The sun has dipped low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the quaint, tree-lined, street. The leaves whisper secrets in the gentle breeze, as Betsy Parker stood on the porch of her newly-purchased Victorian home. Her arms are folded over her chest as she surveys the work ahead. The once-stunning facade was now in dire need of attention, a reflection of the tumultuous journey she had undertaken since her husband’s passing. Two years of solitude had led her to this moment, seeking a new life, in a town filled with youthful vigor.

She has been pulling up weeds and raking the yard this afternoon. She is wearing a tight pair of blue jean clam diggers and a t-shirt, which she has tied off below her breasts. She brushes the dirt off her knees and takes off her work gloves, as she sees Mike coming down the street from classes. She waves at him with a warm smile, and says, “Hey, Mike, how was your day?”

Mike’s heart skips a beat at the sight of Betsy’s smile. She looks so radiant, despite the dirt smudges on her cheeks, and the sweat glistening on her forehead. He couldn’t help but admire her dedication to fixing up the old place, as he saunters over, his backpack slung over one shoulder, the sound of his work boots echoing down the quiet street, as he answers, “It was alright. Just another day in the books. How about you?” He then runs a hand through his slightly disheveled hair, the light catching the flecks of gold in his eyes, as he continues, “Still taming this jungle?”

Instead of answering Mike’s last question, Betsy says, “Mike, I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a while now. This house ... it’s turning out to be more of a project than I ever anticipated. And with all the noise at the frat house, I thought maybe ... would you consider staying here? I’d love the company and help, and I’d be more than happy to provide room and board in exchange for your handiwork.” She looked at him hopefully, her blue eyes were wide and earnest, but this made Mike stop in his tracks, and his eyes widened in surprise.

The offer hangs in the air between them, a tantalizing proposal that resonates with his desires more than he ever dared to admit. The frat house, with its endless parties and rowdy underclassmen, had grown tiresome, and the thought of a peaceful environment where he could focus on his studies and help Betsy was incredibly appealing. “Betsy, I ... I don’t know what to say,” he stammers, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “That’s incredibly kind of you, but I don’t want to impose.” He looks around the yard, trying to compose himself, “But if you’re sure ... I mean, if you really need the help, and it wouldn’t be too much trouble...” His voice trails off, hopeful, yet hesitant. He looks across the street at her gossipy neighbor, Mrs. Jones’s house. “What will the neighbors think about the widow lady taking in a male boarder?” he asks himself. Her smile broadens, mistaking his nervousness for modesty, “Oh Mike, you wouldn’t be imposing at all! It’s a big house, and it’s just me rattling around here. Besides,” she says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “it’ll be nice to have someone around who actually knows how to hold a screwdriver properly.” She giggles lightly, trying to ease his tension. “And you can help me figure out what’s making that weird creaking noise upstairs.”

Mike’s eyes dart towards Mrs. Jones’s house before returning to Betsy’s. He clears his throat, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest. “Well, if you’re certain it won’t cause any ... issues, I’d be happy to help out. And,” he adds, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice, “I’d be more than happy to lend an ear to any weird noises this old house throws our way.” He steps closer, his gaze lingering on her for a moment, before dropping to the porch, “When should I start moving my stuff over?”

Her laughter filled the air, as she playfully swats his arm, “You’re so eager! How about this weekend? That way, we can tackle the biggest projects together. And,” she says with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “we can make it a proper housewarming party for you. Maybe even invite a few people from the neighborhood.” Betsy insists that Mike wouldn’t be imposing, and jokes about his skills, as Mike agrees to move in, so, they plan to start the arrangement during the weekend. Betsy again suggests making it a housewarming party, inviting some neighbors, even hinting at a friendly integration into the community. Mike, however, is still concerned about the social implications but agrees to move in on the weekend. They plan a housewarming party for the weekend to introduce Mike to the neighborhood.

“Nah, I don’t know any of these older people on this street, especially, since most of them are retired academics, and very boring, and the guys at the house are too rowdy. How about just us and an intimate candlelight dinner?” Betsy’s heart skips a beat at the mention of a candlelight dinner. She hasn’t had one of those in years, not since her husband was alive. The intimacy of it all was a bit overwhelming, but she found Mike’s company comforting. Plus, she didn’t want to seem ungrateful or push him away.

