COOLING DOWN, HEATING UP

Dena Hankins

I use the ribbed cotton of my tank top to dry the skin under my tits. A bra would soak up some of the sweat, but I can’t bear one thread more than the top and my underwear. I’m sitting on the floor, leaning against the fieldstone fireplace in our 180-year-old farmhouse. Never thought the fireplace would be the spot in the house.

The fan squeaks a bit, way up in the high ceiling. I’ll have to fix that when it’s not a million degrees. The blades pour humid air over me like a warm river.

Hennie’s flushed, lying flat on her back in a cotton slip she made herself. It’s got thin lines of lace, top and bottom, and she scratches at her thigh where the lace tickles. She wiggles within reach, hunting a cooler spot on the wooden floor, and I poke her hip with my big toe. She groans. “I love you, sweetheart. Don’t touch me.”

I laugh.

The hills outside Chapel Hill, North Carolina, sport more than one lovely old house. Ours has little in the way of grounds—the fields had been sold long before we came around. We’ve owned it three years now, moved in on our eighth anniversary. Still getting bruised and blistered working on it, but that’s just part of owning an old home. Our bedroom is straight out of the nineteenth century, except we made the dressing room into a bathroom. We updated the kitchen but left the cupboards. The old plumbing complains and we replace what we have to.

Mostly, we restore what we can and live without plenty. Like air-conditioning.

“Hennie, I think it’s time.”

My lover smiles without opening her eyes. “Gettin’ itchy?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Hennie sits up with a whoosh and blinks like she’s lightheaded. Her slip’s wet where she was lying on it. Her tits are bare under the thin cotton and her nipples are soft, nearly flat in the heat. “Want to make reservations or pack?”

I lever myself to my feet and wish I hadn’t. “I’ll pack.”

Hennie laughs. “You’re sweet, but I was joking. Get on the computer and I’ll put together an overnight bag.”

I lean over and give Hennie my hand. We both groan at the sticky feeling as I pull her upright. Pressing my lips to hers without touching anywhere else, I mumble against her mouth, “You’re the one for me.”

“I’d better be.” Her grumpy tone makes me smile and she pulls away. Slogging through the dank air, she heads up the stairs to our bedroom on the second floor. Her voice fades as she gripes, “I still say we should have a summer bedroom downstairs. We can put a bed in the piano parlor and…”

My face settles into the expression Hennie calls “mulish.” I consider that an insult and refuse to cop to it. I love our bedroom and won’t give it up for anything. A smile breaks through. Actually, I will give it up tonight for that most modern of conveniences.

We’re driving away less than an hour later and pull up to the chain motel a half hour after that. After checking in, we drive around the back and park in front of the door to our room for the night.

Hennie slides the key card into the reader and shoves against the seal made by the weather stripping. She gasps and calls out, “It’s already cold in here!” The delight in her voice is worth the sixty dollars we just dropped.

Holding the bag, I lock the car doors and follow her into the room. The temperature drops at the door and I shiver hard. Hennie’s inspecting the room—opening drawers, checking out the bathroom. Reminds me of a dog sniffing new territory when she does that, though I’d never make the mistake of saying so. She starts the shower and yells, “Good pressure.”

The shower doesn’t stop. She must have decided to jump right in. Would she want something to wear afterward? I’ll probably ruin a surprise if I open the bag, so I decide against getting clothes out for her. Maybe we won’t wear anything until it’s time to check out.

Water hits the wall and the shower curtain, the sound modulating as she moves. I picture her turning under the spray, cupping her hands and letting the cool water overflow down her chest.

I can’t stay all sticky while she’s getting so clean.

Down with my shorts, off with my underwear. The tank top droops, heavy with my sweat, and the chilling fabric draws another shiver from me as I pull it over my head. Damn. The cold is almost as uncomfortable as the heat.

In the cold, though, we can get close.

I push open the door to the little bathroom and it stops against the shower/tub combo. Hennie’s slip is limp on the floor and I catch my first sight of her in the vanity mirror across from the shower.

Her deep curves make my insides tighten. Through the translucent plastic shower curtain, she has the mysterious proportions of a goddess. Her heavy hips and solid thighs taper to strong calves and small feet, while above…ah, above.

