Summer Lovin’

CONTENT NOTE: this post contains erotic and explicit writing

“Ice cream!” Lydia ran to the front door the second she heard the chimes of the ice cream van approaching the house.

I picked up my purse and we went outside. It was the last day of the summer holidays and I’d promised to treat her to a cone with a wafer and chocolate sauce. She’d been poised all afternoon, listening as the tune from the van got closer and closer. It had finally arrived on our street.

I didn’t make a habit of visiting the ice cream van, if I had I would have known about the cute butch behind the counter and I would have made sure I was looking a bit more presentable when I’d arrived with one hand holding onto my purse and the other holding onto a very excited and bouncy little girl.

We got there before any of the other children on the street; Lydia threw herself at the side of the van, trying to see the multi-coloured bottles of syrupy sauce lined up on the counter. The ice cream woman smiled at her, “What can I get you?”

“A double cone with wafer and chocolate sauce and raspberry sauce and sprinkles!” I tapped Lydia on the shoulder. “Please,” she added.

“Wow! That’s a lot to go on one ice cream,” the woman behind the counter told her. Then looking at me, “Is that alright with your mum?”

“She’s not my mum!” Lydia laughed. “She’s Auntie Jackie and she said I can have whatever I want because it’s the last day of the holidays and I’ve been a good girl all week.”

“It’s fine,” I added, “you can go full out with the sauce and sprinkles. Her parents are picking her up soon so they can deal with the sugar rush.”

She chuckled as she loaded the cone with ice cream, sauce and sprinkles, stuck in two wafers and then, just for good measure, a chocolate stick. Lydia took her prize in both hands and went to sit on the doorstep, concentrating her full attention on every lick.

The woman was smiling at me. “Anything for you?”

“No, I’m fine thanks. How much for that monster ice cream?”

“On the house.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, if you’re sure… thank you.”

“My pleasure,” she winked as I moved aside for the next customer.

I went to sit beside Lydia, watching the woman hand out her ices, and the parents and children handing over their payment.

We were still sitting there when she’d finished serving and she gave us a small wave as she moved back into the cab and drove off, the chimes from the van announcing her impending arrival on the next street.

***

I breathed a sigh of relief once Lydia had been collected and was on her way back home. My brother and his wife were tanned from their week of sailing and full of grateful thanks that I’d been able to look after their child – even if she was now complaining of tummy ache. I was grateful to get my house back to myself and pour a large glass of chilled wine.

I’d just sat down in the back garden when I heard a noisy engine stop outside the house. There was something familiar about the chug chug of the motor; it ran on for a few seconds and then cut out. My doorbell rang. Sighing, I put down my wine and went to answer it.

The woman from the ice cream van was standing on my doorstep, the front of her t-shirt soaked through with glistening, white goo.

“I’m really sorry to bother you. I hope you don’t mind. I was refilling the ice cream maker and managed to spill the whole lot down me. I’ve got a clean top,” she waved another t-shirt at me, “but I’d really appreciate being able to wash some of this off.” She gestured towards the sticky mess and I could see that it had spilled onto the front of her jeans too. “Would you mind if I use your bathroom?”

“Of course, come in, come in. It’s just at the top of the stairs.”

“Thanks, you’re a gem.”

I stepped aside and she bounded up the stairs, two at a time. I couldn’t help but appreciate her arse as she moved.

I retrieved my wine from the garden and waited in the kitchen while she cleaned up. She reappeared five minutes later, looking clean and fresh in her new t-shirt but still with a stain on the front of her jeans. She caught me looking at her crotch, “Hopefully no one will notice when I’m behind the counter,” she laughed.

“Would you like a drink?” I didn’t want her to go back to her van yet. She was totally my type: short, neat hair; bright sparkling eyes; a smile constantly playing at the edges of her mouth; dressed simply in a white t-shirt and blue jeans with a pair of roughed-up baseball boots sticking out from frayed hems. She was fairly flat on top and had a nice rounded arse.  It had been a while since I’d been so instantly attracted to someone and I didn’t want her waving goodbye again too soon.

“That would be great, thanks.” She glanced at the wine glass in my hand, “I’m driving though, so best make it something soft.” She held my gaze.

“Something soft?” I repeated. “Me?”

She stepped towards me and ran the back of her fingers over my cheek. “Mmm, soft,” she murmured. Her fingers carried on moving, stroking down the side of my neck and then across my cleavage.

I put my wine glass down on the counter and brought my hands onto her hips, drawing her closer to me. She cupped my face in both her hands and kissed me. She tasted of ice cream.

Her kiss grew more insistent and her hands tightened around my jaw. I pushed my thigh between hers and ground it hard up against her. Her legs squeezed around me. She pulled back from the kiss and let go of my face. “I want more of you, Jackie.”

The sound of my name shocked me. I’d been lost in the fantasy of a hot encounter with a stranger but now I was all too aware that I wasn’t a stranger to her: she knew my name and where I lived. What did I know about her? Only that she drove an ice cream van! I hadn’t even stopped to ask her name.

She sensed my unease and stepped away slightly. “Is something wrong? Is this not what you want?”

I picked up my wine glass to take a drink. Was I already a bit tipsy? Was that why I’d come on to her the way I did? No, the glass was still nearly full.

It had been a long time since my body had told my head what to do. And yet the slick sensation of my wet pussy lips was unmistakable. My body wanted this. My body wanted more of her. Her naked skin against mine. Her tongue in my mouth. Her fingers in my cunt.

“I can leave if you want.”

“No. It’s just that… I don’t even know your name.”

“Kim. My name’s Kim. Do you want me to leave? It’s okay if you do.”

“I want you to stay.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Do you want me to slow down?”

“No. I want… I want…”

“Tell me.”

“I want you to lick me like an ice cream.” I blushed. I sounded like something out of a budget porn movie.

Kim laughed. “With sauce and sprinkles?” She stepped back towards me and gently placed her lips on mine. Her tongue barely entered my mouth, teasing me, making me think even more about how it would feel lightly flicking over my clit.

Her hands blindly undid the buttons on my jeans and I pushed the fabric down over my hips. My underwear followed and I managed to step out of them without breaking contact with her delicate kisses.

My body was in full control now. My body told my mind what to do next: guide Kim’s hand to my cunt. Let there be no mistaking my willingness and how much I wanted this.

“Let me lick you.” Kim manoeuvered me onto the kitchen counter and lowered her head. Her tongue was smooth and silky like whipped ice cream, and made me shiver even though it burned hot. She fingered me while she licked. Slow, sensuous moves – just right for the balmy summer’s evening.

I closed my eyes. My body remembered this.

My body remembered the pleasure of sweetness.

My body remembered the building heat and desire.

And my body remembered what came next.

***

Have you explored your fantasies lately? How about writing your own sexy story? My free book is here for you if you fancy giving it a go!

Would you like to explore your erotic imagination?

Erotic Writing Guidebook cover showing a fountain pen and orange backgroundBring your fantasies to life!

Write for your-eyes-only or to seduce your lover!

Sign up to receive my FREE Erotic Writing Guidebook

You'll also hear from me every now and then with hot-off-the-press stories, exclusive invitations, and insights into all things delicious and writerly.

You can unsubscribe at any time.

Bookmark the permalink.

Comments are closed.