Pants On Fire
by Sommer Marsden

It’s the first warm day of the year. Something about that first really warm day always makes me feel sexy. Ready to shed clothes and show some skin. Even if that skin is pale from months of sweaters and jeans. But I like to bask in the sun on the first warm day. Marc likes to grill.

The skirt is new. The panties are small. Flip-flops on my feet and painted toenails. A short-sleeved deep v-neck tee and I’m in heaven. I want to feel the wind on my face and my skin. Smell the fresh-cut grass. The neighborhood is alive with the sounds of lawnmowers and week whackers. I listen to my thongs as I walk and I can’t help but laugh.

Thwack, thwack…thwack twhack…

The sounds of spring.

“Chicken. I’m thinking chicken with barbeque sauce. Green beans. You can steam those inside and maybe some fresh bread.” His handsome face is hopeful and alive and glowing from being kissed by the sun. It seems like we haven’t seen the sun in months.

“Why is it that your head always turns to food when the weather turns?” I laugh.

“Michelle, need to know that man make fire. Man make fire then man make food,” he grunts at me and when I pass him, he smacks my ass hard and I let out a little yelp.

“Hands to yourself,” I snort and lower myself onto the chaise longue. I stretch my long legs out and sigh with happiness. I’ll let them get just a touch of sun and then I’ll coat myself in SPF 45 from head to toe.

“Why? You’re gonna prance around in that … what is that? Is that scrap of denim supposed to be a skirt?”

I laugh again and close my eyes. In a moment he’ll be back to food and fire.

“And a deep v. See how deep that v is. It makes me want to stick my face between your tits.”

I’m smiling, eyes still closed, but his banter is making me wet. Between my legs a nice steady moist pulse has begun. “Hmmm,” I say, noncommittally.

“You’ve painted your toenails. Let’s see. What should we call that colour.”

‘Sweet Wine’

“Vixen red. That’s it. That colour is most certainly meant to seduce men with spring fever. And then the flip-flops. Well, might I say, nothing like long toes and elegant feet.”

I almost laugh again but it dies in my throat because now he is caressing my foot and the feeling of his hand on me shoots straight to my center. Someone touching my feet has never been a big turn on but now, all of a sudden, it is staggering in its sensuality. His hand circles my ankle, gripping me, and just stays there. My skin feels like it’s circled with fire where his skin is touching my skin. The sun that was just warm a few moments before is now a searing heat and I feel my skin flush but I shiver.

“And then we have your legs,” he goes on.

“The same legs I’ve always had,” I attempt to tease, but my voice is taut and my cunt is thumping and my nipples have pebbled against my blouse. What I really want to do is moan, not tease.

“The same legs I have been obsessed with all these years,” he teases back but his voice is much more in control than mine. He releases my ankle and his hands are sliding up the insides of my thighs. I twitch under the pressure. He reaches the hem of my short skirt and stops, fingers splayed up under the fabric. So close to my panties. So close to the part of me that wants him the most. He stops. Right there. And lets his hands rest innocently on my skin. My mouth is dry and my pulse is pounding in my ears.

“You’re stopping?” I whisper.

“All I’m interested in is food, remember?” His deep throaty laugh fills my ears. I keep my eyes closed because if I see that evil smile I just might die of frustration.

“True. Mostly.”

“Am I interested in food. Or am I interested in eating?”

That gets me. Right there. My breath freezes in my throat. “We’d have to go inside.”

“Now why would we go inside on a lovely day like this.”

A little pool of my own hot moisture escapes me and my panties are sticking to my clit. I would do anything to have them off me at that moment. To let the warm spring breeze blow over my naked sex.

He reads my mind, pushes his fingers up higher and strokes the drenched cotton crotch of my panties. I hear myself make a low sound. A sex sound. He lets me plead with my noises for a minute and then hooks the sides of my panties with his fingers and tugs them off. We’re outside in the sun on a lounger and he’s going to fuck me. Of that I am certain. The fact that we could be seen somehow makes it better. High fence or not, you just never know who’s looking out of their upstairs window on a beautiful spring day.

I have my eyes clamped shut and I’m doing my best to breathe. He slides a finger into me, plays me softly at first. Even though I can’t see him, I can somehow feel his head moving toward me. I can feel the air shift and change around me. And then his mouth is clamped onto me, wet and burning and I push up. Grind up. Force myself against his lips and tongue in demanding, steady bucks of my hips.

