Photograph property of Breath-Takers. Of course.
It’s dusk. So the sky is darkening. From deep-azure through the shadings that lead to black. The lights have been on in the square for a couple of hours. The strung ones along the fifteen foot high concrete border that frames the rink, along its base, as well as on the trio of arcs that reach from one side of the structure to the other.
To the east, the clock tower of Old City Hall. Its faces are illuminated brightly, while the main structure is adorned in red and green; it looks like a perfectly-wrapped present, except it’s courtesy of light and not paper.
All around us, the bright panes of office towers, hotels, and the bulk of City Hall itself.
Glistening, sparkling faeryish brilliance combines with the chill, with the piped-in music, with the laughing, the talking, the chattering...and the slicing-and-dicing of steel-on-ice, and we’re in a winter-wonderland.
None of this is lost on Mai. She’s a kid. A kid at Christmas. Shining eyes, grin as big as anything, and energy coming off her like sparks.
Only she’s not a kid.
She’s so not a kid in that outfit, and with those looks that even doing the gangly fawn thing, moving ungainfully, she’s attracting stare after stare, ogle after ogle.
Not that she notices.
Because she absolutely, positively doesn’t.
She’s having too much fun.
“You’ve never skated.”
Shaking her head, she’s a mass of frantic giggles. “Yes, I mean! I’ve skated before. But it was years ago. And I fell down a lot.”
“You haven’t fallen yet.”
“Because you’re here.”
I keep skating us backwards, all the way down to the end. Where I stop. “Let’s try doing it side-by-side.”
“Yippee!” she squeals. “We’re gonna spoon!”
“Such a letch,” I mutter, pulling her to me so that her hip is against mine.
“I have a secret,” she whispers, nuzzling up against me, her cold cheek against my beard. “My pussy’s getting all chilled.”
“Did you forget to put on some panties?”
“I didn’t ‘forget’ anything...”
I look her plainly in the face. And find a catch in my throat. I’m so utterly bedazzled by her.
So I kiss her.
She rides me.
She sits high above me and she rides me.
But it didn’t begin here.
It began once we got into our hotel room.
It began when she ran to the couch, got herself propped up against it, and waggled her ass at me.
It began when I went to her, when I placed my hand on her hip, when she peered back at me, still saying nothing, when I tugged down her leggings...
...and when I pushed into her, into her chilled pussy, her slippery, slideful pussy, and started fucking her.
But here, now, a load of my scooge providing even more lubrication than her own effluvia has, she rides me.
Mai’s face is still flushed. It’s a combination of the frosty outdoor air and the exertion of our couch-scene. It adds a superlative glow to her features.
Her nipples are rock-hard.
And her skirt’s still on.
And she rides me.
“Good day?” I ask, enjoying the show.
“I’m getting my pussy properly fucked,” she replies. “I already have a load of my lover inside me, and I’m going to milk him for another.”
“You are, are you?”
“He took me ice skating today.”
“That sounds nice.”
“He skated with me! All around this beautiful outdoor rink!”
“Did he get funny with you?”
She pulls a face.
“You know; try to cop a feel? Pinch your ass?”
“No!”
“Why do you say that so defensively?”
“Because that’s not who he is! He’s a gentleman.”
“So he wouldn’t try to cop a feel or pinch your ass?”
“No!” she says, falling down so that her hands are on either side of my head, and she’s barely apart from me, her face hovering. “Not there. It was too... Too nice.”
“Oh.”
“My lover knows what’s appropriate,” she adds. “He knows what I-”
She stops.
And begins shaking her head.
And riding me harder.
“What...?”
“You’re doing it, aren’t you?” she asks, and as she does, she makes it so that she can feed me a breast.
Naturally, I suckle.
“You’re making me fall for you, you bastard...”
