The Beachgirl

Outside in the corridor, Jennifer turned too quickly to shut the door. Losing her balance, she slid down the wall. As it dawned on her drunken mind that she never could get up again, the tears started trickling down her cheeks.

In this state of despair, George Ironmonger found her. He, the owner of the hotel, passed her on going to his private annex. He bent down over her to ask if she were alright and if he could help her to her feet. But then, smelling the alcohol on her breath, George straightened up. He reached for his phone to tell the reception to have this drunk woman removed.

In giving a last look at Jennifer's strong, attractive face, now with tears flowing down her cheeks, he suddenly remembered. He had seen her before, a mature, noticeably beautiful, well-dressed woman, coming out of a shop in Banks Inlets centre. He had watched her getting into a late model Alpha Romeo and drive off.

So, George Ironmonger helped Jennifer to her feet and half-carried her to his apartment. What motivated him was not only a kindness extended by one respectable citizen of the town to another, found in a compromising situation. Seeing her state of despair awoke in George specific memories. George suddenly felt he had to help this woman in her shamefully, vulnerable condition.

Getting half-dragged and half carried through the hallway and then through George's apartment into his spare bedroom had upset Jennifer's stomach. Swaying on her feet next to the bed, she clung to George and whimpered, "Where is the toilet? I'm going to be sick." So, George walked her, as quickly as her hesitant steps allowed, into the adjoining bathroom.

As Jennifer sank to her knees to embrace the toilet bowl, her hands slipped. She would have fallen in her vomit on the floor, but George caught her. Holding her head gently but firmly over the bowl, Jennifer rid herself of most of the night's toxic mix.

After her ordeal, Jennifer sat, leaning against the toilet bowl, dejected on the floor. She watched in silence as George, without looking at her, was filling a spa bath with steaming water. Then, with the water set bubbling, he added a generous dash of rose-scented oil. Now, turning to her, George smiled.

He only said, "Come." As he pulled her up from the floor, Jennifer stumbled into his arms. While she held on to his neck and tried to smile into George's concerned but unsmiling face, he began to undress her.

Drained of all shame, she let him. Off came her crumbled half-blouse, her bra hanging on a thread, her skirt, and then, with George on a knee, her soiled and torn panties. As Jennifer stepped out of them, with her hand gripping his shoulder, she looked down. George's eyes were on the ground and not on her only centimetres away, dirty-fucked pubes.

And then, his strong hands supported her as she stepped gingerly into the tub. He lowered her body into the wash of the warm, swirling water. Then George turned away. He dimmed the lights and went into the adjoining room, leaving the door ajar.

After five minutes or so, he returned. Stepping up to the spa bath, he looked down on Jennifer running his eyes over her stretched out body as it lay in the pulsating water. He responded with a grin to the hesitant smile with which Jennifer responded to be looked at. Her hands, open and relaxed next to her body made no attempt to close over either breasts or her shaven mound.

Showing her the bathrobe he had brought, George put it on a chair and said: -

"I'll help you out of the bath when you are ready. The bed is made. I hope you'll have a good night. By the way, my name is George, George Ironmonger. I own this hotel. We can talk over breakfast if you want before I drive you home. But if you prefer to leave without meeting me again, there is a backdoor."

Chapter 3

When Jennifer woke up the following morning, a dull headache and a jumble of disconnected memories reminded her of a night out of her control. She had neither a watch nor her phone. The latter was in her bag. She had left it somewhere last night, in her rush to get fucked by bloody Steve.

And afterwards, there was George. As Jennifer stood under the almost cold shower, she recalled his calm, resonant voice, and her body remembered the touch of his strong, caring hands. He had not known her and Jennifer only knew him by sight and general reputation. She had heard that Ironmonger, like her, was a recent arrival in Banks Inlets. However, he had owned the Esplanade Hotel for several years, in addition to other properties in Sydney.

When Jennifer got dressed in the worse-for-wear half-blouse and skirt she wore last night, she realised she was not fit to be seen, neither in walking home through the town nor by Ironmonger at breakfast. So, she slipped back into the robe and left the useless bra and her filthy, torn panties on the floor. Then, giving herself a determined look in the mirrors, Jennifer felt almost ready to face George.

