The warming sunrays of a brief Indian summer were a welcome pleasure on our cheeks after two weeks of torrential rain and glacial wind. I could once again sit outside at the local coffee shop with my best friend enjoying our pumpkin spice lattes and - for a minute - forget about the falling leaves and all the decaying things in my own life.

“I thought we agreed on no phones,” Tia reminded me on her gentle, almost apologetic voice. Like most primary school teachers, she was soft spoken with that ‘don’t mess with me’ undertone and look in her sandstormy eyes. Our friendship was just as unlikely as of Renée and Flo in Paper airplanes and still left me baffled often, even after 10 years. I probably needed her levelheadedness to ground my boy-trouble-prone self and maybe she looked at me like one of her kids, forever trying to straighten my life.

“Sorry,” I whispered red-faced, quickly slipping my phone into my oversized bag under the table. If she had known whose Facebook I had been browsing for the last few minutes - ignoring her god knows how many shocking kid stories - she wouldn’t have had such a soft tone. She would have at least threatened to smash my phone screen with her heavy-bottomed tumbler coffee glass.

“How is the job hunt going?” Her question suggested that a quick peek at jobs was the only acceptable, important enough reason to break our little ‘no phone’ rule. I thought you knew me better than that, Tia.

“Applied for a few things,” I replied off shoulder lifting my sinful, sugar-packed latte to my lips. My reply fell short of satisfying her and she kept staring at me to continue. Instead, I resumed sipping my coffee in silence.

The truth was, that even ‘few’ was a slight exaggeration. But I couldn’t exactly tell her, that I’ve spent the last two weeks stalking a certain, pretentiously named Winter Hadfield, who was currently sitting at a nearby table. The very reason I invited Tia here, was to be able to watch that blonde bombshell having her before-gym green tea and listen to her conversation with her yoga instructor. Despite the loud buzz of the busy terrace, I could still filter out Winter’s cute singalong tone.

Even her voice was so annoyingly perfect, like tiny jingle bells in a snow-covered silent night. Jealousy was simmering in the pit of my stomach like tiny acidic-green bubbles popping inside of me. How could Kieran chose someone like her to replace me? It was an insult on so many levels, I couldn’t even begin to explain.

Stalking her started with that almost innocent curiosity. I really just wanted to know why, why someone so blatantly polar opposite of me? And once I’ve found her on his social media, I was outraged to learn that she was already announced as his girlfriend, when it took him nearly a year to ‘relationship’ me.

Ok, ok, I get it. I’m not really girlfriend material, never inspired to be. I always preferred to be a friend with benefits. With my raven black hair, bad girl/rock chick style, sporting ripped jeans or faux leather spanx and a brow stud, I’m not someone, boys rush to introduce to their parents. Kieran never did, and  after two years together it did hurt a bit, I must admit, because I do scrub up well if I must.

I bet sweet Winter was already on first names with Mrs Lawrence, swopping banana bread recipes and secret ingredients. She was everything, I was not: beautiful, respectable, the typical good-girl you marry to have a god-awful boring life with. And that was what annoyed me most.

Because Kieran didn’t do sweet or boring. He was raw and wild. And he needed a girl like me to live out his darkest fantasies, to make him question relationship rules and conformity. He needed someone to push his limits and lure him into wanting to disregard mine.

Of course, like with others before, it became the downfall of us. It became too much, too addictive and we couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop and has broken my hard limits. Twice. After the second time, I couldn’t trust him any more. It had to be the end, for safety’s and sanity’s sake.

And it didn’t matter, how much I’ve missed being thrown across his bedroom, how much my body felt like a sad blank canvass without the purple imprint of his rough fingers and how nothing ever tasted the same without the lingering sweaty, salty taste of him in my mouth, he had to go.

Was it all a game? Pushing him further and further expecting him to fail, to lose control and when he did, challenge myself whether I was strong enough to end it? Am I really as sick as they say I am?

