A Dream Come True: Summer Heat and Forbidden Touches

It was like a dream, but it’s all still fuzzy…

She said, “David… please… your whole thumb,” she whispered into the towel, her voice a strained, breathy plea that was almost lost in the summer breeze. “I need to feel all of it.”

My own breath hitched. God, what are we doing? The thought was a distant echo, utterly powerless against the roaring in my blood. I watched, mesmerized, as my lotion-slicked thumb pressed against the impossibly tight pucker of her asshole, the tiny blonde bikini bottom stretched taut and pushed aside. Her back was a perfect, sun-warmed arc, her petite frame utterly still except for the faint, desperate undulation of her hips.

Just a few minutes ago, this was all so… normal.

The sun was a heavy, brilliant blanket. I was settled into a lounge chair, the cool shade of the patio umbrella a welcome relief, a half-read thriller resting on my chest. The only sounds were the hum of a lawnmower a few houses down and the gentle lapping of water in the pool. A perfect, lazy Saturday.

Then the sliding glass door whispered open. “Hey, David?”

I lowered my book. It was Sofia, my assistant. My twenty-three-year-old assistant, I reminded myself, the distinction feeling suddenly crucial as she walked toward me. She was a tiny thing, just four-foot-ten, a fact her chosen bikini emphasized with breathtaking audacity. The triangles of fabric covering her breasts were minimal, and the bottoms were little more than a narrow strip of sky-blue cloth. Her body, a stag vixen build at ninety pounds, was all sleek, toned lines and delicate curves.

“Forgot to put sunscreen on my back,” she said, holding up a bottle. “Can you get it for me? I don’t want to burn.” Her smile was easy, innocent.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” I said, my voice thankfully even. I sat up as she laid a towel on the lounger next to mine and settled onto her stomach, her head resting on her crossed arms.

I squeezed a dollop of cool, coconut-scented lotion into my palm. Just a guy doing a favor. That’s all this is. I started on her shoulders, my hands working the cream into her skin. She was so small. My broad hands nearly spanned her entire back. I felt the fine bones of her spine, the firm muscle she’d honed in years of ballet classes. She let out a soft, appreciative sigh.

“That feels nice,” she murmured.

I worked my way down, over the gentle wings of her shoulder blades, down the smooth expanse of her lower back. And then I reached the top of her bikini bottoms. My thumbs swept over the crests of her buttocks, and my mind, traitorously, began to catalog details. Her ass is a perfect, tiny heart shape. The cheeks were round and high, and between them was a deep, natural part, a shadowy cleft that seemed to draw the eye—and my hands—inexorably downward.

I squeezed more lotion. This part was… different. This wasn’t a shoulder. My thumbs smoothed over the curves of her cheeks, and I heard it—a quiet, stifled moan. It was so soft I thought I might have imagined it. But then I did it again, a firm, circular motion, and another little sound escaped her lips, this one less stifled.

The air changed. It grew thick, heavy with a tension I couldn’t name, a charge that crackled between us. My heart began to hammer against my ribs. This was wrong. This was my assistant.

But my hands didn’t stop.

Almost of its own volition, my right hand stilled, my thumb finding that deep part between her cheeks. I applied a gentle, persistent pressure, rubbing up and down the very center of her cleft, over the thin fabric of her bottoms. Jesus. Her whole body tensed for a second, then melted into the towel with a deep, throaty moan that was anything but innocent.

“David…” she breathed out, and it was a confession and a command all at once.

She pushed her hips back, a deliberate, seeking hump against my hand. A primal, roaring need drowned out the confusion in my mind. I hooked my thumb under the elastic edge of her bikini bottom. I didn’t pull it down. I just slipped my thumb underneath.

My skin met hers. The lotion made everything slick, seamless. I traced circles around the tight, hidden furl of her asshole. She was gasping now, little punched-out breaths against the terrycloth. “Oh, god, yes… right there…”

I pressed the pad of my thumb against her. There was resistance, a tightness that was utterly intoxicating, and then a yielding. A slow, inexorable inch slipped inside. The heat was incredible. She was a furnace inside, clenching around me. She let out a sharp cry and ground herself back onto my hand, taking me deeper.

That’s when I saw it. Her left hand was tucked beneath her, hidden from view. But the movement of her shoulders, the rhythmic tension in her arm—I knew. And as she moved, her frantic motions had dragged the blue fabric of her bikini bottom to the side. It was stretched across one hip, and on the other side… exposed. A smooth, hairless slit, glistening wetly in the bright sun, her own fingers working furiously over her clit.

