Jennifer couldn't quite believe she was going through with it.
She had promised friends and family that she would make an effort to get back into the dating scene. Her now ex-husband simply hadn't come home one night, leaving her for his "Administration Assistant", (maintaining that she wasn't his secretary, as if it mattered). Apart from having to take some time and space to come to terms with the fact shed managed to marry a knobhead, she had been caught up in the singlehanded admin of family life. Ensuring her two sons were fed, watered, and in the right place with the right things at the right time (so far as was possible), whilst also working long hours to ensure they could all stay afloat, took nearly all her time and all of her energy. The daily grind was exhausting and not at all conducive to the desire, or means, to find someone new.
Recently, however, when Jennifer's thoughts had wandered, she found them wandering to novel, often quite lewd, places. She hadn't felt quite this sexual for a long time. It was pleasant, definitely, but also oddly nostalgic. Whether it was the kids getting older and needing less attention, or the pain of being dumped so cruelly for a replacement model fading, the desire to be desired was something Jennifer found herself craving more often. On the rare occasion that she had the house to herself, and wasn't exhausted, she had been taking advantage with some hard-earned me time. It felt even better than she remembered, and she wondered why she'd ever stopped.
Jennifer had always enjoyed sex, and she thought that her and Steve had a good sex life. He never seemed to complain. Jennifer was svelte and toned, and whilst two children and nearly two decades had meant her body looked different to her twenties, she remained stunning. Mid-length blonde hair framed a classically beautiful face, her petite frame carried larger breasts than she would have liked, but few men would have complained. Her waist was still narrow and gave way to hips that begged to be held for dancing close. Her legs seemed to go on for miles, making her look tall despite her smaller stature.
She was genuinely unaware of her arresting attractiveness. She compared herself, with a total lack of empathy, to how she looked in her twenties when she had the time to both work out and relax as much as she wished. Her body had indeed changed but what it lost in youthfulness it had gained in a confident elegant poise that captured the attention, and held it.
One evening, on one of those rare occasions where the time, energy and space to explore her own desires overlapped, she'd found herself disappearing down something of a rabbit hole. She'd always had a thing for BDSM. Not the cross German leather-wearing dominatrix kind, nor the supine big-eyed "yes daddy, no daddy" kind, though each to their own, no, she just found the mind games associated with power exchange a huge turn on, and always had. It didn't really matter to her who was in charge, as long as someone was it gave sex an exciting and creative twist.
As her creativity and curiosity overtook her ability to find any real satisfaction alone, she found herself in a conversation on a BDSM-themed dating site. Her match seemed nice enough, and she figured if anything was going to come of anything she had to cross the bridge from fantasy to reality sooner or later. In her aroused state she made the out-of-character decision to share a picture of herself. Nothing too explicit, a demure shot in a pretty nightie, in which she, of course, looked devastating. She reasoned there was nothing to lose, as he would probably just ghost her (and instead chase any of the several hundred seemingly identical twenty-something hot-yet-somehow-angry-about-it crowd). No big loss, she figured.
He didn't ghost her though, on the contrary, he invited her on a 'date'. Of course Jennifer, and her match, had called it a date, but both knew this was absolutely nothing more than a hookup. The thought of raw and explicit casual sex gave rise to butterflies in Jennifer's stomach after years of predictable lovemaking and months of the absence of any romantic touch. This match shared her previously unvoiced interests, and, despite her nerves, she was keen to see where this new adventure might take her.
It was for that reason, on this Friday evening, with the kids at a sleepover and all responsibilities on hold for an almost twenty-four-hour period, Jennifer found herself walking nervously, but with building excitement, down the corridor towards Room 218. The hotel was reasonably upmarket, and the smartly decorated corridor was deserted. Her shoes noisily 'clip-clopped' on the polished floor, announcing her presence and, in her mind, broadcasting her intentions. She was wearing her favourite patent black stilettos that hurt to walk in but looked fabulous. She hadn't wanted, or indeed had the excuse, to wear shoes like this since her clubbing days, and there was a strong sense of pride that she had a reason to wear them again.
