Smoking Hot Ch. 05

"Stop that. Or I'll take my hand away." Deep resonant threatening tone, dark and slow like molasses.

"You wouldn't." I thrust down.

He removes his hand.

"You bastard."

"So I keep telling ye, sweetheart. And don't you forget it. D'ye want my hand back?"

"Yes!"

"Best get askin' me nicely, then."

I want to resist, not give in, but his gravelly voice is so soft and sultry, and I want his hand back so much...

"Please, Ade... I beg of you, please put your hand back..." It would be overkill, in any other situation.

"And where exactly are ye wantin' me hand?"

He's making me ask because he wants to hear the filthy words out my mouth.

Might as well tell him. "I want your fingers right over my cunt, rubbing over my pussy lips, circling gently over my clit until I scream..."

He brings his face near my ear. "Such words from that beautiful posh voice? A respectable lady? Shockin', it is..."

He does oblige, at least. "Stay still, or I'll be takin' them away again."

He gets me to the point of squeaking again, and I'm not moving, just sagging into his palm, when his hand vanishes.

"Lie yourself down," he orders. "I'm getting me a wee drink. What about you? Last of your wine, or the strong stuff?"

"Best stick to the grape." Never mix the grape and the grain; I've learnt that one enough times. Half of them out on the razz with him.

Adrian brings my wine glass and I prop myself up next to him.

"Cheers, love," he goes.

He strokes my hair a bit. I'd worry he was seeing me a bit like Diane, except she had tight curls unlike my dead-straight locks, and totally different body shape. He manages a little grin. "This is kinda fun, innit?"

I fondle his body a bit more. "Yeah. Drinking and playing with each other... it's like those sleepovers with best friends they have in the movies..."

He fakes a slurring drunk voice. "Yurrr ma besht friend..." I take his face and hold his head while bringing his mouth to mine.

"Don't you forget it, buster!"

I put my hand between my legs, rubbing the damp fabric, seeing as he isn't.

"Aw... poor poppet..."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," I retort.

"Bollocks it is. Loads a fun, winds up the victim no end, sarcasm's cracker, so it is. Hoping to get more, were you? Thing is, there's nothing prettier than a frustrated woman... you're fuckin' gorgeous rollin' round like that, tryin' t' get yerself off like a wee hoor..."

"That's your fetish, is it?"

"One o' the many. Stockings and heels are good, too."

"We should have had this conversation ages ago."

"You weren't gonna oblige me; there wasn't no point." He explains, "If I'd tried it on, you'd have just looked at me like, 'is yer head cut? I'm no' gonna ride some banjaxed pisshead'!"

"Fair point, but I'm still interested in what you like doing even if you're not doing it with me."

"Huh. That your thing, then, watchin' me and hearin' bout what I've done?"

"Yes. Well, I won't lie and say it's not even better when it might be involving me in future, but yeah. I'm nosey... So, spill... what gets you going?"

He hesitates.

"Just so you know, Diane told me how you two got together at that club. And how things went on from there. Don't worry, I haven't told anyone else. Really, no-one."

He's gone red again, and it's not the alcohol. "I worshipped her. She hardly needed to ask. I was happy being her sex skivvy, either being used by her or used and abused by others. No more than I'd have given myself up for anyhow, just she made sure I was looked after, not harmed..."

"Just hurt?"

"Heh. Yeah, sometimes it was good to hurt. Satisfying, y'know? Didn't need it, after the therapy. But bout ye, me sweet doll, bout ye... You swoosh in, all capable and in charge, but in your wee heart of hearts, what wants ye? D'you like giving up that control, letting yer man run your ride? Dressing up all beezer then undressin', showin' off yer gorgeous wee body? Ropes an' shackles? Or givin' it all up for a quare ride?"

I lived in Kilburn for a couple years after uni, which helped cement Irish dialect into my brain, but some of the subtleties go over my head, still. "Pretty much. But remind me -- is a 'quare ride' a good fuck, or a fucking hot man? Or is it more like 'queer as fuck'?"

"Either of the first two -- same difference, really."

"Oh, no! There's definitely hot men who don't turn out to be a good ride!"

He smiles lecherously and leans in again. "Not with me, there ain't." He hams up the Irishness for effect. "If ah get a buck at ye, wee doll, a'll buck t' fuck aht a ye, t' quarest ride in all yer days, so I will." That's clearly the sort of terrible chat-up line a drunken chav would try, just before chucking-out time.

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh, aye?" That's the extent of my own ability to copy his accent.

"Aye, I'll be t' most magic scrab as ever's ridden up the shuck o' thon wee arse!"

The best something good who's ever had me up my arse-crack. "Scrab?"

"Hoo, yeah." He twitches his fingers again, clearly lacking the cigarette to gesture with; I'll have to buy him some nice pens for the purpose. "A scrab's like a dead good lover, you end up with scrabs -- scratches -- on your back, see?"

