[NSFW inc. images]
With each molten droplet of wax that fell onto my naked, pale skin, I gasped. Every single drop made my toes crunch up a little more, made my back arch a little bit more, made my inhale of breath that little bit sharper and more urgent. I couldn’t work out if I loved it or hated it, the burning touches sending goosebumps erupting across my body, quickly making their way over my arms and legs, breasts, stomach, buttocks … It was as though every inch of me had been set alight by that one small single droplet of wax alone, with every surprising drop after throwing more fuel onto the fire.
It was the first time for us, playing with candles. My first time too. Well, with a partner anyway. In fact, it was a night filled with firsts – the first time I became aware of how sexy I found the red blotches on my skin, small burn-blemishes left over from the hot wax. And the first time I realised that tiny moment of pain was pleasure better than I ever could describe. And the first time I invited another person into one of my secret fantasies … one that I’d played around with a little by myself, but desperately craved to explore with someone else. The best part of it all? I didn’t even need to ask. He read my mind. Or my body language? I’m not sure.
When he picked up the candle that was sat just to the side of us, my eyes lit up. I think he saw my gleeful reaction, but I can’t be sure. He seems to understand me. He definitely seems to understand my body. I don’t know if he picked it up to play with it and me initially, or if he simply planned to move it to one side; he never gave his intentions away. They were definitely clear when he used one hand to slowly push me back on the bed, bringing the candle closer to us as he did so, though.
Without breaking eye contact and in what seemed to be slow motion, he tipped the candle over my naked torso, letting one drop at a time fall slowly onto my stomach, then my hip, then just under my breast, his eyes lighting up more with each little gasp that escaped my throat. It was slow. Slow and deliberate. As though he were savouring each drop that fell, trying to memorise each every one of them, along with my reactions to them.
I both loved and hated the pain, a twisted and confusing mix of needing it to stop and wanting more – much more – all at once. My body couldn’t understand what was happening, and, in turn, didn’t know what it wanted to do. One minute, backing away from the wax, yet arching back towards the heat of the candle – and him – the next. It was relentless. Disorientating. Constant. Drip. Drip. Drip. I often laugh when people tell me they experience something in slow motion, but that night, those droplets of wax, they all fell in slow motion. Every second that passed felt like an hour, my body stuck in limbo, craving the next hit.
He used one hand to hold the candle upright just above my stomach, as he dropped his head, first kissing my thighs, and then my hips, and then my groin. Everywhere but where I desperately wanted him to kiss. It was only a minute or so before his lips finally made contact with that sweet spot, but again, it felt like so much longer than that; and when he did, I made a noise I’d never heard myself make before. The torment had lasted no longer than fifteen or twenty minutes, but it felt like my arousal had been building for hours. I was wet, dripping wet. So wet, in fact, I could feel a trickle slowly making its way down, pooling right beneath me. A few drops of hot wax had turned me on quicker and more intensely than I ever could have believed, and definitely more than I ever could express with words. I’ve never felt anything like it. I’ve definitely never had a reaction like that when I’ve played with candles alone.
As he kissed and lapped at me softly, he would tip the candle every now and again, letting just one more drop of wax fall, and then another, until he could feel me getting closer and closer to that beautiful end we both knew would be mind-blowing. And it was mind-blowing, his hands directing the candle to release a trickle of wax, rather than solo droplets, as I plunged over the edge. There was something purely animal in the way I felt at that moment, about the noises that came out of my mouth and the way my hips forced themselves back against his mouth, releasing everything I had all over his tongue and in his mouth. There was something purely animal in his eyes too, as he drank every last drop I had to offer.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget that look in his eyes or that evil, twisted smile on his face. I don’t think I ever want to.