It's nearly midnight and Aya thinks to herself that she should probably be getting some sleep, not standing on her balcony, and definitely not eating a popsicle while doing so. It's too damn hot in the apartment tonight, though.
The mid-summer humidity had licked an uncomfortable coat of sticky perspiration on her skin while she lay in bed. It made it impossible to sleep. For thirty minutes she had shifted and squirmed on the clammy sheets, her blanket and pillows tossed on the floor. It was futile. So, restless and alert, she had finally peeled herself from the bed and shuffled her way to the balcony for some air -though she wouldn't exactly call the city air "fresh"- stopping by the fridge to pick up a cherry bomb-pop.
The pavement on the balcony feels good on her barefeet, cool and relaxing like a pumice stone. The air, though warm, still feels nice on her bare legs. A pathetic little breeze even manages to blow upwards through her night shirt, lapping gently against her undies and at the light dampness between her thighs. She leans lazily over the railing of the balcony and sucks on the top of her popsicle, pouting and smacking her plush, red lips each time she slips the heavenly sweet ice from her mouth.
Aya's head tilts and eases side-to-side as she looks across the city, her slender, dark eyes absorbing the night. Everything is in silhouette, the yellow and white street lights cast a halo glow over the dark buildings and structures. The light pollution exterminates the stars in the night sky. Aya misses seeing them.
Off in the distance, she sees a shimmer of red and orange light, like the embers of a campfire. Clouds of black smoke rise from it slowly. She had heard earlier in the day that there was a fire at some junkyard by the docks. Aya blinks her eyes slowly as she witnesses the last gasps of the dying flames, then turns away, her attention swaying like a blade of grass.
Aya shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her bare calves rubbing. She takes a bite of her popsicle - bad popsicle etiquette, but she can't resist. She chews on it, rolling the cherry ice in her mouth as it melts into a syrup and slides down her throat. A droplet begins to bead at the base of the popsicle. She traps it with the tip of her tongue, applying quick licks against the icy confection as she works her way back up to the top before plunging her lips over it once more with an unapologetic slurp.
The air is warm and thick. It deadens the wave in her raven hair and she repeatedly sweeps and pulls it back, wiping the thin film of perspiration building on her forehead and around her neck. The flavours of the city erupt in her nose as she inhales deeply: smoky, pungent, appetizing, revolting, all at once. She turns her head slowly, switching the channels of fragrances until she catches wind of the vapors from the barbecue restaurant down below, smells of succulent meat and spices wafting to her nostrils. A pang of hunger suddenly swells in her tummy... but the popsicle will just have to do.
Aya sighs. She listens to the cars, a constant white noise din of engines and horns that never ceases. She hears the angry growl, bang, and crash of a garbage truck gobbling up the city's daily discharge. An airplane flies overhead. She can't decide if it's the sound of travelers coming or going, but she's a little envious, regardless.
The popsicle slowly disappears as she continues to snake her tongue and lips around it with more satisfying smacks and gasps. She sucks her lips in, sweeping the cherry tang with her tongue.
She sighs heavily and closes her eyes. From somewhere among the maze of streets and alleys, she hears a steady rumble, a "rut-tut-tut" cacophony. It's a jackhammer, tearing apart pavement or concrete. It's a violent, ruthless, and powerful noise. It unexpectedly stirs a pleasant notion in her head.
Aya lowers her chin onto her hands as they rest upon the balcony rail. She lolls her head to the side against her forearm. She tunes her ear to the drone of the jackhammer. Then she smiles.
Her eyes still closed, she finishes of the popsicle, stuffing the remaining ice in her mouth and sucking the sweetness from it with zeal. She smacks her lips, and slips the stick into her mouth, rolling it around with her tongue and chewing on it with her teeth. There's still the taste of cherry buried within the sliver of wood. She's not going to let that escape.
Aya can't shake the smile as she succumbs to dreamy, sultry thoughts. Within seconds, she feels warm, not from the heat of the city, but from a swell within. Her hand slips from below her chin and drifts down her night shirt. It slides beneath the hem and finds the thin, damp material of her panties covering her tender mound. She caresses herself with the tips of two fingers, defining a line along the silk.
Shifting the popsicle stick to the other side of her mouth, Aya swallows softly. Her sharp brows pinch and a bead of sweat rolls down past her temple.
Fingers curl, slowly scrunching up the hem of her shirt until it lifts above her waist. Her hand glides under the lip of her panties, pushing them out of the way as her fingers draw up and down her soft slip unimpeded.
Aya's mouth slips open and she groans softly. The stick hangs out, but she clamps her lips down upon it as she hums in selfish delight.
As her attentions are drawn more towards her efforts of self-pleasuring, she turns her back away from the city. Leaning back against the railing at first, slowly her feet slip forward as she settles down to the floor, her fingers ceaselessly busy. She teases her clit with feathery swirls of her digits before sliding them along her slit. Her tummy twitches, provoking a swift gasp of breath each time it does.
A trails of perspiration run from her brows to her chin and down her neck. She fights through the heat around her, yearning for more of the fire within. Her other hand clutches at her shirt, twisting it, pulling it up, and exposing her trembling belly then a shimmering breast. She cups her palm around it, tweaking the nipple before massaging it with a swirl of her fingertips.
Her moans drift into the heavy air and join the sounds of the city at night, mysterious and tempting. The dampness on her fingers, crotch, and thighs fuses with the perspiration drawn out from warm night air. Aya will sort it out later. For now, she's far too absorbed with the tingling sensation coursing through her now.
Aya allows the popsicle stick to finally fall out of her mouth. She twists to the side, puffing out trembling breaths of air past her plush lips, blowing at the lengths of hair that have fallen across her face. Her legs strain and her belly hitches. She hums and moans her pleasure unabated as her fingers stiffen, swirling relentlessly on her clit.
Suddenly, she raises her palm to her mouth and bites down on it. Her eyes pinch tight. Everything within her body clenches then surrenders to a delicious flood that rushes through her. A languid groan erupts from her belly, through her throat, and past her lips as she spills her wetness against her fingers. Another rewarding wave of pleasurable satisfaction nearly doubles her over and she leans heavily against the balcony siding.