She found him in the apartment's kitchen. He, in tan slacks and a white shirt with sleeves rolled up on his solid, hairy arms, nodded Jennifer with a Good Morning to the table. With a beginning smile, as if they had known each other for ages, he said: -

"I suppose, for your stomach, it will be just coffee and toast after last night. Or should I mix you a Bloody Mary? I'm rather good at it. My wife needed it, she also had nights like yours."

Jennifer sat down aghast. George's conversational, matter-of-fact mentioning of her fucked-up and drunken state last night and linking it with his experience with his wife left her speechless. She sipped on her coffee and looked at George's no longer smiling face across the table. He obviously saw no need between them to hide anything behind apologies and evasions.

So, Jennifer, after hesitating for a moment, asked, "Your wife, where is she?"

"We divorced. Sasha has moved back to Sydney. Banks Inlets was too boring for her. She found a new Dom, and we parted as friends. She even suggested coming back for an occasional visit. It was an offer I refused."

Jennifer swallowed in shock, but then a rising excitement made her ask for an explanation that George was, perhaps, not willing to give: -

"I'm confused. Were you Sasha's husband and her Dom? The Bloody Marys you mixed for her? How could she, as your wife and Sub, come home to you in suck a state?"

Jennifer swallowed and looked down. Her face felt hot as she added, "Like me, last night, drunk and freshly fucked!"

George took a big sip of coffee. Then, crossing his arms, with a level voice and not allowing Jennifer to avoid his eyes, he explained: -

"You see, Sasha was beautiful, fifteen years younger than I. She was also promiscuous, unable to refuse a strong sexual temptation. I learned that becoming her Dom, combined perfectly, for both of us, with me being made a Cuckold. My being turned on by her promiscuity progressed from knowing she fucked others to her describing it to me in glowing detail and then to me, occasionally, watching her fuck. While it aroused the Cuckold in me, it also made me jealous and angry. And for Sasha, there was always her guilt after each escapade and her need to be punished and forgiven. Therefore, we found an even more exquisite thrill in our lengthy sessions of punishment and atonement than Sasha did in her infidelities and I in being cheated! These were always delayed, allowing the tension to mount. And Sasha came back for the arousing highs of these punishment sessions, as much as for my Bloody Marys and me."

George stopped in his obviously well thought out explanation. Then he grinned at Jennifer and said, "Now that I have scared you with my depravity, I better drive you home."

Looking at her, he added:

"We better find you something to wear. Sasha has left some of her clothes behind. I could not drive you home in the bathrobe. People would think you spent a night with me. It would not do, would it? Not for a sexy beach-girl like you with an old man like me."

In the walk-in wardrobe, George quickly found a suitably dressy shift. Back in the bedroom, he turned around without being asked. He need not have. Jennifer just glanced at his back as she dropped the gown on the bed. Then, unhurriedly she took off her skimpy blouse and skirt to slip naked into the dress. It was a close fit. George, turning around, gave her an approving look. He could not fail to notice the pointy protrusion of Jennifer's aroused nipples against the silk of the garment.

On the short drive to her unit, Jennifer remembered her bag. George readily promised to find it for her. As he stopped in front of her door and turned to her, Jennifer had to resist a sudden urge to kiss him. The daylight stopped her.

Still, she hesitated in just thanking George and getting out of the car. There was an unasked question that burned on her tongue. She knew that if she did not ask him now, her courage would fail her once the mood had changed. So, she firmly looked into George's dark eyes and asked: -

"Why did you tell me - a stranger - something so private about Sasha and you? I mean that you are a Cuckold and a Dom?"

George did not turn away to avoid Jennifer's eyes. Unsmiling he answered: -

"To begin with, you and I are no longer strangers. I felt compelled to pick you up, drunk, fucked, and fucked-up, left like thrash on the hallway's floor! And you gave yourself totally and unconditionally into my hands and uncertain care. After this, how much better could we know each other? And it just happened that you were not a drunken slut, but an interesting, beautiful, sexually alive, and -- I guessed - possibly, a promiscuous woman like Sasha. In your need and willingness to submit to me after having sinned, you reminded me strongly of her. How far would this submission go? I was attracted, wondered whether I had found, by lucky chance, a Sub in you. This is the reason why I told you what I am. And you asking me now, adds to my hope. But it is for you, not me, to decide if becoming a Sub would tempt you."

