Book 1: Anonymity
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My Secret Life
Master JoeSmith has me belly up over an oversized barrel, literally.
The oak wood is cool against my arched spine. Rope binds my spread ankles to one side, and my wrists, also bound, are secured to the other. I’m bent backward, unable to move. Being vulnerable is exactly how he prefers me.
A wooden clothespin pinches each stiff nipple. From time to time, he flicks one to add discomfort to my sensitive little buds. It hurts and yet a ping of desire shoots directly to my clit. He enjoys it when I flinch. My pain arouses him.
My thighs and belly are hot and flushed bright pink after the flogging with a long-stranded leather flogger. I remained silent through the whipping because it pleased Master. If I don’t call out, he’ll reward me. If I do, the punishment is harsher. I’ve learned to absorb the pain and release it with my orgasm, which he’ll provide when he deems me deserving of such pleasure.
If he asks a direct question, I must answer. If I don’t, he might duct tape my mouth closed. He’s done that once. I quickly learned my lesson.
I’m blindfolded, as usual, when he plays with me. He forbade me from seeing his face and insists on his anonymity above all else. I enjoy my time with him and wouldn’t want to jeopardize it by peeking, but I wish I could put a face to my delicious torturer.
Still, it adds an element of excitement of not knowing who’s watching, or when or where Master will touch next. It can unhinge me if I allow myself to fall victim to anticipation.
I listen carefully to every sound he makes. His feet shuffle toward me and stop directly in front of my upside-down face. He’s so near I can feel the heat from his body on my nose, which is at crotch height. Adrenaline courses through my veins as I await his next move.
Something tenderly brushes along my top lip and I instinctually open my jaw. His thumb gently pulls on my chin, urging me to open wider.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth.”
Master only speaks in hushed whispers, adding to the alluring mystery of his anonymity.
He guides the puffy head of his warm penis between my lips. Gentle fingertips trace my jaw. Slowly, but with purpose, he works his cock in until it’s in my throat and his balls rest against my nose. He brushes his fingers along my exposed throat and it tickles. Each time he pulls back, he allows me a breath. I’m amazed at how this position, nearly upside down, allows me to effortlessly take all of him.
His shoes scuff as he rounds the barrel and snaps at each clothespin, and he snickers when I twitch. He stands between my legs and drags his hot palms from my breasts, down my tummy, over my thighs and to my ankles where they remain.
Hot breath brushes my clitoris, and I bite my lips to restrain a moan. He gingerly spreads my labia and my clit twitches as the cool air stings it. His fingers glide between my folds before dipping into me.
I want more. I want him inside me.
JoeSmith’s whisper cuts through the silence that stilled my thoughts. “You’re wet. This pleases me.” He pauses to spin his fingers back and forth as they slowly glide in and out. “When I fuck you, you won’t cum until I permit it. If you do, I’ll punish you. Do you understand?”
His words don’t frighten me. In fact, I’m happy to receive either a punishment or a fucking.
“I understand, Sir.”
I feel the firm mushroom head press against my opening. One thrust and he’s buried deep inside me. My chest heaves but I don’t dare cry out. My ankles pull hard against the restraints with each of his powerful thrusts. He’s relentless.
Suddenly, everything stops. He holds still. I stay as mannequin-like as possible, but my heaved breaths allow an errant whimper to escape from between my clenched teeth.
“You’ll remain quiet,” he whispers. His fingertips glide from my lips, down my throat, and stop at my clavicle. “You’re a good pet and deserving of release. Soon, but not yet.”
Master grips my shoulder and continues pounding into me. He yanks the clothespins from my nipples and my breath catches. As blood rushes through them, it’s nearly impossible for me to restrain my orgasm. I know he savours the control I allow him to have over me.
He presses a small vibrator against my clitoris and my body bucks and pulls at the bindings. I cry out even though it’s not permitted, but I can’t stop myself. I want to let myself go, to fall into my pleasure, but I need his permission first.
Finally, his hoarse whisper sings sweet words. “You may cum now.”
My muscles burn. Strangely, the world darkens beneath my blindfold. There’s so much tension deep within my core that I erupt.