“That sounds lovely, Mike,” she says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. But inside she’s torn. On one hand, she appreciates the peace and quiet, but on the other, she’s worried about the perception of a young man moving in with her. “Maybe we should keep it simple for now. Just you and me.”

Mike feels a rush of excitement at Betsy’s acceptance, but he’s also aware of the potential rumors their arrangement might stir up. He nods solemnly, understanding her concerns. “You’re right, Betsy, we should keep things low-key for a bit. But I promise, I’ll make it special,” he says with a wink, trying to lighten the mood. He pulls out a small notepad and pencil from his pocket, scribbling down a quick list of things to bring from his place. “I’ll grab my tools and a few clothes tonight. Is there anything special you want me to work on tomorrow?”

Betsy watches Mike with a mix of relief and anticipation. She’s been feeling so alone since her husband passed, and his company is a welcome change. She tries to shake off the doubt creeping into her mind and focus on the positives. “Well, the bathroom upstairs could use some TLC. The tiles are cracked, and the tub is a bit ... wobbly,” she says, her cheeks coloring slightly at the thought of Mike seeing her in such a vulnerable state of disrepair. She’s aware of the attraction he’s been trying to hide and wonders if she’s reading too much into their friendship. She then cleared her throat, “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. How about you get settled in first, and we’ll tackle the bathroom project over the weekend?”

“Those beds are all so old, so, do you mind if I get a new mattress for my room?”

Betsy just nods thoughtfully, “Not at all, Mike, whatever makes you comfortable. But let’s make it a joint decision, okay? Maybe we can go shopping together tomorrow and find something that suits both your needs and the style of the room.” She tries to ignore the sudden image of Mike on a new mattress, her mind racing with thoughts she’s not quite ready to face.

“I can get a truck, that way we can save on the delivery charge,” Mike tells her.

Betsy is excited, but also anxious, about the arrangement, focusing on the bathroom renovation as a manageable first project. She looks up at the tall, lean figure of Mike, her eyes shimmering with gratitude, as she nods firmly. “That sounds perfect, Mike. Thank you so much for understanding, and sure, let’s do the shopping trip tomorrow. It’ll be nice to get out of the house for a bit and get some fresh air.” She glances at the setting sun, feeling the weight of the day’s work seep into her bones, “But for now, how about I whip us up some dinner? I’ve got a killer recipe for spaghetti carbonara that I’ve been dying to try.” She winks, her thoughts racing with the implications of their new living situation, but she’s determined to keep things friendly and professional. “Then you can tell me all about your classes and what you’ve learned. Maybe I’ll even learn a thing or two,” she smiles, as she opens the door to the house, gesturing for him to follow.

The interior is a delightful mess of half-unpacked boxes, tools, and dusty antiques, a stark contrast to the orderly chaos of the frat house he’s used to. “Betsy, this place doesn’t smell bad, but it is old. Once the walls are painted it will smell new.”

Betsy nods in agreement, stepping into the foyer, and inhaling the scent of dust and aged wood. “You’re right, Mike, I’ve been so focused on fixing the more urgent issues, that I haven’t even thought about the aesthetics.” She looks around the hallway, her eyes lingering on the fading wallpaper, “Do you have any color suggestions for the walls? Something that’ll brighten up the place, but keep with the Victorian charm?”

Mike had followed Betsy into the house, his eyes were scanning the walls and the intricate moldings that frame them. “I’ve always liked earthy tones,” he says, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged space. “They have a way of making a room feel warm and cozy, without being too overwhelming. Maybe a soft sage green, or a deep, rich brown? It’d bring out the woodwork and give the place a sense of depth.” He runs his fingers over the dusty banister, feeling the grooves of the aged craftsmanship, “But it’s your house, Betsy. Whatever you think would look best.” His eyes meet hers for just a moment, filled with a quiet assurance that he’s here to support her in her vision for the home.

They enjoy a good dinner and they both enjoy each other’s company. Mike makes her laugh telling her about some of the youthful goings on at the fraternity house. She looks at him thoughtfully, “Mike why don’t you have a girlfriend? I see all these pretty girls on the campus.”

