Hielo - Sex Stories

Hielo

... Alejandro would come home, his body and clothing viscous, soaked with perspiration. The searing, swollen heat began to affect Alejandro’s mood. He became restless and irritable. As his blood warmed in his veins, for whatever reason so did his lust, which began to rise within him and become ever more urgent. What he was usually able to control became increasingly uncontrollable. However, as Alejandro’s sexual desires rose in the sweltering heat, what little passion Hielo possessed correspondingly seemed to evaporate, melting away in the rippling streams of baked air which seemed to envelop the world in a shimmering, disorientating haze. One suffocatingly humid and airless evening, Alejandro came home from the vineyard, the extent of his unsatisfied desires both inflaming and frustrating him in equal measure. He sat in silence opposite Hielo at the kitchen table, sipping shallow spoonfuls of gazpacho , taking mouthfuls of tepid white wine from a superficially cracked glass, and from time to time sighing deeply and audibly. Hielo, dressed in an austere, front-buttoning long black dress which dropped all the way to her ankles, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, sat quietly, eating her soup. Every so often she would hear Alejandro’s sighing, look up at him, and deliver a cold, frozen look of disapproval, until at one point Alejandro could take it no longer. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he bellowed, slamming his spoon down on the table. “Did someone return their books ...

... late to the library or something?” Hielo continued to stare at him. For a moment, Alejandro felt almost as though she was a stranger to him, but his frustration continued to boil and well within him. “I don’t know, Hielo. What has made you this way? Can you answer that? For months now you haven’t wanted to smile, let alone......” His voice dropped but his words seemed to hang heavy in the heat. “Let alone what?” retorted Hielo, her eyes suddenly frozen over. “Go on. Finish it!.” Alejandro felt as though he was now in a battle. “Fuck,” he said, spitting the word out. “You haven’t wanted to fuck. For god’s sake, look at you! Sat there, dressed in black like a widow, as though someone has just died.” He sat back in his chair and sighed. “The truth is, something has died, Hielo. Us. We’ve died.” Having spent his emotion, Alejandro sighed again. Without saying a word, Hielo got up from her chair, turned and walked out of the kitchen, her heels tap-tapping against the wooden floor like a metronome. Alejandro watched her disappear out of the kitchen and up the stairs, before succumbing to the emotion and humidity and falling asleep on the kitchen chair. He was woken from his slumber by the sudden sensation of something wet and lukewarm hitting his face. Still in the half-grip of a dream, he shook his face and instinctively tried to raise his hands to his face to wipe the liquid off. Half intoxicated by sleep, and as though in a form of sleep paralysis, he found he couldn’t lift his ...