“I haven’t seen that thong before.”
“Yes, you have. At least twice.”
“Oh.”
And so began our lovemaking. On a sore note, I have to say. I had bought a red lacy thong because he said red underwear turned him on. Perhaps he was colour blind. Can you be colour blind about red? Sometimes, I wondered how much Carl really noticed me; he never devoured me sexually, never made me feel that he was hungry for me. Sometimes I just wished he would rip all my clothes off.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not being critical. Well, I suppose I am. But I like to try new things, experiment. Suck it and see is my favourite catchphrase. The problem we had was the way we each thought about sex. I wanted a gourmet meal whereas Carl was content with a plate of egg and chips.
Thinking back, I can recall at least a couple of occasions when I experienced a sensual pleasure that didn’t include actual sex. Like the heavenly banana and chocolate cake I consumed at the a gorgeous upmarket café in Hampstead, and the time that my beloved black cat, Vellore, decided to clean between my toes with her tongue. The toes are a sensitive erogenous zone, and she licked slowly and deliberately between each one with her peach-skin tongue. Now that was sensual.
Of course, I couldn’t exactly tell Carl that my cat turned me on more than he did. Particularly when he had been so good to me, lending me money when I lost my job, and putting down the rent deposit on the new apartment we had just moved in to. I managed to get a temporary job at a local beauty salon, thanks to a contact of Carl’s, and things seemed to be looking up again when Vellore, who still hankered after my old garden flat, went missing.
“I’ve been back to my old place, alerted the new tenants, but there’s been no sign of her,” I told Carl anxiously a week after her disappearance. I was horrified at his response.
“I expect she got run over,” Carl replied, then more tenderly, “Don’t cry, Kandi. You can always get another cat, you know.”
“I could never replace Vellore,” I howled.
“No. You’re right,” he said quickly. “Best not to try.” Then he tried to comfort me by cradling my head in his lap, and slowly I began to relax as his fingertips stroked my face and gently pushed back my hair. I was grateful to have him with me in my misery.
As the weeks passed, and Vellore did not return, I told myself that I was lucky to have someone who cared enough to occasionally buy me roses and chocolate truffles and – to my surprise – a pair of crotchless knickers. He was trying hard; you had to give him that. I knew Carl wasn’t my soulmate and our relationship lacked passion, but I decided that this was as good as it would get.
Recently, Carl had been staying extra late at the office, and when he finally got home he was usually so tired that any kind of sex was out of the question, let alone anything vaguely kinky. He had been working so hard since his promotion that I decided to do something special for him. Unfortunately, it was my motivation to do good that led to my fateful encounter with Wesley.
I had planned a surprise candle-lit dinner in the flat. Being a hopeless cook, I bought the food from M & S, chose suitable background music from my CD collection and decided to put on some sexy underwear. He was getting the works. However, I wanted to buy something really erotic that he wouldn’t forget, so I called in to our local Pillow Talk store to choose an appropriate outfit. They had everything – pretty sensual lingerie, leopard print sheath dresses, latex catsuits, leather thigh boots with stiletto heels, black lace-top stockings, shimmering G-strings, edible condoms … I felt like a kid who had just been given an enormous jar of her favourite sweets.
“Can I help you?”
The guy behind the counter gave a friendly smile. He was tall and good looking, with dark eyes and liquorice black hair. He wore skinny jeans and a black T-shirt which showed off his muscular, tattooed forearms.
“Well, I…”
“Looking for anything in particular?”
“Something sexy,” I ventured like a burbling idiot.
“You’ve come to the right place then,” he replied, without a trace of sarcasm. “If you don’t mind me making a few suggestions, the black rubber mini-skirt is one of our best sellers,” and he scooped one off the rack and handed it to me. “I think you’ll find that will fit.”
I clutched it to my breasts, my eyes scanning the array of whips and bondage gear displayed on the wall to my right. “Here, try this,” he continued, passing me a red silky package, “and these,” adding a pair of six-inch spike heels with a complicated arrangement of leather straps. “The changing room is just through here,” and he pulled back a black rubber curtain that led into a small cubicle with a gothic-style mirror.
“Need any help to get undressed?” he asked, confidence oozing. “Well, just shout if you need me. I won’t be far.” And he hovered outside the cubicle, watching me, until I pulled the curtain shut.
