of hot wax.
‘Oh god, Jeremy … Are you sure?’
‘Very sure, sweetheart, you’ll love it. I’ve been thinking of this since we arrived. I want moulds of your gorgeous tits. Now lie still, I don’t want to miss.’ She takes deep breaths, no doubt attempting to control any nerves or anxiety. And now she waits. ‘Open your eyes for me.’
I love it when she follows my commands. It makes her that much more perfect for me. My intention was to do one nipple at a time, but I’m so ready to explode I pick up another candle, swivel it around to ensure it has the same level of liquid wax and decide to trust my medical precision to do both nipples at the same time. The look on Alexa’s face is priceless — apprehension, curiosity and excitement all at once.
‘Trust me, I’m a doctor.’ I wink at her as I position each candle high above her breasts. The suspense is killing her, which I love, so I wait a little longer to coincide with the chorus in the music. I ask her to calm her breathing because it’s moving her breasts too much, knowing full well she has a snowball’s chance in hell of doing anything about it. She groans loudly in frustrated excitement. I know she’d slap me at this point if she could. The time is right and I pour the silky hot wax on both nipples and she writhes and screams at the shock of it; I can only imagine the sensation, knowing how much more sensitive her nipples are than mine. But I also know the initial shock is worth the feeling and the pleasure that follows. I’m thrilled that she is experiencing this, knowing she’ll love it.
‘Ahhhh, god, Jeremy. That’s hot, so fucking hot. Fuck, fuck, fuck!’
Swearing, that’s unusual for her. She strains against her bound arms and her hips are bucking against mine as my weight pins her to the floor. And then the wax starts to cool against her delicate pink buds. I need to distract the tsunami building within my balls, so I carefully place the candles down, keeping one close by and I wait till her need for me inside her replaces the sensation of heat penetrating her nipples.
‘Fuck me, please, for god’s sake, Jeremy, fuck me, now!’
It would be rude to deny such a delicate, polite request.
I quickly raise my body and gently flip her over, lifting her gorgeous arse into me so she is positioned on her knees and elbows. I make sure I position my penis slowly and carefully into her moist vagina, allowing her surrounding cushioned flesh to feel full and tight around me. There is nowhere else on earth my cock would rather be.
‘Jeremy!’ Her patience is non-existent and she pants her frustration into the carpet, her swollen wax-capped nipples dangling in the air towards the rug below. Her body looks fucking sensational from this perspective. I pick up the candle by my side and pour a steady stream of the melted wax on to the top of her crack ensuring its predetermined path flows directly downwards. Her behind bucks and jolts with the shocking intensity of the sensation, and she releases an almighty scream as her vagina tenses around my cock causing tight, twisting exquisite pleasure as I explode into her. We lose ourselves in the magical connection of each other’s bodies and simultaneous orgasms rip through our muscles before she ultimately surrenders beneath me.
From the moment I laid eyes on her, I sensed she was the one for me, the connection to my heart and my soul. But we were too young, had so much of life to explore. I had to test the boundaries outside my feelings for Alexa, push her away before I understood how much she meant to me. The years flew by and my feelings grew deeper, more intense, my connection to her like the root structure of a majestic rainforest tree in fertile soil.
Part Two
Emotions occur precisely when adaptation is hindered for whatever reason.
— E. Claparède
Alexa
As I come to, my head hurts and my body feels heavy. I’m sitting up but my limbs are securely bound, restricting all movement. I am travelling smoothly through a crowd, people rushing in every direction. I can only see fast-moving legs and bodies and I have to look up to see into their faces which makes me dizzy.
I realise I’m strapped to a wheelchair. My heart pumps fast with adrenaline fuelling my fear as the clarity of this nightmare crystallises in my mind. I attempt to scream, only to discover it’s stifled, my mouth taped shut. I look down to see full-length black robes covering my clothes. I shake my head but my hair, nose and mouth are covered by the same material. Only my eyes are open to the outside world, one pair of petrified green eyes that can’t talk or scream; they can only gaze out towards the normality that surrounds them. Someone has dressed me in a burqa. I am horrified. It isn’t right to use religion in this way. No one can see that I am held captive under these garments. Amidst the bustling activity, I am completely incognito. I’m too low for people to discover the terror in my eyes and, anyway, they’re too focused on their own business to notice.
We glide through a security gate with barely a glance from the bored-looking female guard. I silently cry out to her as we pass, pleading with her to look directly into my eyes so she can detect something is fundamentally wrong. Efficiency and effectiveness triumphs over potential security delays as I am guided to the disabled access with a curt nod from a face lacking a smile. I try to struggle but can barely move as we continue our uninterrupted journey towards the platform and the awaiting train. I hear broadcasts in English and French announcing imminent departures. Oh god, they’re taking me out of the country. Jeremy’s tortured face flashes through my mind and a wave of nausea threatens to overcome me. I tell myself sternly that I will not be vomiting and, after a moment of psychological determination, I win the battle over my tumultuous stomach.
Reality slices through me like a machete. This is no game. This is exactly what Jeremy was afraid of during our last discussion on the beach at Avalon — his greatest fear realised. I have been abducted amidst of millions of people in London and it has been as easy as picking me up from the airport and wheeling me onto the Eurostar. No eyebrows raised, no questions asked. Simple and effective.
I am manoeuvred on the train and into a cabin. The person wheeling the chair leans over me, opens the front of my robes via a Velcro seam, unfastens the seat belt around my waist and frees my legs and wrists from their binds. Arms heave me up from my seated position and deposit me into a lounge-style chair. Before I can get a proper look at my captor, the person leaves the cabin, taking the wheelchair and closing the door behind them. I am left sitting alone in the small, neat cabin, although, thankfully, in my own clothes. My chair is next to a foldout table near the window with a tray of food and some bottled water. In the corner is a small cubicle with a toilet and basin. I immediately check the window but already know in my mind that the blind will be locked closed. I can’t see out and certainly no one can see in. I automatically check the door, which of course is locked. I feel more alert now and I bang against it in raging frustration. I sense we are pulling out of the station as I lurch a little on my already unstable legs. I can’t prevent the icy fear within my core. An uncontrollable trembling starts in the tips of my fingers before the feeling overcomes my entire shaking body and I collapse haphazardly back into the chair wondering what the hell is going to happen next.
My hand subconsciously grasps my bracelet, my fingers seeking the reassurance of the pink diamond chips and the Gaelic inscription against its otherwise smooth surface. Anam Cara — soul companion. I offer a silent prayer to Jeremy, to the universe.
Please, please let this bracelet work the way you said it would. Please be able to find me. I don’t know where I’m being taken or what they want with me, you never explained that in detail. Please let me be strong enough to survive whatever