Mike shrugs, his cheeks coloring slightly, “It’s not that I haven’t tried, Betsy. I just haven’t found the right one, I guess. I think I am always looking for a serious relationship with someone who is mature.” He clears his throat, pushing his plate away, and then begins again, “But enough about me. Tell me about your husband. What was he like?”

Betsy’s eyes glaze over with fond memories as she pours them both a glass of wine, “John was...” she starts, her voice, a soft caress in the quiet of the evening, “the kindest, most patient man I’ve ever known. We had been boyfriend and girlfriend since middle school. He had this gentle strength about him that just made you feel safe, you know?” She takes a sip, her thoughts drifting, “He loved to read. Could spend hours lost in a book, and he had the most amazing sense of humor.” A sad smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, as she continues, “But the cancer took him away from me too soon. He fought so hard, and I was there for every moment.” She looks at Mike, her eyes shining with unshed tears, “But life goes on, and I think this house ... this project,” she says, gesturing around the room, “it’s what I need to move forward.”

Mike nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving hers, “I’m sure he’d be proud of you, Betsy,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Taking on something like this, it’s a brave move.” He leans back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass, “But I get it. Sometimes you just need a new chapter, something to throw yourself into. It’s like building a new life from the ground up.” He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words, “I’ve always admired that about you.”

Betsy looks down at her wine, her thoughts are a swirl of emotions. “Thank you, Mike. It’s been hard, but it’s also been ... liberating in a way. Like I can finally breathe again.” She lifts her gaze to meet his, “And having you here, it feels like I’ve got a real partner in this. Someone who gets it,” she smiles, while wiping a stray tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “Now, enough of this heavy talk. How about we plan our first project for tomorrow?” She tries to keep her tone light, eager to change the subject.

Mike is on the top of a step ladder replacing a light in the high ceiling of the dining room. Betsy is bracing the step ladder from the floor as she watches, when some dust falls from the fixture and she starts sneezing. He looks down, and sees that the top buttons of her old work shirt have popped loose when she sneezed. Looking down he can see the deep expanse of the top of her large breasts. Mike’s eyes widen slightly as he sees Betsy’s buttons pop open, revealing more of her ample cleavage than he’d ever seen before. He quickly looks away, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, and clears his throat, “Betsy, you okay down there?” he asks, his voice a tad too high. He gathers his composure and continues, “These old houses have their quirks, don’t they?” He tries to keep his mind on the task at hand, but the sight has stirred feelings within him that he hadn’t expected. “Let’s get this light fixture down, and we can figure out what to replace it with. Maybe something that won’t shed dust like a snowstorm every time you flip the switch.” He’s careful not to let his gaze linger, focusing instead on the antique chandelier above him, his thoughts racing with a mix of excitement and fear of crossing boundaries. His cock has become engorged to a full erection, as he turns and hands down the old fixture, trying not to show the large bulge in his jeans.

Betsy’s eyes widen in shock when she sees the state of Mike’s pants. She hadn’t meant to be so revealing, but the old shirt had been one of John’s and she hadn’t realized how snug it had become. She quickly pulls the shirt closed, her cheeks burning with mortification, “Oh my goodness, Mike, I’m so sorry,” she stammers, her hand trembling as she covers her chest. “I didn’t mean to ... I wasn’t thinking.” She looks up at him, her eyes wide and apologetic.

Mike feels his face heat up, as he tries to avert his gaze, and his heart’s racing. He clears his throat, his voice gruff, as he responds, “Don’t worry about it, Betsy. Accidents happen.” He tries to focus on the task at hand, but the image of her, barely covered, breasts is burned into his mind. He carefully lowers the chandelier, his hands slightly shaking, “Maybe we should take a break for now,” he suggests, stepping down from the ladder and trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on her cleavage. “We’ve made good progress today.”

Betsy’s breath hitches as she feels Mike’s eyes on her, even as he tries to look away. She’s aware of the effect she’s having on him, a thrill runs through her, and since it’s been so long since she’s felt desired, she’s surprised to find that it’s exhilarating. She runs her fingers over the buttons, as she hastily refastened the fabric of her shirt, that’s sticking slightly to her damp skin. She tries to play it off casually, not wanting to make Mike any more uncomfortable than she already has. “Thanks for the hard work today, Mike,” she says, her voice a bit breathier than she intends. “Why don’t you go grab a beer from the fridge while I clean up here?” She watches him walk away, his broad shoulders, and muscular frame, filling her vision. She can’t deny that she’s enjoying the view, and the warmth between her legs is undeniable.

