Summer, with melting

Of course, it's great fun to buy sex toys. You browse, checking out colours, shapes and, well of course, sizes, wondering what will do nicely, and it's great to see that your idea of the perfect present turns out to be just that and to witness your partner's pleasure as they enjoy the gift. Lovely.

But that's just for the sex toys that are advertised as such. How much more satisfying to take something and give it a meaning that no-one else in the whole world could ever guess and take it to a private place of shared delights, a language of trust whose syntax is known only to two. And just think of the fun of standing in the checkout queue with a box of ice lollies, smiling like a Cheshire cat at the cashier. How big is the market for fetish freezer bags, anyway?

So here we are, the slut's to get her treat, a rippling cascade of melting coloured diameters.

Starting with some dilation, a vaguely obscene opening gesture: holding the ice to his mouth, inflating the wrapper with his mouth so it slips off easily, a contraceptive in reverse. Their attention held by the wrapper as it slowly pulls off the sticky ice: how it will stick to her?

Now leaning over her, carefully wiping the tip of the ice over her nose, dragging it round her mouth, noticing her reaction to flick it with her tongue, a gesture from deep behind her sex. Now laying it flat on her, letting her heat bleed out onto the yielding coldness, the ice's arousal appearing as a slow froth of sticky colour, a patient cumshot of liquid sugar rolling over the edge of her jaw. Glossy now with its desire for her, melting colour pushing her mouth apart as she joins its juices with her own saliva, pushing the white-pink bubbles out of the mouth to bathe her chin in an outpouring of desire and fluid.

He's picking up the rhythm, dancing-dabbling the ice on her belly, pushing it hard down into her navel, splling the melt over her, drawing it off her on the bed, her loving Him as he sticks her ever more in place. Then swirling the ice between her breasts, drawing the contours of her bondage bra on her: around and around, but not yet, over her teats.

So, where to next with the treat? Their thoughts both turn to what's left of her to tease...

Belly, ribs, spiral, colourclimbing coloursweatslick, closer and closer to metal and teat. A calmly stern smile for him as her prepares her for the next stage. Tears in her eyes, of deep happiness. Her pleasure? To be so constrained by her Master yet to release herself only for him. His pleasure? To own a slave who will let him come close to her, and let her whisper in his heart the secrets of her desire. What a delightful site she is, a rainbow goddess whose slowly flexing muscles draw him on. Spiral higher, spiral closer and closer.

A pause, so she can anticipate; eyes watching the ice draw near to the pinched red nipple. Contact.

"Master"
"Yes?"
"I love you"
"And I love you. Your submissive power to command me is my greatest happiness."

Pushing herself upwards to spread herself against the treat, Master flicking it away, then drawing it down, only permitting his slave the briefest of delights. A dance of flex, touch and stickiness. Does the kama sutra deal with the joys of adhesion? It really ought to. She's revealing herself so completely, her skin longer a covering of her body but the deepest expression of her sexuality. The world beyound them scarcely exists any more, she's all peeled back for Him, the one she can trust, here with her for her joy.

Metal rustles as he picks up the slack in the chain, slowly pulling it taut. She smiles sweetly at him, there's nothing they need to say to each other now. He begins by draping the chain with the cool drooling treat, small gobs of ice now breaking off, and slowly lets the chain slacken against her breast, cool metal relaxing against her, pulled round to surround her teat.

With care, placing the ice above her nipple, as he reaches to remove the clamp.