The problem is, when a relationship ends like that, in my head, it doesn’t end there. I could restrain myself from calling him, from texting him, but the fragments of those nights were too deeply embedded into my mind and just wouldn’t let go. My body craved the adrenaline, the danger; my mind was drowning in the bittersweet memories of his touch, his scent, his voice. I knew, I wasn’t going to act on that primal need, but every little cell of my body was still aflame by the fires he ignited, and I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t think straight.

Part of me still lived in a fantasy world, wishing that one day – no matter how determined I was when I told him to stay away  – one day he would knock on my door and lunge for me, bury his claws and teeth into my flesh like a lion hunting it’s prey, like he used to. Then he’d tell me how much he hated me. Stroking my hair, combing it into a pony tail with his predatory fingers, he’d slap me with a sobering question, asking me if I wanted him to leave. And we both know, I wouldn’t be able to send him away. With my eyes having locked into his, his scent having led me on like a bloodhound following a trail, with my mouth watering, no words could come out of my mouth.

Basking in my arousal scented weakness, with that irresistible smirk of his, that makes his lips part slightly and soak my underwear, he’d say, on that tone, “Thought so.”

He would throw me across the kitchen island with a force that once again would make me question, whether I’ve cracked a rib or two, tying my hands to one of the fixed barstools...

These are the kind of fantasies I had to battle daily. And now he was with this innocent, good girl. I bet the most animalistic thing she did was a starfish.

“Lynn?”  Tia’s voice woke me from that helter-skelter trip down a dark parallel universe. “You seem completely distracted today.” I hoped she wasn’t planning on asking any questions about her ten minutes rant involving their new head teacher, because my mind was overflowing with visions of that memory-mixed-fantasy trance leaving very little room for her story. I apologised once again, blaming the stress of trying to find a new job and the sunshine for putting me into a relaxed, distracted mood.

It was almost 11:00, time to get our usual gym-fix. I said goodbye to Tia, apologising yet again for my absentmindedness and followed the other two gym bunnies into the leisure centre, where we changed into yoga outfits.

It was normally a forty-five minutes yoga class for Winter and an hour cardio for me. I always preferred things that spiked my heart rate. Subconsciously, I was probably trying to compensate for the adrenaline rush, missing from the other areas of my life. I almost walked towards the main cardio room, when I remembered, that I foolishly booked myself into yoga class for that day.

There was about fifteen of us in yoga class, all girls. Winter stood in the front row, of course. I stayed as much in the background as possible. I haven’t done any classes for ages, and really hoped, that the instructors nowadays were not doing that intimidating walk-around checking everybody’s posture and poses. I was pretty sure my downward dog resembled a stray with a broken back and my warrior poses were of a fighter returning from a lost battle with bloody wounds and PTSD.

Luckily, Olga – I knew her name from the class booking - wasn’t doing the personal coaching and just let everyone follow her to the best of their abilities, which I had very little of and Winter undeniably had much more. Her moves were art, her body was a centrepiece.

Her shape wasn’t as refined as the instructors; yet it was more – well, how to put it gently - more aesthetically pleasing. Olga’s body was slightly more masculine with thicker, more definite muscles, suggesting that she’s has done other things, possible weights or another hard-core workout. Winter was much slimmer and more athletic; she had a body of a teenage gymnast. Or at least I associated her with that image, because she was wearing a purple and black leotard-like sleeveless top.

Her body was truly flawless and it moved with effortless grace of a well choreographed dance. It was a pleasure to watch and I couldn’t tear my eyes off her, despite the fact that Olga caught me staring quite a few times.  

More than once, my mind wandered, carried away by the monotone tone of Olga murmuring different animal poses, to how fantastic her gorgeous lithe body might look grappled by Kieran’s signature black ropes – if by any chance she had been into anything like that. But she probably wasn’t. She was too elegant, too sophisticated for kinks like that.

I shook myself, trying to rid my mind of that ridiculous daydream... I was obviously sex starved, I needed to be laid and fast. Not that I didn’t usually fantasise about girls, but Winter was certainly someone, I shouldn’t have been fantasizing about.