The world seems to spin at warp speed. A scream escapes me and snaps me back to reality. He pants above me, readying to release his seed. His hips heave against me one last time before he collapses heavily onto me.
Tender kisses peck between my breasts. He’s in no hurry to lift off of me, but when he does, he releases my left ankle first and rubs it lovingly. The warmth of his lips calms the hot indents that linger in the rope’s absence. He repeats his tenderness with each binding.
In his gentlemanly way, he helps me rise. I clutch his arm when dizziness has me unsteady. I was upside down for some time, and I’m still blindfolded. With an arm around my waist and the other gripping my hand, I’m guided ten steps away. I hear him sit on a creaky wooden chair as he continues to steady me. He guides me between his legs and has me sit on his lap.
“You’ve pleased me once again. Did you enjoy yourself?” JoeSmith whispers as he brushes a tuft of my hair off my shoulder and glides his warm hand down my back, where it comes to rest on my opposite hip.
“Everything was wonderful. Thank you, Sir.”
My hands are no longer bound. I could reach up to remove my mask and finally see his face, but I won’t out of respect for Master’s rules.
He kisses my shoulder. “I need you.”
JoeSmith tries to keep our relationship professional with little emotional connection. He’s usually stern and domineering. I know he appreciates me, otherwise, he wouldn’t ask me to return week after week. Perhaps his way of showing affection is by always ensuring I’m completely satisfied.
Our arrangement is strictly meant for pleasure, but my feelings sometimes blur. There are moments when he’s gentle and his touch has me wondering if he feels a loving connection with me.
I jolt back to reality when a paper ball soars from the cubicle next to me. I was daydreaming and replaying what happened last weekend, only this scenario was about to become more heartfelt than the reality was.
I nod in the direction the paper missile launched from to thank my best friend and coworker, Sam, for waking me from my midday zone-out.
My thirty-something, unbelievably sexy boss stands with one hand in the front pocket of his well-tailored dress pants. He’s looking at me from behind the plate-glass windows lining his second-floor office, which overlooks twenty-two cubicles. He wears no expression on his handsome face as our eyes meet.
Is he upset that he caught me daydreaming, or is he curious about what stole my thoughts from my job?
He sips from his mug, and his eyes drift to the right. His black suit does nothing to hide his exceptional body. I have so many naughty fantasies involving him, but I’m way too shy to admit to him that I find him attractive. He’s my boss, and office romances seldom work. Besides, a boyfriend would never allow another man—a dominant master—to mark his woman’s body, let alone fuck her or share her with other people.
And that’s why I stay single. Well, that and most men bore me.
Despite the office closing an hour early on Fridays, I’d swear time always moves slower. My patience was put to the test today, but the workday is finally over.
As I pack my belongings and prepare to leave the office for the weekend, I wonder what JoeSmith has planned for me for tomorrow evening. When I get home, I’ll read his email, which should contain a vague description of the weekend’s BDSM adventure.
I dare not open my email at work. The boss could be monitoring our computers; some companies do that. I don’t think my super sexy boss Ben Manning is snoopy, but I won’t bet my career on it. If he discovered my dirty little secret, the embarrassment would surely kill me. I doubt he’d blab, but if he did, it would spread like a wildfire and I couldn’t bear all the judgemental stares and whispers.
I rush out the door toward the parking lot, and I’ve almost made it to my car when a familiar voice pulls me from my thoughts.
My pace slows, and I groan as I stop and turn. Sam is hurrying toward me with a wide smile and her dark brown hair flowing in the breeze.
“Wow! What’s your hurry?” Her shoulders droop as one arm hangs and the other clutches her chest, exaggerating her heavy breathing even though she’s only slightly winded. “As usual, a bunch of us are going for drinks tomorrow evening to blow off some steam. Don’t rush to say no. Give me a minute to try to guilt you into coming.”
Her fists perch on her narrow hips, and she glares.
Strands of wavy hair cling to the film of sweat on her face brought on by the sun’s baking rays and high humidity. If she weren’t only 5’2”, her intimidating stare might convince me.