Hennie’s breasts curve away from her ribs, lower than they were when we first stripped for one another. We attacked each other that night with the lights out. Not for shyness, but because we were in such a hurry that we forgot to turn them on.

Since then, Hennie has put on thirty, maybe forty pounds. Her breasts are heavier, her ass more padded. Her waist still has that delicious curve and her face barely shows a difference, but she looks so much more womanly to me. As a girl, she charmed me. Now I am devoted to the woman she’s become.

Physically, I’ve always been a tit woman. I love a shapely ass, but it’s big, soft tits that catch my attention when I’m supposed to be driving. When I’m shopping for groceries. When I’m ordering a meal. I love large, pillowy breasts.

Hennie’s were unreal when we met—high and too firm to make deep cleavage. In my opinion, they’ve gotten better. They’ve softened, gained a deeper under-curve and, in the right bra, they push together for some jaw-dropping cleavage. It’s not just me—everyone notices.

“Are you coming in or are you going to stare all night?”

I grin. “I’m doing more than staring tonight. It’s been two weeks since it’s been cool enough to lick your pussy, let alone fuck you.” I push the curtain back and our eyes meet. “How’s the shower?”

My pussy thumps when she steps sideways, letting the water sluice over her tits. “Invigorating.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.”

“Come on in, then.”

The sultry look she gives me is hotter than the weather outside our motel room. I step over the lip of the tub and take the motel soap from her hands. She turns away while I build up a good froth. Reaching out, I slick my hands across her shoulders and sigh.

My libido doesn’t disappear, but the familiar happiness of touching Hennie—scratching her back lightly, gripping the muscles of her shoulders and squeezing them in my hands—this overwhelms my lust with tenderness. We have time to be fierce with one another. First I just want to get close.

Hennie hums and tips her head back when I slide up behind her. Shower spray wets my front and I bring my tits and belly up against her soapy back. I slide my arms around her waist and fold her close.

My love likes to pretend that I am the horndog in the relationship, but she’s the one who starts sliding her ass on my thighs. She’s the one who lifts my hands to cup her tits and grabs the back of my neck over her shoulder. She acts like I’m the one who gets itchy and needy, but Hennie’s desire burns and demands, where mine tends to glow. If I’m an ocean swell, she’s that wave from The Perfect Storm.

“I love you,” I breathe in her ear. I nibble the outer curve and suck her earlobe between my teeth. Moments like this, I’m glad I’m taller than she is. I can see her tits mounded in my palms while I run my teeth down the muscle in her neck. The taste of cheap soap makes my nose wrinkle and I let the shower rinse my mouth.

I focus on her nipples. Hennie says they’re not very sensitive, but to me, they’re perfect. She can take a lot of sensation. I like tugging on them hard, twisting them, gnawing and sucking. It sends me over the edge to have them in my mouth, and some of our strangest sex positions have resulted from my desire for Hennie’s tits.

She asked me once what I’d do if she got breast cancer and had them chopped off. I teared up and she got pissed before I could pull it together. I wasn’t crying over some damn breast tissue, though. I freak out when she gets a splinter. I don’t know how I’d handle a major illness like cancer. Can’t stand to think about it. I hope we age well and die together in our sleep.

Hennie must feel my change of mood, me thinking about sickness and old age, because she turns in my arms and hugs me tight. She slides a hand into my spiky hair and pulls my head down to her shoulder. I squeeze her and marvel at the complicated swell of emotion—desperate love, warm affection, a hint of future sadness born of my need for her. Under all that, though, the slippery body of my lover stokes my lust.

“Finish your shower, but don’t come out until you holler.” Hennie gives the order, knowing I’ll bristle at her tone and get excited at the same time. She turns around under the spray for a final rinse and steps out.

I soap up and let the water run over me, warm water over cool skin. Been taking cold showers for a couple months, and a warm shower is a strange treat. Cold feels good, don’t mistake me, but it don’t relax a body.

I scrub my body dry—Hennie tells me to pat, but I like the scratching—and tug the locks over my eyebrows into a disarray that I hope is sexy.

“Ready for me, honey?” I’m turning the doorknob as I yell.

“Come and get it,” my lover growls.

I step out of the bathroom and suck in a breath. My turn, is it?