After confronting Jennifer so directly, George suddenly leaned over her. Jennifer expected -- yes - hoped for a possession-taking embrace. But George only reached for the handle to open the car's door and muttered, "I better let you go now. I'll look for your bag and will bring it."

Suddenly Jennifer froze in her seat, "Oh, God! The keys are in my bag. I'm locked out." Then she burst into nervous laughter, "I'm so sorry, George. You'll have to take me back to the hotel."

During the short drive back to the Esplanade, Jennifer was in turmoil. She glanced sideways at the tall, dark man, older than her, that in effortless control moved his large Mercedes through the morning traffic. He so obviously felt no further need to talk. Could he possibly desire her, after last night, a slutty, no longer young beach-girl? And as for her, he was the opposite of the sun bronzed young Adonises of her past fevered imaginations.

As she looked at his strong hands on the steering wheel, Jennifer realised that she had fallen under a spell, darker, stronger, more sexually compelling than ever before in her sun-filled life. Suddenly, as Jennifer remembered how these hands and George' brooding eyes had been on her naked body, her pussy surprised her with a gush of warmth.

When George pulled into his parking space behind the hotel and killed the engine, he asked Jennifer, "Do you want to wait in the car or come up?" They looked at each other, both knowing that there was nothing hidden in the question for them. Jennifer replied, "I'll come up if you want me to."

This time it was not the kitchen. George led Jennifer into his large and exquisitely furnished living room. He pointed her to sit down and left her. She heard him talking on the phone in the adjoining kitchen. Eventually, George returned with two glasses and a bottle of champagne. He sat down close to her and said, "Your bag has been found. It's in the reception. Should we pick it up now or later?"

Jennifer answered by moving her lips the separating centimetres onto his. And George responded the way she knew he would. His tongue breached her lips and wrestled her challenging tongue into submission. As she sunk back into the cushion and George's possession-taking kiss, Sasha's too brief shift slipped up Jennifer's thighs. When George broke their kiss, he glanced down at her spreading thighs and pussy. He smiled as he pulled the seam down to cover what Jennifer, after their kiss, had no wish to hide.

Turning away from her, he popped the cork and filled the glasses. Then, after toasting each other with a "To us!", George grinned and said, "Well, champagne is almost as good as a Bloody Mary after having sinned. But if you were my Sub, Jenny, I would have to punish you for what you did before I could make love to your delectable but cheating pussy."

As he talked, George's hand had slid up Jennifer's readily parting thighs and had cupped her sinful pussy. When his strong middle-finger parted its fleshy lips, it sunk into an inviting, all confessing, slippery heat.

Jennifer's heart was beating fast. Holding out her glass for a refill and a tension-loaded pause, she, finally, mumbled, "God, then you have to punish me." Pressing her thighs together and locking George's hand on to her grinding sex, Jennifer whispered, "Feel my wicked pussy's heat, punish me! As much for my sake as yours!"

George withdrew his hand. Looking unsmiling into her eyes, he said: -

"You answered like a true Sub. But do you know if it is what you want? I take it you watch as I do, porn-sites on the Web, don't you? So, you know what Doms do to their Subs. Does the excitement, and, yes, the danger of it, attract you, turn you on?"

Jennifer blushed, "Yes it, does: being bound, blindfolded, whipped, stretched out, always has tempted me. I never admitted it. I would have trusted neither my husband nor any one of my lovers as a Dom."

Jennifer emptied her glass before she continued, her voice low but firm, "Until we met, George, I did not think there could be such a man." Then, looking down on her thighs where George's hand now just rested, she murmured, "But do you want to be my Master?"

It made George smile. Switching into a commanding voice, he ordered Jennifer to stand up. As she did so, somewhat uncertain on her legs, George rose and said, "We'll see. Now raise your arms, Jenny."

And then, having endearingly taken possession of her name, George reached for the seam of Sasha's dress. He pulled it up over Jennifer's raised arms and threw it aside. She stood there in the morning light streaming through the window, gloriously naked, with her long, beautiful legs slightly spread and her still shapely boobs arching out over her flat, tensing stomach and shaven pubes.

