Short Christmas Story

Spice up your Life

I moved slightly over as he pushed his body up against mine

I’d seen him a few weeks before — we had a mutual friend. It was then he’d caught my eye — his were dark and brooding. Tonight I chose to sit next to him. Someone began to place the drinks on our large table and we all took our respective tipple.

I felt a little dazed as I could smell him. Not an aftershave or cologne, him. I could smell his body, his sex, his love of life and women. My heart involuntarily beat faster.

I quickly took a glimpse. He had one or two buttons undone on his shirt, and a light splattering of dark chest hair peeped through. Yeah, he was sexy alright.

Cat pushed in beside me, catapulting me back to reality.

“Budge up,” she mewed, elbowing me as she shimmied along the wooden bench.

He began to talk to the overly made up woman opposite us. She was older than me, and let’s be frank, more used. I didn’t fear her power — I could smell him.

The conversation was buoyant with all in the group trying to share their opinion. Turning to me, he asked,

“It’s warm in here, isn’t it?”

Perhaps he could tell I was a slightly flushed — because he was near.

I smiled at him and replied,

“A little — I have felt hotter though,” trying to sound blasé.

Under the table, his hand landed confidently on my knee, working its way slowly upwards. All the while continuing a conversation with the woman opposite.

My core contracted while my breathing quickened.

She got up to visit the toilet.

Taking a moment to calm myself, I inhaled and stated, “You like her,” with a mocking side glance at him.

As his hand continued to caress my thigh, he simply smirked, looking me straight in the eye.

Cat asked if I fancied a game of pool. We got up to play and during the whole match; I felt his eyes busying themselves with me. Literally boring a hole. I didn’t doubt his x-rated vision could see right through to my skimpy cream lace knickers. As I leaned down to play a shot, I saw him at the end of the cue — a bullseye, staring at my lowered cleavage.

After the game, I went to the bar. It was very crowded, so I waited to be served. Then I smelled him. I moved slightly over as he pushed his body up against mine. I could feel him breathing on the back of my neck, and the hardness of his torso pressed next to me in the crowd — but still, I kept my position at the bar.

Very quietly, but distinctly, he whispered in my ear,

“You should keep away from me. I want you, I need to tie you up, whip and fuck you.”

He placed his hand palm down on my left hip, right near my pubis, and dug his nails in hard.

The bar lady smiled and asked,

“What can I get you?”

I gulped and told her, “A large glass of house red and…” I turned to him — “what do you want to drink?”

Out loud and proud, he answered,

“You.”

The jukebox was playing last year’s Christmas number one by the Spice Girls, drowning out his reply, so the barmaid repeated my query. He answered,

“Oh… whisky with ice, please.”

I turned to face him and we sipped our drinks, intently focused on each other.

“You don’t frighten me,” I mouthed over the music.

I looked at his hand holding the glass of whisky. Strong, nimble fingers. How I wanted their touch.

I continued, “I actually want you to tie me up” — the mere thought of it was making me wet.

Without hesitation, he leaned forward, brushing his mouth against mine. His tongue resting momentarily against my lips. At the same time his palm twisted in front of him and felt between my thighs— pushing a finger into the warm, fragrant gap between my corduroy jean-clad thighs — he rubbed. My head reclined slightly and mouth opened.

Bringing his hand up towards his nose, he visibly sniffed his fingertips. Then looking down, he put one to his lips, and slowly and deliberately licked it — his eyes locked on mine.

I took a moment to catch my breath before I stood in repose.

Taking my head into his hands, he leaned forward and once more whispered huskily into my ear,

“You are not ready for me yet.”

All of a sudden the music from the jukebox was terminated — the din of voices, laughter, clinking of glasses and bottles filled the air. The Christmas tree and pub lights were dimmed as the stage in the corner of the pub lit up.

A hand landed on his shoulder and a voice said,

“Come on Rik, grab your guitar. We’re up next.”

More from May …

Another Festive tale by Kiki Wellington