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Joyce Randall’s cell phone rang. She raced across the bedroom, the towel flapping about her mature body. She cursed as she noted the name of the caller, Ex-husbeast. Stealing her nerves for the battle that was sure to come, she hit the answer button. “Yes, Jason, what is it now?” she demanded.
“I’m running a bit late. Work has been frantic this week,” Joyce hated the whiny tone. It was terribly unbecoming on a man, a supposedly adult male, a professional who got paid well to manage other people’s affairs but could never seem to manage his own. She waited silently, dreading what she knew was coming next. “Perhaps we could re-schedule this. Next weekend I have a yacht race for a client and the following weekend is mine anyway. But things should lighten up in a month or two.”
Joyce counted to ten mentally before replying as calmly as possible. “No, Jason. We cannot reschedule your weekend with your children. The boys are expecting you. And the baseball game you have been promising for two months. What’s more, you are not the only one with a life, you know? I actually have plans.”
She drew in a deep cleansing breath before continuing, “Plans I will not reschedule or postpone so you can spend another weekend with the blond bimbo of the month. So turn your car around. Grow up and be a man. A father. We will see you in half an hour,” without waiting for any response she hung up the phone.
Life in the OC. Orange County divorces sucked sometimes. Yes, she had managed to keep the house in Seal Beach, just two blocks from the ocean. Yes, she received enough alimony and child support to live reasonably well. But none of that was adequate compensation for putting up with Jason’s continued bull shit.
Dropping the towel, she stared at her figure in the mirror. In her clothes, Joyce had a body that could stop traffic. Despite giving birth to two children in less than two years, hours spent in the gym had paid off. Her legs were toned and tanned. There was no sagging in her triceps. She made certain of that, childhood memories of playing with her grandmother’s chicken wings haunted her still.
But it was what she saw when she stood naked in front of the mirror that haunted her more. Her thirty-eight double ‘D’ breasts that she showcased with low cut tops and push up bras had scars beneath them. Worse yet was the massive horizontal scar that bisected her taut abdominal muscles. Naked Joyce feared she looked far more like Frankenstein’s monster than the aspiring starlet she had been fifteen years ago.
Damn, the gene pool that meant her pale skin scarred more easily than most. Damn too the ravages of time and two pregnancies that had necessitated the plastic surgery to repair sagging skin and muscles that not even hours in the gym could melt away.
And damn the self-centered bastard that she had married. After the boys’ births, he had barely touched her for months at a time, complaining constantly about her muffin top and sagging breasts. Until in desperation, Joyce had consulted a plastic surgeon. The man was one of the best. And to be fair, he had warned her that there might be excessive scarring. But to Joyce it seemed a small price to pay to save her marriage. Except that it had not. Jason merely turned from complaining about the sagging to cruel remarks about the scars. Then she discovered that he was having affairs. It had been the end.
Now she was faced with a dilemma. Clothed she was still a beautiful woman. More than striking enough to attract men’s attention. But with Jason’s recriminations echoing inside her mind, vanity kept her from dating and more importantly from engaging in the active sex life that her body craved as it approached sexual maturity and the peak that should bring her pleasure beyond her wildest dreams.
At least until she met Blair. When her youngest son Thad had started kindergarten in the fall, Joyce had her mornings free once again. It was nice to no longer have to pay childcare just so she could work-out or shop. But those activities did not fill the new longer hours.
Besides Joyce was tired in many of ways of the shallow life that surrounded her. The small town girl from East Texas was revolting at the excesses all around her. There had to be something more than lattes, hairdressers, the latest fashions and exercise trends.
So Joyce did something that would have shocked her friends. On one of the rare weekends when Jason did not weasel out of taking their sons, she had sat down with a notebook on the beach and thought long and hard about what she wanted to do with her life. What she wanted to be now that she was grown up.
One kurtköy escort thing kept coming back to her, the creative writing classes that she took in high school. She had enjoyed them even more than the drama class that eventually drew her away from that place. She had even won a couple of competitions. But it had been years since she had written anything. She was though an avaricious reader, especially of romance novels. Her Kindle was her constant companion.
She came up with a plan that weekend. She would join the local romance writers group and take a few classes. She would give it a try, write a few things and see what happened. Joyce was overwhelmed with her success those first few months. It seemed she was natural. The critique group that she joined loved her stories. She had thought about submitting them to publishers, but the thought of another rejection was too terrifying. Then one of her new friends mentioned indie publishing. The woman had already self-published six books and as she said was making a nice little allowance.
Joyce decided to give it a try as well. She took several of the stories she had written and polished them up a bit. Her friend offered the name of a graphic designer that would create covers and format the books. But Joyce was not happy with the final results. So she decided that she wanted to do it herself. She had bought a software package and tried her hand at it. It was a complete disaster. By the time she picked Thad up from school she was frustrated. Her head was pounding and her temper was short. Joyce was not a woman to be stopped so easily. She signed up for a class at the local community college, determined to best this obstacle as well.