I was disappointed when the forty-five minutes was up and we spewed out of the tiny studio. My normal routine would have been going on the weight machines and watch Winter doing her own cardio on the cross trainer or stair climber. The latter, I always avoided like the plague, even if it gave people enviable bottoms like hers. The one occasion I tried it, the only thing it gave me was bad knees.

That day, I decided I had enough ogling and drooling at yoga and opted for a relaxing swim instead and headed home early. I watched TV for the rest of the day, trying to keep my fantasies at bay. I made a half-assed attempt at browsing jobs, but nothing really screamed, ‘amazing pay for very little hours, ’ so I gave up after about four pages. I’ve found myself delving into Winter’s numerous social media accounts yet again. Stalking her was pretty much a full-time job.

***

Next day, skipping the pre-gym coffee, which was never a good idea in the first place, I was back to do the same routine: to work on those newly discovered muscles while filling up my ‘filthy fantasies’ jar with images of those two goddesses, who, today chose to knock me off my feet wearing almost identical crop tops on their damn perfect washboard stomachs.

Luckily, Olga’s Friday yoga workout was much more relaxed than the previous day and we spent a lot of time on the floor stretching some sexy core muscles. I still had trouble sleeping and the previous night was no different, I stayed up until 3 am. I could barely keep my eyes open, so comfortably stretched out on my thick yoga mat. By the time we’ve finished in an extended child’s pose, I was literally dozing off.

A soft, feather-like stroke on my back woke me. I looked up and realised, I was all alone in the room with Olga. “Are you okay?” she asked on her thick Eastern European accent.

“Sorry, haven’t had much sleep last night,” I apologised stumbling to my feet. “And I don’t think my body is designed for this,” I added stretching my back with a pained expression.

“Give it some time, most need a couple of weeks at least,” she encouraged me as I rolled up my mat and walked out of the room beside her.

“We like to do a little steam room session on Fridays after class, why don’t you join us?” I hated the sauna, it always left me breathless and dizzy, but I couldn’t say no to that offer.

A few girls from class were already sitting on the soft pine benches and were gossiping about a new box-fit instructor and how hot he was. I didn’t fail to notice the elated look on Olga’s face as she turned away from them and looked at Winter with a ‘been there done that’ smirk. No doubt Winter has already heard all the details.

“Do you guys have any exciting plans for the weekend?” Olga turned back to the others straight faced, trying to steer the conversation away from the slightly awkward topic.

Excited voices boasted about fancy nights out or weekend away plans. Winter, who was sitting next to her and opposite of me remained silent. She crossed her perfect legs in front, planted her palms on the bench either side of her body in a way that her left brushed against Olga’s thigh. I couldn’t believe my eyes, when the instructor reciprocated her touch by placing her own hand on Winter’s, interlocking their fingers. The menthol scented air suddenly became suffocatingly hot, my chest grew heavy, my lungs could barely take any air in.

What the actual fuck? What about Kieran, miss Hadfield?

Was I misjudging her that much?

I became tense, anticipating the sort of images that were to haunt me that evening, that will no doubt spiral me into another insomniac porn watching marathon: a lesbian orgy in the steam room. God, I was really getting desperate. I always knew, jilling with my rabbit was only going to be satisfying for so long... It seemed, it just wasn’t doing it anymore.

I had to look again making sure, the hot steam was not making me hallucinate. By then the other girls slowly started disappearing in groups of two or three and I became a third wheel sitting in awkward silence. My body was frozen despite the sweltering heat.

“Are you okay?” Olga looked up to me perched on the top bench in the corner. I really wished she stopped asking me that. It was so intimidating.

“I think, I had enough too,” I breathed out heavily and slid myself off the bench in a way a snowball would melt into a messy puddle on the floor. I pulled myself together outside the wooden cabin door and it took all my strength not to peek back inside through the little window to see what else that twosome was up to.