“Look, you haven’t partied with me in a long time, and I’m feeling a little unloved.” Her voice lowers as she leans her weight on her left leg and rolls her eyes. “Bob made me promise to tell you he’ll be there.”
She knows I’m not interested in Bob, but a promise is a promise.
Nobody knows about my sexual exploits with JoeSmith, not even my best friend. It breaks my heart that I’ve been lying to her for a year. It’s difficult to think up new excuses as to why I’m always too busy to party with her on Saturday nights. I’m surprised she hasn’t demanded a solid explanation or spied on me to find out.
What would happen if I told her my secret?
It could go either way: she might disown me or possibly want to join in. I don’t doubt she’d be entertaining for JoeSmith and he’d enjoy her tight little figure and small, perky breasts. I wouldn’t mind watching her lose herself to his skills and knowledge of the female body.
We’ve been best friends for seven years, ever since we met in college. Lucky for us, we were both hired to work here fresh out of school and her cubicle is right beside mine. I can always count on her to tell me the nitty-gritty gossip from the secret-spilling-water cooler-judgment-crew.
Aside from Sam, I’m a bit of a loner, which has helped keep me off their radar. I banish thoughts of being the subject of workplace gossip. For that reason, I keep my personal life separate from my work life.
Sam bounces like a toddler setting up to have a tantrum. “Please, please, please!”
All the begging in the world couldn’t convince me to forego a Saturday playdate. It’s rare, but occasionally JoeSmith doesn’t invite me to play. He never offers a reason why and I don’t ask. It’s not my place, and I know that. I’m a plaything; a toy he can set aside and take out when it suits him, and I like it that way.
“I can’t make any promises because I already made plans. If they fall through, I’ll come.” I squint and cross my arms over my chest. “And will you please stop giving Bob hope? I could always talk to the creepy guy who stares at people and doesn’t look away when their eyes meet and tell him that you like him.”
I snicker when her face contorts. She gasps and places her hand over her heart.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
My shoulders lift and my eyes widen. “I recommend you don’t fall asleep after you two have hot, sweaty, sloppy sex. You might wake to find him dancing after he’s cut off your skin and made a tight Sam-suit.” We both shiver and I grimace. “That was too far, wasn’t it?”
Her face scrunches for a second time. “First off, I’m not giving Bob hope.” She laughs, lowers her voice, and points at me with both of her index fingers. “Bob Hope! See what I did there? Huh? Huh?”
I roll my eyes and smile. “Uh-huh.”
“And that creepy guy—”
She studies my face to question my bluff, so I raise an eyebrow in defiance. She pouts and skips toward her Jeep, which suits her energetic, happy-go-lucky personality. She’ll be a great catch for some lucky guy if he can pin her down long enough to call her his.
“Hear this, missy!” Her finger points at me as she opens her door. “One day, I’ll insist you introduce me to this mysterious friend that robs me of your Saturday nights.”
She waves goodbye and sags into the driver’s seat and shuts her door.
The drive home seems painstakingly long, and each red light is torture. Every green light is a reason to celebrate. My muscles are tense with anticipation. I want to ram cars driven by people out to enjoy the scenery instead of driving the speed limit.
I jam the key in the lock on my front door and push it open. The knob smacks against the wall with a loud bang, and the door rushes back at me and the handle snags my purse strap.
I wrestle to free it and then slam the door behind me and flip the lock. I sprint to my laptop, flip it open, and push the start button.
Normally, I would have plopped myself in the chair and tapped my fingers on the desk while I waited impatiently for the computer to load. Today, however, I really need to pee.
I kick off my high heels as I dash to the bathroom. My arches ache as they flatten to the floor. My nylon-clad feet slide on the hardwood as I whirl myself around the corner, hearing that familiar computer jingle and force my urine out as fast as possible.
The computer will be ready for my password any second. Yanking up my panties will waste time so I fling them in the hamper. I’m so glad I wore stockings and not full pantyhose.
No surprise that my computer’s password is JoeSmith. I plant my butt in the chair and take a deep breath. There it is; my email icon staring at me, taunting me. I don’t dare click it for fear it will slow the loading process or cause the computer to freeze. That would be unbearable.