Mike nods and heads to the kitchen, his thoughts racing. As he opens the fridge, the cold air brushing against his face, he can’t help but replay the image of Betsy’s, partially exposed, breasts in his mind. He feels his cock throb against his pants, and his hand lingers on the cold metal handle, grounding him. He grabs a beer, twisting off the cap with a bit too much force, the sound echoing in the quiet house. He takes a long pull, but the cool liquid does little to quench the fire inside him. He knows he should be focusing on the friendship and the project, but he can’t help but feel drawn to her in a way he’s never felt before. The way she’s looking at him, the way her shirt clings to her curves when she moves ... it’s driving him wild. He takes a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts away, but the bulge in his pants is a constant reminder of his attraction. As he walks back into the dining room, he sees Betsy wiping down the table, her shirt still clinging to her, in a way that makes him want to reach out and touch her. He clears his throat, hoping she hasn’t noticed his condition, “You sure you don’t want one, Betsy?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

Betsy glances up at Mike, her cheeks flushing slightly, as she notices the way he’s looking at her. She’s aware of the tension in the air, and a part of her is thrilled by it. She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, “No thanks, Mike,” she says, her voice a bit shakier than usual. “But maybe after we’re done with dinner?” she suggests, as she tries to keep her eyes on his face, but they keep drifting down to his crotch, where the unmistakable outline of his erection is still visible. The thought that she’s affecting him like this sends a shiver down her spine, and she feels a warm wetness pool between her legs. She’s not used to feeling this way, but it’s been so long since she’s been with anyone, and Mike is so ... tempting. She turns back to the stove, pretending to check on the food, trying to regain her composure.

That night, as Betsy lies in her bed, she can’t shake the image of Mike’s arousal from her mind. She’s been living a solitary life for the past few years, taking care of her sick husband, and then dealing with his loss. The idea of being desired again is both thrilling and terrifying. Her hand drifts down to her chest, feeling the softness of her skin, the fabric of her nightgown’ as it’s brushing against her hardened nipples. She’s missed this feeling, the excitement of attraction, the anticipation of a connection. Her thoughts wander to what it would be like to have Mike’s strong hands on her body, exploring her curves, and caressing her in ways she’s forgotten. She bites her lower lip, her hand sliding down further, feeling the slickness between her thighs. It’s been so long, but the memory of her husband’s gentle touch is replaced by the, more primal, need that Mike seems to evoke in her. She tries to push the thoughts away, but they’re too powerful, too tantalizing. With a sigh, she surrenders to the sensations, her fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, her breathing growing heavier.

The next morning, Betsy wakes up feeling both refreshed and restless. She’s decided to tackle the kitchen today, and the scent of coffee fills the air, as she sets out a plate of freshly baked muffins on the counter. She’s wearing a simple sundress that accentuates her figure, the fabric clinging to her in a way that she hopes won’t be too obvious. As Mike enters the room, she can’t help but feel a rush of heat, her heart begins racing in her chest. She pours two cups of coffee, her hands are shaking slightly, “Good morning, Mike,” she says, her voice a soft whisper. “I hope you slept well,” she says to him, as she tries to ignore the way her body responds to his presence, and the way her knees feel like they might buckle under the weight of her own desires.

Mike stretches, yawning, as he pads into the kitchen. He’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants, his tall frame towering over Betsy. He takes in the sight of her in the sundress, his eyes lingering a bit too long before he snaps out of it, “Morning, Betsy,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “Thanks for the coffee,” he says, taking a seat at the counter. He can feel the tension between them, thick and palpable. So, the kitchen, huh?” he asks, as he takes a sip, trying to focus on the task ahead. But all he can think about is the way she looked at him the day before, the way her eyes had searched his, full of unspoken questions, and desires. He clears his throat, “Where do you want me to start?”

