Ah, Lynda.
Lynda, Lynda, Lynda, you and those long, luscious legs of yours should have been registered as lethal weapons. Point in hand, so should the rest of your outstanding body. From the smoothness of your skin to that inviting smile, those mountainous breasts that so many would love to clamber over, to those mischievous, yet mysterious, eyes.
As far as I could tell, Lynda was perhaps one of the original internet models, predating the likes of Only Fans by, well, who really cares now? This was quite a few years ago now, ten or more if I recall, and names have been changed to protect the incredibly guilty. Suffice to say, Lynda was a queen of glamour making her money by enticing men to join her website full of pictures of herself in various expensive outfits.
There was always a theme of being well dressed, as if she was off to work in a high end bank where the walls were no doubt covered in expensive dark wood panels where grandfather clocks could be heard ticking the seconds away. And that was just her casual wear. Other shots would have this beautiful goddess of a thirty something in outfits clearly meant for a fancy day out sipping champagne at the races, and probably stealing a lot of attention from the husbands of more conservatively dressed, jealous wives.
Other sets she wore less, exposing her lingerie to some degree, often in what appeared to be in expensive hotels, private residents, stately homes and what might have been the houses of parliament! The photoshoots would get more and more revealing, going from teasing to flashing, from stripping to dancing. She'd even post videos of herself dancing slowly in whatever outfit she had chosen, always something tight yet loose enough to let her grind her body slowly against the air as if were the form on an invisible lover.
And of course there was the obligatory sex video, everything from obligatory blowjobs, to tit fucking, to being spanked and her skirt (often leather) hoisted right up over her hips while some lucky bastard got to slide into her pussy, doggy style and make her moan and growl like a dog in heat! And she always took a hot load of cum in whatever hole was fucked.
Suffice to say, there was always a good reason to cum back to Lynda's site.
Then it got even better.
She started running a lottery for one lucky fan to spend a day with her. Tickets were a mere £1000 a head.
Are you hearing alarm bells already? I certainly was. £1000 is still a fair amount of money to spend on anything, even in an economic crisis. Especially in an economic crisis. But this was years ago and at the time, things seemed... a bit more stable in certain regards.
The prize was to spend a day at Lynda's home, from 10am till 10pm, she would dress for the occasion as per the winners own request of what she had available in her wardrobe, and we would be treated to a tour of her home, including her wardrobe.
Reading between the lines I had to wonder just how many winners there might be in this lottery of hers, it was supposedly ran once a month with payment made via her site, but could there perhaps be more frequent 'winners' I wondered? Could she entertain a different winner each day for however long she could get away with it? Assuming she took the weekends off at least, she'd be looking at around £20,000 a month in extra income!
Or was it just a case of Lynda finding a genius way to part numerous fools from their money and have to do anything at all with any of us?
Still, as pricey as it was, it seemed to be the best way to at least get to meet her in person. I made my decision and a week later, I got an email advising me I had won, but owing to Lynda's busy schedule she only had one free day coming up the very next week. It also stated for legal reasons I needed to sign a waiver and NDA to never discuss the win or the events of the day. A bit odd I thought, but it did almost confirm some of my suspicions, and I sent off my agreement.
The glorious day came, I pulled into the large driveway and parked near a sporty, dark blue convertible, it's plates were only a couple of years old, and took in the surroundings. The house was large, a mix of modern styles with some village sheik to it. It might have been an older building with some conversions and upgrades, or a new build with faux age parts added on. I didn't get much chance to admire it longer as the front door almost immediately opened and out stepped Lynda.
She was dressed to impressed indeed. As requested she wore a short, form fitting leather skirt that stopped about two inches above her knees, while she wore a navy blue blazer, buttoned up with no hint of anything on underneath allowing a fantastic view, even from this distance, of her cleavage which could have caused car crashes if she'd went hitchhiking. Her slender legs were made to order, dark shinny stockings covered with an additional layer of fishnets stockings on top. Her hair looked freshly pampered, almost certainly dyed a few days ago giving how brightly her peroxide blonde curls caught the sun, and she looked at me through the narrow reading glasses I had also requested her to wear.
She was made to measure in every way I had requested. At least that I could see on the outside, bar her wedding ring which understandable she was never going to remove. She wore high heels of her own choice, the one thing I had told her to surprise me with, but these were only a couple of inches. That said she was a tall woman, at 5'10 even in flat shoes she seemed to have longer legs then most women I've met who were taller then Lynda. She looked a little older in person then she did in her pictures. She'd been somewhere in her thirties when she'd started, and that had been at least ten years before this meeting. But she still looked like one of the most beautiful woman that had ever graced the earth with so much as a blink of her eyes.
"Good morning," she cheerily welcomed me as I made my approach. "How did you find it? Easily enough?"
"The sat nav played some games," I smiled back. "But it still got me here on time." No sooner was I at her door then she stepped down and planted a light kiss on my cheek, it was enough to make me feel the sparks of desire eve stronger.
God, I was actually going to do it!
With her!
With Lynda!
In her own house!
"So, where would you like to begin?" she asked as we stepped through her porch and inside the main home. The insides were massive, as if someone had hollowed out the house to make a statement. As I craned my neck to take it all in I could see hints of there having once been a floor above us, but now there was a large, expensive looking chandelier above us, topped off with god only knew how many tiny little light bulbs. Replacing them all must have been a chore.
"I see you've had some work done on the place," I said, glancing back to Lynda who smiled back, apparently appreciating my observation. "It looks lovely," I added.
"Hmm, it does feel good to be looking up at that when I'm relaxing," she said as she locked the front door, leaving the key in. "Would you like to see the kitchen?"
"Why not?" She lead me to a narrow archway, it could have had a door installed if she'd wanted it, but it would have only made it harder to get through. As Lynda went first, her arms almost touched the sides, but I got to admire the sway of her hips and the way she crossed her legs like a catwalk model as she made her way towards the kitchen.
"What one word would you give this kitchen if you had to describe it?" It looked like it belonged in the countryside, maybe a hundred years or so ago. There were light brown cupboards with dark black marble tops all along the outsides, with a sturdy looking table in the middle. It was scarred from decades of use. But I recognised it from some of her shoots and one of her videos. It was an exceptionally sturdy table.
