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I shake my head, letting my hair tickle my bare shoulders and décolletage.
That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m trying not to think about. But it’s like . . . You know that psychology exercise where someone says “don’t think of a pink elephant,” and your mind automatically conjures up an image of one anyway? Yeah, it’s kind of like that.
I look at my reflection in the full-length mirror and almost laugh. I look like a flasher, with my beige trench coat unbuttoned to reveal glimpses of dark lace and creamy skin.
Except, I’ll only be flashing one guy: PuppetMaster.
Blood rushes through my veins, making my heartbeat as rapid as a scared rabbit’s.
I’m really doing this.
I teeter on my high heels.
I’m not used to wearing these, but they’re what PuppetMaster wants, so that’s what he’s getting. I’m nothing but obliging on a special night like this.
The sky is thick with suspense, all dark and serious-looking. My heart hammers so hard in my chest it feels like my whole body is shaking, which doesn’t exactly help with my balance.
I take a few big steps to avoid the puddles of rainwater on the ground as I enter the darkened alley where PuppetMaster says he’ll meet me.
I’ve never felt a dark thrill like this.
Yes, I’ve met strangers on the Internet for anonymous encounters. But the last time I did this was years ago, thanks to my relatively stable life in the city. It’s been so long it feels like my first time again.
On top of that, PuppetMaster seems more dangerous than any other dominant man I’ve ever met. I don’t know what’s going to happen. It makes me nervous, excited, scared, and horny as hell.
The panties I’m wearing underneath my trench coat are more for show than for function, so if it takes PuppetMaster a while to get here, I run the risk of having my arousal drip down my legs for everyone to see. They’d stare at me surreptitiously, pretending they haven’t noticed, even as they peer closer to take a better look.
I wonder if PuppetMaster will make me wait. That could be fun, too, to stand here with a dirty secret underneath my coat as passers-by mill past the opening of the alley, some of them glancing in here as they do. Too bad this place is too deserted. I haven’t seen anyone so far.
But that doesn’t matter. Tonight, it doesn’t matter what I think. From this point on, I’m just a doll, a toy for someone to use.
No feelings, no emotions. Just obedience, and the temporary illusion that as long as I obey, everything will be okay and I’ll be rewarded.
The world of a submissive woman is one of certainty; she knows exactly what to do because her master tells her exactly what to do. Even if only temporarily, I need that solid ground to stand on.
Something cold and wet falls on my forehead. I flick my gaze heavenward, but no more water trickles down. Maybe someone’s window A/C’s dripping.
Suddenly, my world goes dark.
I start to scream, but a large, masculine hand covers my mouth, muffling my voice. A thick arm wraps around my waist and presses on the valley between my breasts.
“I thought you’d be happier to see me . . . doll,” whispers my captor. His breath falls hot on my ear and spreads as goosebumps all over my skin.
He’s here.
PuppetMaster’s here.
And he’s a big, strong, burly man. I feel like there are hard, solid walls of man surrounding me on all sides. His chest is broad and sturdy against my back; his arms are so strong I can barely move in his steel grip. Yet, he’s careful not to hurt me or put me in discomfort in any way . . . for now, at least.
I kick and scream, knowing that will irritate PuppetMaster. Maybe I’ll annoy him enough to make him want to hurt me.
PuppetMaster tightens his hold on me, sliding his hand up to my neck and squeezing until I stop struggling. “Remember the safe word, doll?” he asks again in a raspy whisper.
“What safe word?” I ask.
“Exactly.” PuppetMaster continues to speak in a strange, low whisper. “Promise you won’t fight me, doll?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You don’t want people to stare and get us into trouble, do you?”
“No, Sir.”
“Good girl,” he rasps.
My skin prickles with excitement at his voice. PuppetMaster releases me from his embrace, and immediately I miss the heat of his skin. I miss his strength, pushing me to the brink until nothing else matters but obedience.
As PuppetMaster blindfolds me and pulls both my wrists behind my back, I put up zero resistance. He wraps something thin and rough around my wrists—a rope, probably.
I don’t meet many dominant men like him. I can already tell he’ll be rough, and it makes me drip with anticipation.
It’s at times like this I hate my own rule. I can already tell by the way he’s been manhandling me that I’ll want to see him again.