Betsy smiles warmly, handing Mike a cup of coffee, “I figured we could start with the cabinets,” she says, her voice a bit shaky. She sets down a plate of muffins, her hands still trembling slightly, as she’s acutely aware of the effect she’s having on him, and it’s a heady feeling she hasn’t experienced in years. She takes a step closer, her body brushing against his leg, “But maybe after breakfast?” she suggests, her eyes dropping to his crotch, for just a moment, before she quickly looks away. She knows she’s playing a dangerous game, but the thought of submitting to Mike’s dominance is a secret thrill she can’t ignore. Inside, she’s already imagining herself on her knees before him, begging for his touch.

Mike takes the coffee, his eyes never leaving Betsy’s, as he can sense the shift in the air, and the way she seems to be offering herself to him. His dominant instincts, usually kept in check, flare to life, and he feels a primal need to claim her. He nods, his voice low and firm, “Breakfast sounds good.” He watches as she pours him another cup of coffee, the curve of her neck, and the swell of her breasts, that’s distracting him from his task. He can feel his cock stirring again, and he wonders if she knows the power she has over him.

Mike uses a crowbar to pry a cabinet from the wall, “You got it, Betsy?” he asks, but he can see that she is struggling with the weight of the cabinet. So, he moves next to her, and takes the weight from her. Their faces are closely together, and on impulse, he kisses her.

Betsy gasps at Mike’s sudden kiss, her eyes wide with surprise, as she feels a rush of heat, that indicates that her body is responding instinctively to his dominance. She melts into the kiss for a minute, but then pulls away, as she starts sobbing, and sits down at the table, with her hands over her face.

Mike’s eyes widen in shock at Betsy’s reaction, as his grip on the cabinet is loosening. He sets it down gently, his mind racing, as he steps towards her, placing his hand on her shoulder, “Betsy, I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice thick with concern. “I didn’t mean to ... I don’t know what came over me.” He sits beside her, his thumb rubbing circles into her back, as he continues, “Please, tell me what’s wrong.” He can see her shoulders shaking with each sob and it breaks his heart.

“I miss John so much. Sometimes, it is just too much, that I can’t seem to get past it. He was so much of my life.”

Mike’s heart tightens at Betsy’s words, and he pulls her into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively, “Betsy,” he murmurs into her hair, his own eyes misting over, “you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to miss him, to grieve,” he tells her, as he holds her tightly, as his hand is stroking her back in soothing circles. He can feel the warmth of her body against his, and the scent of her shampoo fills his nostrils, but inside, he’s torn between comforting her, and his own desire, which feels almost predatory in the face of her vulnerability. He’s not sure how to navigate this new territory, but he knows he doesn’t want to lose her trust. He whispers into her ear, “I have taken several classes in hypnotherapy and grief counseling, so I might be able to help with a few basic tools I learned.”

Betsy leans into Mike’s embrace, her tears soaking into his shirt, as she feels the strength in his arms, and something deep within her stirs. The gentle dominance in his voice is soothing, reminding her of the comfort she found in her late husband’s control. She sniffs and pulls back slightly, wiping at her eyes, “That ... that might be nice,” she says, her voice small and fragile. “But I don’t want to be a burden,” she says, as she looks up at him, her eyes red, and swollen.

“You are my best friend and I want to help you.” Betsy looks up at Mike through her tear-filled eyes, feeling the warmth of his embrace, and the sincerity in his voice. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, her body still trembling from the power of her emotions, as she nods, sniffling slightly, “Okay, Mike,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I trust you.”

As she leans back into his arms, she feels a strange comfort, a comfort that she hadn’t felt since John had passed away. Her submissive instincts were kicking in, and she found herself craving the dominance she’s been missing for so long. She takes a sip of her coffee, the warmth spreading through her, and looks into his eyes, searching for the guidance she desperately needs. “What do we do first?” she asks, her voice a mix of hope, and trepidation.

Mike’s heart aches at the sight of Betsy’s pain, but he also feels a surge of protectiveness, and the beginnings of something more. He wipes her tears with his thumb, his gaze is intense, and focused. “Let’s start with a simple grounding exercise,” he suggests, as his voice firm, but gentle. “Take a deep breath in, hold it for a count of four, and then let it out slowly. Focus on the air filling your lungs, and the sensation of your feet on the floor.” As she follows his instructions, he continues to hold her, his hand moving to the back of her neck, gently applying pressure, in a way that feels, both comforting, and controlling. He feels her body begin to relax, and he knows that he’s found a way to connect with her on a deeper level. He wonders if she’s ever felt this kind of dominance from anyone else, and that thought makes his heart race.