Blair was the instructor. A good decade younger than Joyce, he was the complete opposite of Jason. His dirty blonde hair hung well past his shoulders. The surfer tan on his face disappeared beneath a beard. And his slim build looked as if a stiff wind would blow him away as her grandmother would say.
They had not hit it off. The kid, as Joyce thought of him, might be brilliant at computers but he was a lousy teacher. By the end of the first class, she was even more confused than she had been…and the migraine headache was back with a vengeance. She had walked out of the class an hour early and sent a scathing email to the dean of the college demanding her money back. Instead she had been invited to attend a meeting with the dean, the IT department head and Blair. Her comments about his teaching methods, or more accurately lack there of, had been well received. She had been asked to work with him from a student perspective.
She was shocked after their first meeting over coffee to discover that she actually liked the ‘kid.’ He had been eager to listen and take on board her suggestions. He had also been eager to stare at her cleavage. The attention of a younger man was flattering, especially to her battered ego. She had even worn out a few batteries with her toys fantasizing about teaching him more than just how to teach. But she knew that it would remain within the realm of fantasy. She had not taken a single lover since the divorce and she doubted that she ever would. Her fantasies and writing would have to be enough for her. It was better than the ridicule of another man when he saw her naked.
But all that changed the final afternoon that she and Blair were to meet for coffee and lessons. He had shown her some of the new handouts that he was working on. Then he had went to order their drinks. Joyce was trying to flip to the next handout when she accidentally brought up a Yoogle search for CFNM. It was not a term with which she was familiar. Thinking it was related to graphic design she had clicked on a link.
What came up shocked her. CFNM actually was an acronym for Clothed Female/Naked Male. She discovered that it was a fetish within the femdom or female dominant sexual culture. By the time that Blair returned with their iced lattes, she needed cooling off. He noticed her blush and was embarrassed to have her discover his secret. She had mumbled something about ‘ to each his own,’ as they returned to their work.
Over the next couple of weeks, Joyce found herself Yoogling the term more than once. She discovered not only some amazing stories about it, but a few porn videos as well. It was something that appealed to her on so many different levels. The idea that she could engage is great sex without having to take off any clothes was liberating.
So too was the idea of being dominant. It was not something she had ever considered before. When she came to Los Angeles, she had quickly aydıntepe escort lost her small town prudishness. Her sex life before the ex-husbeast had been great, well their first few years before the boys came long were not so bad. When they had dabbled in the BDSM thing she had been as a sub or submissive. Joyce was not that same young woman though. She had fifteen years of emotional abuse from her husband, the lost dream of making it in Hollywood and a ton of anger to work off. The idea of a willing lover who took that anger was appealing as well.
The problem in her mind had become how to meet such a person. Until the morning when she received the email from Blair thanking her for all her help, telling her how well received the changes had been with his new class. As much as Joyce hated clichés, it had been like a light bulb going off. She had learned about CFNM from Blair, so obviously he was at least curious about it. She had immediately replied. Telling him how glad she was that she could be of assistance, she asked if they could meet again that she wanted to talk to him about a story she was working on and needed his thoughts.
Their meeting was enlightening. After they overcame the initial discomfort of such an intimate subject, Blair had opened up. He was in fact a twenty-five year old virgin, who fantasized about CFNM almost constantly. He even sheepishly admitted that he preferred older women, MILFs as he called them. Joyce had smiled at the admission, although she kept up the pretense that it was all research for one of her ‘Mommy porn’ books. She thanked him politely for his time and honesty. She also asked if he would mind proof reading what she wrote, an expert opinion of sorts. He agreed with a deep red blush staining his tanned cheeks.
The next two weeks were fun as Joyce sent him almost daily emails. Sexual fantasies that were thinly veiled references to the two of them. Blair had responded to the first few very professionally, making salient comments on how the young man in the story would act or feel.
But then like a dam giving way under the pressure of flood waters, it had all been swept away. The email he had sent last week opened simply, “Thanks for the best jerk session of my life. Your story is amazing.” It had been the opening Joyce had been looking for. She responded that the next time he wanted to jerk off to one of her stories the least he could do was email a picture of it.
Dozens of increasingly naughty emails had danced across cyber space this week as they teased one another. Including that picture of Blair jerking off just as Joyce had requested. In fact, she had tested the waters of his obedience by demanding a video. He had complied. Knowing that her sons were scheduled to visit their father this weekend, Joyce had suggested that they do a bit of ‘hands on’ research this weekend.
Reaching into the closet she drew forth the Freddy’s bag that contained the outfit that she had picked out specifically for tonight. She supposed that she should wait until after Jason picked up the boys before she got dressed in it. Taking it out of the bag, she held the black leather and lace bustier up. It had garters hanging down. Inside the bag were the black fish net stocking and matching leather skirt. She had foregone the thigh high boots thinking them a bit over the top, but she owned a slightly shorter version that would do.