I realised I was trembling. He was a real charmer, an outrageous flirt, but at this moment I didn’t mind at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. Somehow, he had managed to choose the right sizes, just by looking at me. And the way he looked at me. Lustful without being sleazy. I sighed. Carl never looked at me like that. I wriggled into the skirt, wrestled with the strappy red top and tottered before the mirror in the stiletto bondage shoes.
“Does everything fit?” he called and I knew he was still standing just behind the curtain.
“Yes, but I’m not too sure about…”
“Don’t be shy.” He pulled back the curtain. “Wow!”
I couldn’t move. I had never felt so self-conscious in all my life.
“You look fabulous,” he whispered, standing so near that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.
“You would say that,” I muttered. “You’re the salesman.”
But when I glanced at my reflection I could see that he was right. I did look stunning. A sex goddess. I was gobsmacked.
“Tell me your name,” he insisted gently, moving closer.
“K-Kandi.”
“Well, K-Kandi, I’m Wesley – let me adjust the straps on this for a perfect fit,” and his fingers skilfully tightened the silk ribbons, brushing lightly on my breasts before standing back to admire his work.
“And now the shoes.”
I stood motionless, my heart thumping wildly as he crouched down on the floor and pulled in the straps on the fetishy shoes, pausing to let his lips touch my ankles, then kissing my legs and my knees, travelling up to my trembling thighs and belly until I was shaking uncontrollably. He looked up at me and smiled.
“Shall we go for a ride, my sweet?”
At this point I was no longer K-Kandi but had been taken over by Kaaaandi, my newly discovered alter ego. We left in my car and parked on a dirt-track off Bluebell Woods. Wesley smiled. “You look beautiful, Kandi,” he murmured, running his fingers down my cheek and I realised sadly that Carl hardly ever used my name when we had sex.
“I’d love to see your body,” continued Wesley, sliding a silky strap gently down my shoulder. I lifted my arms and he slipped the red camisole top over my head. It was a warm summer evening but I could feel my skin prickling with goosebumps. And anticipation.
“Hmmmm.” He breathed in my scent and kissed me tenderly on the lips before slowly peeling down the rubber skirt. I was naked. In every sense.
“Perfect,” he said approvingly, admiring my smooth, shaved pussy. “Your skin,” he murmured, devouring me with his mouth. “You taste sweet, like candy.” I leaned back, my naked flesh sliding on the leather seat, every sensation heightened, allowing myself to luxuriate in his penetrating kisses. His hand was moving between my thighs, quickly discovering how wet I was already.
He grinned. “You’re streaming, Kandi? Did you know that?”
I nodded and groaned as his head moved down and his tongue began to stroke my clitoris in slow rhythmic movements, sending electric currents pulsing through my body while his hands cupped my breasts, his thumbs playing with my nipples. Just when I thought I could bear it no longer he stopped abruptly, leaving me begging for more, while he placed my fingers over his throbbing erection. I ached to feel him inside me, filling and stretching me.
“Fuck me,” I whispered. He smiled as I pulled him urgently towards me and soon he was pumping vigorously. I clutched his back, moaning and sobbing.
“Fuck me, fuck me harder,” I demanded greedily, my muscles tightening around him.
I was near to coming when he suddenly produced a pair of handcuffs and I readily allowed him to fasten them on to my wrists, the unforgiving metal clicking shut, before he pinned my hands above my head, still thrusting energetically. I loved the delicious feeling of being captive, of giving myself to Wesley. I had often fantasised about such things and it seemed all my erotic dreams were coming true at once – sex with a stranger, in a car, in a deserted spot, handcuffed.
Wesley smiled as I writhed and groaned with pleasure, and now that I was at his mercy, he took charge, slowing down his thrusts, moving in and out of me with careful and deliberate precision, so that I could feel every movement, savouring the gentle and exquisite friction.
“Please,” I groaned, desperate to come.
“Soon,” he whispered “but not yet.”
And he covered my mouth with his, his tongue plunging deeply in contrast to the gentle pulsing of his ramrod cock.
I wanted him to eat me alive, I wanted our bodies to be tied together so we could be coupled like this for ever. Suddenly, he pulled out, leaving me gasping with frustration and surprise. But before I could protest, he tilted my chin upwards and held his glistening cock an inch from my mouth.
“Taste me. Taste yourself on me,” he said and I began to suck and gorge greedily while his right hand curled between my thighs, lightly brushing my aching clit, then pushing deeper, finger fucking me until I thought I could hold back no longer.
“Not yet,” he whispered once more, withdrawing his cock from my gaping red mouth.