I took a cold shower, which was a welcome refreshing sensation against my skin. I’ve just turned the water off when I heard Olga and Winter enter and once again, I found my body frozen, but this time with freezing water droplets and goose bumps.

They were having a loud conversation, presuming they were alone. “Yeah, can you fucking believe it?!” Olga stormed in first, tossing something heavy on the bench with a loud crashing sound. Then she continued almost shouting on an angry and upset voice, “Married. Where is his fucking ring? Apparently, he doesn’t like to wear it when exercising, as it’s uncomfooortable. He could still have just told me.” I held my breath waiting for a possible less awkward second to step out of the shower, which never came.

“What are you going to do?” Winter asked on a curious little girl’s voice.

“I don’t know,” the other one replied with an audible sigh. “It doesn’t matter any more does it?” she huffed with a laughter that was dark and bitter. “He’s a fucking god in bed, you know. Now I can’t say no to him just because of a goddamn ring... If he told me before, it would have been completely different. But now it’s too late...“

“It’s a bit like me and Kieran,” Winter sighed, “we know they’re bad for us but we can’t say no, can we?”

“That goes to all men on this planet, I’m starting to realise.” Olga grumbled in response.

I heard the pitter-patter of their feet nearing the shower cubicles and I prayed that they chose the ones on the other side, which luckily they did. When I heard the water running and their muffled giggles and conversation, I tiptoed out of my cubicle and around the little, three-quarter-height partition wall, back into the locker room.

As I was getting dressed, trying not to make a sound, I wondered if Olga had been talking about that box-fit instructor or just someone else off her presumably endless list of lovers.

I noticed that only one shower was running, while they were  giggling loudly and made jokes about dropping the soap and how dirty and sweaty they felt.

“That feels nice,” I heard Winter moan with pleasure after a few minutes. Damn. Seriously? Get a fucking room, bitches! “No, not here! Olgaaaa!” Winter protested loudly with a twinge of amusement in her voice, making it sound more like an encouragement than disapproval.

I had to see what was going on. It was too tempting, too easy. I only had to step up on the bench and peek over the low partition wall.

Holy fuck. In the thick fog of flower scented steam, I saw Winter’s divine shape pinned against the white-tiled cubicle. She was facing the wall, her cheek pressed against the moist tiles with her face turned away from me. Olga had a firm grip on her wrists behind her back with her shoulder and full body weight pressed against Winter’s immobilised torso. Olga’s left knee and right hand was between the other girl’s legs.

“Let me go!” the pretty blonde whined through ragged breath. Olga pressed her harder against the smooth tiles and was moving her right hand to the slow rhythm of the cascading water.

I, well all three of us could have been caught so easily by anyone coming into the changing room. Luckily with all morning classes finished and being around 1pm, most people were having lunch and not lesbian sex in gym changing room shower, or perving watching them.

I couldn’t get enough of that steamy scene, but my calf muscles were beginning to stiffen, standing on my tiptoes on the bench. I wanted nothing more than joining in the fun by pulling off the shower head, telling Olga to hold the naughty little slut down for me and douche her sweet little pussy with hot and cold shower...Water cascading down her cute little folds, ‘till she’s begging me to stop, goose bumps covering her delicate skin, shivering under the cold water. But I’d tell her, “No pain, no gain,” and would perk up her cute little breasts too with the icy water. Then tossing the shower head on the floor, I’d suckle those rock hard nipples while Olga gave her a forced orgasm like she was doing, Winter breathing her soul into the magnolia scented steam.

Fuck! I’ve gone quite a stretch from innocent curiosity. I really needed to get out of there and fast, before...

I walked out of the locker room, through the main hall and into the car park on autopilot. My head was spinning, not quite sure what to do with those images and the hard realisation just how wrong I was about her.

I sat in my car staring at the steering wheel, for God knows how long. At one point I contemplated texting Kieran, letting him know that his new dream-girl was cheating on him, but why would I have done that? And there was more than a slight chance he already knew. Let’s just say he wasn’t really a monogamist either. Did he also know that Winter was a submissive who liked a bit of rough play in the shower? And damn, that just made me want her more, too.

