Enraptured, Encaptured

He has neat black hair, the cut is shaved perfectly at the sides, with a hint of pomade at the thicker hair on top. A hint of a gangster. Old school. A bad boy in a good suit. A businessman, so he says. Shrewd blue eyes and a sudden smile. As he removes his blue checkered Gucci tie and unbuttons a Paul Smith white shirt, he displays the marks of street life like graffiti scrawled over his finely chiseled frame. Like the imperfections on a marble statue he has scrawled tattoos, scars, a knife wound across his hard stomach. Remnants of a fast past, something he has not entirely left behind but tries to hide.

He is good at hiding things. He is good at hiding me. He is adept at charm, deception and disappearing. Leaving behind the scent of Roja Parfum's Danger cologne. And what shall I call him, so that you, intimate reader, can capture more clearly this man in your own imagination? I shall call him, J. No, Jay.

When Jay removes himself from my life, from my body, my aura, so quickly and with such certainty in his direction, he leaves me cold. I wish at times I could also shut him out of my mind. But then, are not my fantasies of him, like the psychopomps guiding the soul connection, keeping this thing alive? Moving from life, to death, to life, to beyond. I want to drop more fuel onto the fire, to never let this die out. I want danger.

He is someone who is not afraid of going beyond.

Watching myself in the full length mirror, I slowly undress, unbuttoning the Zara black shirt-dress, holding my breasts together in the purple silk bra. My long dark hair is almost down to my waist, I am natural and wild, for now. At forty, I have learned to keep this side of me caged, revealed only to those that have the right key to unlock it. I imagine Jay's hungry almost-cold eyes upon me, surveying my neck, my back, my curves, and the skimpy fabric of my matching Primarni knickers. I take off the bra and I run my fingers over hard nipples, pink areola...wanting my fingers to be his.

They say mirrors are magical, a portal to other realms. Here he is stepping forth into my reality, just behind me. Jay places his hand over my cunt, and his finger is between the wet lips of my red mouth. Whatever I do I must not turn around. I cannot let him entrap me into this reflected world or shatter this illusion.

Standing, sliding my hand, his hand, between my smooth wet thighs, I see his hard fuckable face, just above my shoulder. My eyes are half-closed and he steps out from the mirror, he pulls me gently around, his large hands on my hips, on one bended knee he licks and sucks my clit. I can feel his hair, dark and thick and the soft part at the back, newly shaven, I stroke his head and call his name. Jay, Jay, Jay. My clit feels hard as if it is about to explode. I love that feeling where nothing matters, where I am losing control, shaking, reaching.....

The orgasm seems to shoot through me, buckling my legs. Then all I am left with is the sound of the shower in the ensuite. The gentle coo of resting pigeons outside on the opposite window ledge in the courtyard. They are somehow consoling in their everydayness, in their ordinary grey feathered beauty.

Now we are apart. Our fantasies bind us together, our minds are somehow connected, entangled. The pleasure of orgasm, yet the pain of being apart. At least I know that I feel pain. Does he?

Jay, please answer. When can I see you again?

I know he is mine, one day he shall be only mine. I want him so much. I try not to think about him with her, at home telling her about his day, kissing her. I try not to think about it as when I do I am green and sick with jealousy. And fear he will not return.

It is January and I like the freshness of a New Year. Yet Christmas- I felt colder, more alone than I ever have before. Solace was a choice, sipping creme liquor and chilling with a film or two. The coldness was not part of that choice. Heating on Mediterranean high, yet why did I still have icy shivers? I thought about Jay all through Christmas and then all through New Year....him with her. I waited for a call, a sign, anything to show me our connection is real. That I was not just a game to him. A plaything, or a distraction.

The bouquet of miniature roses, from him- now wilting and drying- to remind me or to fool me, that yes, it was real. It felt very real when we were fucking in his bed ten days ago.

...Come to me, come to my door. I really need you. Why are you not here when I really need you? Answer my message. Please.

All those unanswered texts. When I have almost given up hope, when the pain is too much to bear- a kind of loneliness, a longing, an ache- he comes to me, my dark angel, with the sexiest grin. He does this every time.

I could not resist. The red wine. Intoxicating. I placed the glass carefully on the bedside table where it left red rings on the smooth white surface.