Hennie stands in front of the heavy drapes, stroking the dark blue dildo in her harness. The straps follow the curve of her hips. Her hair curls around the edges of the backing pad and her belly swells gently above. The dildo is long and not very wide. I raise an eyebrow and meet her challenging look. “It’s been a while,” I say, by way of a warning.

“I’m feeling patient. It’s not the only dildo I brought, though.”

We have a few dildos we use in our harnesses. She’s wearing the one we use for butt-play, and I turn my attention to my body. Clenching my sphincters and releasing them, I feel good—clean and clear, warming up to the idea of getting fucked. It’s not my usual role, but Hennie’s excited and that decides me.

“Let’s see how it goes.”

Hennie sends me her sly “got what I wanted” smile. We meet at the foot of the bed and push close, kissing deeply and squeezing the dildo between our bellies. I press the sides of her breasts with my upper arms while stroking my hands along the waist strap of the harness.

Hennie strokes my neck and shoulders, pressing her thumbs along my collarbones. I pull away and she gives me a little push so I land on the bed, on top of the damp towel she laid out from her shower. I catch myself, half-reclined with my hands braced on the bed behind me, and Hennie attacks.

My elbows fold under her weight and my breathing stops altogether with her nipple in my mouth. She thrusts the dildo against my belly, straddling me, giving me the writhing armful that gets me hot. She knows the buttons and she’s pushing them all as though we’re going for a quickie in a park. I reach down, but the bulk of her gorgeous ass prevents me from finding her cunt from behind.

With a whimper—the least butch sound I make—I burrow my hand between our bodies and past the dildo and harness. Slippery, swollen and hot. My love makes fists and pounds them on the bed, determined that I will not distract her, determined not to let me flip her so that she gets fucked first. She pushes her ass upward, out of my reach, and pulls her nipple out of my mouth.

“Not this time,” she says, looking like an angry schoolmarm. “You fucking lie there.”

I bump my hips up at her. Hennie falls back on top of me and laughs. She never does stay mad for long. She scoots down and parts my legs. The dildo bumps against my cunt and I squirm again. She puts a hand on my chest for stability and uses the other to open me up. The dildo slides a tiny ways into my cunt. I’m wet enough to slick that silicone up just fine.

Miniature thrusts and a thumb on my clit hood frustrate me, but I know she’s doing it for my own good. Only way to put me into the zone is to tease me. I can come, no problem, but it’s usually minor muscle spasms. For the full-body clench and release, I have to get to a much higher level of need.

Hennie’s looking at my cheeks, watching me lick my lips. She presses down on my rib cage and watches my nipples harden. The calculating way she manipulates my clit, rubbing above and to each side without touching it, makes me stretch my arms up and grab for the headboard.

But we’re not in our bed. My fingers scrabble against veneer and I settle for a pillow, grabbing it between my hands and wishing I had something to pull against.

Hennie is satisfied that I’m with her. She hates it when I let her fuck me, but there’s no connection. She says I may as well just masturbate when I’m like that, and she’s not wrong. Right now, though, it’s Hennie’s touch and Hennie’s plan that’s ratcheting my body tighter and tighter.

She slides her knees up, one at a time, shoving my legs wide and draping them over her thighs. Kneeling, she leaves the dildo in my cunt, where it teases me with hints of pleasure without being wide enough to stretch me the way I love. She gloves one hand, lubes up both and slides the gloved one below the dildo.

Her fingers slip over the tiny folds around my asshole and dance around the ring of muscle holding it closed. Slipping in the lube, her fingers press and massage that ring until I feel it happen. I start to open up.

Meeting my eyes, she dallies until I exhale. Her teasing thumb presses my clit finally and then, as I arch up into that touch, she slips her index finger inside my ass. I can’t help the clench that follows. It’s not a rejection. It’s a plea to stay.

Gently rubbing me all around, she focuses on easing my tightness. I do my best to help out with deep breathing, but Hennie doesn’t want me too relaxed. She keeps stroking my clit, but only in ways that don’t, won’t get me off. Eventually, my eyes slide shut and my hips start to wander.

That’s the moment Hennie’s been waiting for. When I move into hungry receptivity, she pulls the dildo from my cunt and slides it a tiny bit into my ass. The hand on my clit goes still and then her palm presses against it, giving me something to rub on without distracting me from the deep give of my ass opening to her. Took a lot of fucking for her to pinpoint the moment when the clit stimulation needed to stop, but she nailed it this time.

