Blowing hot and cold

Sunday evening and things were hotting up in the bedroom. We’d been kissing; now clothes were being removed. I pushed Thomas down on the bed and removed the last vestiges of his dignity – his boxers – but I was feeling playful so I blindfolded him.

“I’m in charge here,” I told him. “Lie back and do as you’re told.”
“Okay,” he replied.
I whipped him with his boxers. “Not ‘okay’. Okay, Ma’am,” I ordered.
I ran my hands along his body from his ankles to his chest. He flinched – not exactly the reaction I’d been hoping for!
“Jesus, your hands are cold,” he said. “Cold, Ma’am,” he added before I paddled his ass. I did anyway…
Then I touched my own body – and in fairness, the boy had a point. They were like ice-blocks and now that I was aware of it, I noticed my feet were too. Damn January! Happy New Year? Yeah, right – it’s freezing out there. And in here as well!
I spent 20 years of my life in warmer climes than Ireland and although I was well aware that I’d have to put up with more than an occasional smidgeon of rain and cold upon my return, I hadn’t considered that this might impact on my sex life. But it did, and it does…
My first flat was a disaster. The bedroom was in a converted attic, so we had no control over the central heating – the stingy landlord put it on for three hours in the evening and that was it. Which meant that, in the winter at least, it was far too cold to have sex upstairs.
As a result, nooky had to be carefully planned. Blankets, cushions, condoms and whatever other accoutrements were required or desired had to be brought downstairs into the lounge beforehand. If we’d forgotten anything, a quick naked dash upstairs was needed and then five minutes recovery time, wrapped in the quilt, before the main event could continue. Not great for spontaneity, that! Neither was the fact that we both had to wear pyjamas to bed – my boyfriend of the time was not willing to risk a blast of frostbite on his pride and glory! If he wasn’t going to sleep naked, well, there was no reason why I should suffer alone.
Luckily, things have improved since then. I’ve (re-) acclimatised to the Irish weather sufficiently not to need five layers of clothing while out and about and my new gaff is far cozier – but there are still times when I get really cold and Sunday night was one of them.
I was sure my hands would heat up soon so I continued but every time I touched him, Thomas wriggled across the bed, like he was trying to escape. (I gave him another spanking for even daring to – this time with my cold hands for extra punishment). Since he was blindfolded, the cold made for a kind of sex as water torture – he had no idea when or where the next frozen touch was going to land.
He pleaded with me. I told him to hold on and I sat on my hands. But the feeling of cold fingers was distinctly unpleasant on my own lovely derriere. In desperation I had an idea and grabbed a pair of gloves from the cupboard – a nice soft woolen pair – and got back down to business.
Thomas pronounced that the gloves felt a bit odd but not unpleasant. Furthermore he was making the correct kind of noises now. I started rubbing his balls and perineum and I was pleased to notice that the gloves worked well here – by this stage, he was gripping the bedclothes and breathing heavily. (Time for another spanking, perhaps?) A definite improvement!
As I’m sure plenty of female readers will have noticed, this area in behind the cock can be a bit tricky at times. Due to the texture of the scrotum’s skin and the fact that more often than not, there’s hair there, it can be difficult getting a smooth rubbing action, particularly if you are using anything more than a light touch. Normally I get around this by using lube or my tongue – always appreciated, ladies! But with the gloves, there was no such problem. My fingers glided and he was loving it.
Next I moved up to the shaft of his penis. Trying to give a hand-job while wearing gloves was weird. I love the feeling of a hard, smooth cock in my hands, but I never realized how much information you received – feedback of a sort! – from touch in this situation. Nothing on his body had changed, but I couldn’t feel exactly what I was doing nor how much pressure I was exerting.
The strangest thing was, I’d always presumed that the pleasure I got out of giving a hand job was essentially psychological – watching my partner react to my touch – but on some level it must be physical too. Not being able to feel his skin through the gloves made the whole thing oddly unsatisfying – for me at least.
While my hands felt much better for the gloves, I noticed that my feet seemed to be getting colder – much colder. A rogue thought crossed my mind – after all, Thomas was blindfolded – I could be sneaky and put on a pair of socks. Not the sexiest of outfits, but hell, he wouldn’t know. But vanity won out over need – socks were a step too far.
Instead I made a discovery that women across the country will thank me for. Women, selfish creatures that we are, have a habit of warming our cold feet on our partner’s bodies – toasty for us, but not so good for the guy on the receiving end. On the occasions that I’ve tried this with Thomas he generally behaves like an affronted virgin and leaps away asking me to keep my wandering feet to myself.
So ladies, if you want to warm your feet, there’s got to be a pay-off for him. That way, everybody’s happy. On Sunday night as I slipped my mouth over his hard-on, and began to lick and suck with the aplomb of a maestro (or so he tells me), I snuck my frozen feet under his calves. Did he complain? Nope. He didn’t say a word.
Well, he moaned a bit – but from the smile on his face, I think he was letting me know that he was happy. Happy with the blowjob and happy to not see me, leaving him free to indulge in whatever fantasies he likes. And as for me – I think he looks great in a blindfold!