“So this is it” Freya thought nervously to herself. “Is it too late to back out of this arrangement?” she silently questioned. Here she was, almost shaking with nerves, apprehensive yet somehow sadistically excited and, she couldn’t deny it, incredibly turned on. She liked control, oh how she liked to be in control, but this was a whole new level – here in front of her stood one of her oldest friends, utterly exposed, vulnerable and seemingly craving to be used and abused as she, Freya, saw fit.
Where to even begin. Well, there was no rush. Maybe she should start by having a closer look, would an inspection be the way to go? Freya looked to her husband Seth seated in the corner of the room. He nodded encouragingly, here only to watch, support and enjoy. Freya turned back to Mali and took all of her in… maybe five foot five in height, long dyed-brown hair but with the grey of age fighting through at the roots, a round face half obscured by the blindfold, large sagging breasts with long pink nipples which for a fleeting moment reminded Freya of wild raspberries, a flabby, out of shape stomach, a thick thatch of greying pubic hair at the top of her legs that spread across the tops of her thick thighs and short dumpy legs covered in downy brown hair.