What do I do with this mess now? I’ve kept asking myself. It wasn’t curiosity anymore, it wasn’t jealousy either. It was becoming an obsession. The next few days, weeks, I completely gave up looking for a job. I spent every minute trying to get more information about her, things she liked, places she hung out at and I used all that information to get closer to her until we became friends. The next step was trying to figure out how to seduce her.

I didn’t have the irresistibly handsome face and charm like Kieran and I most definitely didn’t have Olga’s sculptured body. But I started to realise that those weren’t necessary the qualities she was looking for.

What can I give you, dear Winter that you can’t resist? I wondered every night tossing and turning in my bed, alone.

***

My ex-girlfriend, Michelle – whom I still occasionally slept with - gave me the answer to that question. I called her in desperation one night to meet up, but all she wanted to know was what kind of ‘epic’ party will I be holding for my 30th birthday. In my Winter-induced coma, I completely forgot that my ‘big one’ was coming up in a few weeks’ time, to mark the official end of my crazy youth.

“Have a look on Groupon,” Michelle suggested. “But I won’t accept anything worse than a trip to Ibiza,” she added laughing. Her thirtieth was two years ago but she was still quite the party pants. Her attitude gave me hope that life doesn’t end on the other side of that dreaded number.

Being well into November it wasn’t going to be Ibiza of course, but I did look at the travel section of the coupon website as she suggested. There, I saw an offer for a NYE boat party. I suddenly knew what I wanted to do.

Not only was it going to be a party everyone will remember but with this extravagant bash, I was hoping to charm the pants off the current girlfriend of my ex-boyfriend. I loved the sound of that, so dirty. Kieran would have been so proud of me. Except...

***

The Edwardian was, ‘the epitome of British style. Outfitted to exacting standards with no expense spared in interior design and furnishing. A luxurious venue for smaller events, offering breath-taking views from her upper deck.’

Booking her, with catering included, has set me back by nearly two grand. Having been out of work for nearly four months, I simply couldn’t afford it. My parents were no doubt rolling in their grave seeing me dip into my inheritance money. Sorry Mams and Papa, I’m only thirty once! I sighed as I completed the booking online. Miraculously by that time I already had a job offer too, which was nothing amazing, but I knew will cover the bills, until I’ll find something better.

But, just imagine, all of this trouble, all of this money and she might not even show up, my pessimist alter ego was snickering inside me. I threatened to put my foot into her party pooper mouth and assured her that I had a back up plan.

My black up plan was the DJ, who was an ex-boyfriend of mine. (At least I saved money on that.) We dated in my early twenties and he had a very impressive kit, both to use in the bedroom and as in mobile DJ equipment. He offered to do my party for a ‘Bj and a g of c’. “You haven’t changed one bit,” I laughed into the phone when he told me that. “That is a very reasonable rate.”

***

But Winter did show up and oh-my-god, did she look fab. At the gym I never saw her with make up on and the smoky eyes and dark lipstick she was wearing now made her look irresistible. It was far from the goody-two-shoes image she first fooled me with.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” I greeted her as soon as she walked on board.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she beamed. “I love boat parties.” She went on telling me about the one I’ve seen plenty of pictures of on her Insta. I was nodding along like the Churchill dog, remembering her luscious legs peeking out under that little sparkly black dress on the photos. Not that her current off shoulder ruched cream cocktail dress was anything less heart stopping.

I led her to the long buffet table with the drinks. “I can mix some mean cocktails,” I offered with a suggestive pout. I knew that she loved them, because there wasn’t a party picture of her online where she didn’t have one in her hand. I worked in a bar in my youth, so I was quite decent at pouring them.

“Hit me,” she looked at me with a quizzical glint in her Blue Lagoon eyes.