“Focus on my finger, Betsy,” he tells her as watches her eyes close in a trance. “Betsy, can you tell me about John? What did he mean to you?”

Betsy’s voice is soft, almost a whisper, as she tells him, “John was my everything. My rock. He was there for me through everything.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then she continues, “When he was diagnosed, we were so young. I didn’t know what to do, but he was so brave.” She opens her eyes, looking at Mike with a sad smile, “He made me promise to live life to the fullest after he was gone.”

“Tell me what it was like when you first met him.”

“He was the boy next door growing up. I mean really, his backyard came right up to ours. He was two years older, but we were good friends, especially, since we would play together all the time. He was so imaginative, so we would play the knight saving the princess, or he would hunt me sometimes and I would hide. I have never shared this with anyone, but I always had to be naked. He insisted on it, and I loved to be that way for him. When he would catch me in the woods, sometimes he would tie me up. Then he would touch me everywhere, or sometimes spank me. He would make me touch, or kiss, his penis, and I liked that a lot. We would play Master and his slave too, so it became our secret identities. We started having sex when he reached puberty.”

“It was our secret Garden of Eden, our hideout, and our love grew with each passing year. He would come over after school, my mom was never home, and I would always be naked. Sometimes he would put a collar on me and lead me on a leash, other times he would spank me if I didn’t get straight A’s. I learned oral sex from him, we were inseparable, and our bond was unbreakable. When we got married, we continued our games, but as we grew older, the responsibilities of life took over. We didn’t play as much, but the love never faded. When he got sick, it was like the world had stopped turning.” She took a deep, shaky breath, her eyes filling with unshed tears, “He was my first love, my first everything.

She felt Mike’s hand tighten on the back of her neck, the warmth of his touch, seeping into her skin, “John was a lucky man to have had you, Betsy,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But you’re not just a widow, you’re a survivor. A strong, beautiful woman, who deserves happiness.” He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, “And if you’re ready, I’d like to help you find that happiness again.” His hand slipped down to her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, as he said, “Betsy I would like to take you deeper into a trance.”

Her eyes fluttered shut as she nods slightly, her body responding to the command in Mike’s voice, “Okay,” she murmurs, her breathing slowing, as she surrenders herself to the comfort of his guidance.

“I would like you to be naked for the next part. You can leave your shirt on, but take off everything else. I need to go to my truck and I will be right back,” Mike says, as he gets up and leaves.

She watches Mike leave, and gets up, pulling off her sundress, then she takes off her bra, and panties, and then she pulls the sundress over her naked body.

Mike returns with a small bag from his truck. He walks into the house, his eyes scanning the room for Betsy, and when he sees her, his gaze lingers on the sundress that barely conceals her curves. He clears his throat, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Are you ready, Betsy?” he asks, his voice steady, despite the racing thoughts in his head.

Betsy nods, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. She feels a mix of nervousness and excitement, as she stands in the kitchen, the fabric of her sundress clinging to her body. She’s never been naked in front of anyone but John, and the thought of Mike seeing her like this makes her heart race. She gathers her courage and reaches for the hem of her dress, her hands trembling slightly.

Mike walks into the kitchen with a small bag in his hand, his eyes meeting hers for a moment, before he looks away. He notices her breasts under the sundress, and her nipples are hard. “Ok, before we start again, I want to put this on you,” he says as he shows her a studded, dog collar.

Betsy’s heart skips a beat, as Mike holds out the studded, dog collar. She feels a rush of emotions - fear, excitement, and a surprising sense of arousal. She has never been with anyone but John, and the idea of letting someone else see her in such a vulnerable state, is both terrifying, and liberating. Her cheeks burned with a blush, that spread down her neck, hinting at her bare breasts, beneath the thin fabric of her sundress. She bit her lip, contemplating the collar. The thought of submitting to Mike’s dominance stirs something within her that she had long buried with her grief. Despite her nervousness, she can’t help but feel a thrill at the prospect of reliving the games she once played with John. She takes a deep breath, and nods, her voice quivering slightly, “Okay, Mike,” so, he puts it around her neck and snaps it.