Three months ago, getting ready to turn 36, I decided that my life was not nearly as exciting as it could be or should be. My own analysis concluded my sex life was to blame for this present malaise. My husband, 25 years my senior, was probably not going to be my partner in curing the situation. In my college days and early 20s I was delightfully bisexual and more than dabbled in the crowd that experimented with leather, dominance and role-playing. When I married Bill, it was clear those activities were no longer on the table. But I was young and in love and he was mature, handsome, understanding and very, very wealthy. I was your classic trophy wife. Young, sexy, skinny, big tits, great hair, great face. We were the darling of the society pages although Bill frequently joked that the photographers were really after me, not us.
Bill had a son, Tyson, in his junior year at prep school. Tyson was as gorgeous as only an 18-year-old could be. He was 6 foot, incredibly handsome, incredibly well-built. Quarterback of the school's football team for the second year, he had lots of friends and was living the dream. He was 10 when Bill and I married. I did not try to assume the role of mother but rather that of a friend and sometimes companion. For his 17
th
birthday I took him to a Cold Play concert at universal. He was the perfect gentleman, taking my arm as well as obvious pleasure in escorting his hot date to our front row seats. I had no ulterior motives. Coldplay was his favorite group and the concert was sold out. Looking back however I wonder about my choice of black leather from head to toe and 5 inch instead of my usual 4 inch stilettos. At intermission I bought him a beer and apologized profusely when I had a cigarette with my Chardonnay.
At first I refused to believe that Tyson could be the answer to my dilemma but the thought would not go away. I started having dreams about him and his young cock. What did he taste like, what would he feel like? But my thoughts about seducing him crystallized into place one Saturday morning at the pool. It was one of those Los Angeles Santa Ana days, already hot at 10 AM. Air-conditioning is one thing but a nice swim in the big pool is the best temporary cure for a Santa Ana. Tyson was already on a lounger with a Coke, texting some friends. I deliberately slipped off my pool robe in front of him so he could have a clear view of my incredible rack. I slipped into the water, did a couple of laps and then walked up towards him. My nipples were now obvious though my suit and pointed right at him. His erection was obvious and enormous. I grinned a little and walked past to get a towel. He immediately jumped up, tightened the towel around his waist and rushed into the house. Presumably he was going to beat off upstairs in his own bathroom. My target was Tyson. I was going to seduce him and I was going to have fun doing it.
One of the great things about law school is that it teaches discipline. Every great venture requires a plan, some careful forethought, the discipline to stick with the plan and the brains to know when it's not working and needs changing. Tyson was not my enemy but he was my target and therefore the obvious conclusion was that I needed more information about what might be going on in that 18-year-old brain of his. So on Monday morning, after the two men had cleared out of the house, I made a beeline for Tyson's room for a more than casual discovery venture. This is another thing they teach in law school, the importance of getting every bit of information you can about someone who is going to be a client or an adversary. There was no diary, not dealing with a teenage girl after all. There was his iPad and his iMac, both password-protected. Again law school to the rescue. I stopped practicing after I married Bill. But I kept my license up which required a certain amount of continuing legal education. A couple of years ago the course I enrolled in centered on electronic surveillance, but was really a lesson in hacking. After a few unsuccessful combinations of birthdates, addresses and ZIP Codes I hit the forgot password icon and was given the option to try three security questions. Color of your first car. Easy: red. Favorite sports team. Easy: LA Dodgers. Mother's maiden name? Stuck. I had no idea. More in frustration than divine inspiration, I typed in my own maiden name. Bingo! Very interesting.
I immediately open the history control and saw three URLs that seem to be repeated frequently: tube BDSM, violent chicks and tumbler. His last movie experience was a piece with an older woman and a young guy humiliating and then getting physical with an older man. Seriously? I was wet within seconds and spent the next 8.4 minutes with my hand in my crotch. I copied his history file and emailed it to myself. The next thing I discovered was his Adobe account for Photoshop and Light Room. This time I was flabbergasted. There was an album titled Tracy. That's me. The album was filled with pictures of me. I swear every photograph ever taken of me wearing something leather was in that album. And what's more some of the photos didn't look quite right until I realized there were Photoshopped so that I appeared to have a cigarette in a holder in many of them. What the hell? Then I remembered the chat I had with Tyson about smoking and how my mother and I made a deal that if I smoked less than five a day and always used one of those European cigarette holders with the extra filters she would not make a federal case out of it. I was taken with the holders for a few years and developed a small collection; a collection I was sure had been squirreled away somewhere in our storage area.
As I shut down his computer I realized as soon as he tried to logon his password would be invalid. It wouldn't take long for him to deduce the obvious. I needed another plan fast. This scheme of mine was rapidly getting out of hand until I realized there was only one solution. It was 10 AM and the security system chimed letting me know that our Latino maid was now on site. I tracked her down in the kitchen. "Gloria I need a favor and like most of my favors there is an extra 50 bucks in it for you. Somewhere in the storage area is the stuff that I brought here when I moved in. In one of those boxes is a small wooden case that has several cigarette holders inside. I need you to find that for me ASAP." I pressed a $50 bill into her uniform pocket and told her this was our secret. She nodded and left me alone to build the rest of my plan.
Thirty minutes later Gloria had found the jewelry box containing the holders. "You know Miss Tracy, you don't have to pay me extra. I like doing special favors for you."
"Gloria that is so sweet of you, thank you so much." My God this was getting more intriguing by the minute.
The broad outline of my plan was pretty simple. They say the best plans are. I would invent some excuse after Tyson arrived home to go out with him. I did have an excuse related to a charity event Bill and I were cohosting. I'd put on some casual leather and the poor boy would not know what hit him. I would confess my sins regarding his computer and hope that like most males he did most of his thinking with his cock rather than his brain.
By 3:30 I was waiting in my office retreat, nervous and excited. I put on some ridiculously expensive leather jeans, a plain white tee, perhaps a half size too small and a pair of fuck me pumps. A matching leather motorcycle jacket was at the ready. I heard Gloria welcoming "Mr. Tyson" and made my appearance as the two of them were exchanging small talk.
"Tyson, I hope you have time to do me a favor this afternoon."
I watched carefully as he turned to answer. His eyes widened and he stammered: "Sure Tracy, anything. I'm yours for the afternoon and evening too if you need it."
"Will you drive me up to Griffin Park? I'm involved in a charity event and need to check on some details. I don't think I will be there any more than 10 or 15 minutes but it's something I would rather do in person than by text or by phone. For some reason I'm not in the mood to drive. It's so nice out today, let's take the Bentley and put the top down so the world can see what a handsome couple we make."
I gave him my best smile and adjusted my posture a little as I turned so my tits would stick out even more. It worked. His eyes were glued to them; in fact so were Gloria's. This was even turning me on and I could feel my nipples stiffen.
