Chapter 2: Alex

Evan and I were six months separated but we lived together for almost two years prior to that. The initial attraction was mutual; we were both successful professionals in our late twenties with similar interests in food, music and movies. We are both considered more than moderately attractive and are rarely short of options in our choice of partners, but we had the good fortune to meet at a time when we were both in relationships that were circling the drain.

The mutual attraction and mutual interests led to a string of 'chance' meetings, which led to a date, which led to the swift despatch of our respective partners so that we could finally consummate our attraction in my bedroom.

I wouldn't describe our early sex life as electric, but to give Evan due credit, he was a most attentive lover who always ensured that I came; although far more often it was under the ministrations of his tongue than his cock. If a girl can possibly complain about coming every single time she had sex with her lover, then I suppose I am complaining. Even though I relished the sweet relief of climax with his tongue on my clitoris, I longed to share that moment with him inside me, arching and straining with my own crescendo as his cock throbbed deep within my womanhood and emptied his seed into my molten core.

Shortly after we moved in together, I was contemplating how to brooch the subject of a light bondage fantasy in which he could restrain me and take me with animal abandon, not worrying about my orgasm but trusting that the raw physicality of the moment would bring me through ... and if it didn't, well a smart girl always keeps a ready supply of batteries, right?

My plans had progressed so far as lingerie shopping, which was fun; to browsing bondage aids at the adult superstore, which was terrifying. My little bag of tricks included sheer red stockings with lace trim and matching garters and belt, no panties (I congratulated myself on the savings), and a red lace quarter-cup bra that lifted and separated my B-cup breasts but covered only the undersides, leaving my nipples deliciously free for his entertainment and mine.

With these things bagged and paid for at my favourite boutique, I entered and then circled the sex shop for more than an hour, finally proceeding to the counter with cheeks redder than my new lingerie and – clutched in my white-knuckled fist – a spreader bar; a lightweight rod about two feet long with thick velcro ankle straps at either end. I also eyed the handcuffs, but the metal ones looked too scary and the furry ones looked ridiculous, so I bypassed them altogether and chose to consolidate further practical savings by calling into service one or several of my own silk scarves to bind my wrists.

As I waited to pay for my new acquisition (cash, of course), I held my breath in silent terror of the clerk calling over a crackling PA system 'Kinks and Fetish to the register, kinks and fetish; I need a price check on a spreader, that's a price check on a K24 BondMaster leg-spreader, thank you Kinks and Fetish!' How a woman can buy tampons from a 15-year-old boy at the supermarket but baulk at showing her chosen sex aid to a fat middle-aged woman in a sex superstore beggars belief; but that was my reality.

On my way home on the train with my new purchase safely concealed in a nondescript bag, I looked around at my fellow passengers and tried to imagine what they would think if they knew the long package in my hands was a leg spreader. I admit that I found the thought titillating. Then of course, I wondered what they would do if I took it out and tried it on; hiking my charcoal pencil skirt up my thighs so that I could open my legs wide enough to strap myself in, exposing my lacy panties which at that moment would be showing a spreading stain that betrayed my arousal. I desperately wanted to reach down and touch myself, and it was a sweet agony to be helpless with my sexy thoughts, wriggling in my seat and squeezing my thighs together so that I could feel the lips of my pussy slide against each other.

Upon arriving home I almost ran to the bedroom to try on my purchases. I stripped naked and immediately plunged a finger into my open slit; the relief of finally being able to pleasure myself was like a physical weight being lifted. With considerable willpower I stopped myself from going further and withdrew to gently massage just the outer lips, still wanting to save myself for Evan. Enjoying the sensation of denying myself, I tried on the lingerie first, even though I longed to strap myself in to the spreader. With slow, deliberate movements, I sat naked on the bed and watched in the mirror as I pulled the ruby stockings over my shapely calves and up my trim thighs. As I stood to put on the garter belt, I could see the level of my arousal in the mirror; the smooth lips of my outer labia pink and engorged from the rubbing, while the deeper coral pink of my opening glistened with wet promise.