WanttoGoPrivate

by M. A. Ellis

  She hadn’t thought about the fact there might be more than one of them and her excitement suddenly plummeted. How would she know which one had been at the bar? She couldn’t very well ask something like that on a public loop. While she wanted to protect her privacy, she wouldn’t dream of intruding on his. A link at the bottom of the email would take her directly to the chat, maybe she should just click on that and go for broke. She glanced at the clock. Half past five in the morning. She doubted anyone was up asking questions this early and clicked over to the loop.

  Join me in extending a warm welcome to the following new members: MJfromRNC, beachyone, LEGALEAGLE1958, and CURIOUS2aFault. Remember chat etiquette and patience at all times. Anyone comfortable sharing their first-time chat story with our newbies will be registered for a $15 gift card!

  Isabel stared at the lines of greetings that followed the post. There were a handful of stories outlining first chats, most of them conveying at least a small sense of the apprehension she was feeling but all proclaimed high praise for the members and, most importantly, MSMaster. She read post after post and got the feeling there was only one Dom and he was a god among men. She wondered if he ever offered to train personally and the impropriety of that seeped into her body and made her shiver. What the hell was she thinking?

  She sent a quick note of thanks to the group in general, answering some of the more innocuous questions, such as how long she’d been curious and if she’d ever had any incidences of bondage in the past. Was it the BD she was interested in specifically or more the D/s? Or was it SM? Fifteen minutes later she had searched online for each pairing of terms so she knew what exactly was being asked and sent specific replies to the ones who had asked particular questions.

  Never before had she given much thought to what she actually liked. It wasn’t the S&M stuff, that much was certain. She had learned she didn’t mind a little discomfort or the occasional jolt of pain, as long as it was followed by a soothing, reciprocally rewarding motion. Her fantasies revolved around being bound and her inability to get away from her tormentor. Just the thought made her a bit tingly and she pushed away from the computer, intent on making a cup of tea.

  Good morning, CURIOUS. You’re up early J

  It was from him—MSMaster. She leaned forward and typed a quick reply but, unsure how to address him, she hesitated. She typed another sentence and sent it:

  Good morning. I’m an early riser. And I don’t know how to address you. My apologies. Thank you for accepting my request.

  His reply was quick.

  Not to worry. You may call me MSM or just Master if you wish. I won’t take you to task. Not yet, at least, lol. And a suggestion, you should go into the Options area and create a signature line so you don’t have to sign each message by hand. People like to see a signature.

  Isabel smiled and typed, deciding it was wiser not to ask why his posts didn’t include a signature but his tone invited a bit of lightheartedness.

  Thanks for your beneficence, MSM. From past posts I’ve read, it’s clear everyone adores and respects you. I’ll go now and fix the signature thing.

  When he didn’t respond she sent another note.

  I’ve got it figured out. Hope it’s fine to abbreviate C2aF

  It seemed juvenile, the short interaction, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  Ask me a question. Ask me something you’re really struggling with. I can give you my undivided attention at the present time.

  Isabel realized he’d offered her a golden carrot. It was much like a confidential meeting with the person within a corporation who held the charitable-benefits’ purse strings. Or an audience with a celebrity and she racked her brain to think of the perfect question. Seconds ticked by and she started to sweat. She needed to say something but everything seemed inappropriate to share.

  I’m sorry. I have questions, I really do. I just can’t seem to put them into words, which is ridiculous because in the real world I’m talking to people all the time. I appreciate the opportunity. Maybe I’m not as ready for this as I thought.

  C2aF

  Relax, Curious one. J Take a few deep breaths and try to come to terms with the fact that no one here is going to judge you. There are people here who are more experienced but by no means completely knowledgeable and others who haven’t been able to partake in a single session of exploration. We can always learn from each other.

  Isabel suddenly wanted to say screw it and not only sign off but go in and delete her account altogether. It had sounded too good to be true and apparently it was. She wasn’t a person who opened up and shared, at least not somewhere everyone could read her personal thoughts. But she believed in honesty and that’s how she would respond.

  I’m sorry, MSM. I can’t be as open as I thought I could. I appreciate you taking time to chat with me but I think.

  C2aF

  She inadvertently hit the send button before she was finished and swore at her computer. Before she could add to the sentence another reply came from the Master.

  WTGP?

  Isabel stared at the acronym, no clue whatsoever of its meaning. She typed before she thought about going online and looking it up. It was probably something ultra-easy to figure out, but he’d probably realized she wasn’t savvy on more than a few fronts by now.

  What’s WTGP?

  C2aF

  His return message made her heart lurch.

  WTGPJ Want To Go Private?

  Private? As in email? There’d be no harm in that, would there? She could ask him anything she wanted. But it would be in print with her email addy attached to it, which wouldn’t be prudent. On the other hand, he was a font of knowledge, one which she might never come in contact with again.

  That would be much appreciated. Do you mean email?

  C2aF

  The brevity of his response didn’t surprise her.

  I’m here to help. Watch your inbox.

  Five hours later, Isabel had told a complete stranger not only her past history, in vivid detail, of what she had experienced at the hands of a weekend Dom but her ongoing fantasies, as well.