I could not resist. He took of his red Hermes tie and loosened his shirt.

As he bound my wrists above my head, I could feel that ache deeper in my cunt, my limbs stretched, then my legs parted, already moaning, wet, wanting...dissolving into pleasure as he first brought me to orgasm with his tongue and expertly slid his cock inside, ramming it with an urgency and yearning I never thought possible. We both cried out. I came again, at the same time as his final violent thrust.

Then after, we kissed, talked, laughed, gently stroked fingers over warm skin. My soft fingertips traced over outlines of tattoos and scars, like points on a map of his past, leaving a trail up to the present moment. Wine dripped from the glass onto my breast. His head upon my breast and in that moment content.

I watched his smile fade.

Then he left me to go back to her. The wine glass fell to the floor. I shattered into a million pieces.

I swept up the broken pieces. The sunlight shone onto the shards of the broken wine glass. My wrists were sore. I had grazes on my skin and I do not know how they got there.

Shopping is always a good way to help those grazes heal. As are friends.

Julia and Chloe meet me for coffee and cakes. We love to gossip over our lattes and cappuccinos, to talk of our sex lives, any fantastic fucks we have had recently. Julia has bought herself some underwear and the CK bags are lined up on the table. We start giggling as she pulls out the bright red lacy panties in the middle of the cafe. She divorced and with no children feels free to shag whoever she pleases, wherever, whenever. Chloe, trisexual (she will try anything once) lets her know how she would love to see her in the pink thong she is pulling out of the white bag.

My friends know nothing of Jay, however. Julia's ex husband was a serial cheater and so I know exactly what she would say. I do not want to be disowned by one of my besties.

As we are having coffee Jay messages me. He tells the place, the time and the day. He has booked a hotel. He is starting to treat me like an escort or something, his convenient personal hooker. This irritates me slightly. I could say no. I do not want to say no. I just delay my response, keeping him waiting and thinking of me. He messages again to tell me he has some black silk stockings that he wants me to wear.

Back from our rendezvous at the hotel. A four star with white tile bathroom, plush white towels and eucalyptus lotion. Room service, a king size bed and Jay's king-size dick.

...the delicious taste of betrayal and come still fresh in my mouth. I know he loved the way I got submissively on my knees, greedily taking his cock into my mouth. How arrogant he was as his mobile rang and leaning against the wall, oh so casually, he answered that call from her, all the time as I sucked him off, looking up at him whilst he stared down at me. I feel powerful, his secret, his poisonous rose. I smell so sweet, yet I am so toxic, addictive.....

....sickly Valentine's Day eventually arrives with its big pink hearts, chocolate and sloppy kisses for all the perfect couples in the world.

Yes...I got the V day gift...she gets the fine Tiffany jewellery for her loyal wrist (for all those loyal wrist jobs she has given) and I get the sex toys. I want to stop searching through her social media but it is getting harder, I miss him more and more.

At least I got to see him this evening. I wore a black trench coat, with nothing on underneath as instructed. I know he was turned on all through our secret restaurant meet, in the corner, hidden in the candlelight and shadows. His dick hard and straining against his tighty whities (Versace I later discovered) as he kept his voice calm, his actions gentlemanly and so controlled, trying to ignore the precum oozing out of the end of his cock. He knew the whole time I had a small silicone butt plug up my tight arse. This was his demand.

We fucked afterwards, in an alleyway behind the restaurant kitchens. He could not wait any longer. It was fast and hard, standing up against the wall, with his hand pressed against my mouth. His fingers reaching around to feel the butt plug still in place. Then as he pulled it out slowly, I gasped. "Shhh", he breathed into my ear as we both came as quietly as we could.

Back at the hotel I showed him how I appreciated him, these snatched moments that I want to be able to knead and stretch out. I massaged into his wide muscled back. I slid my oiled body against his to tell him I missed him and wanted him at every moment we are apart.

Now I have the memory of him, my hard man, my bad boy, the image of his face as he pressed the buzzing sex toy onto my engorged clit and shot his load all over me.

Almost a month has passed.

