A Cold Wet Towel

Very last minute Sinful Sunday today
(I know, I know - it's Monday... see below)

I was getting ready to take a photo of the simple pleasure 

of being barefoot but I had a an accident 

and ended up spilling boiling water all over my thigh.

So - A very different pic to that intended...

the simple pleasure of a cold wet towel...

And since it's Monday - and since the picture above has inspired a bit of Flash - I'm adding a Masturbation Monday too. So I'm a gal that likes it all at once, what's so wrong about that?! ;)

A Cold Wet Towel

It was purpling up like a bruise. 

"Let me press it," he said, leaning in to the crook of my neck, raising the tiny hairs there while his hand drifted to the towel at my thigh.

"No!" I flinched as if he'd done it already.

He chuckled softly and waited for me to calm again. It really was stinging in that sickening smarting way that a scald does. I hoped it wouldn't blister and scar - I like short skirts. He likes me wearing short skirts. The ice was melting a little and trickling down the inside of my leg to the leather sofa.

"Go on," he whispered, pushing his fingertips under the wet fabric, "don't you like a bit of pleasure and pain?"

His fingers barely whispered their presence on my sore skin but somehow it was soothing. I let my guard down a little and he gently rubbed the burn. 

"See? It feels good, doesn't it?" he said and I had to sort of admit that, oddly, it did. Like tonguing a mouth ulcer or rubbing a bruise.

"A bit, yes." It was kind of relieving the nippy pain and replacing it with an almost sexy throbbing.

"See, I told you - it's like licking a cut. It feels nice."

"If you say so..." His hand was leaving the burn and creeping up my inner thigh, his breath and words still at my neck, just under my ear. I swear I could see stars when I closed my eyes on those words.

"I do say so." His fingertips were easing the very tops of my thighs apart now, and I let my hips relax and roll open. "Do you know what word the Dutch use for cunt?" His voice knew how to say that word. He said it to perfection.

Cunt. 

"No..."

"Kut. They say kut." His fingers were scissoring at my entrance now and I clenched and released at their insistence, the throb of pleasure now at my pussy. It was so good. He pushed on and I watched the sinews in his forearms - oh that gets me hot. The effort. Watching and sensing all the parts that make up the seduction. 

"Let me lick your kut," he said, with a wicked tone.

He shifted position and crawled down between my legs, lifting the towel first and licking my wound then blowing on it. It felt so good and strange. Then he thrust his fingers right into me and began tonguing my hard on my clit. God, it was good, so good. I edged forward to make space to spread my legs as wide as I could. He helped by nudging his shoulders hard in between my thighs. His jumper glanced and grazed my scald but his licking was so hard and fast and intense that it was pleasure not pain that sent me spiralling off into that place. That place of love and hate, war and peace, fury and calm, joy and despair, everything and nothing. I hung limp about him in the zone as he pummelled and fucked me. Then, with one hard flick of his wrist and tongue I fell from my suspension and crashed out my climax all over his tongue, his fingers, his hands, his face.

My legs clamped around his head and he retreated very slowly once I'd stilled and calmed to release him.

"See?" he said as he sat up, wiping his face on my cold wet towel.

Remember to click the big purple square for more saucy tales x xx