“Do you like Slippery Nipples?” I asked as straight faced as possible fighting a losing battle not to think of her soapy wet nipples in the shower a few weeks earlier. I swear, I didn’t choose that cocktail for the connotative name, but because the last time I’ve made them for a group of friends, we got really drunk, really fast.

“I’m not sure what they are,” she said all innocently, fooling me yet again. “But I’d love to find out” she added with a thrill in her voice that made me question whether we were still talking cocktails, I was hoping not.

I layered grenadine, Sambuca and Bailey’s carefully into two shot glasses, using the back of a teaspoon. She was watching me wide-eyed as I bent over the table quite un-ladylike in my faux snake skin spanx. In my defence, by then I was already after a few glasses of bubbly and bucket-loads of Tequila Sunrise, which was Michelle’s party drink.

We gulped down the masterpieces, which she found delicious. I quickly cooked up two more. “Nipples come in pairs,” I said with a goofy grin.

To chase those down, I suggested something longer. I mixed two more Tequila Sunrises and I took her to the dance floor to introduce her to my friends – just as someone from my yoga class. No one knew the truth. Michelle probably thought, she was my next girlfriend to be and Tia was just constantly rolling her eyes at me. She still didn’t believe me, when I told her after Kieran that I was finished with men. “Just a phase,” she kept telling me. Neither of them, or any of my other twenty friends knew, who she really was and that this whole lavish scene was for her.

You always show your best colours when you’re trying to get someone to like you. I was trying to show Winter Hadfield, who was so clearly out of my league, that she wasn’t; I was just as sophisticated, just as outlandish as she was.

I was like Monica in Friends when she discovers that the girl, who has stolen her credit card is using it to spend on all these extravagant things. I wanted Winter’s life, but more than anything, I wanted her.

I pulled her away from the dance floor. By this time, we were sailing towards our final destination, which was Tower Bridge. The Edwardian was swimming in a flood of bright lights on the Thames, it was truly breathtaking. I took some selfies with her in that beautiful background. When she pulled her own phone out to snap some too, I pulled away, telling her, I’ll send her mine. I couldn’t risk her showing them to Kieran.

“Want to see the cabins?” I asked her heading down the stairs.

“Sure,” she replied with a smile that left me guessing whether she knew my true intentions. I took her to the best one, the only one that was at the front of the ship with a roof window onto the stars above. She was mesmerised by the view and the pristine white nautical decor. The dance floor was just above us and the thumping bass filtered down sounding like the rhythm of my own flurried heart. My body was rocking back and forth mimicking a dance.

“I’m a bit drunk,” I admitted with a grin. My head was spinning and the rocking of the boat, the music and her standing so close made it worse. “I’m not sure I can take responsibility for my actions any longer,” I whispered reaching out for her arms, pulling her closer for a gentle kiss on her lips.

Her smile told me she knew of my plans even before setting foot on board. “You can blame the alcohol all you want...” She shook her head in slight annoyance. “You think I didn’t notice the way you look at me at the gym?” She kissed me back briefly with the same soft peck on the lips. “By the way, Olga noticed too,” she added with her brows furrowed.

I wondered whether she will ask me, why Olga wasn’t invited or simply tell me, they were together and I had no chance with her, even possibly admit that she had a boyfriend. None of those were very promising, and I was terrified of her next words. But she didn’t say anything; she just stood there waiting for something. Was she waiting for me to kiss her again?

“You’re cute,” she laughed. I am not cute! No one ever called me that! “And very naughty,” she added. “Just like me. And I like it.” Now she was talking my language. Naughty? Yes, guilty.

Since we were talking naughty... “I have a confession to make...” I said looking into her eyes. It was foolish, possibly even suicidal, but let’s blame the alcohol and the fact that I just couldn’t get that scene out of my head. She looked at me with huge, anxious anime-character eyes.

“A few weeks ago, I saw you and Olga in the shower.” There it was, no turning back. I had officially made a fool and a perv of myself.

“Did you like it?” she asked simply. I nodded, unable to say a word.

“What did you like about it most?” Her question made it sound as if we were talking about a painting in an art gallery. And she was calling me naughty.