She arrived at the door, adjusted her coat, nervously swept her hair back, and then knocked. It opened a crack.
"Turn around."
The voice was deep, smooth and decidedly self-assured. She did as she was told, turning to face away from the door. She heard the door open fully.
"Don't turn around, walk backwards, slowly."
Once again she did as she was told, simultaneously nervous about what she was stepping in to and keen to get out of the hallway and the sight of potential witnesses to their game. One step, another, she entered the darkened hotel room, towards her unseen playmate, until the door was able to swing closed and lock with a soft "click" in front of her.
Jennifer and her 'date' had agreed to meet anonymously. In fact, her 'date' had suggested that full anonymity might add a little something to the encounter. Whilst he had seen her picture, she hadn't seen anything of him. She didn't even know his name, but at least they were even on that front. His screen name "MrSmith" told her nothing, though hers, "ShyMILF" may have said something about her. She did regret spending so little time over it, but figured it was technically correct.
If someone had suggested an anonymous hookup to Jennifer she would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it and politely, or less politely declined. It was only whilst in the heat of a moment of erotic self-exploration, whilst craving adventure, that she had started on the path to any sort of hookup. Frustrated at the recent lack of sexual contact, and excited by the possibilities of a kinky encounter, she had, against her better judgement, kept moving forward to a physical meeting. Whilst she thought full anonymity an odd suggestion, she didn't mind odd, and she figured the type of man suggesting such silliness might in fact be the type of man to provide the cerebral stimulation she craved.
The voice boomed out in the quiet room, interrupting her thoughts. "One more step. Now turn to your right, face the wall. Don't turn around."
The commands tripped easily off his tongue. She continued to do as she was told.
He stepped from the bathroom behind her, gently but firmly taking her wrists and securing each in a handcuff. He pulled her hair firmly from her face, whilst slipping a premium sleep mask over her eyes. The mask was comfortable but effective, blocking all light.
Jennifer took stock of her situation. In the space of a minute she'd lost both her autonomy and her sight. The cuffs felt snug on her wrists and, whilst comfortable, were clearly up to the task of preventing any escape. She was completely at the mercy of a totally unknown stranger. She found herself rapidly alternating between sheer terror, chastising herself for putting herself in such danger, and the heady rush of excitement at what was happening.
"First things first, you speak only when spoken to. I don't want to hear anything out of that pretty mouth unless I ask for it. Understand?" He spoke softly, firmly, and with absolute conviction that his directions would be followed. He was all business, for now at least.
She paused, making certain that he had in fact asked her to respond, enjoying that she had to think about it. His voice had a warm sound to it, relaxed and comfortable with authority. She couldn't place the accent, further adding to the mystique. She already felt it easy to comply with the commands issued from this unseen, unknown masculine presence.
"Yes Sir," she responded, continuing to struggle with her conflicting emotions. She hadn't uttered those words since her school days. They felt distinctly different now.
"Good. The exception to that rule is for safe words. We will use green, yellow and red. Green is ok, yellow is slow down or back off. If you say red I will stop immediately, do you understand?"
"Yes Sir," this time she was confident. Whilst her ability to think rationally was quickly being clouded by rising excitement, and indeed arousal, she reasoned she was less likely to be murdered by a man who took the time to discuss safe words before a scene.
"Now, tell me, what colour are you feeling right now?"
"Green, Sir." She wondered if she had answered too eagerly.
"Good then we can begin," he said with genuine warmth, "Can I assume you dressed appropriately?"
"Yes Sir."
He stepped closer to her, placing his hands on the shoulders of her stylish coat, and gently but firmly squeezing. His hands felt big and heavy on her petite frame. This first contact, the first time someone had touched her intimately for over a year, even if only on her shoulders and through clothing, sent a rush of endorphins coursing through Jennifer's body. His hands moved up her shoulders to the nape of her neck. She'd worn her hair up, as was his request, and as his fingers first brushed her naked skin she felt faint with pleasure. This was it, this was what she wanted. Now she wanted more.