I love this moment. I can feel muscles slacken inside my body, muscles I’m not aware of on a day-to-day basis. She slides in and my insides rearrange to accommodate her. Fresh lube cools the dildo and is warmed by friction. When she stops pressing, I open my eyes.

“It’s working.” She presses harder against my clit as she speaks.

“Oh, yeah.”

I lie on my back in an unfamiliar room, with an over-bleached motel towel under my impaled ass and goose bumps covering my body. The strangeness of our surroundings excites me, but not as much as the woman between my legs. Hennie looks abstracted, focused on the feedback she gets from the hand wrapped around the dildo. Her hips are still and she manipulates the dildo in tiny circles with her hand, watching my ass tighten and soften in response. Her intense attention is all for my body, and my body gives her what she wants.

“I think you’re ready.” Hennie looks up into my face, checking in.

I nod, opening my mouth to agree. A moan escapes when she pulls the dildo from my ass. Hungry to get it back, I scramble to turn over and present my ass, high and ready for her.

She makes me wait. She drifts up close behind me and slides her knees between my thighs. She lays the dildo’s length between my cheeks and thrusts slowly, the slick silicone rubbing against the hot softness of my asshole. A cool deluge strikes and I flinch. Hennie laughs and rubs the lube around my asshole with the dildo, then angles it down for me.

I back down on it, gobbling it up, filling myself up and then slowing down so I can take more. It’s a very long dildo and, in this position, Hennie can get close enough to give me every inch. I thrust my ass onto it a bit at a time, moaning at the depth of my penetration.

When I get all the way down on it, I push against Hennie’s thighs with mine and press my asscheeks into her hips. Shaking and jerking, so close to coming, I reach for my clit but she says, “No, not yet.”

I almost sob, but she starts thrusting and my attention turns. Slide and slap, and she pushes her weight into my ass. She wants me to brace so I won’t slide across the bed. On my knees with my ass high and my shoulders low, I grip the bedspread in hopes it’ll keep me in position.

We’re both fucking now, slamming into each other hard and bouncing back, just to slam together again. It’s not fast, but it’s relentless and we keep it up until my grip fails and I slide forward. Hennie grabs my hips then and pulls my ass into her. I reach down for my clit and she doesn’t stop me. That turns me on even more, because it means she knows how worked up I am.

My mind is clouded, dislocated. I am thinking with my gut. My clit is enormous and so is Hennie’s dildo in my ass. I reach inside my cunt to feel it move. The end strokes my fingers through the thin tissue that separates one hole from the other and I have my face and chest pressed into the bed with both hands on my cunt now. Hennie is chanting, “Come for me, baby. Come for me.” I’m rubbing my clit and filling my cunt. Hennie is fucking my ass so smoothly that in and out feel the same and the orgasm builds from the deepest part of me that she touches, disintegrating my flesh and replacing it with pure energy.

When the pulses slow and subside, my body re-forms around the sensation of Hennie pulling her dildo from my ass. She slips to the side, running one hand down my back, then removes the harness. While I’m still dazed, reeling from being discorporate with pleasure, Hennie turns me over.

I flop over gladly, my ass still pulsing, and take a deep breath. Good thing, too, because Hennie’s pussy covers my mouth, lips held open by her slick fingers. The scent and texture of her becomes part of my lingering orgasm and I lap at her slowly. Hennie is too far gone for that, though, and she shoves her clit at my tongue.

I’m buried and helpless under her, but she only needs me to keep my tongue curled and my lips pursed. She fucks me again, this time with her clit in my mouth, climbing so quickly to orgasm that she must have been close when I came. She grabs the fake headboard in front of her and the bed pounds the wall from her jagged thrusts until she keens, a high, thin sound that means it’s holding off, that the orgasm she’s chasing is just beyond her reach. I add a flick of my tongue to the end of her movement and she convulses above me, belly quaking and tits shivering.

By the time her cries have lowered in pitch, I have my wits about me again. I love this woman and she has given me so much. When she gets off me, still moaning, I slip off the bed and grab the bag.

Sure enough, she also packed my harness and the fat dildo she loves so much. I strap it on. She’s done all the work so far, but now I’m ready to break a sweat. Why not? We’ve got air-conditioning.