Jen smoothed her immaculately pressed skirt and glanced at the living room mirror one last time before answering the knock on the door. She gave the reflection a slight nod - classic with a risque edge. The blood red bra was just visible through her cream blouse, and the new heels elongated and slimmed her calves. For a woman in her late thirties, she looked good and she knew it. Smiling warmly, she opened the door.
"Dan, wonderful to see you," she enthused, resting her hands lightly on the shoulders of the gentleman at the threshold and balancing on tip toe to air kiss either cheek. His hand gave her waist a quick playful squeeze - cheeky, but typical of him.
Stepping back, she appraised the man with careful scrutiny. The suit, though clearly off the peg, emphasised his broad shoulders. With his long hair twisted in a man bun and open necked shirt, he gave off an aura of both smart and comfortable. Having known him for a couple of years, she was pleased with the effort he had made tonight. Not that she had expected him to go out of his way to please her. Tonight wasn't about the two of them.
Their friendship - very much limited in the scope of its environment - was only important inasmuch as she knew that when she needed an assistant, he would be obliging. And obliging was really all she knew or, for that matter, expected. He had the skill and knowledge though she doubted any experience in this setting. In fact it might be good, for her purposes, if he was a bit... unpredictable.
The tension in his jaw betrayed some nerves as he smiled back at her. Strike one against his professionalism, but she couldn't really blame him. He'd never claimed to be a professional. He was just a guy with a set of mutual interests, and an appreciative gaze that raked her figure up and down. The smile widened, his focus lingering on her shapely legs.
She let him look; she wasn't ashamed. His mouth twitched at the effort to resist licking his lips. But he made no move as his eyes leisurely tracked up, then blatantly fixed on her ample cleavage. By the time he finally reached her eyes, the glint had become a fire. She smirked. Well, he certainly knew how to make a woman feel the weight of his stare.
He cleared his throat before speaking, his voice dripping with mischievous anticipation. "You look exquisite, as always..." His broad smile faltered as he struggled for what to call her. "Er..."
She waved a hand to indicate he should come in. "Jen is fine," she reassured him.
"Jen," he confirmed. His shoulders relaxed as he stepped through the door. The nervousness dissipated quickly, replaced by the confident man she knew from her club. Confidence had never been his problem. He was a typical, experienced kinkster willing to pay for play. If she had to guess, this was probably the first time he wasn't the one reaching into his wallet.
"Once we're in the back room, please call me Mistress Jen or Ma'am," she explained. "But out here, I prefer to keep things less formal. This is my home after all."
His smile and nod sufficed as an acknowledgment, and she led him down the hall with an extra sway in her hips. The high heels assisted her walk. In the glass from the landscape picture in the hallway, she saw the reflection of his expression - focus locked on her derriere. Grinning, she rocked her hips a little more, letting her skirt ride up to reveal the top of her stockings. She may have no intention of a contact session with him today - or ever - but she did so love the effect feminine subtleties could have on a man.
He stopped and briefly closed his eyes before shaking his head and continuing. It was everything she could do not to chuckle under her breath.
"Thank you for agreeing to help me out today," she said lightly, continuing through the suburban house. Not one for clutter, she kept her home immaculate, a little devoid of character but she liked the simplicity of minimalism. This was her calm sanctuary, with no indication of her professional life.
She paused to look over her shoulder and his eyes snapped up quickly, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He raised an eyebrow in question, trying - unsuccessfully - to look nonchalant.
"I can only test them so far on my own, so thank you for your assistance," she continued, her eyes dancing with thrill at the power she had over him. She didn't even have to try.
"It's no problem," he stuttered. "Anything you ask, um, really... I'm happy to help."
His eyes widened as the overhead light turned her blouse translucent. Then, as if suddenly realizing he was the player who'd been played, his features relaxed and he smirked as they shared a look of understanding. Jen hadn't dressed without thought. The light, that blouse, the bra - without words he acknowledged what a tease she was and how it was successfully driving him crazy.
Playing along, she slowly blinked back, the picture of innocence. The air around them filled with energy. A stand off between equals - each well versed in the tricks and skills to make another person want to relinquish power.
He broke the spell with a chuckle and a shake of his head. "Two of them you said on the phone?" The smirk came through in his tone.
She chastised herself as her confidence slipped for a moment. She hated having to admit she actually needed his help. "They're almost ready for the club," she explained. "But there is only so much I can do to let them experience what a client will be like." Meeting his eyes, she slowly ran a hand down her body, letting it loiter on her hip and pushed her shoulders back a little. Her eyes narrowed as the power balance shifted again - this time in her favour.
Transfixed by her body, his lips parted in silent exhalation.
"I'm only a small woman," she emphasised. "You men do tend to hit harder."
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, distracted by the power of her more physically fragile sex as he followed her into the conservatory. She took her time, at a leisurely pace. It was satisfying to make him squirm, even if a quick glance at his groin gave nothing away.
The conservatory was bathed in warm, low lighting. Glass encompassed three sides, all uncovered, drawing the garden in. Outside, the evening darkness was accented by brightly coloured fairy lights. Trance-like, Dan stepped to the window, admiring the view.
"We're not overlooked," she reassured. "I try to avoid blinds to make the room feel more spacious."
"It is lovely," he admitted, clearly impressed. "Did you do it all?"
"Me?" She laughed. "No, of course not. What are slaves for, if not a little interior and exterior decorating?"
Suddenly, he caught sight of the neat display of every conceivable implement and toy - and a few not conceivable. Even more impressed, he laughed lightly and moved in for a closer inspection of the tools of her trade.
"So... Where's the... Test subjects?" he asked distractedly.
"Can I get you a drink?" she offered, ignoring the sexual frustration in his tone and taking a seat on a high backed velvet covered chair. When he finally glanced back, she waved at the chaise lounge opposite.
"That would be lovely," he agreed. "Black Russian, please."
She chuckled as his fingertips caressed the spanking bench like an old, familiar lover. "Patience is a virtue," she reminded him as the magnificent oak St. Andrew's Cross caught his attention and he gasped as he approached it.
She let him admire her collection for a few minutes. This was his first time in her home and she had expected a certain amount of overwhelmed distraction. Once he got it out of his system, she hoped he'd be able to focus.
