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His voice was low and muffled as it had been on the phone, so unlike the four men I knew about… or so I believed.
“The demands become serious from here on, Skye.” His fingers caressed my face and my body trembled scared. “Play with yourself for me. Eyes closed, hand inside your crotch.”
“Here? Now?” I croaked that old refrain.
“Here. Now,” he softly confirmed.
I lifted my skirt and parted my thighs, while the energy of sex burst from me in a raging torrent. For days I hadn’t come, so it only took a minute of frantic play to have me at the edge.
His hand gripped my throat hard. I was sure I’d suffocate. “Come!” he ordered, bending down to whisper in my ear. My body seemed to rip apart, with the end crashing in around me. My ass lifted off the seat, then my bound groin rocked back and forth as it settled down, making the chair squeak with each jarring movement, certainly telegraphing my state of being to the whole goddam world. I forgot myself, the place, the time, the company, and groaned because I could do no less.
“Hush!” I heard his imperative firmly remind me where I was. Then as the spasms ceased to shake my groin, he released his grip. He backed away, saying, “No one’s going to bother you. Pull yourself together and get back to work.”
The sensations lingered with me long into the afternoon, along with the memory of his scent, the feel of his hand, the warmth of his skin, the gentle firmness of his voice. If only I had turned around and opened my eyes, I’d have seen his face. But he remained, instead, my mystery, the man without a face, without a name.
The ropes remained in place and the dildo in my pussy until the end of my workday. There was not another word from my master in that time; I suppose he believed he’d said enough. At home that night, I washed the dildo and rope and placed them in a silk bag in the bottom of my lingerie drawer, there to wait for other orders, another time. There to haunt me, I suppose.
***
Three days passed, and as the busy world of Lloyd & Lockhart exploded with work for me to do, I had no time for email conversations… even if I was driven to check my messages hourly. Curiously, my master was silent. On the second day, without a familiar message in my inbox, I took off to investigate… see who was out of the office. To my disappointment, all four of my prime suspects along with the other less likely possibilities were in the building, intact, sticking to the office as if they’d been pasted there, cut-out paper doll caricatures working diligently, just as I was. Deprived of clues to my master’s identity, I headed back to my cubicle and my steadily rising mountain of work.
For a time, the silence in my email was some relief, but soon the satiation of that one long ago climax dwindled. My body asked for more. No! I denied it firmly. It asked again, as often as I would think of the mysterious man in charge and his continuing effect on me. I denied it myself repeatedly, realizing that I could masturbate, if I really got that horny. But it was the principle of the matter… sure, I could fudge on the rules and get myself off—in seconds likely—but then I’d have to lie to him, and to myself. I’d feel the guilt like an accusing parent wagging its finger at my weakness.
Third day waiting… I went home feeling limp as a rag, my body crawling with the pressing need. Any touch, any slight touch, and my crotch was likely to explode. I slumped in my easy chair, took a long drink of ice water and wished for something to deliver me from this disaster. I wanted the man, but I wanted him closer. Email was not enough when email was cold. My fantasies were not enough when they could
vanish with the breeze. I needed his warmth, the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand to take this crushed desire and make it mean something.
Impatient me… I should have known he’d read my mind and my impatience and understand my plight—after all, he’d created it; but it took nearly half my evening before I rather accidentally discovered a package wedged in my mailbox. One minute I was drowning in my physical denial, the next, I was suddenly reminded by a TV commercial that I hadn’t collected my daily mail.
***
“Read first” the envelope said in a scratchy masculine script. Pen and ink on a bright white note. “Begin no later than ten pm. Finish your preparations in twenty minutes and wait.”
My body answered with alarm. A glance at the clock, it was already ten to ten… I read on with my eyes growing wider as one command followed the next, as the master explained the items in the box—which I tore apart until the tissue paper was in shreds and lying before me was a blindfold, rope and handcuffs.
If you forget the first instruction, I was warned, you may wait a long time for your rescue.
That first instruction… Put your house key under the mat outside your front door.
I finally moved, forced by my resolve, and the white-hot feel of my crotch. My thighs rubbed together and I groaned aloud. This was crazy, utterly crazy! But wonderful!
With my house key safely nudged under the doormat, I continued the long and detailed list, first placing a straight-backed dining room chair in the center of my living room. Then I stripped away my clothes, rubbed my body with scented lotion—that was by my inspiration—then I proceeded to sit in the chair and bind my ankles to chair legs and my knees, spread wide, to either side of the seat. He’d provided just enough rope to complete each task; he was an efficient man. Once my lower limbs were secure, I continued with the instructions, placing one handcuff around my left wrist, then covering my eyes with the blindfold so I couldn’t see anything but a tiny sliver of light below, where the soft illumination of the living room lamp seeped inside. Should I turn out the light? I wondered to myself.
No! No! It’s a waste of time; I answered my question quickly… my twenty minutes is nearly gone.
I had memorized the last instruction, having read it ten times through… dwelling on what that meant.
Slip your hands behind your back, behind the back of the chair, and work the second handcuff around your right wrist, press it closed until you hear the lock set.
This was crazy. I didn’t even know the man and I was putting myself in bondage from which couldn’t escape. Why?
What made me trust him? Or was it even a matter of trust? Had my life become so tedious that I’d let myself be lured by such sexual promises? Apparently so.
It didn’t matter, however, what my better judgment told me. I completed the bondage as ordered, believing, hoping I’d be rescued and delivered from this crazy lust.
***
The minutes dragged on endlessly, making rude accusations of about my stupidity with each defining tick of the clock. How could I do this to myself? How could I be so foolish when I didn’t even know his name, had never laid my eyes on his face? What craziness had brought me into this horror!
