Eileen did not think of herself as a sexy woman. She never had, telling herself instead that looks were not so important; but then not having a slender, Barbie-doll face framed with perfect blonde hair made it easier to make that justification. The body she was blessed with was nothing to be ashamed of, but by her estimates, attractive body descriptions should not include labels like height and weight proportionate. All in all, at 46 years of age, and a mother of three grown children, the years had not been totally unkind. Mark, her husband, disagreed with her self-assessment and never hesitated to remind her just how beautiful she was. It was for Mark she considered breaking new ground, and to that end, shopped for something special – something different.

The slinky nightgowns and silk sleepwear hanging on cascading display racks beckoned to her from the rear of Victoria’s Secret. She never shopped in this store. What was the point? Her sex life was about as vanilla and nondescript as the flannel gowns she wore to bed. Mark was a gentle and patient lover, but a part of her craved something more. She’d all but given up hope discovering anything more from their bedroom repertoire. She ached for something other than normal routine and patient gentleness. What she wanted was something she could not have – she was convinced of that. How could she ask Mark to take her the way she wanted to be taken after 26 years of vanilla?

She hungered for a violence that could never be explained to him. How could she tell him that what she wanted most was to be ravaged and then not make him feel like he had not been satisfying her for these many years? How do you tell a gentle man not to be gentle? She wanted radical difference from their normal. She didn’t want to make love; she wanted to fuck. Eileen needed to be taken. She wanted to be touched with rough hands. She wanted strong, thick fingers twisting and pinching tender nipples. She wanted rude hands to spread her thighs, for impatient fingers to pry and dig into her aching sex. How could she ever tell Mark to behave like a different man? A different strategy was required for her to have a chance at something more erotic. She would have to start things. If she wanted to be taken, she was going to have look like she wanted to be taken.

Fortunately, the store was not busy. It seemed a little silly to her, but she actually felt embarrassed by being there. The strategy to dress with different intent, to walk on the darker side of sex excited her, and yet somehow frightened her. Sex was never something they did simply for enjoyment. Certainly it bore an expression of love, but their routine had become…well…routine. She hesitated a few steps into the store, not sure she could go through with her plan to get what she wanted most. The sales people who were certain to ask to help her would quickly know how plain and unexciting her sex life had become by her selections. Part of her plotted to leave and go to Sears and make her purchase – something more comfortable – more routine – something flannel.

"Hi! Can I help you find something?" asked a pretty young salesperson.

"No. Thank you. I’m just going to look for a bit," replied Eileen, trying to sound like a regular Victoria’s Secret shopper. Absently, she hoisted the strap on her purse higher on her shoulder and wrapped her overcoat a little tighter.

"Okay, take your time. My name is Becky. Let me know if I can help."

Eileen nodded and turned away from the offer to help for fear that her boring secret was exposed. She made her way toward the back of the store where she spotted a display mannequin wearing a beautiful satin nightgown of dark, emerald-green. As she approached the round display rack, she noticed another shopper, a very handsome man, in the far corner searching through a rack of sheer bra and panty sets. Immediately, her mind made a mental comparison to her husband Mark. She nearly laughed out loud when she imagined Mark looking through an assortment of dainty under garments. He’d be moving hangers very carefully so his fingers would not get burned. More than likely, he’d not be caught within a mile of this place. The man she watched seemed oblivious to the potential dangers in handling radioactive garments made of such sheer lace, not to mention the added perils of dainty bows and tiny ribbons.

The satin sleepwear reclaimed her attention. The slick touch against her fingers felt exquisite. Slippery material spilled from her hands, as she gathered several gowns together. The sensation of liquid lingerie teased her with thoughts of how it would feel sliding sensuously against her naked body. Her eyes closed, as she imagined cool satin gliding over taut nipples. Her body tingled, reacting to her imagination with a surge of anticipation she was not prepared to embrace. Breath caught audibly in her throat. Crimson blush spread rapidly up her neck and onto her cheeks. Hastily, she looked up to see if anyone heard her reaction to the flash of a lusty daydream. The handsome man still shopped in the corner among waterfall display racks, apparently unaware of her secret transgression. Her private lust remained safely hidden; however, visible signs of arousal threatened to give her away. Swelling nipples pushed hard against her bra, begging to feel of the caress of satin sleepwear still cupped in her hands.

She glanced at the man in the corner and then quickly looked away when his eyes came up and nearly caught her looking. When he looked back down, she stole another peek. He took great care, as he looked over a selection of camisoles. Powerful hands caught her attention. Strong fingers delved between hanging garments, toying with shiny silk material. She could not tear her eyes away from his hands. Sinewy muscles rippled in his forearm, as his thumb rubbed the soft folds across his fingertips. His caress was mesmerizing, causing her to freeze, watching every subtle movement of his hands. Once more he looked up, nearly catching her staring in his direction.

