God, it's hot. Hottest day of the year so far, and no end in sight. The order of the day for some time has been: "Wear as little as possible without getting arrested." Bad part is, the air's been out for a week, and the repair folks are swamped. Therefore, it's as many showers as you can get in, just for temporary relief.
Finding you not in the house, which resembles the inside of an oven, I start looking outside. Out back, there you are, sprawled in a lawn chair under the most shade you can find. Beside you is a small table bearing a two-thirds full pitcher of iced tea. From where I am, I can see you're wearing a thin pair of shorts, and a lightweight tank top. If you have a bra on, it's the sheerest one you own.
Stepping outside, I wonder if you're asleep, or maybe dead. Your head's thrown back in a rather uncomfortable looking position, and for a moment, I can't tell if you're breathing. Brief observation assures you're still with us, and I notice you've tucked the hem of your tank up under your breasts, to expose as much skin as possible to the slight breeze.
I don't make any effort at stealth, but still, you don't acknowledge my approach. For a minute, I just stand there and admire the sight before me.
Even coated in a sheen of sweat, you're beautiful. Your hair's tied up as tight as it will go, but still, wisps cling to your face charmingly. I want little more than to touch you, feel your skin beneath my hands, but as if you can read my mind, without opening your eyes or looking in my direction, you warn, "Whatever you do, do NOT touch me."
I understand what you're saying. When I'm feeling all hot and sticky, the last thing I want to feel is someone's hot hands against my skin.
Still, you look so enticing to me, I feel the need to feel your skin beneath my hands, anyway, despite your warning.
Stepping in closer, I kneel before you. Still without moving or opening your eyes, you ask, "What'd I tell you?"
Normally, I'd let you be, but now, there's an ornery little kid inside me who just can't leave well enough alone.
With a grin of delight on my face, I reach out to your pitcher of tea. There are still a few ice cubes floating around in it, but they're probably crying by now. Fishing out a cube, I feel its chill on my fingers, let it drip down my arm. It feels pretty good. I'm probably just as hot as you are, but my mind's off the heat for the moment. No, my concentration's all on you.
When I press the ice cube to your stomach, your eyes fly open, and you sit up immediately.
"Dammit!" you exclaim, staring at me with surprise and some small degree of anger. However, after a moment, you say, "Y'know, that actually feels pretty good. You can do more of that if you want." You then lounge back again, spreading yourself out a little wider, displaying the way the little bit of clothes you have on cling to your body. The shock of the ice against your overheated skin has your nipples standing at attention, and your shorts clutch wetly between your legs, giving me a tremendous view of the barely hidden treasure there.
Given permission, I once more press the melting ice to your skin. You give a little start at the difference in temperature, but assimilate quickly, and let me run the ice all over your belly, until the cube is all but gone. The water from the melting ice soaks your stomach, running down to the waistband of your shorts, soaking into the material.
Pulling another cube from the pitcher, I place it against your stomach, too. You don't jump quite so much this time, but it's still a bit of a shock. Before long, another cube's melted, leaving the chair and your shorts even wetter.
I wasn't sure when you bought these shorts, but as the water from the ice cubes drip into them, they become more and more translucent. The fact that they're off-white helps the water display what they covered.
Before continuing after the second cube is gone, I get up and go back into the house, getting a bowl of fresh cubes, since the heat is making the ones in your tea shrink far too quickly.
Taking one of the new cubes, I place it on your stomach, mere inches from the waistband of your swiftly revealing shorts. I don't really care if you know what I'm up to, but even so, I slowly rub the melting ice all over, making sure to spend plenty of time where the melt would do me the most good. I'd like to slide my hand inside your shorts, but aren't sure how you'd react, out here where people might see, so I refrain. Still, before too long, I have your shorts thoroughly soaked with ice melt, giving me a lovely view of your beautiful, shaven pussy.
I ache to reach out and run a finger along your delectably exposed slit, but figure some more ice would be a better idea at the moment.
I begin to wonder when the point will occur - even as hot as you are - that the ice would get to be too much. Shrugging inside, I figure if you got cold - unlikely though that might be on a day like this - you'd tell me so.
Well, with your beautiful pussy now on display for me - I have no idea whether you know or would even care - I next grab a couple of ice cubes and place them against your legs. Another slight gasp escapes your lips at first contact, but you let me do what I'm doing. Before long, the ice melts and both your legs drip with water. The whole time I rub your legs, my eyes are glued to your pussy, which I'm sure comes as no surprise.
Once I have your calves cooled off, I start on your thighs. The question in my mind is: how far to go? I want desperately to just continue up and let my fingers slip under the leg of your shorts. I'm pretty sure I'd be able to put up a pretty convincing case why I should be up there, but figure I'll worry about it when I get that far.
Starting at your knee, I begin sliding the ice on top and to the outside, knowing that even if you didn't want to be touched, the closer I got to your pussy, going the inner route, would likely get you hotter than you already are...
My fingers start getting pretty chilly. I'd been holding ice cubes for quite a while. I start to shake my hands to try to get some circulation back in them, when you open your eyes, lean forward and grabbing one hand say, "Allow me."
With that, you place two of my frigid fingers into your warm, soft mouth. It's pretty obvious that you're cooling off - AND heating up, just in a different manner.
While the feel of your mouth on my fingers feels great - at least if my hard cock is any indication - I have a better idea, at least from the standpoint of getting you more comfortable.
Pulling my fingers from your mouth, I stand, to a rather confused look from you, then come around behind you. Then, I take my frozen fingers and place them on either side of your face. The difference in temperature is almost too much for me to take, but you seem to enjoy it well enough. As cool as I've made your stomach and at least part of your legs, your face is still awfully hot.
You purr your satisfaction at the feel of my cold fingers on your hot face. I love the feel of the smooth contours beneath my hands.
