Diana's Self-Liberation Ch. 01

Another slow build-up in readiness for the next chapter

Thanks for the positive feedback, especially the e-mails.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE ENTIRELY FICTIONAL

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Diana slept fitfully. She thought she had made up her mind but as the hours dragged by doubt and fear haunted her. But her excitement also grew. She had considered her plans for some time and made them as watertight as she could. The one unknown, the one weakness was out of her control. It was the reaction of her target, the twenty-year-old from across the road.

Her husband Keith had lost interest in her sexually and it had become evident that he cheated on her often. The one consolation was that no woman proved willing or able to retain his interest for long. He had no affairs as such, just a series of flings, usually with women ten years or more his junior. This was a consolation of sorts. It made her feel less inadequate.

After her initial shock, outrage and sense of betrayal Diana had begun to take stock. They discussed divorce but in the end she decided against it. Keith held a well-paid job, and she enjoyed many of the benefits – a house that was spacious and tastefully appointed in a good neighbourhood. She had a new car every two years, and a generous spending allowance. Although she herself also worked, to live off her salary alone – even with a decent divorce settlement – would mean a big drop in living standards.

She decided that on balance her lot could be a lot worse. In some ways she and Keith were still quite fond of each other. And for his part he had promised not to flaunt his cheating, and to restrict his spending on his – "companions". It suited him to remain married. It looked good at the company, and it was an asset to have a wife who could host occasional dinner parties. So a kind of agreement had been reached. On one thing she had been adamant. She would never have sex with him again. He could even continue to share her bed if he chose, but their relationship from now on would be celibate. It had already been so for some time anyway, but she wanted to make it clear that it would now stay that way.

Unconsciously a first she had begun to restore her shattered self-esteem. She became more aware of how she dressed, and whilst she still dressed conservatively she began to dress more smartly, and a bit more expensively than before. She knew that she was no match for the younger floozy that her husband was now enjoying.

At first she did it at first to feel feminine, to restore her self-esteem. But she noticed that from time to time at work and even around town a few heads did begin to turn, a few glances were cast her way. To her surprise her libido, which had lain dormant for longer than she cared to admit, was now beginning to stir. And with some delight she noticed that one or two blokes rested their gaze on her legs and breasts. Thomas, the twenty-year old lad across the road, was one of them. Given that she was now forty-three that was very heartening.

She went to a beautician and took her advice on how to use make-up to make the most of her appearance. Despite advice to the contrary she still kept her hair in a bit of a retro style, brushed up and back on her head.

She had no desire for an affair, feeling unable to trust a man enough for an emotional attachment at the moment. Besides, she felt that she would not know where to start. Certainly not the workplace, where it would soon be the main topic of gossip. Not a dating agency or an ad in the newspaper or on the internet. In any case she was not looking for romance, and the kind of man who would be interested in a "no strings fun" advert was not a welcoming prospect.

She had wondered whether she was hoping for the impossible: no romantic ties but a strong sense of her femininity, to be told that she was attractive, to be held and kissed. To have sex, yes, but to have it with someone whose discretion could be relied upon, and with someone who would at least treat her with some respect.

At first she had almost laughed out loud when the thought of Thomas came to mind. At twenty years old he was just less than half her own age. He was average looking and although tall he was far from athletic in build. In addition he was pretty quiet and shy. As far as she knew he had never yet even had a girlfriend.

On the other hand... he was pleasant enough, polite, and came from a decent family. She was on speaking terms rather than close terms with his parents, and a year ago when Thomas began work at an accountancy firm on the same side of town where she worked she had offered to give him a lift. She dropped him off close to his workplace; she virtually drove past it on her way to work.

She had got to know him a bit, and although she did not positively fancy him, nothing about him put her off him, either. Maybe, she told herself, maybe Thomas was not such an illogical choice after all.

There were other advantages. Given their age difference, and the fact that outwardly she seemed happily married, it would never occur to anyone that she might be having sex with him. His nondescript build and appearance, his shyness, and the fact that she already gave him a lift to work would also prevent suspicion. His not being the obvious candidate for sordid "encounters" – she could not bear to use any other term in her mind – was a definite bonus.

