I met her at a coffee introductory course. The types of specialty black gold that you hardly came across at cafes on busy streets, the intoxicating aroma and the sweet acidity that lingered in your mouth — it was the best atmosphere to fall in love with another kindred spirit.
She was beautiful. No other word to describe it: she had a classic and radiant kind of beauty.
We were free to walk around the main table with the handsome instructor. He was witty and evidently passionate about his work. I loved men who showed respect for their profession, but that night, my eyes were set on her.
I slowly maneuvered myself to be next to her.
She was a head taller than me; I was infatuated with how she loomed over me. I mentally debated what to say to her, when she suddenly turned to face me and commented, “It’s almost lemony, the acidity. I love it!”
“Mmm-hmm,” I mumbled as I beamed at her.
A twinkle in her eyes glimmered, and then deepened.
That sparkle — it was not innocent, if I knew anything at all.
Throughout the course, my mind wandered. With each cup that I tasted, I desired to learn about my new classmate, intimately, even more.
In a daze, the course was over.
“Great introduction, don’t you think?” she said as she gathered her bag.
“Yes. Very enjoyable,” I managed to say.
She offered me her hand as she said, “Ophelia. Nice meeting you.”
“Hi, I’m Gemma,” I replied in a tiny voice.
Her hand was warm and steady as she held my kid’s palm in hers.
“Normally I ask people out for coffee, but I think we’ve had enough coffee for one night, huh?” Her voice rang melodically in my ears.
I was tongue-tied, so I blinked and nodded.
Ophelia didn’t mind my shyness, it seemed.
She brought me to her favorite bar in a neighborhood I wasn’t familiar with. It was small and cozy. She watched me as I pretended to read the drinks menu. Would I sound too much of a nice-girl if I ordered a Margarita?
I glanced up at her.
“Tequila?” she asked simply.
After two shots, I felt her place her hand casually on my knee.
After four shots, she leaned over and teased by asking, “Have you ever kissed a girl before?”
“I only kiss girls,” I lied.
The same dark twinkle I saw earlier reappeared in her eyes. “Stupid me; and I wondered,” she whispered, and closed her lips over mine.
Wow was the only word that came to mind. Her lips and tongue made everything else vanish.
Ophelia pulled away briefly, and said, “My place is nearby. Coming?”
Her studio apartment was colorful and tidy. There was no sofa or bed, only a thick and luxurious carpet. We sat there comfortably and wasted no time in undressing each other.
My breasts were already swollen from wanting her. Her hands kneaded me expertly, pinching my nipples just a bit harder than I had imagined she would. Our bodies intertwined and rubbed against each other; our moans escalated into a synchronized frenzy.
She grunted and pushed herself down to my soaking pussy. She licked, swirled, parted my lips and ate me scrumptiously. I felt I might come in record time.
“Would you let me try something kinky?” she asked when I was about to explode.
“How the fuck can I say no now?”
She laughed heartily, got up to a cupboard next to her computer, and brought back a lighter and a box of long white candles: the typical ones you found in cathedrals.
Two fornicators of the same sex about to use church candles for abominable pleasures: I loved the irony.
“Have you played with wax before?” she asked.
“Nope. First timer. Be gentle,” I replied with a half-smile.
She lighted the candle, and held it far above my body. She rubbed my abdomen, and let a tiny drop drip onto me. I hardly felt anything.
Her eyes registered my reaction; she held the candle a bit lower and let another drop trickle onto me. A slight burning sensation, but it faded immediately. I liked it.
She saw my muscles flinch, and brought the candle two inches closer to my body. This time I felt it: pain-pleasure.
“Just like that, I think,” I suggested.
“Mmm-hmm,” her voice thick with lust, it was barely audible.
She let the melting paraffin draw a lazy path around my breasts until finally my nipples were covered.
The sharp pain translated into dizzying fever: every pore in my body was open, sensitive and begging for release.
Ophelia pushed two fingers in my waiting pussy; I clamped her in tight, I could come simply by envisioning her holding the long candle above me.
“I don’t, I can’t…” I moaned incoherently.
Her fingers worked harder, pumping me madly. She dripped the wax faster, more frequently down my belly, close to my heated furnace.
I bucked into her hand and threw my head back as I came, ebbs of ecstasy rippling in my body.
Sweat lined my temples and my neck. I lay exhausted and motionless.
My eyes slowly opened to the apparition with the dim light in her hand, smiling down at me.
I propped myself up, took the instrument of torture from her hand, and said, “Your turn.”
Bio of the author: Anna is a shameless romantic, lifelong bookworm, and chronic daydreamer. She writes erotic romances for the fiercely loyal at heart. Catch her typing naked at her blog: Anna Bayes.