I want you to mouth-fuck me with a Cornetto

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor

I don’t want your hot dick or your dripping, sizzling spunk: I want you to mouth-fuck me with a Cornetto. Take your sweet, tight arse to the shop and come back with a bag of lollies. Give me ice-cold bites of everything.

Drizzle sticky Solero juice from your lips and fingers onto every available inch of me.

Let me run naked through your sprinkler. Shower every inch of my body with water direct from the garden hose. Splash it into my eyes. Make me open my mouth and choke down a litre of it.

Take an ice pop from the freezer. Be quick! While the frost still clings to the outside of the plastic packet, whip me till my thighs turn red. Then hold the ice there for a second, or two, or three… until it sticks to my skin. Peel it off with blue-tipped fingers then run it along my skin until the melting ice makes streaky rainbows that trickle down my calves: painful and soothing and cold and wonderful.

Pour frozen margaritas down the back of my knickers and spank me to hear the tequila-soaked smack.

Spray frosty beer all over my tits.

Hold cans of Strongbow against my inner thighs. Make me clamp my legs around them while you count to twenty-four then take a brand new can and force it hard against my nipples.

Spit ice cubes into my mouth.

Part-drown me in the melted detritus that lingers in the cool box.

I want you to bury me neck-deep in a snowdrift, then burrow in beside me so we shiver deliciously side-by-side.

But in lieu of the snowdrift, give me lollies. Ice-cream and wet fingers and frosty kisses and gallons and gallons of water.

Bite me with a mouth that’s wet with sorbet.

And face-fuck me good and hard.

With a strawberry Cornetto.

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