  Had she paid a trained therapist to listen then offer his thoughts, her bill would have been into the tens of thousands and spanned months if not years. He had helped her see the benefit of acknowledging her dark side, as he called it. Which sounded so much better than some of the other terms she’d dubbed it over the years. His experiences and suggestions always centered on a single principle—respect.

  When they had waded into the waters of lifestyle versus playtime, his knowledge substantiated the fact that it wasn’t what she needed. She needed a man who shared her desire for exploration, a man who would willingly embrace her need.

  She even told him about her decision to go online and it was the only time his messages seemed stilted. She finally asked if he thought the alternative dating sites might be an option and his reply had floored her. She scrolled down to read it one more time before she shut her computer off.

  Those sites, like the ones out there for the general populace, serve a purpose, but I don’t think it’s a path you want to travel. You can put up your level of experience but you have to remember that a great deal of the other world, especially Doms, know how to read people, sometimes for less-than-moral purposes. I’d advise against it, Isabel.

  She hadn’t regretted giving him her name, although he didn’t offer his. She had decided on total honesty five minutes into their conversation.

  Then how am I going to find someone for exploration? I’m not even sure whether I want the nonsexual relationship you helped me identify as what I actually had or one that’s more intimate.

  He had shocked her with his response but she was too far enmeshed in their interaction to second-guess anything.

  Meet me tomorrow. At the bar you think harbors the kinky bartender. Maybe I know him, lol. We can talk in person at the very least. If that goes well, perhaps we can try a bit of light play. Your choice of course, but grant me one
demand. Wear a plain, little black dress. Even Master Doms have fantasies they need fulfilled. And no panties. On The Left at 10:00 p.m.

  It wouldn’t be bad. It was a safe place. She intended to tell the girls what she was doing. Unless they totally wigged out on her. But Chris would be there if the guy turned out to be some crazy deviant. She hadn’t asked for a picture because she really didn’t care about his appearance. If he was hideously deformed, they might have a problem. But she’d never been a superficial person. James had been what women called ruggedly attractive but was by no means handsome.

  No. What was important remained the same as always. A man’s integrity made him ten times more appealing. And one thing she sensed MySecretMaster had a great deal of was integrity.

  Chapter Three

  “What’s the matter, Izzi? You’re wound tighter than a drum tonight. Did GNO not end well? I saw your friends hightail it for the door awhile ago.”

  “Girls’ night out was fine, Chris. We solved all the world’s problems, as usual.” She glanced over her shoulder once more. He wasn’t going to show. She realized that now and hurt and anger swirled within her, vying for the superior spot.

  “Really? All the problems?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of understanding that Isabel found uncomfortable.

  “All but one.” She forced a breezy tone into her voice.

  “So what’s up? Two of you buy the same sexy little dress or latest pair of Louboutins?”

  Isabel stared at him. Maybe humor would help. “You’re the master of a great pour and know shoe designers? You’re not hinting at coming out of the closet, are you, Atlas?”

  “Honey, I’ve mastered a boatload of stuff and convincing myself I can’t live without looking down at another dude’s hairy ass isn’t one of them.”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t be the one on top?”

  “Trust me. I’m always the top and what can I say? Black and red is a pretty rockin’ combination. Especially if it pertains to killer heels. What’re you wearing?”

  He wiggled his eyebrows and Isabel’s smile faltered when she thought about his “top” comment. It had to end—her turning every innocent statement into some sort of bondage innuendo, especially now that her hopes seemed to have been trampled. She allowed him his moment of mirth before bending her knee and drawing her foot upward toward her butt. She hooked her finger around the heel of her boot and pulled her leg upward until she resembled a figure skater.

  “Nice boots, Oksana. Very hot.”

  She laughed at his understanding of the pose and held it for a second longer before letting go and lowering her foot to the ground.

  “I was supposed to meet a guy tonight, but he never showed.”

  “Yeah, just like three-fourths of the usual customers. It hasn’t been this dead in forever,” he mumbled, before taking in the way she was dressed. “At least that explains the sexy-yet-modest skirt. The low, but not cleavage-screamin’ shirt. The leather CFM shoes.”

  “They’re not ‘come fuck me’—”

  “Yes they are and you know it. And there’s no shame in that, Izz. None at all.”

  She looked into his eyes and her heart beat a little faster. Wouldn’t it be lovely if he truly meant that? But she’d heard him with enough customers to know he had a gift for saying just the right thing at just the right time.

  “It’d be great if people weren’t judgmental,” she said, placing her hands against the flat surface of the bar, pretending to study her perfectly manicured fingernails.

  “People tend to place their insecurities on others in ways too various to consider. You have to admit to yourself all the weaknesses and fears and then move on. So were you planning on letting this guy take you home and screw your brains out?”

  “What!”

  “The guy you’re waiting for. Was he a Match or Chemistry dude? Did he meet all your criteria? I know what women want. I hear it a hundred times a night.”

  “I’m thinking you don’t know a damn thing, mister. And I’m not like most women, FYI.”

