felt my hips rising off the floorboards,
I felt the breeze then, soft against my cheek, and I wept with joy.
Comments, criticisms etcetera, to silkinn@chickmail.com
seem too tired to breathe. When the sun is so glaringly painful,
that your eyes burn when you lift them up from your feet as you
slouch listlessly along. When the road seems to melt, and you can
feel every single pebble through the soles of your sneakers.
on the porch, willing a breeze to float down from the distant mountains.
A butterfly floated through my field of vision, impossibly cheerful
and unconcerned by the heat, its dark purple wings fluttering as
it dipped and soared on invisible fairy currents.
as they pressed against the old creaky floorboards, and I shifted
uncomfortably, wiggling my bum irritably. My sun dress was soaked
through, as if I had stood out in the garden in the midst of a
torrential downpour. Even my hair lay flat and lifeless, pasted
against my forehead and neck, as if in mute sympathy.
energy, willing my internal engine to cool, until finally, my
eyelids fluttered closed and I slipped into a fitful sleep, my
hands falling to lie motionless at my sides, fingers open.....
meeting. It felt smooth, the fingers seemed well-formed, strong.
It stopped, as if examining the faint scar, the only evidence from a
childhood fall from an old willow tree that I should never have been
climbing in the first place.
pausing for breath, then finally, it again inched its way higher,
moving excruciatingly slowly up my thigh. I felt the movement of
cloth against my skin and realised the hand was moving the hem of
my dress up with it as it inched higher.
the material was. I could feel that my thighs were exposed. No, not
just my thighs...the hand was creeping higher, pushing and bunching
the dress before it, sliding it across my burning skin.
panties before reaching my hip. It seemed to caress the skin there, and
I felt a thumb, slowly rubbing in a circular motion.
tummy, and I felt it skim the fine downy hair as it passed, on its way
to my other hip, where the thumb again gently rubbed.
circling around and around.
and I felt my dress peel off my body, like the skin from a juicy peach.
across my wet skin. They paused at the lower swell, then the hand slid
sideways up...and across my nipple, before returning to circle it, much
the same as it had done with my belly button ages ago.
then the thumb again, joined by a finger as it gently stroked and pulled,
and circled, and stroked, and pulled.
nipple between thumb and forefinger as it squeezed almost painfully, before
releasing and again resuming the gentle attention it had lavished on my left nipple.
the soft hair. A finger, one I hadn't felt before, slid even lower, easily
parted the lips and briefly touched the hard little point before dipping into
the wet, slippery folds below. Then it drew back, again across the little bump,
before reaching forward once more, this time sliding further in.
parted the folds, soaking themselves in the wetness now, before rising up and
stroking, pinching, rubbing.
my thighs straining to open wider, my breath catching in my throat, as the fire
raged into an inferno, streaking up through my belly, circling my aching nipples
with its touch, gripping my throat until I couldn't breathe. And still the fire
roared until finally...