Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 04

She had no idea what to wear for a man who liked to be "dominated a little". She had no way of knowing how much "a little domination" amounted to in his case, either, nor did she have any experience of such. In any case she would have to dress respectably and discreetly if she were meeting him in a pub.

Again she thought of David. Doubt began to gnaw at her. She was sure that he would want to meet up with her again, and she certainly wanted sex with him again. Should she volunteer to him that she had met with someone else? And if she and Laurence ended up having sex, should she volunteer that information to David, too? Should she say nothing at all? If David asked outright if she had met up with anyone else who replied to her advert, what should she say? Deny all? Admit all? Partly deny and partly admit? Which parts?

She shook her head and urged herself to get a grip, and to concentrate on the evening ahead. "No strings, Joan, no strings is what you advertised, and that's how it will damn well be!" she told herself. "No strings tying me to David, or to Laurence!"

She felt nervous, too, of course. She had no idea what to expect. But that also added to the excitement.

And "being dominated a little" -- whatever might that include? And how would she cope? Her stomach churned slightly.

Joan avoided having another cigarette to calm her nerves. She had forgotten to ask Laurence whether he was a non-smoker, and she didn't want to smell too strongly of nicotine or for her clothes to smell of tobacco smoke.

Besides, she would have to move fairly sharply to get ready for her "ah" liaison, what?" His jovial and slightly quaint manner made her smile.

She grinned to herself.

In the end she decided on a black pin-stripe, knee-length pencil skirt with buttons up one side, and a purple silky blouse. Although she considered it unlikely that she would do anything more than simply assess Laurence's suitability for a sexual encounter on a future occasion, she decided to wear black stockings and suspenders anyway. She was feeling naughty and might as well at least dress in keeping with her aspirations, she thought.

She looked at several sets of underwear. She cursed her indecision. Time was passing. She had limited time to get ready.

Eventually she took out the corset, the black satin but "boned" corset embellished with small red, oriental-styled flowers that she had bought a couple of months earlier.

She had only worn it once. It had been a night out with some work colleagues. Her corset remained hidden and secret throughout the night, but it had made her feel very sexy. And incredibly horny. A few blokes had eyed her up. She had smirked, thinking how much more they would stare if they knew what she was wearing under her dress. It made her feel powerful to have a secret that they would love to see if only they knew.

She caressed the soft yet stiffened fabric as she remembered her feelings that night and considered the evening ahead. Hell, yes, she thought, why not? Nobody would see it -- unless she wanted them to. And, anyway, she was feeling randy and this seemed just right. And maybe it was just the thing if events were to lead to...

The naughty thought kept coming to her mind. "Who knows -- I might! I just bloody well might, you know!" Her pulse quickened and she was conscious of a slight seep of moisture in her crotch.

She went to the bathroom and had a quick but thorough wash, brushed her teeth and gargled with mouthwash. She put on the corset and admired her reflection in the large mirror, the way her corset pushed her breasts up, the way it emphasised her curves and flattened her stomach. It looked very sexy, the small red flowers standing out against the shimmering black background. The suspenders looked saucy as they hung redundantly down.

It all made her look brazen. At her age she should be past wearing such lingerie, not taking delight in wearing it. She felt aroused by at the sight. She raised and lowered her eyebrows in self-approval.

She went back into her bedroom and slid into the panties that matched her corset, and tugged them up her thighs and to her waist. They were brief without being tiny, and tight enough to show the shape of her mound. She eased on the black stockings and drew them slowly up, then hooked the corset suspenders to them. She watched herself in the mirror. To her shame -- and delight -- she felt like a hooker. A mature hooker seeking a client.

Or maybe not a hooker, out to make money from hiring out her body for sex. She felt more like a predator - the Americans had a term, cougar. Yes, cougar described her feelings and her attitude.

A predator seeking, stalking its prey, assessing each potential victim against the others, stalking, waiting, hunting to fulfil a primal desire. Hunger. Not food-hunger, but a need and a drive just as strong. Sex. Sex for the naked thrill of it, the naughtiness of it, the sheer daring act of seeking sex with a stranger for its own wanton sake.

She put on the blouse and drew it over the corset. She buttoned it up. Its dark colour and its style kept her corset beneath well-hidden. Nobody in the pub would guess but she would know, she would be aware all the time of her hidden secret. It would add a whole extra sexy element in her mind to each look she gave and received, each gentle touch of the arm.

She stepped into the skirt and tucked her purple silky blouse into the waistband. She left a couple of buttons unfastened to show just the top of her cleft. She left three of the buttons on the side of the skirt unfastened, too. Again she checked herself in the mirror. She felt that she looked respectable but her skirt would flash enough plump thigh - in sheer nylon stockings, though nobody but her would realise that they were indeed stockings with suspenders and not tights, of course! - to catch a few admiring glances.

She tried unbuttoning one further button on the side of her skirt. She moved around, checking her reflection. She felt she was showing a bit too much leg, even though her stockingtops remained hidden. She refastened the button then, as she turned to go to the dressing table, she undid it again. "To hell with it!" she thought.

She opened her dressing table drawer. She looked at the two packets of condoms. She paused and reached for the right hand one; then she hesitated. After a brief moment she slowly picked up the left hand one instead. The flavoured ones.

"Ah... flavoured, what, my dear?" she said out loud, though in gentle jest of Laurence's voice rather than mockery.

