on his face.
Thank God, someone slightly more awkward than myself.
“You’re married,” I blurted out. Nope, turns out I was still the reigning queen of awkward.
He looked at his ring as though he was surprised to see it there and shrugged.
“Divorced,” he said.
I slowly took my knickers off, the rapidly cooling chamomile tea on them giving me goose bumps all over my belly. I had no idea what I was doing.
“So what do you think of these knickers then, do they meet your exacting standards?”
Where the hell did that come from? What was I thinking?
He was quiet, not looking at me or the pile of clothes I had tossed to the floor. Was I really doing this? Was I really standing half naked in some stranger’s house at 10 in the morning? Something in his face darkened. My eyes focused on a single quivering water droplet on the pad of one of his fingertips. For a moment everything was silent except for my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
“So, you’re just a little slut who goes to people’s houses and strips down?” His face was hard, serious. A flutter of panic rose in my chest. I suddenly started visualizing a future where I was cut into bits and stored in Tupperware containers, my family searching for my missing body, my ugly school photo flashing on the evening news.
“I …think I’ll just go,” I muttered, feeling as though all the air had just left the room.
“No you won’t,” he said immediately.
Silence.
Was I scared? To my alarm, I felt a desperate twinging between my legs. Did he really used to be married? Did that change anything? I had never slept with an older guy before. They had always seemed so …intimidating.
“Turn around,” he said. The words seemed to be coming from deep inside his throat.
“But …I …”
“Do it.”
I turned around immediately, placing my shaking hands on a taped up box propped against the wall. The cardboard felt so rough against my fingertips. Was my body going into shock? Did I need to go to a hospital to get burn treatment? My mind fluttered furiously. I closed my eyes, and heard him moving around behind me. I heard a ruffle and the unmistakable clink of his metal belt buckle falling to the floor.
I shuddered.
He came close, and his hands, almost as rough as the cardboard, reached around and delicately touched the tender red skin on my thighs.
“Does it hurt?” he whispered into my ear.
I exhaled, my head spinning.
Before I knew it, something immensely cold slipped over the skin there, and I yelped out. The ice. He was gliding a cube over my burnt flesh, the hot skin melting it easily, making prickling drops that slid all the way down my bare legs and puddled onto the floor. An excruciating throb radiated out from between my legs. My skin smarted, but with each stroke of the ice cube, soothing waves washed over me. The entire surface of my body seemed to tighten up, every last hair standing on edge.
With his hot breath against my ear, and the rapidly disappearing ice cube licking all over my body, each of my senses seemed blissfully overwhelmed. I couldn’t tell what was pain or pleasure anymore, whether the icy hot thrills running up and down my body were too much for me, or whether I very much wanted more . I whimpered. His fingers moved closer, and as he gently touched the ice cube against my clit, I cried out again.
The ice cube moved deeper down, and he pressed it firmly between my lips. I was streaming wet now, melting along with the ice cube and sending sticky rivers of my own all down my legs. The ice cube gone, he seamlessly slid two fingers into me, and I swear I almost felt my entire body move and pull him in deeper.
It was electric.
His other hand was resting on my clit, tracing tiny circles, while his fingers slipped silently in and out. I squirmed all around him, shuddering from cold and heat and some far more delicious feeling swirling in the centre of my belly. It was a new sensation, one that scared me a little, one that I
Thank God, someone slightly more awkward than myself.
“You’re married,” I blurted out. Nope, turns out I was still the reigning queen of awkward.
He looked at his ring as though he was surprised to see it there and shrugged.
“Divorced,” he said.
I slowly took my knickers off, the rapidly cooling chamomile tea on them giving me goose bumps all over my belly. I had no idea what I was doing.
“So what do you think of these knickers then, do they meet your exacting standards?”
Where the hell did that come from? What was I thinking?
He was quiet, not looking at me or the pile of clothes I had tossed to the floor. Was I really doing this? Was I really standing half naked in some stranger’s house at 10 in the morning? Something in his face darkened. My eyes focused on a single quivering water droplet on the pad of one of his fingertips. For a moment everything was silent except for my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
“So, you’re just a little slut who goes to people’s houses and strips down?” His face was hard, serious. A flutter of panic rose in my chest. I suddenly started visualizing a future where I was cut into bits and stored in Tupperware containers, my family searching for my missing body, my ugly school photo flashing on the evening news.
“I …think I’ll just go,” I muttered, feeling as though all the air had just left the room.
“No you won’t,” he said immediately.
Silence.
Was I scared? To my alarm, I felt a desperate twinging between my legs. Did he really used to be married? Did that change anything? I had never slept with an older guy before. They had always seemed so …intimidating.
“Turn around,” he said. The words seemed to be coming from deep inside his throat.
“But …I …”
“Do it.”
I turned around immediately, placing my shaking hands on a taped up box propped against the wall. The cardboard felt so rough against my fingertips. Was my body going into shock? Did I need to go to a hospital to get burn treatment? My mind fluttered furiously. I closed my eyes, and heard him moving around behind me. I heard a ruffle and the unmistakable clink of his metal belt buckle falling to the floor.
I shuddered.
He came close, and his hands, almost as rough as the cardboard, reached around and delicately touched the tender red skin on my thighs.
“Does it hurt?” he whispered into my ear.
I exhaled, my head spinning.
Before I knew it, something immensely cold slipped over the skin there, and I yelped out. The ice. He was gliding a cube over my burnt flesh, the hot skin melting it easily, making prickling drops that slid all the way down my bare legs and puddled onto the floor. An excruciating throb radiated out from between my legs. My skin smarted, but with each stroke of the ice cube, soothing waves washed over me. The entire surface of my body seemed to tighten up, every last hair standing on edge.
With his hot breath against my ear, and the rapidly disappearing ice cube licking all over my body, each of my senses seemed blissfully overwhelmed. I couldn’t tell what was pain or pleasure anymore, whether the icy hot thrills running up and down my body were too much for me, or whether I very much wanted more . I whimpered. His fingers moved closer, and as he gently touched the ice cube against my clit, I cried out again.
The ice cube moved deeper down, and he pressed it firmly between my lips. I was streaming wet now, melting along with the ice cube and sending sticky rivers of my own all down my legs. The ice cube gone, he seamlessly slid two fingers into me, and I swear I almost felt my entire body move and pull him in deeper.
It was electric.
His other hand was resting on my clit, tracing tiny circles, while his fingers slipped silently in and out. I squirmed all around him, shuddering from cold and heat and some far more delicious feeling swirling in the centre of my belly. It was a new sensation, one that scared me a little, one that I
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