Here is another of my first chapters you haven't yet seen. Enjoy.
KINK AFTER DINNER
Copyright © September 2014 Jennifer Denys
Cover Art by Poppy Designs
Kink after dinner–8pm
The usual place
Wear the new purple basque—no knickers
Expect some serious (!) paddling
No touching until then
Beth Sheridan quickly glanced up from the note she was reading. She bit her lip as she looked around the breakfast table, fully expecting her family to be staring at her, as her nipples hardened in response to the suggestion in the note.
Both her husband and daughter were at the table with her. Amazingly, no one was looking in her direction, and she breathed shakily in relief. Her daughter was playing some game on her phone and her accountant husband, Tom, was reading his usual Saturday newspaper, half-turned away from her. She glared at the back of his dark head. Here she was planning a secret assignation and he wasn’t taking any interest. Instead, he was engrossed in the financial section of the paper.
Her inclination was to stuff it hurriedly back in her pocket, but that might look suspicious. Not that her family would think she was up to anything untoward. No, her son, Simon—now away at university studying media production—and her eighteen year old daughter, Elin, both thought she was a boring, middle-aged woman of fifty-two married to a boring, middle-aged man of the same age whom she had met at school. She had a very comfortable marriage.
She sighed and slowly folded the note she’d found on the doormat earlier.
“Shopping list, Mum?” Elin looked up from texting, making Beth jump.
More like a naughty list.
Smiling secretively to herself, Beth placed the decadent evidence in the pocket of her apron.
“Hmm. No. An invitation actually.”
Oh, yes. An invitation to sin.
Tom snorted, startling Beth. “Not another one from the neighbours.”
Elin’s chin dropped, her green eyes shining with excitement. “What, the ones who’re swingers?”
Beth was horrified her baby knew about such goings-on. “What exactly do you know about those things, young lady?”
How has she found out?
“Oh God, Mum. Get real.”
“Elin, that’s rude.” Tom frowned at his daughter. Her husband had always been strict with the children, a job she found difficult herself.
Her daughter rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows the Hardings do wicked stuff like that.”
“And what they do is none of your business.” Tom’s voice held a note of stern authority.
Elin shrugged. “Whatever.”
Beth was still worried about exactly what Elin knew. “Alistair and Helen are very nice people. Anyhow, the invitation isn’t from them.” At least, not directly. She hoped that would divert her daughter’s attention.
But Elin just continued. “As if either of you would do anything so cool. You are both stuck-in- the-mud. Never go anywhere. Just work in a boring office or stay home and watch repeats of CSI. You probably can’t remember the last time you had sex.”
She gasped. If only her daughter knew. Beth might work as a personal assistant in a bank, but in her private life, things were anything but routine.
Her very private life.
“Elin!” roared Tom.
Before he got a chance to say anything more, Elin noisily flounced out of the room.
Her husband swore. He glanced over the top of his glasses at his wife and gave her an intense look. “I’ll certainly be glad when she goes off to university and we can have some peace and quiet.”
Beth nodded in reply. Tom loved the kids dearly, as did she, but they were looking forward to having the house to themselves. She could get her toy box out and not have to hide it away—Tom knew about her vibrators.
She was so engrossed in her thoughts Beth missed what Tom was asking. “Hello! Are you listening?”
“Sorry, darling. What did you say?”
“What was the invitation for, anyway?”
Beth was hard-pressed not to smile broadly, as she tried to avoid her husband’s probing eyes. “Just a reunion.”
Tom raised his eyebrows. “Oh, anyone I know?”
She shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “An old friend from school days. Can’t remember if you knew him or not, you were in a different house than me. He’s married these days.”
“Are you going to meet him?”
As she paused, trying to think of an appropriate response, Tom went back to his paper, shaking it to straighten it out, seemingly uninterested in her answer.
Elin came back in the room at that point, and Beth held her tongue. Her daughter hurried to the table, grabbed her phone, and rushed out, furiously texting while totally ignoring her parents.
“Where are you off to?” Tom asked his departing teenager, his head still buried in his newspaper.
“Staying over at Millie’s,” was the passing shot.
Beth shook her head wondering if anyone ever looked at each other anymore. They were almost like a reality television programme showing a normal, middle-class family, married for over two decades, settled, contented, and loving.
Tom did look up then to peer over the top of his glasses in the direction Elin had disappeared as he raised his voice, “How long will you be gone?”
Their daughter said something that was almost incoherent before the door slammed.
Her husband sighed, and looked at Beth. “Did you get that, my dear?”
Beth smiled at the long-suffering tone in his voice. “You’ll be pleased to know she is out until tomorrow evening.”
“Good. Peace and quiet at last.”
“I imagine you are going to work on that new model airplane I saw arrived in the post yesterday.”
“Hmm. Maybe. I also have a couple of other things I need to finish first.” Tom loved tinkering around with wood, quite frequently making things from scratch as well as kits he bought on-line. It wasn’t just model planes. He liked toys of all sorts.
Beth stood up to clear the table.
“You didn’t answer the question, my dear.”
As she lifted the teapot, Beth froze. Her hand was shaking and she quickly put the pot down again. “I’ve forgotten what it was.” She stuck her hands in the apron so he didn’t see.
“Are you going to meet your friends?”