She had never attempted to give her ex-husband oral sex (despite his enthusiasm) more than once, as he had thrust into her mouth and she had thought she was going to choke. It had scared her and angered her. It was a selfish and horrible thing to do without asking, and undermined her trust in him for some time afterwards when they had sex.

In fact, looking back, that was when the rot had set in. She avoided having sex quite often in case he tried to do it again. And as having his dick deep in a female's mouth was clearly so important to him he had strayed elsewhere in his quest for satisfaction.

It was his fault that the sex grew less frequent, not hers. He had scared her, treated her badly for his own gratification. And now, though he did not know it and probably never would, she was paying him back, albeit in her own secret way and in her own mind. And it felt delicious.

She had been curious what performing oral sex would feel like if the man was considerate and respectful. And maybe -- maybe a man who liked "a little domination" would be gentle and respectful, especially if ordered to be. And doing it through a condom would prevent getting a mouthful of cum on her first time, with the attendant uncertainty of how she would react and what to do with it.

Besides, doing it to someone else -and a stranger into the bargain - after refusing her ex would be like sticking up two fingers at him. After all, she had caught him in bed -- THEIR bed -- receiving oral sex from some young thing. Even if he felt that the decline of sex with his own wife was partly her fault, he had no right to do that. In their own marital bed.

Joan really had warmed to Laurence's voice and manner over the telephone. She tried to remain open minded about his possible appearance and simply hoped that he would at least look okay. In particular she hoped that his standards of personal hygiene were as well refined as his speech. She hated the thought of sex with someone who laid little store by fresh breath, adequate bathing and a subtle application of deodorant.

"Dominated a little." The phrase haunted her, intrigued her, scared her, enticed and delighted her. She tossed it around in her head over and over. She would need more clarification before taking things beyond meeting in a pub. Joan considered herself no prude and reasonably broadminded. But there were limits of decency. She hoped too that it would be nothing too corny that would give her a fit of the giggles.

"Dominated a little." What would he expect? Would he take the lead or expect her to do so? If the latter, she feared feeling out of her depth altogether.

But Joan reminded herself of his kindly voice, his up-front honesty, his quiet self-assurance mixed with a dash of sadness, guilt and shame -- in short, his vulnerability.

And her female intuition had not experienced any misgivings apart from his married status and his kink. His naughty, illicit yet intriguing and alluring kink. She felt as confident as was possible that he posed no threat.

She checked her appearance once more in the mirror. Nobody would guess that under her skirt and blouse she was dressed to kill. But she would be conscious of her corset, its delicious softness and stiffness against her skin and her flesh, and the provocativeness of it.

She blushed as she stuffed the flavoured condoms into her bag. Even if she and Laurence did end up having sex, she argued, they could be used just as any other condom. In fact Laurence wouldn't even need to know they were flavoured if she kept the packet hidden and simply removed a condom from it. She stepped into her black calf-length boots that would still show enough leg yet strike the right chord.

In a flash of inspiration she lifted from another drawer a pure silk headscarf. It was pink with lilac flowers on it. She fastened it loosely around her neck and let it rest on her shoulder. She liked the look of it against her blouse, but there was another, darker purpose as well. She sensed that it might prove useful with the man who liked to be "dominated a little". She looked around the room. She removed the belts from two dressing robes, rolled them up, and pushed them into her bag. After all it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that even tonight she and Laurence might do it. She felt another little squish and surge at the thought.

"Surely not tonight?" her conscience chided. "Not after doing it already three times today, and with a lad young enough to be your son at that, you dirty bitch!"

"Ha! I might! I just bloody well might! We'll have to wait and see! And less of the reproach, if you don't mind. I deserve some fun after everything I've been through! Besides..." and Joan actually said the words that followed aloud, though softly. "And when I do I'll think of that good-for-nothing bastard of a husband having his dick sucked by a young floozy -- on our bloody bed, too! And as I suck Laurence's dick -- tonight or another night -- I'll bloody think of Paul and how I refused to suck his but am doing it for a stranger!"

The image of her ex husband and his floozy flooded back into her mind. She sniffed and wiped away the first trace of a tear. She breathed deeply. Then she rummaged in the drawer. The corset rubbed against her, reminding her of her naughty intentions.

From the drawer Joan retrieved, still wrapped in tissue paper, the scarlet, satin gloves she had bought with the corset. They were still wrapped in tissue paper. Joan smiled. She rubbed them gently against her skin, savouring the soft feel. She re-wrapped them in the paper, then tucked them into her bag. Her stomach gave a flutter of naughty approval.

She checked her appearance in the mirror one final time. She touched up her make-up, though she was always careful not to wear too much. She changed her stud earrings for some medium sized gold hoops. She grinned at her reflection.

"Ah.., you look just spiffing, BRENDA my dear. Or... ah... should I say, 'dressed to kill' -- or even 'dressed to dominate a little'?" she said, mimicking Laurence's voice affectionately.

She made a mental note to use and to respond to her assumed false name, "Brenda". She felt guilty to be deceptive towards a man who had been so honest with her. But it was all part of the secrecy, her need to keep her identity secret part of the double life she wanted to lead at the present. Besides, she had to admit that the whole cloak-and-dagger thing added to its illicitness and thrill.

She hurried down the stairs, grabbed her car keys, locked her front door behind her and stepped into her car. She glanced at her watch. She had adequate time for the journey ahead.

She pulled out of the driveway and set off on her journey into what was, for her, unexplored territory. She tried to avoid building a mental picture of Laurence. She also tried not to think too much of David and of the hot, role-play sex they had enjoyed -- three times -- that afternoon.