Eileen abruptly turned her head away, breaking her trance. She busied herself with plastic hangers, making them screech and clatter as though serious shopping was underway. Stepping to her left, she put more of the tall rack between her and Mr. Strong Hands. He moved too, shifting his attention from the camisole display to a mannequin dressed in a sexy, black lace-trimmed brassiere, black thong, lacey garter, and sheer black stockings. The mannequin faced her at an angle, giving her clear frontal view and sexy profile of the skimpy bra clinging to the perfectly endowed female form. Mr. Strong Hands stood on the far side of the mannequin admiring the scantily clad figure. His eyes tracked down the sculpted lines of a slender neck to the gentle curves of breasts sporting prefabricated nipples standing permanently at attention. Eileen was hypnotized and frozen in her tracks. Her increasingly hungry eyes scrutinized every move he made as he studied the mannequin's attire.

The feeding of Eileen’s imagination began in earnest when Strong Hands rested one of his powerful hands on the waist of the mannequin and slid his other up over her belly, roughly fingering her right breast through the sheer lace-trimmed bra. Thick fingers brushed over her nipple until he was able to roll the rock-hard nub between forefinger and thumb. Eileen bit down on her lower lip and sucked her breath in sharply through her nose. Her right hand came up and touched her left breast, knowing her nipple was every bit as hard as the mannequin’s. The plastic hangers rattled when her left hand clutched the chrome bar to steady herself. Mr. Strong Hands did not look in her direction, so she drank deeply of the erotic events playing out before her.

He stepped closer and behind the mannequin sliding his hand on the form’s waist downward, toying with the garter. Rough fingers slipped underneath the strap, pushing at the edges of the thong. Eileen dropped her hand from her breast to her upper thigh, reflecting the exact movement of those powerful fingers. It was all she could do not to cry out when he dipped two of those massive fingers into the gap between stocking clad thighs, cradling both her thong and her sex. She followed his movement as though she was a remote-controlled robot. Still he looked away from her. His concentration was intense, and his head and eyes were turned away from her. Eileen's breath quickened along with a hot, surging arousal soaking her panties. His middle fingers curled, disappearing into the gap between creamy thighs, index finger and pinky extended, as tendons flared along the broad back of his hand. Her own fingers dug deeply into her throbbing crotch, pressing on her clit, driving her rapidly toward an unexpected release.

The knuckles on her left hand were white from a desperate grip on the chrome rail rimming the top of the display rack. She brought her legs together, squeezing her hand tightly in her crotch, as waves of orgasm broke upon her with little warning. Her forehead came to rest on the hand that clutched the edge of the rack. The shoulder strap on her purse slipped from her shoulder, catching in the crook of her right arm, causing the plastic hangers to clatter together. Eileen gasped softly; fighting the urge to collapse on the floor and revel in the glorious orgasm thrashing inside of her. Looking back at Mr. Strong Hands, she was relieved to see he still looked away from her. The noise and commotion of her struggling to stand while riding out a sweet climax had not given her away. Her forehead came to rest on the back of her supporting hand once more. She attempted to catch her breath while residual shudders from her orgasm continued to wrench with pleasurable contractions in her center.

Breathing came hard, as she enjoyed the inner glow from a private lust. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Never in her life had she ever considered doing anything like this, especially not in public. She was torn between intense satisfaction of a self-induced orgasm, and guilt associated with the source of her fantasy; the catalyst for initiating such a bold move – Mr. Strong Hands. Without lifting her head, she rolled it to the right allowing her eyes to focus on a mirror on the backside of a partially opened dressing room door. The reflection confirmed the heat she felt on her face, glowing with a flush of crimson satisfaction. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a slight movement in an adjacent mirror. Her eyes drifted to the right and came to rest on smiling eyes and face of Mr. Strong Hands.

In disbelief, she quickly looked back to the mannequin. Strong Hands still looked away from her. With a rush of adrenaline flooding her body, she looked back at the mirror. Chilling realization slowly crept into realization of what he had been watching so intently. He was totally focused on every move she made while he fondled the mannequin. He witnessed her touching herself. ‘My God,’ she thought to herself, ‘he watched me come.’

Eileen shifted into full-blown panic. Her mind screamed at her indiscretion. This was all so very wrong. What would Mark say? What would Mark do if he knew she had done this? Tears threatened to burst forth, as she yanked her purse strap back up onto her shoulder. Trembling fingers pulled her overcoat tightly around her flushed body, and with short, quick steps she headed for the door. She had never felt so violated in her life. She felt dirty – betrayed. Betrayed by whom? Her own weakness lusting after strong fingers and hands? Mr. Strong Hands himself? Why did she ever ventured into that store? She fought the urge to run.

Traffic in the mall was fairly brisk, enabling Eileen to disappear into the crowd of post-Christmas bargain hunters. The farther she walked from Victoria’s Secret the more calm she became. After the embarrassment of getting caught red-handed had worn off, she started to think more clearly. She rationalized what happened earlier into a harmless, distant history. It had been an innocent mistake. No fault need be assigned to anyone. Mark need never know what happened. It would serve no purpose to tell him; however, there was something more important she had to tell him. She looked forward to returning home, slipping into the nightgown Mark gave her for Christmas, and then into his loving arms. The taste of vanilla and the comfort of flannel were never more appealing than they were right then.