Geaux Tigers The Book

This a work of fiction intended for adult audiences aged 18 and older. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

--This story contains explicit sexual content, including graphic descriptions of consensual BDSM practices, power dynamics, and themes of abduction fantasies within a controlled, consensual framework. It also explores mature themes such as sexual awakening, trust, and personal boundaries, which may be sensitive or triggering for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

--The depictions of BDSM and related activities in this work are fictional and intended for entertainment purposes. They should not be taken as a guide for real-life practices. Safe, sane, and consensual practices are essential in any exploration of BDSM, and readers are encouraged to seek proper education and resources if interested in such activities.

--The author and publisher do not endorse or condone non-consensual acts, illegal activities, or unsafe practices. All characters engaging in sexual activities are depicted as consenting adults over the age of 18.

--By reading this work, you acknowledge that you are of legal age in your jurisdiction to consume explicit content and that you are choosing to proceed at your own discretion.

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Prologue: The Whisper of Want

Henry and his wife of 25 years, Morgan, were in a rut.

They were both very successful type A personalities, Henry as a business consultant and Morgan as a corporate financial specialist and CPA. Their three kids were grown and the youngest just moved out to go to university. Their rut centered around their intimate lives, specifically, in the bedroom.

Henry and Morgan were an odd couple.

Henry was a conservative from Minnesota, raised in a traditional German ancestry Lutheran household. He'd played hockey in high school and, after graduation, began climbing corporate ladders of sports-associated clothing and footwear companies. His engaging, friendly personality and uncommon business smarts made him very successful. At 5 ft 11 in, 160 lbs, with graying hair, a short-cut beard, and a fit frame, he was a loving, doting father. About 10 years ago, he'd branched out as a business consultant, leveraging decades of corporate experience to help small businesses boost efficiency and profits. He was damn good at it.

Morgan on the other hand, was a hard-core liberal and feminist. She struggled to open up, even with Henry after all these years. At 52, Morgan wasn't a conventional beauty. Standing 5'3", weighing 125 pounds, dark brown hair with shades of gray showing, she maintained a modest 32-28-32 figure, respectable for a mother of three. Her light complexion, carefully tanned, contrasted with her wide nose and unremarkable features. But she was very intelligent and had a brain built for finance holding the positions of CFO for a local dermatologist and also CFO for a regional bank. She had graduated High School early and had attended LSU.

They were such polar opposites, sometimes Henry wondered just how they'd stayed together so long and had three children.

Recently, physiologically, Morgan had been undergoing a subtle change, a quickening in her blood that some might attribute to menopause, that phase when desires and ideas, long dormant, could flare into vivid life. She caught herself daydreaming more than she used to.

She cherished her tight-knit circle of girlfriends from her Kappa Delta sorority days at Louisiana State University, women who were a few years older than her but who'd shared laughter, secrets, and the humid Baton Rouge nights of their youth. They were her anchor, her mirror, her spark. In that group there was one in particular who Morgan loved, Delores. "D," as Morgan called her, was 3 years older and mentored her time at LSU and in the sorority in particular.

At 55, Delores was a striking beauty--tall, jet-black hair, perfect curves, a southern aristocrat who worked out religiously. Married twice, she'd been widowed young and later wed Richard, Henry's old friend, with Morgan's matchmaking. Her bold charm always stirred Morgan's quieter spirit. One Saturday, at their weekly brunch at The Gregory, Delores leaned toward Morgan with a conspiratorial glint. "I've got something to share, sister," she whispered. "Come by tonight--I'm bringing a book that'll shake you up."

Always a beauty, at 55, D was the perfect example of a trophy wife. A black-haired southern lady of impeccable southern aristocratic lineage, and she was beautiful. Much taller than Morgan, she stood 5 ft 9 in of perfect proportions 37-27-37, 131 lbs (never more, never less), ample 37C cup size, jet black wavy hair parted on the side, and she always had a smile on. She worked out religiously and had been married twice. Her first husband had died in a boating accident. Later, with Morgan acting a matchmaker, she married Richard, one of Henry's old Minnesota classmates.