It’s ready! Tap, tap.
My body heats with excitement. I can hear my heart try to beat its way out of my chest. I hold back the urge to click on his name simply to torture myself. I’m a masochist, after all.
With a tap of my finger, the email opens.
I request your presence at the castle. If you accept this invitation, you’ll reply with the words, “I accept.”
You must follow the same rules as always:
-You’ll attend your pre-scheduled wax appointment.
-You’ll be picked up at five o’clock tomorrow evening.
-You’ll remain quiet upon arrival.
Lady Catherine will prepare you for my arrival. Expect to be very uncomfortable tomorrow. I will grant you much pleasure if you behave. I might choose to put you on display for others to enjoy. Your flesh will sting and your muscles will ache. I’ll use you until you have nothing left.
Do you accept?
I consider declining, but my curiosity holds me prisoner. Besides, I trust him: he’ll take me to my limit but never push past it. I type “I accept” and send the reply to my punisher.
There’s pain in our sessions, but nothing I can’t handle. A hard spanking until my butt goes fire engine red. A typically violent and exciting fuck. Anal sex here and there. But what does he mean by uncomfortable?
Being displayed is nothing new to his games. I’ve had audiences watch my humiliation unfold more than once, and it’s exciting. Will the audience take part this time?
Why will Lady Catherine tend to me? She never has before. She’s the extremely intimidating woman who runs the castle. My mind spins with an infinite number of scenarios. I hate yet love the unknown.
My pussy clenches. I need an orgasm.
I rush to the bedroom and around the bed to the bottom drawer of my nightstand in search of my favourite sex toy.
There it is right on top; my trusty vibrator that always satisfies me. I drop my skirt to the floor, plug in my friend, and then flop on the bed. A pillow flops onto my face and I leave it there as a makeshift blindfold.
I click the vibrator to the lowest setting. There’s that sweet hum that promises me pleasure. I touch it to my pierced clitoris. The bouncing stainless-steel ring intensifies the vibration and I let my thoughts drift and picture myself bound to something. My ass cheeks burn from a spanking and something big is stuffed in my vagina. I imagine myself pleading with my unknown captor to let me cum.
An intoxicating tickle begins in my lower belly and slowly rises through my core. I click the vibrator to a faster speed. It’s louder, more violent, and much more exhilarating. A click higher, and I’m so close.
I whisper to myself. “Not yet.”
There’s no better feeling than those few seconds before an orgasm overwhelms.
I flip it on high.
My toy attacks my clitoris like a devil with a mission. A split second later, the heat roars inside me and takes over my entirety. Every muscle from my toes to my eyelids flexes from the intensity.
The world disappears around me, and the fire in my belly reaches volcanic heat. I scream and shake but keep the vibrator pressed to my clit until I beg myself for mercy.
After a quick shower and an even faster bite to eat, I slide on a denim skirt and a violet shirt that reads, I’m Trouble. I can’t be late getting to the salon because I’ll have to wait even though JoeSmith pays them well to take me next, no matter what time I arrive. Still, the later in the day it is, the longer I have to wait.
I had a restless night of sleep because I anticipated his touch. JoeSmith never ceases to satisfy me. He doesn’t leave me until I’m utterly spent. But I wonder what fantasy roleplay game he’s chosen for us tonight. What will he have me wear?
After a large cup of coffee and a yogurt, I stick my earbuds in and find my favourite workout music. I begin with a medium-paced walk on my treadmill and gradually increase to a steady run.
I’ve lost time reminiscing about the different scenarios Sir has acted out with me. I’ve been running hard for nearly an hour, and my legs ache. The steamy shower feels wonderful as water washes the sweat from my skin. I let it pound on my back before I bring the showerhead to my pussy. I select a steady stream, put my left foot on the edge of the tub, and point the stream at my clit. It isn’t long before I cum.
I call Sam while I slip on a well-worn pair of jeans and an oversized pastel blue t-shirt with the words Don’t Judge Me on the front.
Sam’s peppy, as usual.
“Hi, Sam. What are you up to?” I ask while I slip my foot into an ankle sock.