Warm and slick and quick his mouth moves over me. Never giving me time to adjust or sink into the pleasure. Constantly shifting his rhythm and pressure. Another finger joins the first and then a third. I feel myself stretch and pulse because the fullness is intoxicating. He withdraws the third finger and slides it slowly into my ass. Hand trapped inside of me, mouth smashed against me.

I sigh. When I come it’s long and liquid and makes me feel boneless. Marc doesn’t stop, though, that is his favorite thing. To just keep going, getting every drop of me he can. He knows me so well that his licks and kisses are feather-light now. I am sensitive and each drag of his tongue is an exquisite torment.

He flexes his fingers deep inside of me, coaxing every last flitter and spasm from my cunt and his voice is raspy when he says, “Turn over on your belly.”

I turn without question. The sun that has been staining the inside of my eyelids red is now warming the back of my long, dark hair. I lay on my belly and he pulls his fingers free of me. I feel empty for a moment. The sound of his zipper tells me it won’t be for long.

When he climbs on the chaise it groans with the added weight but holds. His cock nudges me, pushing insistently. He slides into me with a groan and I press my legs together hard to make my entrance even tighter.

“Fuck.” That’s all he says.

I nod. Yes, please. Fuck.

His body is pressed against mine, covering me and shielding me from the sun. I love the feel of him, slow and easy but with a barely restrained urgency. For just a second I remember that someone could be watching us right now. Watching as he fucks me from behind surrounded by bright green grass, glaring sun and butterflies. I tighten again and a shiver works along my spine.

“Will you come for me again?” he says and I can only nod.

For just a second his cock slips free of me. I take the time to slide my hands under my hip bones to angle myself higher. I let my fingers play over my swollen clit as he tries to enter me again. For just a second the head of his cock presses against my ass and he groans. That’s what he would like. I know this and I smile.

Then he’s back in me, sliding in and nearly out. Dragging out each second of friction and pressure. I stroke my clit harder until with a final forceful thrust I come again. A painted rainbow streaking behind my eyelids. I press my face into the mesh lawn chair to stifle my cries.

Marc continues to fuck me, slow and easy now. I can’t help myself. I turn my head and with a voice weak from orgasm I say, “You really want to fuck me up the ass, don’t you?”

“That’s not why I’m doing this,” he says, steadying himself on two strong arms. Staying still inside of me. The length of his cock steady and hard inside me.

“Liar.”

“Not lying.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Liar, liar pants on fire,” I taunt.

“Pants on fire,” he concedes with a chuckle.

“Go on then,” I say and lift my hips, forcing him to move with me.

“Ah, Michelle…” he says and it sounds almost like he’s praying.

When he slicks me with my own juices I relax into it. Gone is my fear of this act. It took me some time to like it. Now I crave it at times. Times like now. He slides one finger into my ass, slowly and carefully stretching me until my body gives in and relaxes. Then a second finger. He flexes inside of me and my heartbeat speeds up my pussy thump. Newly empty the alternate stimulation creates a sweet ache.

He presses against me, the big blunt head of his cock seeking entrance. I take a deep breath, relax, press back against him. There it is. That sweet, intense burst of pain that somehow only serves to excite me more. The head is in, then half the shaft, and in this part of me I can truly feel each millimetre of him as he pushes.

“Is it enough?”

“It is.” My heart flutters because he’s afraid of hurting me. My own moisture is serving its purpose, though, and all I feel is the pleasure of being unbelievably full. I want to come again. I want to come with him this time.

“You feel so fucking good,” he says. He always says that when he fucks my ass and I always love to hear it.

I stroke my now tender clit, then give into what I really want. I shove two fingers into my cunt, grind against the heel of my hand. His body weight and frantic movements are bumping me hard against my own palm.

The chaise longue protests as Marc forgets timing and gives over to the feel of me. To the call of his body for release.

“Fuck, Michelle, I’m …”

And I come with him. Hard. I feel him spill into me, filling me with more heat as I come in  a long, lazy wave. My body deliciously exhausted and filled.

He settles onto me, kissing the back of my neck, tangling his fingers into my hair.

“Remember how I said all you think about is food?” I ask, flexing my toes warmed from the sun.

“Yeah.”

“I lied.”

“Pants on fire,” he laughs and lays his head down next to mine.