The other purchases in the bag were for Blair though. A whip and rather sterile looking contraption that the sales clerk assured her was the latest in chastity devices. A demonic smile played at her pink lips. She knew who she wished she could lock up in the damned thing…and it was not Blair.
But that got her thinking. Who said she had to wait to get dressed? With the sheer red blouse in her closet, the outfit was perfectly respectable. Well, maybe not respectable. But it was something that she would wear out with friends.
Checking in quickly to make certain that her sons were packed and ready, she began to get ready herself. The blow dryer whizzed as her long blond hair took shape. She took care with her make-up before squeezing her breasts into the bustier. Their golden globes rose high above the black leather cups, which barely covered her areolas.
She pulled up the stockings, fastening them. Then she pulled up the tight leather skirt, zipping it on the side, before pulling on the red blouse. She left it open, hanging about her, free flowing like her attitude this night. She finished off by zipping up her leather boots.
Standing in front of the mirror, she smiled at the woman that she saw tuzla içmeler escort there. She looked as confident as Joyce felt at that moment. “Screw you, Jason.” Smoothing down the skirt, she reached in her jewelry box for the diamond pendent that he had given her for their last anniversary. It hung perfectly between her breasts, accenting them. “You aren’t the only one that can get a twenty something blond bamboo anymore.”
The door bell rang just as she was admiring herself in the mirror. Her oldest son yelled that he would get it, but stepping into the hall Joyce told him to check on his brother and grab his bags. He rolled his eyes as she told him she would get it herself.
Walking down the stairs, she threw open the door with a snarky grin. “Glad you could make it after all, Jason. Give my apologies to the bamboo.” Her smile broadened as she noted the look of shock on Jason’s face.
“You’re looking…” his voice trailed off as he sought the right word.
“Amazing. Hot. Fuckable.” She supplied a list. “And you, Jason, are looking like a fool.”
They did not have time to continue their conversation as their sons came barreling into the foray. The next couple of minutes were a buzz as their sons chatted incessantly about the weekend, the game, their school and anything else they could think of. Jason suggested that they get into his convertible while he and their mom had a word, which elicited another eye rolling moment from their son, but he ushered his brother out to the car anyway.
“Joyce, if you care to join us for the game tomorrow, I have an extra ticket,” he offered with a smile.
“I was serious earlier. I have other plans, Jason. So enjoy your time with the boys. I’ll see you back Sunday at seven.” Her hands on the door to close it, she added, “Oh, and don’t bring them back early this time, this weekend is not PG rated.” She slammed the door shut before he could comment.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Joyce felt playful as she entered her bedroom. So far this weekend was more than she could have hoped for. But she noted that it was almost a half an hour before Blair would arrive. And she needed relief before that.
Reaching into the drawer, she pulled out her favorite vibrator. It was eight inches long, encased in neon pink rubber and had a little nub that worked her clitoris as she plunged it inside her throbbing cunt. And to make it even better, it had little beads that spun inside the shaft, rubbing against all the right places.
It had gotten a lot of use in its lifetime, but unlike men, it never let her down. She loved the damned thing, she thought as she brought it to her full red lips and kissed the head. Even though she kept it meticulously clean, she could smell the slight hint of pussy, her pussy. “And you don’t even require me to suck you to get you hard first,” she teased the inanimate object.
She sighed happily as she lay back on the fresh red sheets and spread her thighs. She reached inside each cup of the bustier and pulled out her tits. Her manicured nails pinched and pulled at the nipples until they stood erect, until she was whimpering and moaning, until her pussy was wet and begging for its turn to be touched.
Only then did she slid her right hand slowly down the cool leather of her outfit, down to the edge of the skirt. She pushed it higher upon her thighs. Her pussy was bare and open, no panties, not even a thong. Her fingers danced across her mound, rubbed lightly across her clitoris as she reached for the dildo. Her sighs turned to moans as she slide it deep inside her wet hole.
Behind her closed eyes danced images, erotic images, of her taking back her life, her sexuality. Of being served and serviced by her young boy toy. Would she make him lick her pussy for hours until his tongue grew tired, dry and numb? Or maybe massage her feet, they did ache from these ridiculously high heels? Or perhaps he should only be allowed to watch from a chair across the room as she did this? As she brought herself to a powerful orgasm. His own little cock straining helplessly in the chastity device.
“Yes,” she cried out. “Yes,” that was it. She could feel her orgasm building the dildo touched bottom in her depths, the nub buzzing happily against her clit. She plunged it in and out for several minutes as she thought about him watching her pleasure herself but unable to do the same.
Joyce gave herself several orgasms until her legs fell open completely, limp from the exertion. Her breathing was ragged and her heart pounded so loudly that it echoed around the room.
“Damn, if nothing else happens this weekend, that was the best fucking orgasm I have had in years,” she smiled as she turned down the vibrator, but left it buzzing on the lowest setting inside her cunt. She thought of the Woody Allen quote, “Don’t knock masturbation – it’s sex with someone I love.”
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