Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Hey,” Charlotte said kindly. “Everyone was a newbie at one time. And they’re not like that there. Anthony is very supportive and encouraging of submissives, especially those just starting out. He’ll look out for you, don’t worry.”
Was Hannah a submissive? Or just a sexual masochist? She honestly had no idea. Still, it was some comfort to know she wouldn’t be judged, or not too harshly, for her virgin status. If only she had more than two days to get herself properly psyched up. Not to mention, lose those pesky ten pounds. At the same time, she was so excited at the prospect of not only attending the ceremony at The Enclave, but of finally daring to experience what she’d fantasized about for so long. No way was she going to blow this by being a chicken.
“Okay, then,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “I’m in. All the way.”
“That’s the spirit,” Charlotte enthused. “Come with me after breakfast. I’m picking up my ceremony outfit from that terrific BDSM boutique that recently opened downtown. I’ll help you pick out something sexy to wear for the event. Even if you’re not an experienced player, you might as well look the part, right?”
Chapter 2
Friday night arrived in the blink of an eye. Hannah sat on her porch swing in the deepening twilight, as anxious and excited as a teenager waiting for her prom date to show.
She’d had fun at the BDSM boutique. Charlotte had looked stunning in the wine-red bustier and matching red leather miniskirt she’d modeled for Hannah, along with four-inch fuck-me heels.
Inspired, Hannah had tried on various waist cinchers, corsets, revealing dresses and tight skirts. She basically hadn’t shopped for much clothing of any sort, fetish or otherwise, during this past year of hibernating grief. It felt good to be back out in the world, doing something purely for herself.
She’d especially loved the way a particular corset had hugged her curves, slimming them while accentuating her breasts. The only problem was that she could barely breathe in the contraption, and the stays were already poking into her flesh within the few minutes she modeled it for Charlotte. Forget about sitting down. Deciding she was too old to be that uncomfortable in the name of fashion, she’d reluctantly put it aside.
With Charlotte’s encouragement, she finally settled on an elegant black leather skirt that came to her knee. It had sexy slits on either side, revealing plenty of thigh when she walked. Feeling daring, she’d opted for a pretty pink push-up bra that allowed her breasts to defy gravity, or at least create that illusion. Over that she’d chosen a low-cut pearly pink silk sleeveless top, so sheer the lacy bra was visible beneath. Though the stiletto heels Charlotte had recommended to complete the outfit were flattering, Hannah knew herself too well to risk them. She opted instead for some kitten heels.
Though it was a pleasant September evening in Asheville, it could get quite chilly up in the mountains at night this time of year. Hannah was actually glad of this, as it gave her an excuse to wear a light coat over her ensemble for the evening. While she looked good, she was definitely out of her sartorial comfort zone.
She glanced down at her hands as she waited for her friends, her thumb moving over her ring finger, now conspicuously bare. She’d struggled with herself as she’d dressed for the evening, trying to decide whether to remove her wedding and engagement rings for the event. Her own mother still wore her wedding ring though her father had passed away over six years ago now. But her mother also didn’t attend BDSM events where she might want to scene with some sexy Dom.
Finally, Hannah had removed her rings, setting them carefully into a ring box and placing the box beside the one that held her late husband’s ring. The symbolic significance wasn’t lost on her. She was making a conscious decision to return to the world, single for the first time in twenty-five years.
Headlights beamed in the driveway, pulling Hannah from her bittersweet reverie. Jumping to her feet, she walked toward the vehicle. As she approached, Jim hopped out of the driver’s seat of his Chevy pickup truck. He opened the back door for her, gentleman that he was.
“Evening, Hannah,” he said, smiling. Jim was a good-looking guy in his late forties. He had a mop of blond curly hair, light blue eyes, a full beard and a ruddy complexion. Hannah had met him a number of times, both at The Garden and at various BDSM events. Tonight he wore a black leather jacket over black leather pants, shiny black cowboy boots on his feet.
“Hi, Jim,” she replied, accepting his offered hand as he helped her up into the truck. “Thanks for coming to get me.”