As George put his hands on her breasts - as if testing their firmness - Jennifer lowered her arms. George immediately reprimanded her, "Don't Jenny! Stretched out, you still have the proudest, sexiest of tits, and by God, I will often see them stretched." George paused, "As your Dom and your lover. Now come!"

As Jennifer followed him, pushing out her tits, full of pride in her naked beauty. And the heat welled up in her cunt in expectation of what was to come.

In the to her familiar guestroom, George stopped. He took a black blindfold from a drawer and tied it firmly over Jennifer's eyes. Then he embraced her. Standing behind, with one hand cupping a breast and the other her pubes, George whispered into Jennifer's ear: -

"Always remember Jenny, as my Sub and if we become lovers, the word No is forbidden. It is corrupted! Women use it too freely to suggest they are victims when engaging in sex. The Nos serve to hide their nature, the reality of their lust, and its pleasure and pain. Should I do something that you can or will not bear or that hurts you beyond need and reason, say the safe word 'Red'. I, as your freely chosen Dom, will immediately obey and stop."

Jennifer, blindly shivering in anticipation, nodded her assent. Finally, George led her to the bed. As she obediently stretched out, every fibre in her body wanted to be atoned and remade.

Chapter 4

As Jennifer looked around their 'playroom', she realised that George had been back while she was in the shower. Over a chair hung the dress, and on it lay a bra and panties. Jennifer smiled as she saw that George had left the toys of their playtime on sight for her to see. Did he want to test or discourage her?

When she picked up the bra, it was exactly her size. The panties, however, were a size or two smaller. Jennifer could suddenly picture her predecessor in this room: Sasha, with her voluptuous and sag-free young tits quivering in the bite of the clamps and her sexy, daintier ass stretched for the cane. In a surge of jealousy, Jennifer threw bra and panties back on the chair. But then she still slipped into Sasha's dress, even though she would have preferred to walk up to George naked, to show him how much she -- still desirable - wanted him now as her Dom.

George was in the kitchen sitting on the table, sipping on a mug -- the smell told her -- of freshly brewed coffee. He smiled at her, Jennifer thought, somewhat uncertain. To put him at ease, she quickly stepped up to him. As George wrapped his arm around her waist, Jennifer pressed her pubes against his face. George let his hands slide up her thighs. Taking the shift's seam with it and finding her naked, his lips and then his mouth closed over the Venus mound offered. Jennifer cried out. For a mad moment, she wanted to raise her leg to push her clit into George's sucking kiss.

But then, Jennifer held still as George continued to cover her pubes and belly in kisses, and his hands made caressing love to her seared buttocks. But too soon, he disappointed her. Instead of a hoped-for tearing off her hindering dress and pulling her onto his lap and cock - or spreading and lifting her legs to fuck her on the table -- George stopped kissing her and pulled down the shift's seam.

Looking up into Jennifer's bewildered face, he said, "I better drive you home now. We both need a rest for our first night together. I am too old, and you -- after what you have been through -- too spent to start a night of wild loving at noon. If you come back tonight, I'll prepare a feast for us in the bedroom. And after, we can feast on each other for the rest of the night!"

George got up. Nodding at the table, he said, "I got your bag. Come, Jenny." Then he turned, expecting her to follow, to walk down to the car.

During the drive, both George and Jennifer kept silent. Everything that would have justified questioning about what had happened and would occur tonight was resolved for them.

When Jennifer stepped out of the car into the sun, a breeze moulded the shift's silk onto her naked body. The thought that it would be a fab afternoon to catch the waves crossed her mind. But then she realised the tiredness behind her sun-blinded eyes. She hurried into her unit and straight onto her bed.

When she woke up, the room, with blinds drawn, was almost dark. It was close to eight, and Jennifer feared for a moment that George might think she had changed her mind. In a panic, Jennifer reached for her phone to send to his newly inserted number its very first text, "I am coming. In 20 minutes or so. Prepare our feast. In OUR bedroom!!! Jenny XXX."

Jennifer parked her Alfa next to his Merc in the reserved space and then walked up the stairs to the backdoor to enter without knocking. She could only wonder how natural it felt after having known George for less than twenty-four hours. And in the kitchen, George, as he drew the cork from a bottle of Hunter Riesling, just nodded at her as if her coming was nothing out of the ordinary.

But then, glancing sideways at Jennifer's dress, he asked, "You are still wearing it?"