Sam always talks fast. “Not much. I’m just leaving my mother’s, and my afternoon is free until I go to the bar tonight. What did you have in mind? Do you want to do something?” She gasps and adds, “Oh, hey! Are you coming tonight? Please tell me you are.”
“Sorry, no. Do you want to meet for lunch? You’ll need a hearty meal before you go out drinking tonight. If you eat now and not just before you go out, you won’t have a food baby when you slip on that hot little dress you were telling me about.” Sam never turns down a free meal. “I’ll buy if you meet me in about half-hour at Andy’s Pub.”
She ponders momentarily. “Half-hour is tight for me. Forty-five minutes would be better.”
“I’ll see you in forty-five at Andy’s.”
My tummy rumbles when I think about their chicken club sandwich meal.
I gather my hair and affix it with a clip, brush my teeth, and rush out the door. I’ve known Sam long enough that I’m sure she’ll get to the pub with plenty of time to spare. Can I beat her this time?
Rushing was a waste of my efforts because she’s already here, sitting at a patio table for two overlooking the street and the steady stream of people scurrying about. We both love people watching and being watched. It’s fun to see how many men—and women from time to time—will stop and offer to buy us a drink. We usually turn them down, but it’s great for our self-esteem.
Sam’s drink arrives at the table as I walk up. She’s dramatic when she looks at her watch and stands.
“You may be early, but I was earlier.”
I roll my eyes and hug her. “You said you couldn’t make it in half-hour.”
She shrugs and sits. “It appears I could.”
Our bellies are full and I’m more relaxed after drinking a margarita. Sam had two. She bites her lip and shuffles in her chair.
Louder than I should, I ask, “Butt rash bothering you?”
Without missing a beat, she replies, “It’s about cleared up. How’s the herpes?”
She snickers. I shake my head when the two people at the adjacent table stare open-mouthed. Sam exhales heavily.
“If I ask you something, will you answer honestly? Like, will you swear on our friendship to tell the absolute truth no matter how uncomfortable it makes you?”
What if she asks me where I’m going tonight? Should I confess my secret lifestyle? What if she wants to experience it for herself? I think our relationship could withstand it, but what if it couldn’t?
I hesitate and she crinkles her eyebrows together as if questioning our friendship. Reluctantly, I nod my head. What else can I do? I don’t want my secret putting a strain on our friendship any longer.
“I’ve gone to your house on several Saturday nights when you said you were staying home. Your car was there, but you weren’t. Where do you go?”
She holds my gaze without blinking and my heart pounds in my chest as a hundred thoughts rush through my conscience. I’m a terrible liar. She claims I have a tell but won’t say what it is.
“Just tell me. Do you have a boyfriend, or girlfriend—no judgment!”
“I don’t think you really want to know. If I tell you, it’ll change how you think of me.” I pause and hope she’ll tell me to forget she ever asked, but she stares unblinking. “You’re better off to stay oblivious.”
Sam doesn’t back down and raises her eyebrows to insist I confess.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Tell me what he or she looks like—again, no judgment.”
Here goes nothing!
“Okay, he’s about 6’2” and has dark hair. He’s physically fit but not ripped like a bodybuilder. He’s Caucasian and his voice is deep, I think. He only whispers to me and never speaks in his normal voice.” My eyebrows furrow, and I shake my head when her eyes widen. “I can’t honestly tell you what his face looks like because I’ve never seen it.”
Her hand rises to stop me. “Okay…” Sam’s eyes search the sky momentarily and then she crinkles her face. “Wait, what?”
My lips twitch when I try to smile. “He insists on his anonymity. I’m forbidden to look at him, even if he wears a mask. His masks have eye holes but mine never do.”
“Um, okay.” She bites her cheek and leans toward me with her elbows on the table. “Your boyfriend sounds hot, I think.”
I shake my head and pull on my earring. “Definitely not my boyfriend.”
“Okay, I understand. I think. Wait… no, I don’t.” She takes two big gulps of her drink. “So how did this all start?”
