by Al Daltrey
The rumour was we’d be getting a dry cleaner, a florist, possibly a Starbucks or another specialty coffee shop, and to my surprise, Benito was opening up a small restaurant named what else but, Benito’s Bistro. I think this was more a vanity project than a legitimate desire to make money in the restaurant business. He probably wanted a special place to hang out with friends, and having your own restaurant near Ghirardelli Square certainly provided that.
Our postal service during the interior construction was delivered to a small temporary mailroom, which was adjacent to the lobby. Usually, it was my job to get the mail, but today it so happened that both of us arrived home at the same time, so we both did it. While Chloe used her key to open and check our slot, I noticed a rather long package on the side counter where the postal worker left over-sized deliveries. I immediately recognized the unmistakable brown and black wrapping. Only one store has wrapping that distinctive. I hadn’t ordered anything, so I knew it wouldn’t have my name on it. I glanced at the label: Kurt Wilkins. Hmm..interesting.
Whoever this Kurt is, he must have ordered something from a well-known bdsm online store called ‘Gadgets & Gear’. I knew the store well. It’s based in Vegas and has an extensive inventory of specialty sex toys, specializing in fetish gear. I was familiar with the packaging because I had ordered from the same store myself over the years. I couldn’t help but think: we must have a kinkster in the building. Judging from the length of the box, it was likely a crop or whip, but I couldn’t be certain.
I showed the discovery to Chloe and told her of my suspicions. We both laughed and joked about confronting the buyer by handing over the package and saying, ‘Oh, what did you order here, an umbrella?’
The devious wheels in my brain started turning as we rode the elevator. All the while Chloe browsed through our mail. Upstairs in the condo, I firmly told Chloe to fetch the yellow post-it notes. My tone of voice was telling. I was in Dom mode. Ordinarily, I don’t boss her around. If I wanted post-it notes, I’d go get them myself. But upon hearing my tone, she immediately slipped into sub mode. I had an agenda.
“Yes Sir, right away Sir,” she said, scurrying away to find our post-it notes.
When she returned, I took a pen in hand and asked my pet a question, “What’s that hotmail address of yours, the secondary one that you use?”
“Um, it’s subbyslut99 at hotmail, Sir.”
I wrote on the post-it note while a wide-eyed Chloe watched in disbelief. I spelled out my words slowly and carefully, mimicking a female writing style, ensuring that Chloe could read every word.
‘If you need someone to try your new purchase on, email me at subbyslut99@hotmail.’
I handed her the post-it, and she nodded. She quietly put her shoes back on and disappeared out of our front door. Five minutes later, she returned. To my delight, she had a huge smile on her face.
“I did it,” she boasted. “I put the post-it note on the package.” Her fear was morphing into excitement. She was still nervous, but our crazy game was also providing a thrill. All evening long, she was checking her email, but rather than checking with a sense of dread, it was evident she was disappointed every time her inbox was empty.
Finally, just as we were going to bed, Chloe checked her phone and yelped in pleasant surprise, “He wrote back!”
The message, not surprisingly, was bleak: ‘Who the fuck are you?”
In the morning, it was not Chloe, but me, who emailed back on her behalf:
‘I live in this building. I know it sounds crazy, but I recognized the wrap of your package, and I took a chance. I’m a female sub, and…well, I guess I hoped there was someone like-minded in the building.’
That set off a flurry of emails back and forth, during the day, where I responded on Chloe’s behalf while she peered nervously over my shoulder. Such fun. Understandably, Kurt was sceptical. He needed to ensure he wasn’t being set up for some sort of scam. During which, I busied myself with some detective work of my own, getting a quick background check done on him, courtesy of an old connection with access to various databases. Turns out, Kurt is 55 years of age, semi-retired as a professional Engineer, and recently widowed.
As an Engineer, Kurt was methodical and careful. In the latest email he asked Chloe to take a photo of herself holding up a post-it note with the word ‘sub’ written on it. She took a selfie exactly as he directed. Upon seeing how beautiful she was in the photo, he had the verification he needed, and started to take the whole thing more seriously. His emails became less hostile and friendlier.
