He was a trainer I'd picked up at the gym. He lived eight blocks away in Darlinghurst and moonlighted as a security guard in the Cross. He walked me home from time to time and occasionally I'd invite him in for a late night game of cards and a quickie. He had a Kiwi accent and strong arms and always left me smiling.
This time it was different. He'd just knocked off and he found me in a bar on Oxford Street. It was meant to be a girls night out with my housemates but they'd already welded themselves to some German backpackers. I was just about to head home when his rugby player's frame blocked my view of the exit.
'Leaving so soon?' he smirked at me.
'I was beginning to feel like the third wheel.' I explained, gesturing towards my very giggly and otherwise occupied housemates.
I told him his timing was impeccable and he suggested heading to his place for a nightcap. I hadn't been there since our first time together, so I let him lead the way. He held my hand and prevented any advances from the drunks who usually hassled me. I felt relieved. He let go of my hand when we reached his street, putting his arm around my shoulder, kissing the top of my head.
His one bedroom apartment was on the eighth floor. He grabbed my arse as soon as we stepped into the lift, looking down at me and grinning. I took in the scent of him, all clean cotton and citrus, and buried my head into his barrel chest. He dwarfed me. This was so rare for me that I wanted to savour every second of this feeling, but the lift doors opened and he nudged me out into the hallway.
He opened the door and flicked on a light, telling me to wait on the balcony. I slid the door across and stepped into the cool night, leaning against the balustrade while he mixed us a Bloody Mary. He asked me if I liked it spicy. I told him he better make my mouth burn and he raised an eyebrow. I winked back at him. He added more tabasco, fired up his stereo, then joined me on the balcony.
We sipped companionably to the sounds of reggae for a few minutes, before he kissed me. Spiced tongues and lips together at last, and I was in bliss. He pulled away and licked his lips. I ran my hands up his arms until they were joined behind his neck. He pulled me closer, so my breasts were level with his ribcage. I bit my lip, certain he'd be able to feel my hard nipples. He looked thoughtful.
'So, I was thinking that maybe it's not only your drinks that you like hot.' he suggested.
I let out a nervous laugh. 'What do you mean?' I asked.
'I have an idea. Come on.' he replied, leading me to the bedroom. He switched the light on so that I could see his plans laid out on the bed. Four hanks of rope, a large red candle, a blindfold, and a gleaming, curved, pretty knife. I squealed and jumped up to kiss him. He caught me, kissed me hard before putting me down on the bed and asking me what my safe word was.
'Porridge.' I admitted, making him crack up.
'Porridge?' he laughed. I explained that it was the unsexiest thing I could think of at that moment. We agreed that it worked, and he told me to take my jeans off. He told me to wait on my knees, and he brought me a gift bag. He invited me to open it. Inside I found a pair of underwear, a crop top, and a singlet. I gave him a puzzled look.
'Make sure they're your size before I destroy the ones you're wearing.' he said. That made my breath quicken. I checked the tags and nodded, then folded everything back into the gift bag. He took the bag and placed it on the bedside table before instructing me to stand up. He called me his good girl, then told me to turn around and bend over. Tugging my panties aside, he gently ran a finger between my pussy lips.
'Just checking.' he whispered, as he stroked my soaking cunt. I moaned as he took his fingers away, wondering what he'd do to me next.
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