I met her the once. On the internet which I swore I would never do for fear of the risk of doing such things. But I did.
I don’t know what it was about her but she was good at this stuff, seduction, as I was to discover. It turned out I just went with the flow, whatever she said as she had this way of instilling trust even though at times throughout a little voice in me whispered: caution. In the end I’m glad I didn’t listen.
Her name was Lisa and we met in a bar where we almost at once felt comfortable in each others company, something you don’t get with everyone. She is taller than me with long black hair, like the darkest river endlessly flowing from her head. I was envious, my hair being mid-brown and fairly nondescript, though I had recently changed its colour to black. Her eyes were brown but held a greenish hint. At about 5’6, she was 3 inches taller and was, certainly compared to me, very womanly, feminine, in the way she held herself oozing control of any room and her personal space. Whereas I’d always regarded myself as a bit clumsy, tomboyish, geeky.
Her smile was irresistible and lured me easily away from anything happening around me. I watched her lips as she talked, her eyes, I listened, smiling, intently to her glossy lips with the natural sheen.
I wanted to kiss her very soon after meeting, she had that effect, probably also on many people she met. She had one of those demeanours, the way she carried herself, I was memserised.
After a while we’d gone back to her flat which on the face of it may seem a little naive as we’d only just met that night but, in a strange way, it felt like we’d known each other for much longer. I felt instantly at ease in her company having by now muffled my caution-voice which often tries, and frequently fails, to spoil my fun.
She had a taste for shades of browns, fawns and sepias, that being the interior theme of her flat, the curtains a chocolate brown, hessian, the walls in asymmetrical squares of artistic lines of light brown to dark hues and hints of oranges. Her throws were mostly of sepia-strained design making it all intoxicatingly inviting, warm and enticing.
After more chat and predictable girly-giggling, sipping what I thought was likely very expensive wine, I felt increasingly relaxed and at home. So much so though I needed a lie down so stretched out on the sofa which she encouraged at first and then, if I wanted, could use her bed instead and if I needed a short nap she wouldn’t be offended. How could I refuse, so she showed me to her bedroom.
She left me there in the subdued lighting of two wall-mounted bed lamps on her bed while she went off to do whatever around her flat. My eyes drooped, blurred, closed and then drifted blissfully into a surface sleep.
I lost myself in a dream, the kind you only get when suspended between waking and deep sleep. It was a little confused; I was trapped but not, or moving in slow motion, too slow to get anywhere. I then woke up, properly awoke, my eyes coming gradually into focus on a shadow sitting on the bed beside me. I smiled because instantly I knew it was Lisa. She sat there still looking classy, still in the tight black short dress she’d had on all evening. I asked how long I’d slept, though hadn’t thought long, and she assured me it wasn’t. Her river dark hair hung loose, half tumbling over one shoulder.
As I went to move my hand to hers I couldn’t move it, either of them as it happened. For a moment I thought I had dead-arm, or arms, that I lay awkwardly but as it turned out it wasn’t.
I was bound, tied to the bed post. Both of my arms, knots of soft silk scarves. Strangely, it didn’t feel uncomfortable nor tight, just fixed in place. I gave her a questioning look and was about to ask what she was doing when she clearly had read my thoughts… it’s ok…. so softly spoken and again an uncanny way of being reassuring… I’m just giving you what you want… how did she know what I wanted, and did I want this, had I said something like this earlier this evening and forgot? We had chatted openly about sex and experiences and even a couple of fantasies exchanged during conversation. Perhaps I’d mentioned in passing something about mild bondage.
This is exactly what it was looking like.
I watched her face, every move, intently, looking for answers or maybe a hint as to what next. She looked me straight in the eyes and smiled, again as though feeling their way into my mind to know exactly what was going on in there.
I will untie you right here, right now if that’s what you want… her expression openly and genuinely offering, and for a few moments I was stuck for a response, which surprised me but as I looked at her had the feeling it didn’t surprise her as it’s as though again she knew exactly what my reply would be. She saved me from a prolonged uncomfortable silence and my indecision by leaning over letting her hair fall across me and we kissed full on the mouth. A deep, passionate, unequivocal kiss and I fell completely into it and her, raising myself as high as I could into it, her lips.
Any panic I may have had dissolved and I just knew this was okay after all, albeit unexpected and somewhat unorthodox.
My legs weren’t bound and I was still fully dressed but for my boots which I’d kicked off pretty much as soon as we got here.
She produced another scarf, blue-patterned silk, calling it her piece-de-resistance and placed it over my eyes leaving me only with the lasting impression of her eyes. I didn’t know what to think but nevertheless surrendered, especially in a sense I didn’t have the choice.
Apprehension rushed through me head to toe.
A frisson of risk, edginess, strangeness, and I waited listening acutely now to my own breathing and to Lisa’s, like walking into shadows and not waiting for your eyes to adjust.
Her hands were moving over my clothes now, touching, feeling their textures, over the red and white check sleeveless blouse and my black Jersey mini skirt. She moved down my top playing with the buttons but not unfastening them, touching my bare waist to which I emitted a delicate gasp. Her fragrance, her breath, her fingers flowing over my skirt then down one leg over my burgundy tights.
My mind was reeling my body excited by the attention: I’d hadn’t experienced anything quite like this before. I felt myself shudder, shiver, maybe we should stop, should I have a safe-word?
Her touch continued over my legs, my thighs, knees all the way to my feet which felt very soothing. Her fingers were soon replaced by her mouth, kissing my feet through my tights, it was a quiet ecstasy and invigorating. The knots in my stomach began to unravel, I tugged lightly against my wrists bindings but not wanting this to stop any time soon.
Up her hands slid along both sides of one leg along my tights kneading, over the knee, climbing carefully up my thighs: I bit my lower lip as she slipped beneath my skirt. It started to be raised until it she was up to my waist gripping the top of my tights and started pulling them down, over my knickers and from under the skirt. Lifting my hips and bum they came away easily and down baring my knees and feet to the warm ambience of the room.
Again my knees felt her tongue, wandering up and down as far as the hem of my skirt: I stretched, my back arched involuntarily. A rush of emotions overwhelmed as her hands explored my hips, waist, over my skirt again and blouse stretching herself until laying on top of me head to toe. Fingers ran under my arms; how sensitive this part of ones body is, how vulnerable. She kissed me deep, hard, her tongue tasting the inside of my mouth which I now greedily offered and still blindfolded. My sense of time had gone awry, she brushed my breast lightly then untied the knot at the base of my shirt then one by one unbuttoned it, each accompanied by a whispered counting, her soft voice….. one… two… three… from bottom to top.
Her hands pressed on my skin and my blouse fell open, displaying my pink and black bra, the lace around the cups. Over my breasts together and gently squeezing, manipulating, enticing my nipples which were still hidden, all the while stroking my tummy threatening to head down instead of up; her composure was intense and controlled.
I had such a strong urge to reach out and touch her but my wrists were still bound. She whispered… now, what next, I wonder……
(continued in “bound to happen (act 2/4)” …. )
© Emmaleela
Tabula Erotica 