More emails were exchanged that day. Chloe and I were enjoying the process, knowing we were setting her up for some sort of encounter. We also knew that, like any of these situations, we could blow the whole thing if we moved too fast.
She confessed to Kurt that, while married, she was doing this behind my back. Making Chloe look like a cheater was becoming a staple in our depraved games, and it gave an element of humiliation that somehow added to the eroticism. It made her look even sluttier or sex-crazed.
As a show of good faith from his side, Kurt emailed back a photo of his purchase from Gadgets & Gear. It was a rawhide knout, with several strands of oiled rawhide intertwined and attached to a long handle. In the accompanying text, he taunted Chloe about using it on her shoulders and back, if things kept progressing. Chloe and I were sitting beside each other, and I noticed she took an audible gasp of air when the photo opened in our browser.
“Does the picture excite you, Chloe?” I teased her.
“Yes, Master. I don’t know why, but yes…yes, it does.”
“I think you know why Chloe.” I paused and then told her to explain.
“It excites me because I imagine there’s a good chance he’ll use it on me.”
I told her to stand, and then, I made her remove her jeans. She did so, standing obediently right beside me. The computer screen was staring both of us in the face, the image of Kurt’s rawhide knout now full screen.
“Spread your legs, my pet.”
Chloe was dripping wet. Her pussy was warm and responsive, no doubt from the email exchange we’d been having with this mysterious older man who lived in our building. The anticipation that one day he might whip her with the knout had clearly aroused my wife in a big way. I reached out with two fingers then began to touch her clit. She shivered and inched her legs even further apart, giving me full access to her pleasure spot. I started to rub all around her clit in circles, my fingertips squishy wet with her juices. She trembled as I did so, and we could both hear her breathing more loudly and more erratically.
“Do you want to cum, Chloe?” I asked her.
“Oh God, yes! I want to cum very badly, Master.”
I gave her permission, telling her to keep her eyes locked onto our computer screen. In less than a minute, she was cumming all over my fingers while staring at the knout that would likely dance across her shoulders one day soon. She came hard. And then, my wife thanked me for the privilege, catching her breath.
That was the last of the emails exchanged with Kurt on that day, however early the next morning, the correspondence picked up right where it left off. Kurt was increasingly less suspicious but not completely sold that this wasn’t some sort of trap. In the meantime, Chloe and I had to leave for work, which we did. During the week, there was more communication back and forth in the evenings, and a couple more photos exchanged. Trust was forming.
The next Saturday afternoon, I told Chloe to put on her loosest-fitting exercise pants, and go sit on the green bench in a small parkette between our building and the bay. She looked puzzled, but didn’t question me. She also took her smart phone and a magazine along, as per my orders. It was a lovely sunny day.
“Stay logged into your hotmail,” were my last instructions.
It took her about ten minutes to get down to the ground floor and make her way to the garden. From our living room, I could see her way down there, sitting on the bench facing our building. With my binoculars, th
e view was crystal clear. I could see her glancing up toward me, but with the reflection of the windows, I knew it was impossible for her to see anything in return.
Then I emailed Kurt, pretending to be Chloe. I’m sure she’d see the email as well on her phone. It told Kurt exactly where she was sitting, what she was wearing, and how she wanted to cum for him. Separately I texted her, telling her to take it from there.
Then I watched, knowing Kurt was also watching. Chloe opened the magazine over her lap, and as discreetly as possible, slipped her right hand underneath it, and down into her track pants. She would stop from time to time to type into her phone, obviously writing to Kurt. She would look up toward the building. For twenty minutes I watched her, and then, I saw her cum. It was evident because she tilted her head back and straightened out her legs. Then she licked her fingers clean like a good girl.
Her current mission accomplished; she walked back toward our condo.
Once inside, we fucked like crazy on the living room floor on the exact spot from which I had watched her masturbate for me, and for Kurt.
Later in bed, we checked her email. Not surprisingly, there was one from Kurt. He included a photo of himself, a confession that he was older, in case that was an issue for Chloe, and an expression of desire to meet her.