The visual was my undoing. A groan ripped from my throat. I couldn’t look away. My left hand, acting on its own savage instinct, fumbled with the tie on my swim trunks, pulling them open. I freed my aching, rock-hard cock. This is happening. This is really happening.

I began to stroke myself in time with the thrusts of my thumb into her ass. The world narrowed to this: the slick, tight heat around my thumb, the frantic friction of my own hand, and the sight of her pleasure. Our rhythm built, a savage, silent pact.

“David… please… your whole thumb,” she begged, her voice cracking. “I need to feel all of it.”

I pushed. She gasped, her back arching violently as I sank my thumb to the hilt inside her, buried in that incredible, clenching heat. Her whole body began to shudder. A high, keening wail tore from her lips as her orgasm took her, her hips bucking wildly against my hand just like those naughty girls from hotwife sites.

The sight and the feel of her coming, so utterly abandoned, pushed me over the edge. My own climax was a raw, blinding shockwave, stripping away every thought, every inhibition, sending pulses of intense pleasure coursing through me as I spilled over my own fist.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of our ragged breathing and the distant lawnmower. The sun beat down, absurdly normal.

Slowly, carefully, I withdrew my thumb. She flinched at the sensation, a low whimper escaping her. I tied my trunks with trembling fingers. She slowly, awkwardly, tugged her bikini back into place.

She rolled over, not meeting my eyes, her face flushed a deep, post-orgasmic pink. “We… we can’t ever…” she started, her voice hoarse.

“I know,” I said, my own voice unfamiliar to me. “Never.”

The silence that followed was a physical thing, thick and heavy as a woolen blanket. It stretched between us on the patio, charged with everything we had just done and the shattered thought lying in pieces at our feet. I couldn’t look at her. I stared at my hands, the same hands that had just… God.

I heard the rustle of the towel as Sofia sat up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her tiny feet, with their red-painted toenails, press into the warm patio stones. She stood. My breath caught. Is she leaving? Is she running away? A part of me hoped she would. It would make this easier to bury.

But she didn’t run. She took a step toward the sliding glass door leading into the house. Then she stopped. Her head turned, just slightly, her blonde hair veiling her profile.

Her voice was so quiet I almost mistook it for the breeze. “David?”

I finally forced myself to look up. Her face was still flushed, her eyes wide, pupils blown. There was no disgust there. No regret. Only a deep, burning need that mirrored the fire still simmering in my own gut. She’s not sorry. She wanted this. The realization was a seismic shift in my reality.

“Come with me,” she whispered. It wasn’t a question. It was a plea wrapped in a command.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of denial and desire. No. This has to stop. This is the line. We already crossed one; we can’t cross another. But my body was already moving, rising from the lounger on unsteady legs. I followed her, a man hypnotized, through the sliding door and into the cool, dim stillness of the house.

The familiar surroundings—the couch, my family photos on the wall, the TV remote on the coffee table—felt like artifacts from another life, a life that had ended minutes ago on a patio in the sun. She didn’t lead me to the living room. She headed straight for the hallway to her bedroom door. She pushed it open and stepped inside, leaving it ajar for me.

I stood in the hallway, my hand on the doorframe. This is it. The point of no return. Every sane- guy’s instinct screamed at me to turn around, to walk away, to go take a very long, very cold shower.

I stepped over the threshold.

Her room was exactly as it had always been, similar to those previous hot girls from adult dating site I’ve been in contact with: neat, smelling of vanilla and her perfume, a trove of childhood memories now overlaid with a terrifying new potential. She stood in the center of the room, her back to me, facing her bed. Her hands went behind her back. I heard the faint snick of a clasp coming undone.

She let the top of her bikini fall forward onto the bed. Then her hands hooked into the sides of her tiny bottoms. In one fluid, graceful motion—a dancer’s move—she pushed them down her slender legs and stepped out of them. She kicked them aside and turned to face me.

She was completely naked. The afternoon light filtering through her window gilded her body, highlighting the perfect, petite curves I had just worshiped with my hands. Her breasts were small, high, with taut, pink nipples that were already pebbled hard. The smooth, hairless apex of her thighs glistened, already wet for me.

My mouth went utterly dry. I just stared, my mind short-circuiting at the raw, unabashed offering of her.