She felt herself flush as he looked intently at her with his brown eyes. Her high colour was something that had annoyed her all her life. At least she could put it down to having a hot flush these days. “Possibly. Not sure I’ve got anything to wear.”
Tom was clearly getting bored with the conversation as he looked back at his newspaper once more. “I’m sure you’ll find something in your cavernous wardrobe.”
Despite her husband being deep in his paper, Beth still responded, her tone slightly sarcastic, “Hmm. I seem to recall a purple outfit. I might wear that.”
* * * *
Beth stood in her locked bathroom staring at her reflection in the long mirror on the wall. It was early evening and they’d had a quiet and uneventful dinner. A fairly normal evening—so far. She’d spent all day with butterflies in her stomach at the thought of what was going to transpire that night and so hadn’t eaten very much.
“Hmm. Not bad for a fifty-two-year-old. Even if I do say so myself.” Stepping forward, she checked her make-up, smoothing some foundation into her jawline. Her hazel eyes were surrounded by dark smoky-grey shadow on the lids and blue liner underneath—darker than she would normally put on, for day wear at any rate—accompanied by glistening pale lipstick. It made her look like someone out of the sixties, but after years of practice, she knew what suited her in the make-up department.
She grinned and looked down, particularly admiring the curve of her waist and ran her hands down the sides, loving the silky smooth texture beneath her fingers.
The purple bustier was new, and this was the first time she’d worn it, having stuffed the box at the back of her underwear drawer for fear someone would notice it and ask what she was doing with such an item.
Beth tugged at the black laces that criss-crossed down the front and pondered whether to pull them tighter.
“Err… no!” She giggled. Her breasts were bulging over the top as it was. She used to be quite skinny, but in the last ten years, her midlife spread had hit. Some women, particularly short women like her, hated their bulges, but hers worked to her advantage as her breast-cup size had increased from A to C, making her look nicely voluptuous for once in her life.
She debated what to do with her shoulder-length, light-brown hair, lifting it up to clip it at the back.
There was a knock on the door and she jumped, her heart thumping rapidly having almost forgotten that there were others in the house, and her hands went up in a vain attempt to cover her cleavage.
“Beth.” It was Tom. Of course. He was the only one left.
“I’m on the toilet.” Her voice sounded high pitched even to her. She cleared her throat. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll use the downstairs bathroom. I just needed to wash my hands. Are you going out after all?”
“Yes, I thought I would. Just for an hour or so.” Or maybe longer. Depends how long it takes to have some fun.
“Okay, my dear. I have some work to finish in the den. I’ll see you later.”
As she listened, his footsteps receded down the stairs.
Den! He always made it sound like it was something out of one of the erotic romance novels she loved reading, where a Dom had a special room in his house furnished with BDSM equipment.
She snorted. “With an eighteen-year-old inquisitive girl in the house! Not a chance. Although it would be rather nice.” Beth grinned at the thought.
Tom’s den was, in fact, a room they’d had built onto the house a few years’ back. The intention had been to make it into a dining room as it had French windows into the garden, but somehow, and she had no idea when, it had ended up as Tom’s workroom, where he could get on with making his toys. He sold some of them at county fairs—but not all.
Beth dismissed Tom from her mind and went back to studying her image. In addition to the black ties down the front, frilly black lace bordered the top and bottom. She edged her forefinger under the lace over her breasts and caressed her skin, shivering at the contact. The colour of the lace nicely matched the sheer black stockings that she was wearing. Well, hold-ups.
The mirror was two feet off the floor and she couldn’t get back far enough in the room to see what her shoes looked like. Instead she raised her left foot, resting the toe on the toilet seat to the right of her, so she appeared as if she was in some Broadway production, like Cabaret, cavorting with a chair.
“Oh yes. Very sexy.” The four-inch, satin-covered black heels with pointed toes looked simply gorgeous, even if they were murder on her feet.
She stroked up her calf, past her knee to her thigh, skirting the garter she had put on, admiring the lovely deep purple nail polish that was dry now. Her pussy clenched as she neared the apex of her legs and Beth resisted the desire to touch herself.
Dropping her foot to the floor, she turned around to look at the effect from the back, peering over her shoulder. Sticking her bottom out, she fluffed the lace up, showing off a naked ass.
“This is for you, Master. No knickers. I’m a good girl, I am!”
Tentatively opening the bathroom door in case Tom was still around, Beth tiptoed down the staircase, leaning over the bannister to check the coast was clear. She then hurried to the cupboard to get a mackintosh that went down to her knees, nicely covering her.
There was no way she was going out in what she was wearing! It was a good thing it was a cool evening with rain forecast later, otherwise it might seem odd she was wearing a coat when it was early summer. Thank goodness this was England where one could never rely on the weather.
Grabbing her handbag, she hesitated at the front door and then turned to walk into the lounge. She could see through the window to the den, which was at right angles to the room. Tom was in there. Working on something. Beth squinted and went on tiptoes to try to see which toy he was finishing off, but his body restricted her view.
“Well, I’ll find out some time.” Tom liked to show off his new toys, and they were always stunning, she was happy to admit, as he was very talented. He turned at that point and saw her looking at him. Beth started, and her heart started thumping. Then she remembered her coat suitably covered her up, so she waved. In response, he lifted the item he was holding, but all she could see was something rectangular.
No model airplane then. What it is this time?