‘I very much want to meet you,’ he wrote. ‘That is if you’re still interested?’
I wrote the reply on Chloe’s behalf, while she giggled and then gasped beside me.
‘Of course I’m still interested…
That is if you promise to use that knout.’
Chloe’s View:
Is there anything sweeter than coming home after work, and bumping into your partner in the lobby? I threw my arms around Jack’s neck, leaned up on my tippy toes and kissed him. He had a big smile on his face, which warmed my heart. My husband loved me, and I loved him in return.
He followed me into the mailroom so that we could ride the elevator together. While I grabbed it, he scanned the over-size packages in case there was anything there for us. In fact, a week earlier we’d received a belated wedding gift from my Aunt in Canada, which had been sitting on the counter for days waiting for us to discover it. Not the best system, but then again, that’s the U.S. Postal Service.
Something caught Jack’s eye, and he picked up a package to take a closer look. He told me he was certain it was from a kink store, and by the shape of the box, some sort of whip, probably. We smiled at the knowledge there were likely other lifestylers living in our building.
In the elevator, I flipped through today’s stack: bill, another bill, another bill, junk mail, more junk mail. We were still paying for a lot of the miscellaneous wedding expenses, but it was all good, nothing unexpected.
Finally, up in our condo, I sat on the couch in order to remove my high heels. It always felt so good to remove them after a long day. I heard that familiar tone of voice that gave me the chills, and also made my pussy tingle: Jack’s Dom voice. One word spoken in that tone, and we were immediately in a power exchange. And I fucking loved it. I was now really looking forward to our evening.
He told me to get the post-it notes. The post-it notes? What post-it notes? Oh yeah, the post-it notes from the move. Where the fuck did we put them? I scurried to the bedroom, looked in my top drawer, and then in a flash remembered – the kitchen! I remembered seeing them in the junk drawer. Off to the kitchen I went. As I walked them back to my Master, I wondered if perhaps he was going to write on a bunch of them, and then stick them onto parts of my body. That might be fun!
Instead he asked for my extra email address, the silly one I use when I want to be anonymous on the internet. I sat beside him and watched intently as he wrote on the pad. At first, I thought he was kidding…but I soon realized: oh fuuuucccckk, he’s serious. That package down in the mailroom would soon have a yellow post-it note stuck on the side of it, with my email address.
I was a bit stunned while taking the elevator, as if on autopilot. Don’t think too hard about it, Chloe…or you’ll chicken out. When I got down there, the package hadn’t been picked up yet. With no one in the mail room at that moment, I affixed the post-it note on the side of the package, toward the back where it was less visible. I giggled at myself, feeling like a thief or a CIA agent. Once stuck on, I practically ran back to the elevator, eager to get back upstairs.
I was giddy for the remainder of the evening and checked my email a million times. I was also wet. Embarrassingly wet. Funny how the oddest things turn me on. The uncertainty of this situation was arousing me.
Why not check one last time, I thought, just as we were turning in. It paid off. A response!
The email came from ‘Kurt Wilkins’ and he questioned who the fuck I was. You can’t blame the guy. It was an invasion of his privacy, to leave the note. Not easily deterred, Jack said he’d reply on my behalf come morning.
Jack did all of the replies that day, under the guise of being me. I was glad he did. It took the pressure off. I took a selfie and sent it along, which gained us some credibility and trust. The whole exercise was surreal. I felt even more like a CIA Agent playing some sort of cat and mouse game. Was I the mouse?
Then Kurt emailed a photo in return. It was the whip that was in the package. I shuddered when I saw the photo. Jack noticed, and questioned my reaction. I had to confess the image of the whip excited me.
I stood up, and with his fingers, he brought me off. I can’t believe how pathetic a slut I am. I was pushing my open cleft toward his fingers, wishing and wanting him to fuck my pussy with his digits. The orgasm was intense. Every orgasm with Jack is intense.
Over the next couple of days, we continued the correspondence, leading up to Saturday. When Jack told me to put on loose fitting track pants, I had no idea what he had in mind. Go and sit on a park bench? When he told me to take my cell, I assumed he’d give me further instructions once there.
