Thirty years ago, I was fascinated by the stories by Geoffrey Merrick ("Memoirs of a White Slaver") published by HOM Inc. and the paperbacks by F.E. Campbell. They not only improved my English, but also showed me that I wasn't alone in my fantasies. My little fantastic BDSM stories follow this tradition, albeit from a European perspective and embedded in the present.
Melons for Africa
She liked those looks. When she entered the restaurant, at least all the guys turned to look at her. Some openly, others furtively. Depending on whether they were accompanied by women. She stood out in her tight leopard-print top, which clung tightly to her breasts--more than emphasizing her J-cup breasts. Otherwise, she was quite slim, a wide leather belt encircled her waist, and tight leggings led down to black ankle boots with 8 cm heels. She was a real eye-catcher, even though they had just celebrated her 40th birthday. If anyone was a hot MILF, it was her.
Until her mid-30s, she hadn't paid much attention to her appearance, tending to hide her breasts under baggy sweaters. Until the day a photographer approached her at the gym and convinced her she'd be successful as a model. Barely six months later, she'd become an internet star with glamour and soft-porn photos. No longer a mechanic, with thousands of followers, she could comfortably make a living from these images. Above all, her self-confidence had increased exponentially. She was now a star.
Tonight, she had arranged to meet a journalist at this restaurant who wanted to write an article about her unusual career. The magazine was obviously interested in the story, as it had paid for her high-speed train ride and a room in a luxurious hotel. This restaurant was a perfect fit.
The journalist, a man in his fifties, proved to be a gentleman. He conducted the conversation in a most pleasant manner, explaining the menu to her, and beaming at her knowingly. A pleasant, cozy evening that put her in a ready mood. The guy wasn't unattractive, and let's see what happens next, she thought...
At some point, she said goodbye for a quick visit to the restroom. If she had noticed her table companion swapping her cell phone, expensive but studded with cheap rhinestones, for an identical one, alarm bells would certainly have rung. Especially because he shoved her phone into a flat metal box. The other phone looked identical, but the duplicate was nothing more than an empty shell, devoid of any technology--including location services...
After two hours, the inevitable happened. They looked deep into each other's eyes, and then came the decisive sentence.
"Should we stop by my place and have a last drink to celebrate this lovely evening?"
"Sure, but I hope you'll remain gentlemen," she said with a cheeky grin.
"Of course..."
Just as they were leaving the restaurant, a taxi pulled up. "That's perfect. You'd think they ordered it..."
"Who knows?"
The taxi dropped her off in front of a large, elegant apartment building. He helped her out, pointed to the large gate, and said, "Just a moment, I still have to pay the taxi."
He walked around the car and leaned over to the driver. Discreetly, he handed him the flat metal case containing her cell phone, along with a wad of cash.
"Drive to the main station and put it on the train that's making the longest journey tonight. But don't take it out of the metal box until you're on the train, so it can send a GPS signal there!"
"Sure, no problem. I'll do it!"
"And take down the taxi sign."
In the foyer, they met the building's concierge, who greeted them with a broad grin. He greeted the elderly woman warmly, while M. showed no interest in the housekeeping staff and ignored them.
"My dear, have you remembered to leave the rear driveway to the yard open? I'm expecting workmen early tomorrow morning."
"Of course, no problem." She openly looked M. up and down in her cheetah-themed outfit and grinned knowingly.
M. looked around the spacious old apartment enthusiastically.
"This is great here, so big and spacious."
"It's big enough for two, plus it suits my job well and offers space for my passion for collecting."
"What do you collect?"
"Primarily original film props. See that chair over there, for example?"
"That throne there?"
"Exactly. An original prop from various films by Hammer Studios in England. A real bad-boy piece of furniture. Would you like to try it out?"
"Gladly!"
She sat on this strange throne with its high backrest and armrests. It wasn't comfortable; she was sitting like she was sitting in a church pew.
"You have to put your arms on the armrests and tilt your head all the way back, stretching it up a bit."
