Shadows of Summer's Heat

Clay lounged back in the grass. For almost two hours, he’d picked up nothing over the radio. Now dusk was falling and covering the French countryside with a soft, shadowy blanket. Stars popped out one by one, and a half-moon appeared behind the thick summer trees. For this brief moment, Clay forgot about the war. Someday he’d be able to look back at this evening in 1944 and appreciate the serenity. No bombs, no artillery, no men dying around him.

Earlier today, Joe, one of the Army scouts, had been sent on a recon mission up into the hills. He was supposed to dig in and watch for any movement on the part of the enemy. Rumor had it that the Germans were planning to relocate a supply dump. If the Allies could intercept it, the medical supplies and rations would be a Godsend. Clay was tasked with manning the other radio in case Joe called in with info. He found himself a nice secluded place under some trees, a little ways off from the main camp. Then he settled in to wait.

He began by reading letters from Rita, his fiancée back home. Rita wrote beautiful letters, the kind most men would die to receive. The only problem was that at times like this, when he was alone, an almost crazy need for the author of the letters filled him. How he wished this war would be done with so he and all the other guys could go home, back to girls like Rita. He’d wanted so bad to give in when Rita begged that they get married before he shipped out, but he held back. He didn’t want to risk leaving her a widow.

It had been mighty hard that last night when he held her in his arms. They’d gone to dinner, then walked home, quietly basking in the spring air and each other’s presence. He’d be leaving the next morning and she promised to go with him to the docks, but they wanted their real goodbye to be in private, away from the crowds. That evening was theirs. Rita had pressed herself against him with more boldness than usual; he couldn’t help the stirring in his loins, the itch to pull her in closer.

They kissed, first gently, tenderly, then with more intensity. As if they realized this might be the last time they were together in this life, they let down a few barriers, trying to drink each other in. Clay was sure he memorized her face and neck with his mouth, and she whimpered under his forceful kiss while clawing her hands through his hair. But their respect for each other was stronger than lust. They slowed down and just stood in the darkness, his arms wrapped around her waist, her head on his chest. Words were pointless; they had said all that needed saying in the days leading up to now. Yet both knew: someday, God willing, they would be one.

Now, rereading the sweet, honest monologue penned by Rita, that desire flared up again in Clay’s brain and body. He replayed their parting, her warm kiss so full of longing and grief and submission to circumstances. As he rested his back against a tree, night noises pleasant to his ears, Clay shifted his hips. Oh, how he wished he was married! He’d be running home to find Rita and pull her into their bedroom and make wild love to her. If that day ever came, he swore to himself he would make it worth this waiting. They would wring out as much sweet pleasure together as was humanly possible.

Then the thought hit him: he was alone, out of sight of any of the other men, and the situation at the moment was peaceful. He might as well take the chance to jack off. It had been weeks, no, almost two months since he last did. Fighting a war didn’t leave much time for personal care.

With deliberation, he first stroked himself over his khakis with one hand. In the other he still held Rita’s letter. He allowed all kinds of shockingly delightful images to dance through his mind: Rita in a bathing suit; Rita dancing provocatively; Rita in lingerie. Did he dare imagine her naked? The idea was so exciting. He literally could not wait to see that in person. It would be a glorious first.

The pressure in his groin was increasing. He shot a careful look around before unzipping his pants and freeing his heavy manhood. Though not overly large, he was thick, and the feeling of his fingers on that hot, veiny flesh flickered enjoyably through his whole body. He commenced with a leisurely fondling, pulling at the hairs, teasing his sensitive skin. The scent of her perfume, lingering on the letter, filled his senses, amplifying his arousal. He pressed his body against the rough bark of the tree, savoring the sensation of her presence even in his mind. The muscles in his legs tensed as he found himself lost in the moment.

Then, the radio crackled. Clay jumped, then grinned to himself. No one could see him through the radio. He reached for it, expecting Joe’s voice to come statically through.

Instead, the only sounds were some rustling and a faraway echo of crickets. Clay waited. If he didn’t have to interrupt this moment of self-pleasure, he wouldn’t. Joe could make the first move. But as a minute or two went by and the random background noise went on, Clay wondered if Joe had begun to transmit and then left it…or maybe he was in trouble. The idea made him start up.

