It gives you...


Erotica by Joe Tortuga

Hot Summer's Day

(MF, outside)

October 09, 2013

“It was that kind of day,” he thought. A Southern August summer day, hot and sticky. Walking outside was like trying to walk against a river current. The very air resisted you. He grabbed a black handkerchief out of his back left pocket, and wiped his brow. He fingered the necklace he wore, and the single key on it. Damn it was hot today.

Still, he had to do what he was doing. His eyes scanned the horizon, and the daily thunderheads were building up, threatening a powerful storm. His cock stirred as he thought about the power of the storm, and where he was going.

He trudged into the woods, the green foliage casting a cool glow all around him. The air was just as humid here, but it still felt cooler. A gentle breeze fluttered through the trees, drying the sweat on his brow and further cooling him. Just another mile hike, he thought, before I get to the shack.

They’d built it as kids, Cindy and he. There was a nearby textile plant that dumped pits of detritus and cones of string; pallets and boxes, and all sorts of wonderful junk. They’d spent one summer dragging pieces that they needed further into the woods, behind the mill, behind the city cemetery in a place where no one would go. And with those pieces, they’d built the shack.

Later, as teenagers they’d dragged a mattress out there, and used it to experiment in other ways. They had never dated — that wasn’t their way. But there was an agreement there, that they would always be there for each other, at the shack.

His parents had moved away after he went to college, but Cindy’s family stayed in town. Cindy went to college for a while, but came home to get married after she got pregnant by her then-beau here. That was life in a small town: some escape and some get trapped. He had offered to marry her, but she had turned him down, with a wan smile. He knew he loved her, always had.

It wasn’t long now, he decided. Just over the creek, and back a few hundred feet. As he navigated through the brambles and vines that had inevitable grown up over their secret pathway, the shack came in view. Metal sheets with a wood room — one of their parents had re-roofed their house, and the two of them disappeared with the extra.

The air seemed to tingle, electrified with possibility. Glancing up through the trees, he saw the storm clouds moving in. He smiled to himself, and walked up to the shack. He didn’t knock, that wasn’t the way. He went on in.

Cindy stood, naked, on the old mattress. Both of her hands handcuffed through a rafter above her head. Her breasts larger than he remembered, but still firm despite the baby. Her stomach rounded, her hips wide and inviting just as he remembered. A fading bruise on the side of face made his hands clench, but old promises kept him from saying anything.

He walked up to her, and ran his hands over the stretch marks on her belly. “Hi, Cindy,” he said.

“Hello Master,” she said.

He shed his clothes, laying them to the side. Wind whipped around the shack, and thunder rumbled in the air. Cindy moaned. He smiled and kissed her deeply, running his hands over her breasts. He caressed her face over the bruise, and she blushed and looked down. He shook his head and sighed. If only, he thought, but no.

He removed the necklace and brought the key to the handcuffs, and let her down. He helped her lie on the old single bed, and he kissed his way down her body. She spread her legs willingly, and he slid between her as the thunder clapped again, and rain began to pelt against the shack.

They had built many things well, together. Their friendship, their promises, this shack. Not everything worked the way they wanted — water even now ran in from under the shack’s walls, but he loved her, and she loved him. His cock slid inside her pussy, and she let out a sigh of longing finally fulfilled.

Her legs settled on his shoulders, and he held her arms down as he entered her over and over. Bent double, she climaxed long before him, over and over again. He felt her cunt tighten down around his cock, and he smiled at her. “Kegels,” she whispered. He fucked her harder.

Afterwards he lay beside her, running his hands idly over her body, tracing the outline of the bruise on her face. “You could come with me…”

“No..” she said silencing him with a finger.

He cried a single tear, and turned away. “The rain is stopping.”

“Time to go back,” she lamented. She handed him his discarded necklace and key. “Thank you,” she said. He took back his key and began to dress. She slipped the handcuffs back into a hidden place they had added to the shack.

“I —”

“Shh, Master,” she said. She kissed him, half dressed. Half naked, he thought.

“When?” he asked.

“You know,” she reminded him.

“I really wish…” he pleaded.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied.

He turned to leave. “I really do love you,” he said as he left the shack.

“Happy Birthday, Master,” she responded.

It was already getting hotter and more humid as the sun came out. It was that kind of day.

Joe Tortuga

Written by Joe Tortuga a bisexual dominant erotica writer and programmer (he/him). Follow me on Twitter