Would femanons like it if they spent an afternoon with a man teaching them how to make fetish gear together - or even a choker?

I'm an amateur at this stuff but it's one of my biggest fantasies in life

“Do you recommend anything?” he asked. He was still wearing those red-tinted glasses of his even after leaving his manor. Such went the last vestiges of Samantha’s scepticism that the red glasses were just an act of his to mess with her on purpose.

“Not the crumpets, that’s for sure.”

“Why? Do you think it’ll fall far short of my British standards?”

Samantha smiled, then found herself hiding behind the menu so Desmond wouldn’t see how smiley she could get around a man. He was beginning to make her feel more and more like a petite little girl on the verge of a simpleminded crush.

“Welcome to Sam’s! This is Molly, may I take your order?”

Samantha’s spinning thoughts came to a crashing halt as Molly Malone, Sam’s daughter, perennial diner waitress, and ill-advisedly named child, approached their table. She was a big girl, around the same age as Samantha, and now an All-American champion in the sport of shot put. They’d never really been friends, but rather friendly acquaintances who’d bumped into one another from time to time here and back in high school. It had been so long since they’d last met that Molly had to double-take to know it actually was Samantha hiding behind the menu.

“Samantha!”

“Hello, Molly!”

“Found someone new to sink your lips into?”

She reddened. Desmond himself looked away, pretending to be busy examining the wild array of pancake syrups that were always on offer in American diners like these.

Molly wasn’t someone to mince words or hide behind a veil of agreeableness. You couldn’t really, having been named after an Irish fish seller who doubled as a prostitute late at night on the docks in Dublin. Sam Malone didn’t have the greatest self-awareness when it came to names.

“No, nothing like that,” Samantha replied after she composed herself. “This is Desmond. My new leather mas—”