Lorna had reached the point of 'enough is enough'. She was sitting on the bathroom stool with her body covered in sweat, not from the rather mediocre climax she had just given herself, but from the effort she had put into trying to enjoy the sex that her husband had just inflicted on her. Derek was a good husband but an abominable lover. He just could not comprehend that filling her cunt with spunk did not automatically generate satisfaction in her, and as far as he was concerned the whole purpose of sex was to simply bring him to climax. He was not intentionally selfish, but just downright ignorant on matters sexual and apparently unwilling or unable to learn any different.
Now, at age thirty-nine and having been married for just short of sixteen years, Lorna took the decision that she needed a little sexual pampering herself. How exactly she was going to do it she wasn't sure, but she intended to find someone who would be prepared to give her satisfaction before considering their own. Yes, she agreed with her own conscience, it would be cheating on Derek, but he only had himself to blame and it was better than breaking up an otherwise good marriage. Ok, so that was a justification and she recognised it, but what the hell. She got up from the stool, flushed the toilet as camouflage and inspected herself in the bathroom mirror. She was not bad looking, even if she said so herself, her honey blonde hair was shoulder length and wavy, her features were just the right side of cute, and her lips were full and kissable. The only drawback she had, or believed that she had, was that she tended towards supermodel shape, with prominent hips, long slim legs and very small breasts. She was skinny and knew it. Even so, she was sure she could find a man somewhere who would have sex with her, and who would do it her way. What she was really looking for was a looking for a sex slave.
Her first stop along the highway to adultery (she accepted without qualms that what she was contemplating was adultery) was the internet. A night or two spent in quiet research directed her to adult-dating sites and had her heart hammering from excitement she realised she had found her goal. Another night or two spent hesitating and agonising under the pretence of phrasing a good advert, and she was ready to submit her profile.
Her advert was very simple. She described herself accurately as a very slim, tall, attractive thirty-something in need of satisfaction, and asked for a good-looking male in the age range twenty to forty-five who was prepared to let her call all the shots. She wrote that she wanted to "decide the order in which my bits are touched, and how it is done.' There would be, she explained, little or no participation from her side, she was only interested in men who would do as they were told and who were interested in her satisfaction rather than their own. She then included a bikini photo that had been retouched to hide her face and sat back to await the results - if any.
If any! Her email postbag was massive! When she first logged back in she was shocked to find that apparently about half the male population of all the surrounding towns had written. Surely there weren't that many potential slaves around.
She began the task of sorting the wheat from the chaff. First to go were all the replies without photographs on the grounds that if they weren't prepared to be seen, then they probably had something to hide. Out too went all the replies that promised her that the size of their cocks would guarantee her satisfaction and have her begging for more without the need for pampering. Then she rejected all replies from more than fifty miles away, laughing at the stupidity of men replying from other countries. Replies from eminently unsuitable people went as well, including no less than seven lesbians and a man of seventy-one. She admired optimism, but not that much.
By the time she had done she was left with just a handful of suitable replies, all of which she believed would be worth following up. She wrote back to these men asking how they expected things to go.
The follow up replies were very enlightening, especially one. That one was from a tall, dark, twenty-three year old named Matt, who had written that he was available to 'a lady who knows just what she wants, when she wants it, and how she wants it'. He had gone on to say that he was not what is normally thought of as a submissive, but loved being told what to do. His own pleasure was secondary as he gained much of his satisfaction from 'the sight of a woman lost in orgasm.' That, thought Lorna, is just what I need. The result was that just over a week later the two of them sat facing each other over coffee at a local café, chatting easily if a bit nervously.
"Yes, of course you can." Said Matt, abruptly changing the subject during a rare break in the flow of conversation.
"Of course I can what?" Lorna looked suitably confused.
"Decide the order."
"Order? Did you want another coffee?" She was obviously completely lost.
"Your advert!" Matt prompted smiling, then continuing when she still gazed at him perplexed. "The order for your bits!"
It still took a moment for the penny to drop, but then Lorna burst into laughter as she finally realised just what he was talking about.
"Ok, I get it, stop waffling and talk about what we're here for, yes?"
"Well, I was trying to be diplomatic." Matt was still smiling.
"Do you think we should get together? I mean, could you stand being with an older woman?" Lorna's face had taken a suddenly serious look.
"So thirty-nine is old is it? I must tell my sixty-three year old grandma that, I don't think she realises just how ancient she is!"
"Forty in a month's time, and don't be so sarcastic. I used to think forty was very old when I was your age."
"Sorry, Lorna, but it just sounds so ridiculous when a woman looking like you do refers to herself as old, I've seen that bikini pic, remember? You aren't old, and yes I most surely could stand being with you, as you so delicately put it. You look good enough to eat - and I will if you tell me to!"
"You're still being sarcastic, but I appreciate the compliment, for which I promise I was not fishing!" Lorna realised that, for all he might submit to sexual instruction Matt was certainly not a doormat!
"Alright, so where do you want to set the limits?" Lorna got down to business.
"Well, so long as you don't ask me to do anything unnatural, particularly painful, or illegal, I don't really have limits." Matt replied. "But I will add that if you try to take advantage or degrade me, I'll simply get up and go!"
"Ah, so we're using my place, are we, well so long as I know?"
"Now who's being sarcastic? Sorry Lorna, I'd just taken it for granted that you'd feel happier in your own surroundings."
"Sorry Matt, I would be, but it can't be done, my husband might object!"
"Ahh! Yep, I can see that, sorry again. Ok, my place it is then! So that leaves when?"
After a little more banter and consulting of diaries a date was set and the pair drank up and went their separate ways, each happily and rightly convinced that they had found a partner to whom they could relate and with whom they could be completely open. They parted feeling the excitement of anticipation.
...
On the appointed day and at the appointed time (well - actually three minutes early!) Lorna knocked on Matt's door, her anticipatory smile still in place. The door opened and Matt ushered her inside, leading the way to the living room where coffee was already brewed and waiting.
For a little while they drank coffee and made small talk, but that was really because neither one was sure just how to proceed. Eventually Matt took the bull by the horns.
"No second thoughts about what we're going to do, then?" He asked her.