Chapter 1: Sisters and Secrets

One Saturday, as they gathered for their weekly brunch at The Gregory, its chandeliers casting soft light over linen tablecloths, Delores leaned toward Morgan with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. The clink of mimosa glasses and the murmur of jazz wove around them, a refined cocoon for their conversation. Delores, always the boldest of their KD crew, "I've got to share something with you, in private, what are you doing this evening?" she whispered into her ear.

Morgan was intrigued. D was also a feminist but a more balanced calculating kind. She'd be flexible on some points if it benefited her.

"Tonight?

D nodded.

"Drop by whenever, Henry's going to be out."

That evening, with Henry out on a business call, Morgan and Delores settled into the hot tub behind Morgan's house, the warm bubbles swirling around them under the soft glow of string lights. Both wore simple one-piece swimsuits--Morgan's navy, modest and practical, Delores's emerald green, clinging to her flawless 34D curves like it had been sprayed on. Nothing was left to the imagination and Morgan had noticed and correctly assumed D was up to something.

D chose this suit on purpose; she intended to revive Morgan out of her dormancy. The air carried the scent of chlorine and jasmine, and for a while, they talked casually--old Kappa Delta memories, the latest gossip--laughing easily as they polished off a bottle of cabernet, the wine loosening their tongues. Delores, her eyes glinting with mischief over the hum of the jets.

"I dropped by to share something with you; I've been reading a series of books. These books, sister they've turned my sex life with Richard upside down," she confided, her voice low, sultry, and typically D, straight to the point.

Morgan played along, "Oh do tell..." she said hoping D hadn't noticed her eyes sucking in everything of D there was to see when D slipped into the tub. Morgan wasn't shocked by the topic; it was entirely like D to share something this intimate with her.

As expected, D got more graphic, "It's not just passionate fucking; it's raw, erotic. Things that I'd never considered," she paused and took a deep breath, her breasts rising, not going unnoticed by Morgan, "We've dabbled in light bondage--silk scarves, a blindfold, handcuffs, leather, even gags--it's like every touch is amplified." She leaned her head back looking up at the stars.

Morgan said, "Sounds like you're having fun."

A few minutes past before D replied, almost as if she were somewhere else, "It's amazing, almost like something is being unlocked and the door cracked open a bit," she looked at Morgan, "I'm shown something, and then I want the door open a bit more." She looked back up to the stars, "Sometimes, I fantasize about being abducted and whisked away to some secret place where I'm his completely. He can do with me as he will." She paused, sipping her wine, her gaze locking with Morgan's, "but always with my permission of course."

Morgan nodded but looked dubious, "Of course, but probably not for me."

Delores laughed, her ever present charm bracelet jingling, a sound that carried Morgan back to late-night KD talks in their sorority house. "Look, don't clutch your pearls. The heroine, is no damsel. She's a dominatrix one minute, calling the shots, and the next, she's... well, let's just say she owns every room she enters, like we did at rush. It's like Nora's a feminist wielding a whip, rewriting the rules." She leaned forward, her eyes dancing. "This isn't about men controlling women. It's about Nora, the main character, her power, her choice to live unapologetically. You'll see."

Morgan sipped at her wine, "Erotic novels, what's next, whips and chains at our alumnae brunch?" Her tone was playful. "I've always pictured those scenes, those actions, as... well, a man's power fantasy, not ours. How's that feminism?" Her voice held a challenge, the kind they'd thrown at each other in college, dissecting Gloria Steinem or bell hooks over cheap wine.

Delores's grin widened, undaunted. "You're stuck in our '80s mindset, sister. Back at KD, we were all about sisterhood, service, independence, woman power, yet being the perfect Southern ladies. But Nora? she's a damn rebellion. Read the first hundred pages. If you still think it's anti-feminist, I'll buy your next bottle of Macallan."

Morgan fidgeted with her glass, her mind flickering to menopause, to the restless heat stirring in her lately, as if her body were dredging up desires she'd ignored or discounted for decades. "You're trying to corrupt me," she said, a half-smile tugging at her lips. "KD taught us confidence, leadership--not... whatever this is." Delores's fervor, that familiar spark, stirred something in Morgan, a memory of nights when their laughter had felt electric, their closeness a quiet rebellion against the world's expectations.

"Maybe it's not corruption," D said softly, her gaze holding Morgan's a beat too long. "Maybe it's just us, finally claiming what we want. At fifty-five..."

