Warning! Adult sexual content. You must be of legal age in your country to read this blog. And don’t proceed if you don’t want to know …
Right after I met Andrew* at Moxies on our first Lunch date, he invited me to an Earth Hour party at his house. His entire family, kids included, would be there but no one knew we were dating. It was only our second date. I parked the car down the street and paced back and forth, wondering if I should be meeting him in his home … what if?
I found my courage and walked in the front door for a clandestine cameo appearance into his life.
I was dressed to impress. A tight sequined tshirt, skinny black jeans which were tight from the ass to the ankle, and five-inch stiletto heels. I did a poor job of trying to blend into the party crowd. People noticed when I walked in. The party was in full swing with hundreds of candles throughout the house.
I asked where I could find the host and was told he was acting DJ in the basement.
Andrew’s eyes found me as I came down the stairs. He smiled only for me. People look up and ask about me.
“Who is she?” they queried.
A business colleague … not really, but the story worked. Andrew is tall and garners attention where ever he goes. He stands out in any crowd. Andrew is stunningly Hollywood handsome. My body melts in those tight black jeans. He waved and beckoned me over to his side. I’m 5’9″ in the heels and he still towers over me. A man who makes you feel protected.
“Welcome to my life.” he smiles and breathes into my ear.
If Andrew and I had a relationship status … it would be “It’s complicated.”
We were too much alike to last forever. We both wanted the same thing … freedom.
And daring fun.
A tiny current of excitement surged through my body. We mingled and chatted, eyes never leaving each other. If you could read body language, ours was speaking loud and clear. Our hands glide together behind me and we lock pinkie fingers. With both hands intertwined, he caressed my bum with his thumb. I’m frozen beside him, not wanting his touch to end, but not ready to reveal who we are to each other. I strain forward in those tight jeans …
I have to break our trance and step aside.
Andrew leaned back in and took hold of my wrist to lead me upstairs to the kitchen party. I sampled some food, grabbed a bottle of beer and idly chat with his neighbours. My phone began to vibrate in my back pocket. I excuse myself to look at the message.
“Meet me upstairs” commanded his text.
I follow the stairs to the second floor, not entirely sure where I am going. Andrew was leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom … with a wicked grin on his face. I walked over to him and we embraced for long, satisfying kiss. My arms reached up and over his shoulders to play with the curl of hair at the back of his neck. He grabbed a fist full of my hair and held me – not tightly – so he could deepen our kiss. Andrew could feel my legs buckling so he picked me up in one quick motion. He moved towards his bed.
“We can’t …” I say, my voice trailing off with uncertainty.
He deposited me on the large four-poster bed, sitting up. Andrew sat down beside me, took my hand and brought it to his mouth. He kissed each finger while murmuring “I just want to taste you.”
My eyes closed and I allow him to kiss and taste each finger. But my good girl instincts kicked in. I break our kiss and lean away for the second time. I interlocked my fingers with his and stand up, facing him. My free hand caressed the hair at his temples and put my forehead on his, trying to find strength.
“We should get back to your guests before they notice that both of us are missing.”
I spent the rest of the evening chatting and dancing downstairs, before slipping out like Cinderella. Except I didn’t leave a slipper behind … I tucked a note under his pillow. It’s a promise of things to come … that will be another trip into the Andrew Diaries at another time.
Months later, I am back in Andrew’s basement. It’s 8 o’clock on a Friday summer evening. The plantation shutters are closed. Those hundreds of candles that he had at the earth party? They are all lit in the basement … surrounding a new bed. The mattress is bare.
Andrew tossed a deep red sleeping bag on top of the bed … see … I told you we invented the Red Room!
He slowly undresses me … off comes my black dress … my black push-up bra … my matching lace bikini undies. All that is left on me are my red lipstick and jewelry. Andrew pushes me down on my back and lifts one foot to his mouth. He massaged my foot while kissing my toes. My toe ring disappears into his mouth.
I’m watching … but I can’t anymore. My head leans back against the mattress and I moan. He is in charge. I cross my legs in an attempt to get back under control. Andrew won’t let me set the pace. He does. He takes his time to kiss and explore my legs. Andrew uncrosses my ankles and reaches in deeper …
I can’t stand the exquisite torture. I want him. Inside me. But he won’t let me rush.
Since I am being such a bad girl with my legs, he binds both of my ankles in feather light cuffs. They are red as well.
I’m bound … but not tethered to the bed. Andrew is still dressed … still in charge. He’s toying with me and enjoying my agony. I’m not sure which is hotter … the candles’ flames or me …
He undresses … finally … and allows me to touch him. Andrew climbs on top of me and we kiss. The one thing we do throughout our time together is kiss passionately.
Today I want to be in control and I tell him I want to be on top. Andrew allows it … but first he flips me over onto my stomach. He spreads my legs and attaches the cuffs to the posts. He sits in front of me and commands me to get up on all fours so he can slide in underneath me. I ease back down … impaled on top of him. All of him.
I groan. With my legs spread and locked, he is still in the driver’s seat and controls our tempo. His large hands reach for my ass so he can move me faster.
I hold on to the top of the mattress, as if to give myself leverage. I’m so hot I barely recognize the fact that my ankles are rubbing against the mattress binding. The pleasure is louder than the pain.
We come … ohhhhh. It’s ecstacy. Wave upon wave of climax and we are soaked. Sweat pools between my breasts and drips onto Andrew. He is too tired to move. We lay, me on top, for what seems like another hour. Finally, too hot, he moves from beneath me.
Andrew leaves me bound and tied to the bed. He fetches a cold cloth and wipes down my overheated body from head to toe, lingering on my ass. As he uncuffs one ankle, he says “You are bleeding. Did I hurt you?”
“No” I reply “I didn’t feel it.”
He gingerly wipes the blood away and kisses it better. He unlocks my other ankle and says “You have another scrape on this side. Are you sure you are ok?”
“Yes” I smile “love hurts.”
Andrew gives my ass a good smack and says “Does it now? I think you like that.”
“Not to the point of bleeding” I pout.
Andrew gets up to extinguish the candles then returns to the bed to roll me over and pick me up. He carries me to the shower and stands me up so he can turn on the water. We shower together and the soap stings my cuts. Andrew towel dries my body, giving my bum another smack.
We head upstairs for a midnight snack. Cinderella is staying the night.
In the early hours of Saturday morning, I tiptop barefoot out to my car to grab a pair of flipflops. No walk of shame in 5-inch heels. Besides, the straps dig into my love bites.
Years later … if you lift each of my feet to look at them, you can see the tiny scars still faintly visible on the inside below each ankle. True story.
Andrew branded me as forever his.
P.S. I love when people stop and ask me in real life if they can see my scars! Yes! They really are there! XO
*Name(s) changed to protect the guilty!
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© Lisa Jobson 2017