As she toyed with the idea, another advantage suggested itself. He tended to be disorganised. Although she set off for work at more or less the same time each day, the time of his arrival for his lift with her varied. Some days he ended up trotting across the road as she was reversing the car down the drive. Some days he knocked on the door just as she was about to leave the house. But other days he arrived with five minutes or so before they were due to depart.

Thus the wheels of The Plan had begun to stir into motion. The skulduggery, the thinking around possible pitfalls and the need to cover all eventualities engrossed her. They also fuelled her excitement and helped to rebuild her self-esteem. She was now no longer a victim of her husband's philandering; she was taking control – and how!

Of course, there was some risk that Thomas might prove indiscreet about their seedy encounters, but she thought it unlikely. Firstly there was his shyness. Secondly, whom would he tell, and what would he gain from it? His parents would be shocked and outraged, any friends or colleagues of his would feel the same, or they would consider or even call him a loser for being unable to find someone his own age. And if such factors would make him want to keep his mouth shut about her, they would probably also ensure that he trod carefully and helped her to cover their tracks.

At first, the idea of quickie sex in her own home – and for that matter, and despite his own cheating, her husband's house, too – seemed nasty and uninviting. But as she thought about it, the prospect was not entirely without appeal. If executed carefully, at varying frequencies and on different days of the week, it could actually prove more discreet than visiting a hotel or suchlike.

Its very tawdriness also lent an air of excitement – no more than ten minutes' sexual activity with a lad half her age in her own house immediately before leaving the house with him for work. To do so in a way that would avoid arousing the suspicions of her husband or her neighbours (including Thomas' parents) would be an added thrill. To drive him to his place of work with both of them still enjoying their post-orgasmic inner glow had a seedy feel. For each of them to arrive at their workplaces with this glow and greet colleagues mater-of-factly without them guessing or imagining what they had just been up to... the idea made her head spin and her stomach flutter.

Quickie sex could prove to be varied and maintain his interest, too. And then... her mind worked through a number of possibilities...

Yes, provided that the frequency was not too great, they could go to a hotel or a motel after work. Not too often – for financial reasons as well as for the sake of discretion. But it could be done, say, every ten days or so. They could go somewhere out of town. They could even arrive separately and make their own separate ways home. She worked flexible hours anyway and arrived home any time between four thirty and six thirty. It would have to be carefully arranged, and likely venues checked in advance, but it could be done. They could spend an hour or so together for more relaxed, intimate liaisons. Frantic, passionate quickie sex intermingled with slow sensual sex – it all became more and more enticing.

This morning – it was THE morning when all her planning would be put to the test – she was awake long before the alarm clock sounded. She showered, enjoying the sensuality of the water jetting against her. She made small talk to Keith at breakfast over the background noise of the radio, but she found her eyes drawn repeatedly to the clock. She felt excited and nervous, like a teenager due approaching her first date.

Just after seven thirty Keith gave her a peck on the cheek, stepped out of the house and drove off to work. He had a drive of fifty miles or so to his office and needed to leave early. Even as he was backing the car out of the drive she was dressing into a matching designer bra, panty and suspender set. The panties were brief enough to be sexy without being too tarty. Their outline would show through her skirt and some of her male colleagues would admire their relative scantiness.

She put on her new white cotton blouse with metallic vertical stripes, and eased a pair of sheer black stockings up her legs and fastened them to the suspenders. She stepped into her navy blue waist slip and slid it up, taking care to ensure that the slit in it would line up with the modest slit in the back of her skirt. She similarly stepped into her royal-blue skirt, tugged it up and fastened it. It reached her knees and fitted loosely, but The Plan was for her to change it before work anyway.

She opened the bedroom curtains and brushed her hair. It was now almost seven-fifty. She saw Thomas's father leave his house, get into the car, and set off to work. Her heart was beating more quickly and her stomach fluttered with nervous excitement. She tried to remain calm, concentrating on getting her things read for work. Today of all days she must be well organised and focussed.