  “I never said you were, Miss Defensive. But you’re wearing the stereotypical uniform of coital expectations—”

  “And you’re wearing the smirk of a total douche bag.” The blood rushed to her face and Isabel wasn’t sure why she was arguing with him. He certainly didn’t deserve her ire.

  “What did you expect to have happen tonight? When women set off on these online fishing expeditions—”

  “He wasn’t from a dating site.”

  “There are tons of horn dogs just looking for a quick fuck.”

  “I’m not looking for a booty call.”

  “What the hell could some guy you’ve never met have that’s so appealing to a classy broad—”

  “He understands there’s another side to me, you dumbass. One I can’t even understand myself!”

  The words hung in the silence of the near-empty bar as they stared at each other. For an instant she thought a glimmer of victory crossed his features and she turned her head to the side, not really seeing a thing as she stared off into the distance. Her harsh breathing was the only sound breaking the silence and the level of discomfort rose to the point that she stood to leave.

  “Don’t go.” The vehemence of his tone made her hesitate and a second later he had her left forearm in a firm grip. “Isabel.”

  Her name was a firm command and she immediately spun around, focusing on his face.

  “Good girl,” he said with a stony countenance but his voice dripped with praise.

  The exact terminology he used wasn’t lost on her and she remained speechless when his big hands encircled her wrists and pulled them toward him, so her upper body stretched across the bar. Her ribs pressed against the rolled-leather edge, her breasts resting against the glossy wood. Her heart kicked into double time and, to her utter disbelief, her nipples hardened.

  “Chris?” She doubted her lips even moved. She doubted that he’d even heard her.

  “Come closer.”

  She could refuse. Wrench her hands out of his grasp and storm back to her table, throw him a twenty and leave. She could tell him she didn’t kiss her friends on the lips, which he hadn’t asked her to do, but she sure as hell wanted to. But none of her friends had used that tone with her. A tone that made her pussy feel suddenly heavy. She had the overwhelming urge to obey him. But he wasn’t part of her plan. What if MySecretMaster walked in right now?

  He’s not coming, Izz. You know that. But look what you have right before you. Great body, awesome smile, long fingers. Look how he’s staring at you.

  “You realize you have the furthest thing from a poker face, don’t you? I asked you to come here, Isabel.”

  Her name rolled off his lips and she put one foot on the rail and hoisted her body closer to him. She hadn’t picked up the spicy scent of his cologne before but now it wafted toward her and she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It seemed very important that she commit the smell to memory. His thumbs massaged her inner wrists. She hooked her other foot on the rail and tried not to moan at the deliciousness of the undeniable strength he kept in check, as he brought her palms together and transferred her wrists to one of his hands before tightening his grip.

  She wasn’t sure what he was doing and she really didn’t care. Part of the appeal of being restrained was being at the mercy of someone virile and in complete control. It was a true aphrodisiac. She obviously knew the reality of the situation, the one thing all the books and online references never failed to highlight. It was the submissive who ultimately held the control. She opened her mouth to speak, to think of some witty way to ask him if he was “down to play”, as MySecretMaster had called it, but her words froze as something hard and thin was thrown over her hands and tightened around her wrists.

  She opened her eyes, shocked to find a bright-yellow plastic tie, the kind used to bind cable, holding her captive.

  “What the hell—”

  “Hush.” He hooked another tie through the on
e holding her and had both ends cinched tight around the base of the beer taps before she realized what had happened.

  “Hey, Eileen. Your ride’s here, sweetie. Let me help you out.” He directed his words to someone behind her.

  “Wait,” Isabel said, as he walked around the bar, unable to turn her body very far. She watched his reflection in the bar mirror as he walked over to an elderly patron and helped her out of her chair.

  “Time to go.” He spoke in a gentle voice, so very different from the tone he’d just used with her. She heard the woman’s slurred “thanks” and stared, somewhat dumbfounded, as they both walked out the front door.

  She glanced back at the simple little plastic strips holding her hostage before checking out her reflection in the mirror. She looked as perfect as when she had walked into the bar, two and a half hours ago. No sign that she’d had a heated discussion with her friends about whether she should meet a man without talking to him on the phone for hours on end, or texting like a madwoman. No sign that her stomach had been in knots about the prospect of meeting him. No sign that she was more than a little concerned to be bound to a beer tap by her friendly, neighborhood bartender who was soooo full of shit about her poker face.

  She had one. And she was more than adept at employing it when necessary. He’d shocked her, that’s all. But he was obviously joking around. He had absolutely no inkling of who she was meeting. Unless MySecretMaster had enlisted Chris’ aid. That was totally plausible.

  The faint strains of a whistling baritone interrupted her thoughts and a short, bald man appeared from the hallway that led to the restrooms. Never breaking stride when he glanced her way, he took in the fact she was restrained and continued strolling toward the door.

  “Have a grand night, my dear.”

  “Wait. Are you MySecretMaster?” The words sounded ridiculous and she closed her eyes, not at all surprised to hear him chuckle.

  “From your mouth to God’s ears,” he replied. “Hey, Chris. Take it easy.”