"Fifty-two" Morgan interjected.

"fifty-five, and youngsters shouldn't interrupt their elders, don't we or I, deserve that?" She raised her glass, "To new chapters, Morgan--for Nora, and for us."

Morgan hesitated, then tipped her glass toward D's. "Fine. I'll read a bit. For science and to shut you up," she quipped, "But if I show up to our next lunch with a riding crop, I'm going to use it on you."

Delores's laughter rang out, "Is that a promise?" pausing, their eyes momentarily meeting. "That's the spirit, sister. KD made us fearless, right? This is just a different kind of courage. Oh I know you're all about women's power, I get it, I agree, you just think it's a solitary path, it isn't, Henry's there for you, and, if I have to say it - you could do with some loosening up," D paused smiling, adding, "If something in bed loosens you up, all the better," she said, reaching out with her right leg and running the sole of her foot up and down Morgan's left calf.

It caught Morgan by surprise, but she just smiled and the familiarity, the intimacy brought Morgan's mind back to that night in another hot tub decades ago where alcohol and poor decisions led to Delores fingering her to orgasm in the KD House hot tub, one not unlike this one. It had been their only intimacy and each had blamed too much alcohol.

Nothing was spoken, their eyes meeting, acknowledging the unspoken of memory. Morgan began to all about the kids. She gushed over what they'd been up to.

D took it all in, it was entirely like Morgan to both cling to feminism and family life which necessarily so, included Henry and Alex.

The next Saturday at The Gregory, D slipped the book into Morgan's hands. The book was The Siren, by Tiffany Reisz, the back cover declared it "an erotic saga crafted for women's appetites," she slipped it into her bag of a purse she carried.

Chapter 2: Pages of Fire

Morgan forgot all about the book for a couple days. On Wednesday evening while sitting next to Henry as he watched yet another game, she remembered it and dug it out of her purse.

"After all," she thought, she had "promised D to give it a chance." Morgan opened it and started to read.

After about an hour, and to Morgan's quiet surprise, she found herself captivated. The pages were well-written and engaging, the characters intriguing, and the situations captivating. In one scene, Nora bound her lover's wrists with silk, her voice commanding yet tender, whispering, 'This is my gift to you--my surrender, my power.' Morgan's breath caught, her thighs shifting as she imagined herself in Nora's place, but with the positions reversed, wrists tied, heart racing with trust and desire.

After another hour's reading, she realized she'd been subtly shifting her thighs together and feeling a heat she hadn't expected. The scenes of bondage, of Nora's fierce command and surrender, weren't what she'd feared--they were arousing, unsettling. She'd never explored such things, not in her polished KD days or her stable years since, but the idea of power wielded so boldly, so freely, lingered in her mind like a challenge. One passage, where Nora savored her male lover's taste, sparked a fleeting curiosity in Morgan, this had surprised her. Morgan felt oral sex was demeaning for a woman and for equity she didn't accept it either. Henry suggested it from time to time but she declined.

That night she read another chapter, and the next night another. She went to sleep, her mind focused on those events she'd read. But she was shocked by how aroused she was feeling herself getting.

This evening, they had gotten drunk in the hot tub and now as they lay in bed cuddling after one of their cookie cutter minutes of making love, Morgan on top, she shocked Henry when she asked, "Are you happy with me?"

"What do you mean," Henry replied, now on high alert for a trap.

Morgan's finger traced around her husband's chest hair, "I mean happy, really happy," she paused, "about our relationship, our love life."

Henry didn't think on it much and replied how he thought she wanted him to reply, "Yes of course. Hell, we made three kids."

"But that's not what I mean, is there more, could there be more?"

"More of what?" Henry asked a bit befuddled.

Morgan hesitated, "More in bed?"

Clueless, he replied, "I suppose, but we've been content a hell of a long time and you don't hear me complaining, do you?"

Morgan sighed, "No you don't complain, ok, I guess..." and rolled over. The word he used stuck with her, "content", not happy or fulfilled, just content. Her gut told her there should be more, before it's too late.

On the third night, Friday night, she did something out of character. Morgan lay beside Henry, The Siren's pages burning in her mind. Nora's bold surrender stirred a restless heat, a desire she'd long buried. Was this weakness, or courage to claim what she craved? Her pulse quickened, urging her to act. After they'd gone to bed, she lay there reading. However, her loins had had enough and pretending she needed to go to pee just so she could touch herself after reading the book wasn't cutting it anymore. She'd also been preoccupied with "content".