Eight-o-six, and she saw Thomas's mother leave the house. In about twenty minutes Thomas would be knocking on her back door. At the moment he was totally unaware what lay in store. This realisation gave her a feeling of control and a twinge of arousal.

She tried to fix her mind on the tasks that lay ahead of her at work, tried to call to mind the items on her shopping list, tried not to look at the clock too often. She knew that he would arrive very soon now. She went to the toilet.

She returned to the lounge so that she could see his approach. She heard his front door close behind him and saw him walk across the street. She gave several deep breaths to steady her nerve. She moved away from the window. A few moments later there was a knock at the door, he called out timidly and stepped inside. He had been reluctant to do this for some time but she had insisted that there was no need to wait for her to open the door.

She had to make a conscious effort to walk slowly to the kitchen, and smiled as naturally as she could.

"Hi, Thomas."

She made herself speak slowly and softly and hoped that her feelings would not be evident.

"Hi Mrs Barrett."

"Go on into the lounge – I'll only be a few minutes. I'll just finish washing these dishes, Thomas, then we'll set off."

She had strategically left the dining room door open. Just inside the doorway, where he would see it as he passed, stood the clothes maiden on which she had draped some of her clothes. On the side facing the door were her plum satin blouse and black skirt that fell just short of her knees and that hugged her hips and bum, and against which the outline of her panties would show. There were a couple of sets of matching designer bra and panties on the clothes maiden.

With a glow of satisfaction she saw him glance at them as he went to the lounge.

She remained in the kitchen. She had left a few dishes in the sink. She paused, breathing deeply a few times to steady her nerves, then made a point of swishing and rattling the dishes in the sink loudly enough for him to hear.

Then she launched the next stage of The Plan. She splashed some water onto her blouse and the front of her skirt and tossed a mug onto the floor so that it smashed.

"Oh damn!"

On cue Thomas appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"What's wrong, Mrs Barrett?"

She turned to face him, working hard to keep an innocent expression on her face. She saw his eyes rest on the wet patches over her right breast and crotch.

"More haste, less speed I'm afraid, Thomas. Could you do me a favour and sweep up those bits? There's a brush and a dustpan in the cupboard under the sink, and some newspaper behind the waste bin. I'll have to sort myself out..."

"Sure."

As he bent down to sweep up the pieces of broken mug she stayed where she was, her legs and skirt hem close to his bent form. She took a hand towel and rubbed the wet patch over her breast. She glimpsed his furtive glances at the quivering of her flesh under her blouse. She rubbed more vigorously at the dampness on her skirt too. Although it looked innocent she knew that he would find the sight of her rubbing right against her crotch very provocative.

"Oh it's no good! And that water is a bit greasy. I'd better change so that my clothes don't mark. Are we okay for time?"

"Yeah, it's only just half past, Mrs Barrett."

"Can you do me another favour, Thomas? Can you get the bucket out from where you got the brush and pan and put some cold water in it – about a third full? I think I'd better put my clothes to soak when I've changed."

"Yes, okay."

She had to try hard not to smile as he turned round form the sink with the bucket of water.

She stood in the open doorway of the dining room with her back to the hall and kitchen but in view of him. She unbuttoned her blouse and slid it off her arms. She noticed with satisfaction his gaze on her pale back, the straps of her bra, and on her shoulders.

She turned sideways and saw his eyes rest on her modest, B-cup breasts, modestly covered by her floral print satin bra. She gave him a slightly embarrassed look.

"Sorry, Thomas, but we're running late. Could you put this in the bucket of water?"

He had blushed. He stepped to her and blushed deeper as her took the blouse from her, warm from its contact with her skin, then turned to the kitchen. She glanced him stroking it furtively.

"Oh, and Thomas?"

"Yes, Mrs Barrett?"

He turned round to face her, the blouse still in his hand.

"I'll have to change out of this skirt, too..."

His blush deepened.

"Don't worry – I'm wearing an underskirt – you won't see me in my knickers!"

She laughed and tried to sound natural.