Suddenly, over the airwaves came Joe’s voice, except he wasn’t speaking into the transmitter. He sounded as if he was facing away from the radio and talking to someone else.

Joe:Baby! You’re here! I thought you’d never get here!

In reply came a woman’s French-accented voice, which made Clay sit back down:Darling! I had to come another way. Checkpoint, you know.

Things went quiet for a moment, but a satisfied murmur from the woman made Clay stare at the radio and whisper, “Why, you dog!” He was chuckling. It was clear that Joe and the unknown woman were kissing.

The dialogue went on.

Joe:God, Vivienne! You have the sweetest lips.

Vivienne:And you are the only man to taste them. Joe, kiss me, kiss me all over.

Clay by now realized he was overhearing a romantic rendezvous, but he just couldn’t switch the radio off. Instead he stretched out and set out to revive his softening cock.

Vivienne:Ah, mi amor, yes! I want your hands on my body. Touch my breasts. Are they not heavy and full? Suck them. Yes…oh yes!

Clay stroked a little faster, his hands lingering on her curves, teasing her with the promise of more. The heat between them seemed to intensify with every word exchanged over the airwaves. He imagined pulling her closer, wrapping his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body against his. He felt a powerful urge to reach out and touch her, to share in this illicit encounter.

Vivienne:But I want to feel you too, Joe! Your hands on my thighs, your mouth on my neck...

Joe, groaning:You’re gonna make me blow my load, Viv.

Vivienne:Not yet. I want you to come inside me first for a good pounding.

Joe:That’ll be a pleasure.

By now, Clay’s mind had painted an erotic scene: him and Rita out on a grassy hillside under a starry sky, the summer night cool on their bare skin, their bodies dancing together in hungry desire. He closed his eyes, letting the images wash over him, further fueling his arousal. The thought of Rita, her soft skin, her intoxicating scent, filled him with longing. He yearned to return to her, to lose himself in her embrace.

Vivienne:Oh yes!

Joe:You’re so tight! Oh boy, you feel swell, baby. So hot and slippery…I won’t last long. You know I can’t hold out too long. You’re too good!

Vivienne:I love you like this, Joe. So rough and handsome, you big American stud. How about your hands on my nice hard ass?

Joe, breathlessly:Baby, stop!

The sounds of fast copulation exploded over the radio, speeding up Clay’s hand and his active brain. The voices were no longer Joe and his French girl, but Clay himself and Rita. He could imagine their future wedding night, lost in heated passion, words that they didn’t normally use falling freely from their lustful mouths.

Joe:Oh…God…Viv, baby, you’re amazing, taking me so deep! You like when I bury myself in you like this, fast and hard?

Vivienne:Yes, oh yes! More, Joe! It feels marvelous! You are marvelous. Ahh, I feel you stretching me!

Clay stroked a little faster, his hands lingering on her curves, teasing her with the promise of more. The heat between them seemed to intensify with every word exchanged over the airwaves. He imagined pulling her closer, wrapping his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body against his. He felt a powerful urge to reach out and touch her, to share in this illicit encounter.

Vivienne:But I want to feel you too, Joe! Your hands on my thighs, your mouth on my neck...

Joe:That’s what I’m going to do, baby.

Right as Joe roared and let loose, Clay rubbed himself to orgasm. He tried to bite down on his growl as streams of warm semen erupted from his tender cock. The scent of Joe’s arousal mingled with Rita’s perfume, creating an intoxicating blend that sent shivers down his spine. He found himself lost in the pleasure, unable to tear himself away from this moment of intense satisfaction.

Vivienne:Oh my…yes! So good! You made me flow like a river, Joe! Oh, you have covered me! Look at all this beautiful semen!

Joe:I haven’t jizzed in weeks. That’s what I’ve been building up. God, you look good with it splattered all over you, baby. Here, kiss me.

Very gradually, Clay came down from his high, amazed at his own quantity of cum. He’d have to wash these pants before someone noticed the stains. He slid down so he could lay flat on the ground and recover. A little laugh curved his lips.

“Well, that was the hottest broadcast I ever heard! Thanks, Joe.”

Did you like this story? Shadows of Summer's Heat look, but like these, here Story taboo sex.