Summer in the City by Kojo Black Page A

She looked almost relieved. As if she’d suddenly realised the effect of the heat, and that it might be nice to be off her feet. For two people who’d never met before, we chatted comfortably. She was from outside the city, but that only served to give her natural tongue a softening lilt. Our chance meeting had led us on to ice-cream around the corner from the museum, then to coffee in the shade of the acacias on the piazza and, as the day drew on, to chilled white wine just off the waterfront. The day had unfolded and wrapped around us so easily that she had not even asked if I’d like to see where she lived. So now just as easily, or so it felt, she was leading me up the stairs to her apartment.
    We had been sprawled out across the cool bed linen looking at pictures when she’d suddenly drawn herself close to me and kissed me deeply. As she pressed herself flush against me, her skin smelled fresh and pure. She was hot and golden. As if she’d not only walked in the sun, but bathed deeply in its rays.
    Wordlessly, gently she coaxed open the buttons and clasps of my garments so that in time I lay naked before her. She rose from the bed and, before the open window, loosened the buttons on her blouse to shrug it casually, fluidly off her shoulders. She unclasped her bra from the front and peeled the low, broad cups away from her like a protective skin off two ripe fruits. Her breasts were heavy and globular, moving with even the most diminutive movements of her arms, shoulders, and torso. I was surprised to see she had no tan lines and the honey-gold of her cleavage coloured her ripe breasts, delicate shoulders and tapered torso all the same rich shade. She stepped out of her skirt and let it slide down her legs to the floor as easily as she might have stepped out of her heavy winter overcoat six months earlier. Her little white panties made an apex at the meeting place of her long, golden legs—the fabric of the little cotton thong conforming readily to the pouting mound of her vulva.
    â€œYou’ve caught the sun, this summer,” I told her.
    â€œWhen there is sun, I do not hide my body from it.”
    It was a good philosophy and, spoken in her accent, it made me smile.
    In no time at all she’d pulled the elastic of her thong away from her hips and slid the slinky material down to the floor. Her cunt was plump and neatly trimmed with the dark down making a sparse velvet covering. The slit of her entrance smiled sidelong at me as she swayed across the floor. She sat down cross-legged on the bed and looked into my face, silently asking what we should do now.

    We stretched out on the bed and she covered me with her body. Her weight was deliciously light and heavy all at the same time. She smothered me with her honey-brown warmth and kissed me hard. I responded with a probing tongue and a stiffening cock as our hands explored each other.
    Soon she broke away her mouth from mine and worked her way down my body. She suckled my balls teasingly. First cupping them in her hand or flicking her tongue over the seam before wrapping her lips entirely around one and then the other of my testicles. All the while playing her fingers and palms along my cock-shaft so that its stiffness was way beyond my control. She held her ass high in the air, swaying, finding a rhythm to her handy work. Then—my cock was in her mouth—her lips pushing down on the foreskin—her fingers sliding up the shaft—her minnow tongue sweeping over the crown, as though swirling around a mound of ice cream. Or she’d flick her tongue over the slit of the bulbous helmet before taking it to the back of her throat, sending chills of delight right through me. With the intuition of a geisha, she rolled her tongue over the most tender, sensitive parts of my glans, making me buck suddenly. Every now and again, when I was not wracked with pleasure, I would look down and see her big, dark eyes gazing playfully up at me