“David,” she breathed, her voice trembling. She took a step toward me, her eyes locked on mine, pleading. “Please.”

“Sofia… baby… we can’t…” The words were ash in my mouth, a meaningless mantra.

“I need you,” she interrupted, her voice gaining strength, losing its tremor, and filling with a desperate hunger. She closed the distance between us, stopping just inches away. I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, could smell her unique scent mingling with the coconut of the lotion. She reached out and took my hand. Her touch was electric. She placed my palm flat against the damp, smooth skin of her lower belly. My fingers twitched. God, she was so warm.

She guided my hand lower, through her soft pubic mound, until my fingertips brushed against the slick, hot flesh of her slit. I jerked my hand back as if burned.

“No, Sofia, I…”

Her eyes welled with tears, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of pure, unadulterated frustration. “Please, David,” she begged, her voice cracking on the word. “I’m so empty. I’ve been thinking about this for so long. Please, just… taste me. I need to feel your mouth on me. I’ll touch myself for you. Just watch me… please… just eat my pussy.”

The crude, desperate words coming from her sweet mouth shattered the last of my resistance. A groan tore from my throat, a sound of pure surrender. The animal need that had taken over by the pool roared back to life, incinerating guilt, fear, and reason in its path.

I fell to my knees before her. The perspective was dizzying. She was a tiny, gorgeous goddess, and I was her willing supplicant. My hands found her narrow hips, holding her steady. I leaned forward, my breath ghosting over her glistening folds.

I didn’t hesitate. I pressed my mouth to her.

The taste of her was intoxicating, musky and sweet and uniquely her. A high, sharp cry escaped her, and her hands immediately flew to her own breasts, her fingers pinching and pulling at her nipples. She’s doing it. She’s touching herself for me.

I groaned against her, the vibration making her jump and gasp. I licked a long, slow stripe from her entrance all the way up to the hyper-sensitive pearl of her clit. Her whole body shuddered. Her legs began to tremble. I held her hips tighter, keeping her upright as I devoted myself to my task.

I feasted on her. I licked and sucked and probed with my tongue, learning the geography of her pleasure with a single-minded focus. My tongue delved inside her, tasting her essence, before swirling back up to circle her clit. Her moans became a continuous, high-pitched melody, punctuated by gasped pleas.

“Yes! Oh God, David, right there! Don’t stop! Your tongue… it’s so good…”

I looked up. The sight above me was the most erotic thing I had ever witnessed. Her head was thrown back in ecstasy, her neck arched, her blonde hair cascading down her back. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth open in a perfect ‘O’ of pleasure. Her hands were frantic on her own body, one squeezing her breast while the fingers of the other hand strummed her clit in a frantic rhythm, matching the efforts of my tongue.

I doubled my efforts, sucking her clit into my mouth, flicking my tongue over it with rapid, precise movements. Her thighs tightened around my head, trapping me in her humid, fragrant heat. Her breathing became ragged, desperate gasps.

“I’m so close… David, I’m gonna come… please, make me come…”

I slid two fingers inside her, crooking them, finding that rough, textured spot deep within her. I pressed firmly as my tongue continued its relentless assault on her clit.

Her cry was sharp and loud, echoing in the quiet room. Her body went rigid for a breathtaking second, every muscle taut as a bowstring. Then the orgasm ripped through her, a violent, shaking release that made her buck and writhe against my face. Her juices flowed over my tongue and chin as she screamed my name, “David! Oh, David!”

I held her through it, licking and gently sucking, drawing out every last shuddering wave of her climax until her legs gave out and she collapsed backward onto the bed, a boneless, panting heap.

I rose up on my knees, my own need a painful, throbbing ache. I looked down at her, sprawled across her childhood comforter, her body sheened with sweat, her chest heaving. Her eyes fluttered open. They were hazy with pleasure, but a new, sly smile touched her lips. She reached a trembling hand toward the waistband of my trunks.

“Your turn,” she panted, her voice raw. “Let me taste you, too.”

Her fingers were on the waistband of my trunks, a trembling, deliberate touch that sent a fresh jolt of electricity straight to my cock. The elastic was the only thing separating her from me, from the throbbing, aching need that had defined every second since we stepped into her room.

“Your turn,” she had said. Let me taste you, too.

The words echoed in the humid air between us, a siren’s call I was helpless to resist. My mind, a chaotic mess of guilt and desire, finally went quiet. There was only her. Only this.

