In Search of the Cooler Side

In Search of the Cooler Side

The traffic is quiet tonight.  I turn the pillow in search of the cooler side.  The steady hum of a fan tempers the rumble of buses outside as the blades sweep chilled, dry air over me in long, slow waves. I give a little shiver as my nipples harden and I pull the quilt up over my shoulders. A pillow is clasped tight to my breasts and the edge of the quilt is pulled tighter. I want to keep out the draft but the real reason is to give the illusion that my lover’s arm is wrapped protectively around me.  My bed is small but there is still an empty space beside me. The gap triggers bittersweet feelings. The freedom of having a bed to oneself is pleasant but also a reminder of his absence. He gives me comfort, protection and pleasure… so much pleasure. The longing to feel his body pressed against mine sets off an insatiable physical desire.  I roll onto my back trying to fill the aching hollow. Does he also have this yearning in his body, his heart, his soul? I think about him too much.

The rhythmic sweeps of air are blowing wisps of fine hair onto my face.  It tickles. It tickles...  evocative of his breath upon my neck.  Another little trembling breeze runs through me. Yet it isn’t the chill making my breasts swell but the memory of the kiss that would follow.

It is so very late but I wonder if he is still awake – reading perhaps, writing a story or trying out the rhythm and metre of another poem.  Is he thinking about the day just done? An interminable and useless meeting, utility bills on the doormat or overdue redecorations once more postponed. What colour are his sheets?  Is he lying on his back, arms raised with fingers laced behind his head and staring at the ceiling?  Maybe just one arm. Knowing him, he is smoking a cigarette.  Is he thinking of me?

I cannot relax, my breasts feel full.  They ache and even the soft cotton of the sheets is too much to bear.  I cup one of my breasts and the minute I do, I feel a tingling and a melting between my thighs.  I begin to think about his lips sucking on each nipple. As the image becomes clearer in my imagination I begin to pinch, fantasising that he is biting the engorged buds. My legs beg to open.  Oh, how I want the nipple pumps applied and the pleasure-pain of the black bands, bringing that delicious sweet ache.

A hand snakes down my body and my fingers demand to go straight to where I feel the most intense yearning. But this won’t do. It would be too detached, too perfunctory, too quick.  I imagine his hands pushing my legs apart and dipping his head, I feel his warm breath on the inside of my thighs.  The tingling has become a throbbing need.   I investigate the entrance to my pussy.  It is warm and slick.  With each stoke, I am getting wetter. My finger enters… but not too deep… not yet. I imagine it is his tongue.  Gentle waves herald my first orgasm and my finger slips in deeper, one fondling digit then joined by another, as far they will go.  My head tilts back and my lips part.  He’s invading me with his tongue and harvesting my essence. Now he rises and slides a hand around the back of my head.  He covers my mouth with his and shares musty-sweetness with me.

Agitatedly, I push back the covers and open the drawer. I must have more… the new toy.  It is what I want.  It is what I need.

The glass is cold and unfeeling but that doesn’t matter. My own desire will awaken it. I trace the curve of my breasts with the orb.  No ... my craving is urgent now and it is taking too long to warm. I place it in my mouth.  I imagine he is guiding it across my lips I run my tongue over it, as I suck it.  He is whispering what he is going to do with it… what he is going to do to me. I slide the now warm and wet glass down my stomach and begin rubbing over my engorged clitoris.

The throbbing in my pussy is a delicious agony. I want to be fucked.  I need to be fucked. I cry out his name and urge the dildo home.  It hurts, everything has tightened but I don’t care.  Slowly and wonderfully, so very slowly and wonderfully, I blossom inside. The dildo spreads me, stretches me, fills me.  The upward curve reaches and ignites that elusive spot.  I catch my breath and cry out again. Another orgasm washes over me. But it is not yet the ultimate one – the one that I know will take everything out of me. The pleasure I can barely endure but must have.  Each penetration is slow and deliberate… mustn’t rush it... make it last, make it last!  Rotating it brings different sensations, mind-destroyingly compulsive sensations.  I can hear my voice begging him to arse-fuck me, to come on me.  The imaginary black bands on my nipples are now the clamps, the silver chain proof of my enslavement.

I need him to fuck me every way possible.  I want him to spend himself trying to satiate his desire for my body… make love to me, fuck me, rape me! I want it all. I want to watch him make himself come.  Tie me up, tie me up, make me watch!

The orgasm is coming, drawing energy from within and as a finger enters my arse I start to come.  Inside is turmoil. The walls of my vagina clamp down on the dildo and pulsate. I begin to shake all over and I cry out again.  I wish he was exploding in my mouth... hot, salty embodiments of him.  Every muscle is straining.  My skin feels like it is on fire. Nipples... the pain exquisite... excruciating… fantastical. Come on me, come in my mouth!

No more, no more.

My heart pounds, head swims. There are still waves inside me and the large round ball of the dildo is held tightly within.

Little by little I begin to relax. The instrument of my self-indulgence is grudgingly released.  Only a couple of gentle stokes to prolong the orgasm a little and capture the last few, sweetest drops. Intensity drifts away into nothingness.

I feel like I am sinking into darkness and my body is elsewhere.

The traffic is quiet. I am powerless to turn the pillow. There is no cooler side.