She glanced over her shoulder as she put her hands behind her back to unzip her skirt. She leaned forwards, ostensibly to tug her skirt down, but her real purpose was to allow the tops of her breasts to rise over her the cups of her pretty, floral bra.

She glimpsed his eyes on her legs and on her navy-blue waist slip with its lace trim up each side of its rear split. She stepped out of it and picked up the shorter black skirt from the clothes maiden. She glanced at it, then at her waist slip, then thoughtfully back again. It was all another detail in The Plan, of course. She saw his eyes following hers, and spotted the bulge in his trousers.

"Oh, shit! Pardon my French..." she cried out. "This slip is too long for this skirt!"

She saw the shock on his face as slowly (but as unselfconsciously as she could) she pulled down the slip to reveal her suspender belt, then her floral print panties, and her suspenders and stockingtops. She noticed that chivalrously he averted his eyes – but only after briefly taking in the view.

She stepped out of the slip and into the black skirt. She pulled it up her legs. Then she took he plum-coloured satin blouse from the clothes maiden, slid it onto her arms, buttoned it up and tucked it into her skirt.

She bent down to pick up her blue skirt that she had just removed, and passed it to him.

"If you could just put that to soak... oh, Thomas, I do hope I didn't embarrass you too much! It's just that we're running a bit late... I'm sorry... anyway, we can go now." She gave a nervous giggle.

He turned and walked over to the bucket of water again. He dropped the skirt in and turned to face her again, feeling flushed and embarrassed. He pushed one hand into his trouser pocket and tried to press his erection flat, hoping that she would not notice.

She was fumbling with the zip on her skirt.

"I'm terribly sorry about this, Thomas... My skirt's a bit tight and I don't have time to go upstairs and get another one. If I hold it closed could you zip it up for me?"

"I... I don't know if... if I should, Mrs Barrett."

"Why ever not? I won't bite, you know. And I'm a married woman, Thomas! It's only so we can set off – we're a few minutes late already."

Her apparent innocence seemed to assure him that she had no ulterior motive, but it did not alleviate his embarrassment – or his erection – much. But, despite his nervousness, and his guilt at feeling that he had misconstrued her actions as making a move on him, he stepped closer. He took the zip in his hand and eased it up.

He was painfully conscious of her nearness, and gazed at her sexy lacy panties inside her skirt. His hand was less than an inch from touching her bum cheeks. He wondered if she had any idea how often he masturbated as he thought of her.

He eased the zip up. Never had the sound of a zip closing sounded so erotic to him.

She turned round to face him and smiled. She put her hands behind her back and fastened the button at the back of her skirt.

"Thanks Thomas. Now let's go..."

He watched her pick up her discarded navy blue slip from the floor and drape it over the clothes maiden. She stepped to the back door and he followed her, pulling his jacket across him in the hope that it would hide the bulge in his trousers.

She felt almost light-headed. Her plan could not have worked out better. She locked the door of the house and got into the car first, then he got in. She saw him glance at her thighs. Her skirt was not very short, but it had ridden up a little as she got in. Her stockingtops were hidden from view, but it hardly mattered now. Th fact was that he now knew that she was wearing stockings rather than tights, and had in fact seen them just a few minutes earlier. She smiled at him and glanced down, checking whether he still had a hard-on, and thrilling in the evidence that he had indeed.

For all her meticulous planning she had been undecided about the next stage. Originally she had planned to explain her proposal to him on their way to work or as she pulled up outside his workplace.

Then she had remembered one of those silly sayings of her mother's. "Softly, softly catchy monkey." How on earth such a ridiculous saying had ever originated was beyond her, but its meaning was clear. She remembered once spending an afternoon with her father watching him fly-fishing for trout. The finer points had been lost on her but he had tried to explain that a trout has to be carefully lured. The fake fly – disguising the hook that would catch the prey – must be meticulously fashioned to appeal to the trout so that, taking it, it was caught. Then the fun began. The fish had to be played gently, allowed to swim away then coaxed little by little until at last – with skill and patience – the prize was landed!