“It all started about a year ago when I opened an email at work.” I tuck a tuft of hair that escaped the clip behind my ear. “My life felt stale and I craved excitement. So, after some communication and research, I agreed to a meet-up with—”
“Are you crazy?” she barks, alerting the same two people. “You met someone from the Internet without at least telling me you were going or taking me with you for safety purposes?”
“It was stupid and dangerous. I know.”
I fiddle with my straw. She drags her finger around the salted rim of her glass and pops it in her mouth, and then she waves her hand, urging me to continue.
“His name is JoeSmith; one word, and he emails me on Fridays. I’m to follow his instructions, otherwise, he’ll punish me.” I pause when she opens her mouth to speak but doesn’t. Instead, she urges me to continue. “We always meet at a mansion just outside of the city somewhere. It’s more like a castle. Before you ask, I’m not sure where it’s located. I’m picked up and driven there in a limo with a hood over my head.”
With the straw bound tightly between her pursed lips, Sam looks concerned and yet intrigued, so I continue.
“When I arrive, I sign some waivers. It’s just a formality. After that, I’m led to the shower. While still naked, I’m brought to where people dress me, apply my make-up, and do my hair to his exact specifications.”
A slurp startles Sam from her trance. Immediately, she waves her hand to our server and points to her glass.
“I’ll need another drink to get through this.”
She nods, and I continue.
“When I’m ready, a leader brings me to whatever kinky room suits his fantasy. There are rooms for bondage, wet rooms, dungeons, et cetera; just about any kinky fantasy you can think up.”
I wave my eyebrows while sporting a crooked grin. She looks past my head as if searching the sky for a memory or fantasy she’s hidden away.
“I’m chained, tied, or positioned how he requested. Only then does JoeSmith come into the room.” My hands wrap around my glass and I snicker. “You can guess what happens from there.” We sit silently for a full minute before Sam speaks. I can tell she has questions and she’s trying to decide what to ask first.
“Who is he and what’s his name?”
I shrug, rather aloof. “JoeSmith. Like I said, I’ve never seen his face and I don’t know his real name. If I’m not blindfolded, he’ll wear a full mask with eyeholes. Sometimes I can see the back of his head and his jawline when he tells me to watch him, like when we’re in the mirror room.”
Her eyes widen and her head tilts to the left. I bite my lip as the memory of his sweaty body pounding against mine as I was faced away from him and bent at the hips floods back.
“That’s one of his favourite rooms.”
It’s a lot for her to process, so I patiently wait while she watches a crowd of chattering people walk past. She’s halfway through her third drink and her eyes are glassy.
Sam’s louder than what’s appropriate for our conversation as she finally says, “Why didn’t you tell me about this? I could have lived vicariously through you this whole time! Oh, my god!” She flings her arms wildly. “You’ve been letting me go on and on about how great my sexual rendezvous are, meanwhile, you’ve been having the mother-load of kinky sexual experiences this whole time!”
She leans back and crosses her arms over her chest, but quickly resumes leaning her elbows on the table. Her voice lowers, much to my relief.
“All this time, you could have been spilling to me and getting me all hot and bothered. You know you have to fill me in, detail by detail about absolutely everything!”
Sam seems to be more than okay with my confession, and I regret not telling her sooner. I could have saved myself a lot of aggravation. She’s right, though; her typical sexual flings are dull in comparison to mine.
“So, tell me…” Sam’s glossy eyes are wide with excitement. “What are you going to be doing tonight? You’re meeting him, right? I mean, that’s why you aren’t coming out with me. But, shit! I wouldn’t go out with me either!”
I tell her everything that was in the email and she’s as excited as I am. She shifts in her chair and bites her bottom lip. It’s obvious she’s aroused. Sam slumps back on her chair as if lounging in a recliner and stirs the remainder of her third drink with her straw. Her eyes narrow and her expression has horny written all over it.
“Do you think I could ever do what you’re doing?”
I nearly spit my sip of water at her.
She whispers, “Would I be able to come along sometime? I wouldn’t want to impose if your mystery man is special to you; like a boyfriend or something.” Her shoulders bounce. “But I’m curious.”
Her eyes don’t leave mine, but her eyebrows slowly rise with desperation when I don’t immediately respond.
I nod and reply, “I can ask.”