I was trembling now, losing control, and he gripped my ankles and carefully prised my legs even further apart before he bent forward and slid his tongue between my moist lips. As he traced circles around my clit, my back arched as I was overwhelmed by rapidly spiralling sensations and I heard myself cry out as a mind-blowing orgasm wracked my body.
Wesley lifted his head and I noticed that his mouth was smeared with my juices.
“Sweet. Candy sweet,” he said.
Momentarily exhausted, I stretched out across the car seat, my wrists still cuffed, while Wesley gently stroked my back and nibbled my neck and it wasn’t long before I was ready for more. Besides, this time I wanted to feel Wesley’s come explode inside me.
“Round two?” he grinned.
This time he slid into me from behind. I could feel his balls slapping against my buttocks as he thrust excitedly, his breath hot against my neck, and I imagined we were voracious, primitive animals, devouring and being devoured.
“Harder. Fuck me harder,” I urged and he pumped more vigorously, grunting and panting while I moaned with pleasure. I had decided I had discovered fuck heaven when Wesley announced irritably, “I think someone’s watching us.”
“I don’t care,” I mumbled incoherently, only seconds away from another climax.
“Well, I do,” he declared in a macho tone. “I don’t want some perv spying on us. I’ll go and sort him out.”
And before I could stop him, he unceremoniously pulled out, and hastily dressed, despite my protests.
“Back in a minute,” he whispered, kissing me on the forehead. “Don’t go away.”
Then he opened the car door, promptly tripped on a tree root and fell flat on his face. Everything went quiet.
“Wesley?” I peered out furtively. He was lying face down, perfectly still. “Wesley?”
I searched around for my abandoned clothes and retrieved the rubber skirt, which I tried to hitch up to cover my exposed breasts, not easy when you’re handcuffed. Then I crawled out of the car and shook Wesley in a desperate attempt to wake him up.
“Wesley, get up, stop messing about,” I pleaded, turning him over, but he appeared to be out cold. So, here I was, in the middle of nowhere, semi-naked and alone. Handcuffed. Not really the kind of excitement I had craved. Everything was going horribly wrong. I imagined the newspaper headlines, my workmates reading about my erotic adventures, or worse, my mum! Then a chilling thought crossed my mind. Wesley had gone after a voyeur. Which meant whoever was watching could still be out there right now, waiting, observing my predicament. Perhaps enjoying it. I peered furtively into the gathering darkness and shuddered. Seeing poor Wesley lying there, I made a pathetic but unsuccessful attempt to lift him, but the sound of a twig snapping sent me scurrying back to the car in panic. What a nightmare! I hit the central locking, desperately needing to feel safe. As I shivered, wallowing in self-pity, I thought of Carl, and was overcome with guilt. Surely he would be worrying about me? How long would he wait before contacting the police? I was just considering if it would be possible to drive while handcuffed when I noticed headlights in the distance. When I recognised the markings of a police car I didn’t know whether to laugh with relief or die of embarrassment.
A middle-aged uniformed officer flashed his torch and walked cautiously over, nearly tripping over the prostrate Wesley. “I can’t wake him. I think he’s concussed,” I wailed, my voice breaking.
And then the words just came tumbling out. “I was lost. I turned off the road to look at a map and then a big scary guy came from nowhere, handcuffed me and overpowered me. I was terrified. I didn’t know what he was going to do.”
“This man?” asked the policeman, gesturing towards the motionless Wesley.
I shook my head. “No. He tried to help me, pulled off my attacker who then hit him over the head.”
“And where is this attacker now?”
“He ran off when he saw your headlights.”
I don’t know where the story came from. I had never thought of myself as having much of an imagination before but it was quite a convincing scenario, nonetheless. Even so, the officer looked sceptical. “Sounds like you had a lucky escape, Miss.”
“Yes,” I replied sheepishly.
I still felt pretty dazed when the policeman dropped me back at the flat. I was worried about Wesley and feeling guilty about Carl, who I imagined would be waiting anxiously, so I was rather surprised to find the flat in darkness. God, he was working late again! Then I found the note on the table.
Dear Kandi, I don’t know how to tell you this but…
The funny thing was, the same night that Carl left me for his Marketing Assistant, my cat Vellore came back.
Thankfully, Wesley’s concussion wasn’t serious. I visited him in hospital and it turned out he couldn’t remember a thing about what had happened. He was back at work within the week.
I’m going back to the shop today, to buy a set of handcuffs. Perhaps I can do something to jog his memory … after all, we never finished Round Two.