I didn’t move. I let her do it. Her eyes, dark with a hunger I’d never seen before, held mine captive as her small, nimble fingers—a dancer’s fingers—tugged at the knot. It came loose with a soft shush of fabric. She didn’t look away from me as she slowly, painstakingly, pulled the drawstring and peeled the wet trunks down my hips.

They fell to my knees, then my ankles. I stepped out of them, kicking them aside, and I was as naked as she was. The air felt cool on my feverish skin. Her gaze dropped, and her lips parted in a soft, audible gasp. Her eyes widened as she took in the full, hard length of me, jutting out from my body, rigid and wanting.

She’s not a child, a voice in my head whispered, and for the first time, I truly believed it. She was a woman, looking at a man with raw, unvarnished want.

“God, David,” she breathed, and my name on her lips, in that context, was the most potent aphrodisiac I’d ever known.

She didn’t hesitate. She pushed herself up on the bed, her movements fluid and sure, and leaned forward. Her small hand wrapped around the base of my shaft. Her touch was fire. A low groan rumbled in my chest. Her grip was tentative at first, a gentle exploration, her thumb sweeping over the slick bead of precum already gathered at the tip.

Then she looked up at me from under her eyelashes, a shy, seductive glance that was utterly devastating. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” I rasped, the word scraping out of my dry throat. “God, yes, Sofia. Please.”

That was all the permission she needed. A sly, confident smile touched her lips. She lowered her head.

The first touch of her tongue was a lightning strike. A soft, tentative lick from root to tip that made my entire body jolt. I buried my hands in her blonde hair, not to guide her, just to hold on. To feel.

She took me into her mouth.

The heat was absolute, all-consuming. Her lips formed a perfect, tight seal around the head of my cock, and the sensation was so intense I saw stars. She was careful, slow, learning the shape and feel of me. Her tongue swirled and probed, tasting me, and the soft, wet sounds were the most obscene, beautiful music.

My assistant. My Sofia. On her knees, taking me in her mouth.

The thought should have shattered the moment. Instead, it fueled the fire, making every sensation a thousand times more potent. I watched, mesmerized, as her lips stretched to accommodate me, as her cheeks hollowed with her suckling. Her small hand worked the base of my shaft in a rhythm that matched the movements of her mouth.

It was clumsy, inexperienced, and utterly perfect.

Her free hand came up, fondling my balls with a gentle, curious pressure that made my knees weak. I was lost in the sensation, in the visual of this beautiful, petite woman servicing me with a desperate, eager hunger.

“You taste so good,” she moaned around my length, the vibration nearly finishing me right there.

I couldn’t hold back. A guttural sound tore from me as my hips gave a tiny, involuntary thrust, pushing myself deeper into the wet, welcoming heat of her mouth. She gagged slightly, pulling back for a second, her eyes watering. Panic flashed through me.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, baby,” I gasped.

But she just shook her head, a wild look in her eyes. “No. Don’t stop. I want all of you.”

She dove back down, taking me deeper this time, her throat relaxing, accepting more of me. Her enthusiasm was breathtaking. She was a quick study, her head beginning to bob with more confidence, her tongue working magic on the sensitive underside of my cock every time she pulled back.

I was teetering on the edge, my climax coiling tight and hot in the base of my spine. The pressure was immense, a tidal wave about to break. My fingers tightened in her hair. My breath came in ragged pants.

“Sofia… I’m gonna… I can’t hold on…”

She hummed in response, a sound of pure approval that vibrated through my entire body, and doubled her efforts, taking me as deep as she could.

It was that sound, that final, blissful vibration, that sent me hurtling over the edge. My vision whited out. A raw, primal roar was ripped from my lungs as my orgasm exploded out of me. I pulsed into her mouth, jet after jet of release, my body shuddering with the force of it.

She didn’t pull away. She stayed there, swallowing every drop, her throat working around me, her eyes squeezed shut in intense concentration. She milked me with her lips and her hand until I was spent, hollowed out, trembling from the aftershocks.

Slowly, gently, she released me with a soft, wet pop. She sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her lips were swollen, glistening. She looked up at me, her expression a mix of awe, triumph, and a dawning, post-climax shyness.

I collapsed onto the bed beside her, my body boneless. We lay there for a moment in the heavy, sex-scented silence, our breathing slowly returning to normal. My mind was a blissful, empty void. I reached out, my hand finding hers, our fingers intertwining.

We know this was just the beginning of our unholy affair.