-
Dominant/Master, Bondage
What I am looking for: Older women who want what their husband won't do to
them.
Liz rolled her eyes. So he had a thing for
cougars.
You have [1] new instant
message!
Anonymous: So your husband isn't
enough for you? Or are you just here for vengeance?
SweetStranger: A bit of both.
Apparently, he's so disgusted by me that he can only get it up once
a month.
Anonymous: Hey, now. If you don't
feel desired in bed, it's because you haven't been with me
yet.
Despite herself, Liz felt a small smirk spread
across her face. She couldn't remember the last time she had been
flirted with. She typed out a response.
SweetStranger: Charming,
aren't you?
Anonymous: I try. Why don't you send
me a picture, and I'll show you how fast I can get it up for
you?
SweetStranger: How do I know that I
can trust you?
A nonymous: You can't. But you can continue
to believe your husband, or you can get a second
opinion.
SweetStranger: I'll think about
it.
Liz stared at her screen, dumbfounded. Was she
really going through with this?
Well... what the hell. I've come
this far, haven't I?
She slid her phone off the table and headed to
the bathroom. Pulling her blouse off over her head, she twisted so
that her side was facing the mirror. Sucked in the slight pooch
over her stomach. Pinched the skin at her waist. Pushed her breasts
up and imagined what she would look like if they were perkier.
Poked and prodded at herself critically. She was vaguely aware that
her distorted perception of her own body had only sent her
confidence careening further downhill. Objectively, Liz knew that
she was decently attractive compared to other women at her
age.
She pulled down her bun and ran her fingers
through her hair until it fanned over her shoulders. Her eyes met
their reflection in the mirror, light brown orbs separated by a
smattering of freckles across her nose. Thick, unruly brown curls
fell just past her shoulder at a length she considered a
low-maintenance hairstyle. Michael hated it when she had it
cut.
Is this what you find disgusting,
Michael?
She gazed steadily into the mirror and raised
her phone to take a picture.
Is it? Well, fuck you.
Liz threw her blouse back on and walked over to
her desk. Once she plugged her phone in, she leaned over and
dragged the file over to the chat message.
SweetStranger: There you
go.
No response. She waited another minute,
drumming her finger against the desk nervously.
Five minutes passed.
Liz felt her heart sink. How could she have
been this stupid? No one wanted to see a topless photo of a woman
in her mid-thirties. He was probably expecting some skinny MILF on
the other end of the chat. By now, her photo had probably been
posted on every social media site, captioned "Desperate housewife
thinks she's hot!"
Anonymous is typing...
Liz jolted forward in her chair, eyes snapping
to the chat box. Embarrassed by her own reaction, she leaned back
and waited.
Anonymous: I'm very tempted to make
this my desktop background.
She smiled. The ice in her chest thawed a
little.
SweetStranger: That's not very
discreet.
Anonymous: I don't care. I'm single.
Did you even read my profile?
SweetStranger: I did. Just so you
know, I'm not one for whips and handcuffs. Sorry to
disappoint.
Anonymous: Have you ever tried
it?
SweetStranger: No.
Anonymous: Husband likes vanilla,
does he?
SweetStranger: A bit too much. Well,
I don't know what he does with the other woman.
Anonymous: Maybe it's time for you
to explore your options as well.
SweetStranger: What if I don't want
to?
Anonymous: Then you don't have to.
I'm only here to give you what you want and deserve.
Liz raised her eyebrows.
SweetStranger: Suave, are
we?
They talked for hours. Liz was surprised to
find that she was enjoying herself, bantering coyly with this
stranger. Their conversation eventually mellowed out to an exchange
of interests and hobbies, many of which they shared. They talked
about Mitch Albom's books, Ricky
Dominant/Master, Bondage
What I am looking for: Older women who want what their husband won't do to
them.
Liz rolled her eyes. So he had a thing for
cougars.
You have [1] new instant
message!
Anonymous: So your husband isn't
enough for you? Or are you just here for vengeance?
SweetStranger: A bit of both.
Apparently, he's so disgusted by me that he can only get it up once
a month.
Anonymous: Hey, now. If you don't
feel desired in bed, it's because you haven't been with me
yet.
Despite herself, Liz felt a small smirk spread
across her face. She couldn't remember the last time she had been
flirted with. She typed out a response.
SweetStranger: Charming,
aren't you?
Anonymous: I try. Why don't you send
me a picture, and I'll show you how fast I can get it up for
you?
SweetStranger: How do I know that I
can trust you?
A nonymous: You can't. But you can continue
to believe your husband, or you can get a second
opinion.
SweetStranger: I'll think about
it.
Liz stared at her screen, dumbfounded. Was she
really going through with this?
Well... what the hell. I've come
this far, haven't I?
She slid her phone off the table and headed to
the bathroom. Pulling her blouse off over her head, she twisted so
that her side was facing the mirror. Sucked in the slight pooch
over her stomach. Pinched the skin at her waist. Pushed her breasts
up and imagined what she would look like if they were perkier.
Poked and prodded at herself critically. She was vaguely aware that
her distorted perception of her own body had only sent her
confidence careening further downhill. Objectively, Liz knew that
she was decently attractive compared to other women at her
age.
She pulled down her bun and ran her fingers
through her hair until it fanned over her shoulders. Her eyes met
their reflection in the mirror, light brown orbs separated by a
smattering of freckles across her nose. Thick, unruly brown curls
fell just past her shoulder at a length she considered a
low-maintenance hairstyle. Michael hated it when she had it
cut.
Is this what you find disgusting,
Michael?
She gazed steadily into the mirror and raised
her phone to take a picture.
Is it? Well, fuck you.
Liz threw her blouse back on and walked over to
her desk. Once she plugged her phone in, she leaned over and
dragged the file over to the chat message.
SweetStranger: There you
go.
No response. She waited another minute,
drumming her finger against the desk nervously.
Five minutes passed.
Liz felt her heart sink. How could she have
been this stupid? No one wanted to see a topless photo of a woman
in her mid-thirties. He was probably expecting some skinny MILF on
the other end of the chat. By now, her photo had probably been
posted on every social media site, captioned "Desperate housewife
thinks she's hot!"
Anonymous is typing...
Liz jolted forward in her chair, eyes snapping
to the chat box. Embarrassed by her own reaction, she leaned back
and waited.
Anonymous: I'm very tempted to make
this my desktop background.
She smiled. The ice in her chest thawed a
little.
SweetStranger: That's not very
discreet.
Anonymous: I don't care. I'm single.
Did you even read my profile?
SweetStranger: I did. Just so you
know, I'm not one for whips and handcuffs. Sorry to
disappoint.
Anonymous: Have you ever tried
it?
SweetStranger: No.
Anonymous: Husband likes vanilla,
does he?
SweetStranger: A bit too much. Well,
I don't know what he does with the other woman.
Anonymous: Maybe it's time for you
to explore your options as well.
SweetStranger: What if I don't want
to?
Anonymous: Then you don't have to.
I'm only here to give you what you want and deserve.
Liz raised her eyebrows.
SweetStranger: Suave, are
we?
They talked for hours. Liz was surprised to
find that she was enjoying herself, bantering coyly with this
stranger. Their conversation eventually mellowed out to an exchange
of interests and hobbies, many of which they shared. They talked
about Mitch Albom's books, Ricky
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