All I can think about is Jay...his devilish smile, his big cock...how I want him to tie me up tight and fuck me...keep me prisoner...I am already a prisoner waiting for his next call, his next text, the next move or a sign. He must know the power he has over me and in a way I have power over the woman he is with now. She is so safe, so smug, so loved. I know I can shatter her illusion and destruct her heart whenever I want to. So I am waiting...lying in wait....longing for his sexual magic to overwhelm me. That orgasm that is deeper, stronger than any I have known. So addictive. For now I am weak...just where he wants me to be.

While the cat's away...

There we were in his bed, two mischievous little mice, Jay tickling me, licking me and it was so good to see him laugh and play. To catch a glimpse of the adorable, cheeky child he would have been. It was such fun to hang out. Wifey away in some stuffy conference hall while we were messing up her perfect sheets.

Everything in his home screams opulence, decadence and taste...all those deals he made, those risks he took to achieve all this. And what is the point if you cannot enjoy it? A pristine, perfect home, the soft light grey walls, windows from floor to ceiling. The juccuzzi that he never really uses but where I straddled him as he leant back and moaned.

She was his balance, his anchor as he worked and struggled....but I know how to upset it all, mess up everything. Messing up this perfect life. Why? I AM JEALOUS, that is why. I want him all to myself.

He did not know that I had watched them together one wintery afternoon. His arm casually upon her shoulder, a warm kiss upon her cheek that felt like a slither of ice going straight to my heart. No, I was not stalking him. It was fate showing me the truth, leaving me standing in the middle of town, feeling numb, almost wanting to drop all my precious bags of shopping and run. Almost but not quite, I could not sacrifice my new shoes, jacket and shiny new earrings, so I kind of hid, turned away and started rummaging in one of my bags.

I had thought I could fool myself that there was nothing really between Jay and his wife and that is why he wanted me. But there he was, caressing her cheek, smiling, oh such a devoted Judas. It was her I hated. I hated her for making me feel like a desperate, lonely, shopaholic. Literally out in the cold, out of the mall.

Alexia... that's her name, isn't it?

The games turned from playful and light-hearted to erotic, heated. He lit the candle and let the wax melt, dripping it onto my skin as I writhed against the taut belt holding me in bondage. Dripping that hot dangerous wax, yet all the time so, so careful not to let it seep onto that immaculate cream carpet on his living room floor.

As he led me into the bedroom, on my knees, bound wrists, his hand sometimes gripping my hair, or grabbing my face, I knew he would soon give me release. My cunt aching, pulsating, all I could think about was his cock...begging him for his big cock. He picked me up in those arms that are still strong and have fought on many streets, rained blows upon his enemies. He held me so gently, kissed me so gently just for a second, then threw me like a rag-doll upon the bed. But I knew I was safe, wrapped up in silky luxury, then that hard, muscular body against mine and pounding me, until I was howling, crying out, beyond control.

Afterwards, he was so careful- the crumpled, lipstick-come-stained sheets thrown to the laundry, everything in the room back to showroom neatness. He thought he had rid all evidence of me, of us. Yet not all. I know there are cameras everywhere in his house, everything we do is recorded. He must have full control over the recordings.... perhaps watching them, getting off on them.

Yes, not all....

I can be so careless. How I let my earring fall, lost in that little tight space between seat and arm of the sofa...and I'm really sorry that I left those long hairs in the brush I used and replaced so carefully in the dressing table drawer.

He seems so relaxed, as if he fits perfectly into my little flat. Here, smiling after sex as if he does not have a care in the world. He could fit so perfectly into my life, too, if it was not for her. I think of all the ways that I could get rid of her. To send her an anonymous message, perhaps. To cast a black magic spell. It should not be too difficult if I put my efforts into breaking them up, so he will be mine. The thought of him beside her at night, making love to her makes me burn up with jealousy, a redness in my cheeks right this moment as that vision enters my mind.

He seems invincible right now- he has me, he has her, business is going well, he is tanned and fit, well dressed...so confident. So sure that wifey will never know about me. So sure that he can come to me and do all the things with me that she will not.

