Page 1 of Hunter's Baby Girl
Chapter 1
When we pulled up across from the BDSM club, I had no idea what I was in for.
I’d never done anything like this before; nothing even close, in fact. In all my twenty-six years, my sex life had been fairly vanilla. The kinkiest I ever got was a little light spanking or a blindfold over the eyes. So imagine my surprise when my best friend suggested I join her that night.
“Tonight’s the monthly open house,” Megan told me over the phone. “And the theme is age play.”
“What’s age play?” I asked, feeling like the world’s biggest nerd compared to my much more experienced friend. She was a regular at the club, visiting once a week, and had no shame when it came to sharing her experiences with me after the fact. I had to admit, some of the stories she told me were a little . . . exciting. More than once, I’d found myself fantasizing about being the one strapped to a table, spread-eagled, with a half-dozen pairs of hands stroking and fondling me.
“Age play is, like, when you pretend to be younger than you are, and the guy pretends to be the same age or older than he is. Think Daddy disciplining his disobedient daughter.”
That got my attention. One thing that had always turned me on was having my boyfriends dominate me a little. Not a lot, not rape fantasy or anything like that. But being called a bad girl and being “punished”, usually by being “forced” to suck them off or something like that. I always got off on that sort of scenario.
Not only that, but Megan knew about my penchant for older men. I guess you could call it a fetish, I don’t know. That was why she felt tonight would be perfect for me.
“These guys,” Megan stated, “aren’t necessarily old per se. But they dominate and dole out discipline, if you know what I mean, just like they would if there were actually a huge age difference. Maybe you could find a partner closer to your own age instead of the AARP card-carrying geriatrics you’re always chasing around.”
“They’re not that old!” I asserted. “Nobody over forty-five anyway.”
“Still,” Megan continued, “I really think that a visit tonight is just what you need. You could have a lot of fun, I’m sure of it. Live a little while you’re still young enough to do it!” I had to laugh, having heard her say this about herself too many times to mention.
She had never steered me wrong in all the twenty years I’d known her, and I knew she had my best interest at heart. Plus, from what she had told me, this was a club totally on the up-and-up. Even when they held their open house, they had a strict rule that any new visitor had to be in the company of a member in good standing. If the visitor acted up or broke any of the rules, both they and the member who sponsored their visit would be thrown out and never allowed back in.
“What do I wear?” I asked, and Megan laughed triumphantly.
She told me the dress code was “theme appropriate” – in other words, if I wanted to be treated like a younger girl, I should dress like one. I went to my basement, where I stored totes full of old high school and college stuff, and found my Catholic high school uniform: a pleated plaid skirt, button-up blouse complete with Peter Pan collar, and a cardigan. I even had a pair of saddle shoes. For once, I was glad I never seemed to be able to get rid of things.
Still, I thought perhaps I should sexy it up a little. So I pulled out the garter belt an ex had purchased for me years before, with the matching thigh-high stockings. We ended things not long after he bought that for me, actually, so I’d only worn them once. I thought a black lace bra and thong might work well.
After I put my hair up in pigtails, I realized I looked just like Britney Spears in the “…Baby One More Time” video. Only while Britney was blonde, my long hair was brown. And if I do say so myself, my 36C boobs looked better than hers in my plunging push-up bra. I left my blouse unbuttoned halfway to show them off.
The doorbell rang; it was Megan. Or at least I hoped it was Megan, or else I’d feel pretty funny answering the door looking like this. But it was her, and the second she got a good look at me, she just about lost her mind.
“Hayley!” she laughed and threw her arms around me. “Spin around for me!” I did. I had to admit, I felt pretty good about still being able to fit into my size-four high school uniform. “Girl, you look hot! I’m proud of you!”
“Then why are my knees knocking?” I asked her.
She took my hands in hers. “Listen. You don’t have to even do anything with anybody if you don’t want to. You’ll find out that this place caters to a whole range of people, and the number-one rule is respect and politeness. If somebody asks you to play and you don’t want to, you can say, ‘No, thank you’, and they’ll be on their way. And if they don’t respect that, well, I’ll point out the dungeon masters to you. They’ll take care of things if you give them the heads up.”
I gulped. “Dungeon masters?” She laughed again and assured me it wasn’t as serious as it sounded.
She had walked into my house wearing a long trench coat, which I thought might be a good idea for me as well. We climbed into her car, and she gave me a rundown of the rules of the club.
“Like I said, first and foremost is respect and politeness. If you want to watch people playing, you can with their permission, but it’s considered impolite to ask questions or stand too close – and you should certainly never attempt to join in without consent.”
“Oh, don’t worry. That’s not gonna happen,” I told her.
“Masturbation is frowned upon, unless it’s part of the play scenario,” Megan continued. “So you’re not going to see a bunch of guys standing around jerking off all over the place, in other words. There are specific rooms for sex, too, and they’re generally stocked with condoms, as well as toys,” she said. “Again, you do not have to do anything tonight. Just get a feel, whatever. No pun intended.”
“What if I . . . want to?” I asked. She grinned.
“Then approach somebody and ask them,” she said. “There are different colored wristbands distributed when you come in. If a person is wearing black, they don’t want to be approached for anything. If they’re wearing white, they’re open to meeting a new play partner.”
I mulled this over, and by the time we arrived at the club, my heart was pounding. What had I agreed to do?
“Don’t worry,” my best friend assured me and squeezed my hand. “This is actually safer than going to a plain nightclub. You’ll see.”
The bouncer checked Megan’s card at the door when we stepped inside, and girl in a corset and pencil skirt took our coats. Megan looked great, her curvy, petite figure in what could be referred to as a “sexy librarian” outfit. “Some guys like to be dominated by a strong older woman,” she explained. She looked sexy as hell, and I knew the men at the club would love it.
