Sunshower

SUNSHOWER

She did as I wished, and laid back. I hopped out of bed, remarkably energized, and stepped out to the patio. After a few minutes I returned to the villa. From her vantage, she heard water running in a sink. There was the sound of me padding across the villa floor and back out to the patio. Then, silence.

I startled her as I briskly ran my tongue along her relaxing left nipple. She drew in a sharp breath as her body convulsed. Her nipple puckered. I leaned to her ear. "Stand up, but keep your eyes closed," I whispered. She extended her left arm. In a pathetic attempt to find an assisting hand, she ran her hand down my torso and over my hip, settling around my erection. The feel of her hand was delightful and caused my erection to swell mightily as it yearned for the release she achieved. Nevertheless, it was delaying me from my task. I unwrapped her fingers from my turgid penis, took her hand in mine, and, helping her rise, led her to the patio.

I guided her to a deck chair draped in a thick terry towel. She sat, leaned back and pointed her face up toward the waning afternoon sun. Her breasts cascaded delectably down her chest, her knees were parted invitingly. She looked beautiful. I came by her ear. "I'm going to lean you back," I intoned gently. Forewarned, I carefully popped the locks in the chair's arms and reclined her. Her body elongated. Her breasts poured off her sides. Her Mons emerged into fuller view. The thin glaze of perspiration on her bourbon skin turned her bronze in the afternoon light.

I retrieved a pitcher I set beneath the chair and carefully poured the warm water into her hair. Once suitably wet, I grabbed the shampoo I set in advance, squeezed a healthy amount into my palms, and began working her hair to a lather. Frothy, I methodically massaged her scalp with my fingertips, working my way around from her temples to the back to the top. She exhaled a contented moan as I continued to massage her follicles and comb my fingers through her strands. I extracted my hands. I took another pitcher from below. The fresh water pulled the suds from her hair as it streamed to the terra cotta tiled ground.

I doused a wash cloth in the final pitcher. I wrung it, and delicately wiped her face, over her forehead, around her eyes, and along her nose. Setting the cloth aside, I picked up the pitcher and poured the warm water over her, starting at the base of her neck, down between her breasts, over her abdomen and hips and along each leg. What remained I poured onto a scrub mitt. To it, I added body shampoo. Working the face of the mitt to desired sudsiness, I bathed her. With my mind focused on tending to her, my erection abated. But certainly not my desire, which caused me to pay extra attention to her breasts, her nipples hardening and rising from the attention. After washing each arm, I massaged the palm of each hand. So, too, when I completed each leg, I massaged the sole of each foot, which also afforded me long, uninterrupted views of her beleaguered entry.

I moved by her ear. "I need to do your back." Taking her hand, I helped her stand. "Keep 'em closed!" I instructed as I led her across the patio deck. We stopped, and the water from the patio shower rained on her. As the soap on her front rinsed away, I scrubbed her back and her cheeks. Thoroughly cleaned, I pulled her to me. My cock, its full turgidity reinstated, slid through the suds, sandwiched between us, and throbbed against the small of her back. I captured her breasts in my hands, pressing them against her ribs. I kissed her neck and shoulder. Soon my left hand glided down and settled on her mound. I massaged her with gentle intent. When she let an aroused moan escape her lips, I got the confirmation I sought.

I moved before her and dropped to my knees. I stared hungrily at her breasts before finally lifting her left one to my mouth. I played with her nipple like hard candy, rolling it against the roof of my mouth with my tongue, sucking on it, holding it between my teeth. I released it, red and erect, and offered the same treatment to its sister. After a few moments, I released her right nipple, for attending to her breasts was not my goal. I rose, and trailed my right hand along her inner right thigh as I did. I stopped when I reached her vortex. I felt her body slacken as I slid a finger between her lips. As I had hoped, her body was receptive. I slipped a finger in and explored just beyond her gateway. She let out a moan.

I carefully guided her head to my shoulder for rest as I continued to tour within, curling my middle finger forward in a come hither motion, but bending the tip at the last joint to ensure I dragged the pad of my fingertip along the front wall of her vagina for as long as possible. My fingertip flipped and caught on the back of her entry's muscled band, sending a jolt rippling outward through her body. I unfurled my finger to full extension, searching deep within. I repeated this motion, egging her arousal along. Soon I added my index finger to the inner expedition. The girth of my two fingers caressed the sidewalls of her vagina while the doubled pads of my fingertips pressed into her engorging G-spot and amplified clitoral shaft.

She sought support from the shower wall and widened her stance, which changed my angle. As I had done this morning at the pool's edge, I planted my thumb atop her hardened clit as my fingers continued to dredge purposefully inside. With her back flat against the wall, she dug her fingers into the course grout between the adobe tiles as she rolled her hips back and fro against my hand. Like skilled dancers, we alternated leads: her pelvis responding to my fingers, my hand responding to her hips, and back again. I placed my left hand on the wall behind her just to the side of her head. The shower's spray jetted onto my chest, running down my torso but around where her right breast met my abdomen. I leaned in and kissed her cheek, her forehead, her ear, her neck, smelling the sweet spice of her hair that I just washed. All the while, my right hand burrowed in her womanhood, her thickened outer lips swallowing my fingers and wrapping around my thumb. The contrast of my hand cooled by the water evaporating in the desert air and searing heat of her molten canal made my heart race, stoking in me a fiercely boundless lust that made me want to make her cum. Hard. And loud.

My middle and index fingers continued to explore her, call her, motion her to come with me. I replaced my thumb with the palm of my hand, cupping her, offering her a broad generalized pressure against her clit and mound and pubic bone. With this, I spread my fingers within her, widening inside her. I lost her to her body. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened. She had fallen through the rabbit hole of her own exploding sexuality. She released a hushed, cautious groan.

I retreated to look at her. Biting her lower lip, she nodded affirmatively, deliriously, eyes closed. I continued to curl my fingers within with a gentle but determined rhythm. I thrilled in watching her cum, and wanted to experience her experiencing another. My bloated cockhead pressed into her hip. She tilted her head back against the shower wall, mouth agape. Her breathing sharpened. I increased my pace. Returning to her ear I commanded, "I want to feel you pulse in my hand. I want to hear you cum." She caught her breath in her throat; I knew she was close. I felt her canal expand deep within. Her face grimaced and she cried out as her superheated sex crashed around my fingers, pulsing, gripping, rolling. Her face relaxed and the waves of her orgasm receded.

I, however, continued. Breathtakingly slick, I lightly massaged her G-spot with the tips of my fingers. On every fifth or sixth stroke, I'd snap my fingers straight, sending them sharply deep within her, only to curl them back to the flooded wall covering her nerve cable. We quickly returned her to the mountain top. She let out a hearty, slack-jawed, "Aaah!" as her sex surged in my hand.

I was now cupping her mound more for support than arousal as she slumped away from the wall and onto my shoulder. I delicately extracted my fingers. Careful to keep them away from the shower's harmful spray, I raised them to my mouth to lick her sharp thick nectar from them. Then circling my arm around her waist and cradling her ass, I pulled her to me. My unattended but nevertheless ecstatic penis slid up against her belly, her body melted into mine.

By her ear again, I intoned, "The sun's going down. We should ready for dinner." I shut off the water and, with my arm across her back and my hand anchored on her gloriously soft hip, we walked lightly, unhurriedly across the patio, wet and nude, back to the villa.