When I got down to the bench he described, I looked up at our building. I was on display. Oh fuck, I was on display! Anybody in the building who knew where to look could spot me. I looked up. Who was looking down on me? Jack? Kurt?
I looked down at my phone, and with my browser open I could see the initial email transmitted from my hotmail. It told Kurt exactly where I was sitting. He was surely looking down at me. At least I was a good distance away. Maybe, if I was lucky, he couldn’t see me all that clearly.
‘You look amazing through these binoculars,’ he wrote in his next reply. Nooo...
I shouldn’t have been surprised. With a view of the bay, everyone had binoculars. Jack had recently bought a pair himself. It enhanced my uneasy feeling of being under observation. I knew what I had to do. I knew why Jack wanted me to wear loose fitting track pants. I slipped my fingers inside the cotton, glancing around me to ensure no one was too close. I was soaked. Thank God they couldn’t see that! Jack could probably guess it, but Kurt would have no inkling how aroused this whole thing made me. Or maybe he did know?
I began to rub my squishy fingers all around my swollen clit. I kept looking up at the building. If I had been paying attention when I went to affix the post it note, I would have noticed the floor, but at the time I wasn’t thinking about it. Now, looking up at the building, the reflection making it impossible for me to see inside any of the windows, was quite likely a man watching me masturbate. Worse, I liked it.
I came for my audience. I came for Kurt, and I was certain Jack was watching too. Face flushed, I lapped up my mess. If I was going to do this, I might as well do it right. With my job done, I walked back.
Opening our door, Jack stood there with his arms folded. He motioned for me to come to him with his eyes alone. I walked over and he grabbed my ass through my track pants, digging his fingers into my flesh. The next thing I knew, I was laying on our carpet with my track pants removed. My pussy still warm and wet, Jack fucked me right on the living room floor. He pounded my ass into that floor.
It was only later, lying in bed that we
heard from Kurt. Funny, if he wasn’t convinced about meeting me before, he sure seemed convinced now. Jack was manning the keyboard. There was no doubt in my mind, that at some point this mysterious Kurt would have his hands on my body.
Jack made me appear willing and interested in Kurt. I could handle that. Until I realized he was also making me appear interested in the knout!
Chapter 9. Mirror, Mirror
Jack’s View:
Whichever of us woke up first made the coffee. This morning, it was me. Chloe snoozed while I tidied up a few glasses from the night before and brewed a pot. I put the music on, but kept the volume low. After my coffee, I showered and then checked my stock portfolio on the internet. The day before had been another volatile one, with the Dow dropping triple digits.
I peeked into the bedroom, and there was Chloe still snoozing away. I smiled. You know you found the right partner, when you miss the person simply because they are sleeping in.
All of the sudden, I could hear drills and hammers coming from out in the hallway. One of the only condominiums on our floor that was not completed was the one right next door to ours. It was a small one-bedroom. The workers had framed it all in, but had not completed the flooring, drywall or electrical. The noise must have stirred Chloe awake, as right afterward I could hear the water running: she was either in the shower or brushing her teeth.
While Chloe had her coffee and checked her email, I started some laundry. Both of us realized we had the entire afternoon free which was a rare treat. Chloe started to giggle and called me over to look at one of her emails. It was an invitation from a college friend, who we had last seen at Sarah’s housewarming party. The invitation was for one of those sex-toy parties, similar to a Tupperware party, but where sex toys are sold. A link was provided which Chloe clicked on to show me.
A website opened for ‘Timmy & Jimmy’s Sex-Toy Shimmy’. Timmy and Jimmy were identical twins, shown shirtless, of course, with bodies that looked like they worked at Abercrombie & Fitch. As long as the hostess could guarantee a minimum of twenty of her friends, the twins would come over to display and describe the very latest in vibrators, wands, and everything sex-toy related. It was a good hook. The hostess would get 10% of sales and an $80 gift. It was a smart business idea on the part of the brothers. Their looks, charisma and personalities would surely charm and lure the women into spending large.