She lay the book down, leaned over to Henry, who was reading some damned sports crap, started kissing on him, and wound up riding him until she was done. On this night, it didn't take long she was so horny.

On Saturday D was excited. "Well, what did you think?" she asked Morgan straight away.

"It's ok, I'm at chapter 10," she replied noncommittally, "frankly I'd forgotten about it, didn't start until Wednesday.

"To chapter 10 in only 3 days?" D grinned knowingly, "and?" she asked in a sultry voice.

Chapter 3: Cuffs of Courage

Morgan hesitated, she certainly wouldn't tell her about her nearly forcing Henry to have sex last night, "I like it, it's, interesting."

D grabbed her by the hand, "I knew it." She knew Morgan and was satisfied she was hooked.

The next week saw Morgan's reaction to the book continuing, this went on for the rest of the week, her having her way with Henry every other night. Morgan found herself craving more force in every position, urging Henry to be rougher as she fantasized about Nora and her power, to grip her hips harder, to drive deeper.

It was Thursday and Henry, who until this point had simply been loving the sudden attention and creativity, let his curiosity get the better of him and decided to ask.

He picked a moment he felt was appropriate.

Morgan was lying on top, having just finished fucking him. She'd surprised herself by how long they'd made love. Henry had orgasmed as he usually did in 3-5 minutes but Morgan took a lot longer, grinding on his cock until she finally felt release but then kept moving back and forth on him until he slipped out, followed by a hurried stuffing of pajamas between her legs, when he asked, "What has gotten into you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Henry smiled. "Well, that's three times in one week, and you initiated. That doesn't happen, honey, never has. So, um, what's up?"

Morgan kissed him. "Oh, nothing, I just love you," she said with a smile, "can't imagine why."

Henry looked at her dryly. "We've been married a long-time sweetie. Never have you been so, uh, amorous and you're suddenly wanting to play. What gives?"

Again, Morgan deflected. "Maybe it's menopause. I hear women get hornier in old age during menopause."

Henry smiled. "Ok, that's fine by me. Um... how long does menopause last? I'd like this to go on for, well, ever."

Morgan kissed him and got off, holding her pajama bottoms between her thighs to keep their cum from dripping down her legs.

Henry watched her ass jiggle as she walked to the bathroom, Morgan playfully saying, "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"or in the ass," he quipped.

It hadn't gone unnoticed to Henry that she'd been reading something new. The next day, Morgan had to go into Lafayette, and Henry, who worked from home, decided to take a look at that book.

He came away smiling. "That little minx," he thought to himself after seeing just how much of the book contained bondage and BDSM. He read a bit and found himself just as interested. He wasn't sure about diving into this world, but Morgan's fire drove him to try, so he spent an hour online, researching safe ways to start.

Where Morgan had her confidence in Delores, Henry had a group of friends from his high school days, Richard, Dan, Ralph, and Ephram. They graduated in the same class in 1990, now in their early 50s. They'd mostly gone their own ways but stayed in close contact and met up yearly for a real get-together bash.

Ralph and Ephram had stayed close to home and were farmers. They don't factor into this tale, but Richard and Dan certainly do.

Richard had done well for himself. After getting an engineering degree, he and Dan, mostly Dan, developed a directional drilling head that allowed the oil industry to drill vertically to start but then could direct the drill head to any direction, depth, and angle they wanted. This technology had existed, but Richard, with Dan's ideas, had improved upon it and obtained a patent. His business was lackluster until Henry talked him into bringing him on as an unpaid business consultant. Richard's ensuing success was much to Henry's credit, and Richard formally hired him.

Richard and Dan had made fortunes in the tens of millions of dollars. Henry got a percentage of business increase from clients he found for Richard.

Dan, who hated business and everything about it, loved engineering, design, construction, and fabrication. So, five years ago, he sold the patent, in its entirety, to Richard, leaving Dan with a fortune and early retirement. Dan still came to their beer-drinking get-togethers but otherwise had faded from the picture traveling the world and, on occasion, disappearing without a trace for months on end.