Best Women's Erotica

CHANGING MY TUNE

Louisa Harte





“Two large cones, please, love.”

I glance over the counter at the sweaty builder. He points up at the menu on the side of the van, but his eyes are fixed on my tits, barely concealed within my ridiculously tight uniform.

“Sure, coming right up,” I say sweetly, giving him my best professional smile. It’d be funny if I hadn’t already heard that joke about ten times today. Still, I’m easy pickings—whoever designed these uniforms must be having a laugh. With their tight zipper-front top and barely there skirt, they wouldn’t look out of place in a kinky costume shop. But it’s not my place to argue. I pick up the scoop and start preparing the ice creams.

This job sure isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. When I signed up, I thought I’d be cruising about in a flash ice-cream van serving up goodies and treats to crowds of eager customers. Instead, while others in the fleet get to go to big gigs and fancy festivals, I end up here, on a beach in the middle of nowhere, next to a building site.

Typical.

“There you go.” I hand over the ice creams. The builder drops the change into my hand before giving me a leery wink and swaggering back off to his mates.

I sigh. If the obscenely tight uniform and crappy pink van weren’t bad enough, the trashy jingle I’ve got playing is enough to set my teeth on edge. I lean over and switch it off—that’s enough of “Greensleeves” for now. Still, this job is only for the summer and it does have its pluses. I gaze down at the colorful assortment of ice creams and my mouth starts to water.

“Hello, love.” A voice calls my attention. I look up. It’s another builder, only this one is different—he’s gorgeous. Like a hot builder from an advert on TV, he has these sexy gray eyes, gorgeous red lips and a rocking body that looks great packed into his T-shirt and shorts. I can almost smell the pheromones coming off him.

“Oh, hi,” I say. Am I blushing? “What can I get you?”

The guy rests his arm on the counter and gazes up at the menu. “What do you recommend?”

I stifle a smile. Is he serious? This is an ice-cream van, not the Ritz. Still, it gives me a chance to have a bit of fun. “I hear the raspberry ripple’s rather nice…” I hold my breath. It’s a challenge—offering a big tough builder a rather girly sounding ice cream.

He takes it. “Right, the ripple it is.”

I try to hide my delight as I scoop his ice cream. I like a man who’s up for a laugh. Especially one this hot.

“What’s your name?” he asks, watching me as I prepare his ice cream.

“Cassie,” I say, a little surprised. Punters aren’t usually interested in details like that.

“Cassie. Hmm. I like that,” he says, with no trace of irony. “Nice to meet you, Cassie. I’m Luke.”

Polite, too. I’m impressed.

“There you go, Luke.” I hand over his ice cream. “Hope you enjoy it.”

Luke drops the coins into my palm. “I’m sure I will.” He gives me a knowing smile before ambling off to a nearby bench to sit and eat.

I watch him, intrigued. There’s something unusual about him. He doesn’t just wolf his ice cream down like the others—he takes his time; savors it, eats it slowly like it’s a treat to be relished.

And, oh, how he eats it.

I lean against the counter, my jaw going slack at the spectacle on display. First he rolls his tongue around the outside of the ice cream, coating his tongue in the creamy mixture. Then he draws it into his mouth with long luscious laps that look really suggestive. At least they do to my dirty mind. I lean forward to get a better look.

Next he starts nibbling and licking—deft precise movements that have me quaking at the knees. He’s seducing that dessert like it’s a succulent pussy. I can’t help but react. My nipples harden against the front of my top, and I feel my own creamy moisture start to seep into my panties. Is he doing this for me? Though the thought seems ridiculous, it gets me excited, and I watch him even closer, drawn in by his erotic food play. I’m glad there’s no queue. At last someone up there loves me.

Luke turns his attention to the crisp little cone. He holds it gently and starts to nibble it with precise little nips that look calculated to please. And they do. I press my thighs together, my pussy getting wetter at the sight.

After a few more bites, he finishes the ice cream. But the show isn’t over. I watch, engrossed as Luke licks his fingers, one by one, draining every last trace of ice cream from them.

I let out a sigh. Wow, that was hot.

Suddenly, Luke gets up and starts ambling back toward the van. I snatch up a scoop, pretending to be busy.