He knows he has power over me and I can never resist. Although I may try and ignore his texts and secret calls...I always give in. I love the power he has over me. I am addicted to it. I am even starting to enjoy the scolding of hot jealousy whenever I think of him and her together. I love the pain. I love the pain of a rope or belt around my wrists, the slap on my thighs and arse. The slap around my face and the finger to my lips. The air scented- both of fruit and sweat. Both dirty and sweet. Tonight, he covered his fingers and cock with scented lube. I was his anal whore, as he flipped me over, a finger spreading me open and entering me slowly as I writhed, face down.

Yet now you call me your Queen, and open your wallet, flipping flippant note after note onto the bedside table. Like it is nothing. He cannot stay long, of course not. I smile as he suddenly gets up to leave; trying to show that I do not care. It is nothing. I smile.

I am not hurt that you are leaving me in the middle of the night. Of course not.

Springtime and the sun brings misty daydreams of Jay and I together.

I dream of what it would be like for him to truly to be mine...all mine...I want to possess him and to be possessed...yes I have always been an obsessive, possessive lover. But I feel that is the only way it should be.

He takes over me completely, fucking me with his hard, strong body, wanting to give me both pain and pleasure, wanting to hurt me as this gives him pleasure. I love the pain. He takes over me completely, fucking me with his mind, his mind control, the hold he has over me...the power that I crave, an ebb and flow between us.

Sometimes, when we are together and happy, I completely forget about her, my fantasy seems so real...but there are always little things, like demons out of nowhere that come along to taunt me...the photograph in his Christian Louboutin wallet as he snaps it open, her smiling face, the way she looks a bit like me yet with short, black glossy hair...and the texts that he tries to ignore.

He seems to be more passionate lately. I love to watch his face as he comes. He seems to want me more and more. Perhaps I can ignore his little lies, the way he tells me that she is more of a platonic connection now. Perhaps I can ignore too, the strange phone calls I have been getting...the silence and hanging up. Oh what a tangled web we weave...but none of it matters when I can share the potent pleasure of his company and keep him with me for as long as I can, to possess him for just a little longer.

I passed by his house the other day. Through the gate the curtains were drawn over the large windows yet a warm orange light shone from the upstairs bedroom where Jay and his wife were lying...that is what I imagined.

The wifey- the one he claimed is really just like a friend- all passion died, he said, after he found out about her little fling. Yet they had built so much together, they both wanted to give it another go.

Then again, later, his story changed, he said it was he who had cheated on her first.

I think they could not quite let each other go.

In the bedroom together, bathed in that warm orange glow, Jay making love to her gently, licking her nipples and stomach and breasts, caressing her clit with his deft tongue. Saving all his secret sadism to unleash upon me. In his beautiful house, locked away in that orange glowing box, so distant from me.

Remember the first time we met? Of course you do.

I was standing by the bar in my pale pink jacket and black gothic dress. He said that the coat was lovely and stroked my arm. I could already feel the crackles of static between us. He looked into my eyes and said I was stunning. I am usually unimpressed when compliments come too hard, or too fast...it seems fake, as if hiding a hidden intention...but somehow I was taken in by his roguish charm.

Why did I respond to him? I was feeling vulnerable, in need of a charismatic man to lift me high, after being stood up and unappreciated once again. Yet the twist of fate was not cruel, that was the night I dropped my boyfriend of two years and became addicted to someone new.

He told me he was the owner and I looked over his shoulder at the two large doormen, standing by to do his bidding like big bald guardian angels. Jay's eyes held a dark and potent power, as if he had the ability to get anything he wanted, or anyone. I wondered what deals he had made and with whom to get so much magnetism and grace.

A wheeler dealer with clubs, a Cadillac and Cartier watch. His blue eyes scanned my face, my body, as I told him of my own wildly exciting job as a customer services representative for a tech company and how- wow- it is fantastic as I can work from home. I do not know why but I suddenly reached out and stroked his face, a rough chin and that sudden smile.

Later that week we went to the Italian restaurant. He had told me to choose where to go. He said I had taste. I found out his favourite film was Casino Royale and he liked to listen to house, mainly. He is the only guy I have met who has admitted to liking Lady Gaga. We seemed so connected, like we were meant to be a couple. I did not hesitate when he booked into the hotel and did not even think he could be hiding anything.

....I found you exciting, amazing, mesmerising. You said I was cute and kissed me gently on my cheek and nose....