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 did not know her. Jennifer only knew him by sight and not from the beach. She had heard that Ironmonger, like her, was a recent arrival in Banks Estuary. However, Jennifer had also heard that 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 threw the useless bra and her filthy, torn panties in the bin. 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 after many a night 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 Estuary was too boring for her. She found a new, suitable 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 such 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 Cuckold combined perfectly, for both of us, with me also being her Dom. 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 thrilled and 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 these 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 lady 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 gave his reply. “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. Your asking me now adds to my hope. But it is for you, not me, to decide if becoming a Sub tempts you.”

As George concluded his answer by challenging Jennifer so directly, he suddenly leaned over her. Jennifer expected – did she hope for – an 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. “Shit! 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 leisurely and relaxed, 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, a Beachgirl? And as for her, he was the opposite of the sun bronzed young Adonises of her usual longings.

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 cunt 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 to the apartment?” They looked at each other, both knowing that there was no hidden meaning 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 intimately 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 took possession of her mouth 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 hide again what Jennifer, after their kiss, wanted to leave revealed.

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 would make love to your delectable but cheating pussy.”

Jennifer’s heart was beating fast. Holding out her glass for a refill and a tension-loaded pause, she, finally, said, “As my man and lover, you would have to punish me. As much for my sake as yours!”

George raised his refilled glass to her. 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 may do to their Subs. Does the excitement, the delicious pain and, yes, the danger of it, attract you, turn you on?”

“Yes it does, always has. But I would have trusted or wanted 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 rested, she murmured, “But do you want me?”

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.