“The way she pinned you against the wall and made you cum,” I said with absolutely no filter left. Her lips curved into a huge smile, which she tried to hide – unsuccessfully - by lifting her glass to her mouth. She took a few sips, giving me enough time to compose myself, turn the tables and straighten out the roles. She swallowed hard, eyes lost in a dream as she purred, “Mmmm yeah... She’s quite good.”

“Is that what you like, being held down and forced to cum?” I asked her taking away her drink and placing it on the nightstand, letting her know, who was running the show here.

Now it was her time to nod quietly, she even lowered her eyes. I lifted her chin up and kissed her. This time it wasn’t a gentle sensual kiss; my lips attacked hers, forcing them open for my invading tongue. My lips were fierce and insistent, assertive and demanding.

I held her face between my hands, and I wasn’t done until her chest was rising and falling to the rhythm of my tongue tasting her, until she made sweet little pet-animal whimpers, completely losing control.

I still had my drink in my hand and I dipped my fingers into the sweet orange liquid then made her lick it off, wedging my knee between her legs.

Seconds later, I don’t know how, but we ended up on the floor. Whether she knelt down in front of me or I pushed her, no idea, but we were both kneeling on the floor facing each other in an unstoppable lash-down of kisses. Her dress also flew over her head with that miraculous invisible force, followed by her underwear.

I swept her blonde locks off her shoulder and started kissing the delicate skin on her neck and shoulders more and more forcefully, until her back arched over the bed. Her beautiful body looked as surreal as the melting pocket watches on Salvador Dali’s Persistence of Memory.

She was art, the most precious kind, and I had a set of tools and brushes to bring out her best colours. I reached into the nightstand for the ropes and blindfold I’d previously hidden. “Let’s take that kink of yours up a notch,” I teased, drawing a forever gentle line on her stomach with the soft cotton rope.

“Mmmm, let’s,” she purred. I helped her onto the spacious double bed. Without a bed board or anything solid or big enough to hook the rope around, I tied her wrists together, pulled the rope across the bed under the mattress and finally with the same length, I bound her ankles too.

“Goodbye, sweet Winter,” I teased, covering her eyes with the mask. “Enjoy the ride.”

She had no idea that I had a whole arsenal of toys in the bedside drawer: nipple clamps, a rabbit, a bullet, a wand. And I planned to use all of that on her... Until she sobbed and begged me to let her cum, and a bit later sobbing and begging again, telling me to stop.

When she emerged from under the mask, she was a different person, she was truly, utterly spent. I admired her from a wicker chair wearing a pleased smile. She was lying on her side, still naked on the bed sipping the last few drops of her drink. Then out of the blue she announced that she also had a confession to make.

I briefly wondered, what it could be but mostly wanted to get upstairs for more drinks and continue where we left off, because as far as I was considered, we weren’t finished.

“I know who you are.” Her words were like the hardest lash of a whip I ever experienced combined with a bucket of ice water. She seemed to enjoy the shock having waves of a thunderous storm on my face. And she wasn’t finished. “And he knows what’s you’re doing.”

I looked around looking for cameras. He knows what you’re doing.

“It’s nothing like that,” I mumbled trying to explain something that couldn’t be explained. “Yes, it started like that... But now, now it has nothing to do with him anymore.”

She smirked, having a splash in the paddling pool of my embarrassment. Then she narrowed her eyes, her gaze falling into the depths of me. “I can only see you with his permission,” she said. “And next time he wants to watch.” Then she showed me a note on her phone.

It said, Hello, stranger. I dunno what the hell you were thinking but you’re definitely messing with the wrong girlfriend of the wrong guy. I assume she told you the conditions for this little affair of yours’. And I know you will say yes, because what is the quote you loved so much? It’s a non zero sum game, baby.

Fuck. Not only was I beaten in my own damn game, but he had the audacity to use my favourite quote from my favourite movie to deliver the killer last blow. Damn, Kieran Lawrence, you are goood.