"Mmm. Yes, I'll have one of those, please." My bestest Received Pronunciation voice.

"Sticking out! I'm looking forward to it. And whatever we get up to, before. You done it before, aye?"

"Anal? Oh, yeah." I laugh. "Love it, just don't get it much. But, y'know, toys exist."

"They do, indeed. You'll have to tell me about thon later. Serious, though, do you like rope and bondage and that?"

"If I'm with someone I trust who's sober. And me, for that matter. So right now, no." I've had a whole bottle in about three hours; he's had the equivalent or a bit more.

"Fair enough. Pain?"

"In places."

"Like a wee spanking? Don't worry, I'm not going to tell Gareth or anyone..."

I try to sound casual. Then I recite at him. "Like, say... a spanking as a warm-up, a fist pounding my arse, then a heavy leather flogger and a number of slow strokes of a cane. Make lots of red lines, raised welts, and big bruises. Other things I like include clamps on my tits, fingers in my cunt and a vibrator up my bum. Best restrain my legs well so you don't get kicked in the head and I don't need to worry about hurting myself. Basically, lots of bondage, blindfolds, sensory deprivation. Good deep bruises I love; best to stop if you draw any blood." I give him a big grin and fold my arms.

He's speechless for a few seconds. Mission accomplished!

Of course, he's good at thinking fast. Within a minute he manages to ask, not quite deadpan, "What about rope bondage, leather cuffs, gags, electro play, play piercings, piss, orgasm control, and kinky clothes?"

Ah, we're on the same wavelength. I beam and blow him a little kiss. "I'll need a checklist at this rate! Bondage I love as long as it's comfortable and safe, so breathable, usually lying down. Gags -- no. Play piercings on my breasts yes, more sensitive areas no. Urine's just kinda boring. Good luck trying to control my orgasms -- I sure can't! What else?"

"Um -- clothes, I think I said?"

"Oh, dressing to please? If it's in private, then I'm very happy to oblige. It's a bit of a thing. Not outside, unless it happens to be what I think is OK. So... any outfit requests for a fortnight's time? You will be staying off the fags now, won't you?"

I run a finger up his neck and lift his chin up. I may choose to sub to him sometime, if he wants, but he's still a slutty subby boy in general.

"Yes, ma'am!" Oh, that silky smooth deep voice! "But for ye... oh, somethin' like today, only a short wee skirt so when ye take your tap aff, there's nothin' up in the way. I'm likin' these stockings, I am." I can tell. His original accent always gets stronger when he's enthusiastic.

"Short skirt? I think that could be arranged. Can you have a shirt like this, equally soft? I mean, if you're going to be brushing against my bare breasts... my nipples get so sensitive sometimes..."

He nods, delighted. "You were havin' me on about the tit clamps, though?"

"Nope, wasn't... Though don't expect any sense out of me after -- it's the quickest way to get my cunt gushing and me begging to be fucked twenty times to Christmas..."

He steeples his hands. "Interesting." I get he impression that he's thought about all the kinks I listed, and tried half of them, but not necessarily wanted to do them again. If he ever did in the first place. I wonder whether Diane was encouraging or restraining his wilder experiments. Keeping him safe, for sure.

And I clock something. "Your cute little nipples. You've got the same wee scars on both. When did you get them pierced? You had one done for a bit during undergrad, with a bar, didn't you?"

A nod. "Aye, got one done at a festival, but it never healed right. Had them both done properly soon after getting together with Diane -- two hoops. I took them out before she passed. If I wasn't going to be on a leash..."

"Crawling for her?"

"No. Remarkably impractical, crawling is. No. Usually I'd walk as normal beside her, then kneel nicely at her feet." He sighs.

"Oh, pretty!"

"I'm no' pretty. Getting wrinkled and greyin'."

"Sure you are. Weathered, with a patina. You're a good-looking man. It's that cute little blush that makes you a pretty boy."

"As you wish." He bows his head down subserviently and I have a sudden urge to collar him and stick him on a lead myself. Though I get the impression he doesn't want that, any more. "Right, you'd best be off, soon. Get your beauty sleep, to keep you the best-looking wee floozie in South London."

"Only south London?"

"Well, now, how could I tell Lindsey or Lucy or Melanie they're less gorgeous than you? Even though they are, of course."

He runs his hands over me a final time, including a soft tap over my pussy.

"Regards to Dave. Do have fun when you get to home."

I certainly do. The whole evening has been foreplay.

That was a fun night out. Amazingly similar to our usual hanging out, just... more.

I'm looking forward to the next one. Three. Apart from anything else, it seems to have done the trick in tempting him to give up smoking. Or was Dan the main motivator? Who knows? Who cares? Well done him.

Diane would be so proud. I miss her a lot, too.