It all started as a joke. A few laughs with some colleagues about the ethics of being blindfolded and bound as part of the sexual act. I couldn’t see the point of it, but some of my work colleagues disagreed with me to the point of getting red in the face.
Then letters started arriving at my house. I couldn’t make out who the first one was from or what it was about, so I opened it. It was hand-written in a lovely curly script. It was short and to the point. The content could have been directed at anyone, but since it had my name on the envelope, I guessed it was directed at me.
22 Carlton Avenue
Friday 22nd January
8:30 pm
There was no name, no contact number or return address. It was a one way invitation to something. I smelt the letter in case there was perfume on it. I looked at the envelope both inside and out. I studied the handwriting. Nothing seemed to give it away.
Friday was three days away. I didn’t know what to do with the information. At first I thought it was some mistake. I couldn’t imagine someone inviting me or us to some event without stating who they were. It was certainly odd. I ripped both the letter and the envelope in two and then threw them in the bin; covering them under some other rubbish, out of sight from the wife.
None of my friends mentioned anything when we were drinking in the pub that evening. Nothing was mentioned by any of my colleagues during work the following day, despite me staring at one or two of the most obvious candidates to see if they would reveal anything.
That evening, when I arrived home, I picked up the usual junk letters and was about to throw them in the bin when I noticed another cream coloured envelope with just my name on the front of it like the last one. I contemplated just throwing it away but my curiosity took control.
I opened it.
Don’t forget Friday
I know you think this is a joke, but be there
You won’t regret it!
Again I ripped the paper and disposed of it in the bin, just before my wife came into the room. We chatted and started to prepare the evening meal. After we ate, we watched TV. My wife declared her intention for an early night and I knew all too well what that meant. She left me to watch the last fifteen minutes of the drama on the television before I joined her.
I was about three stairs up when I heard the letterbox creak open. As I looked behind me I saw a cream coloured letter being pushed through the opening. I rushed towards the door just as it fell to the floor. I fumbled with the keys in my trouser pockets and finally rescued them from all the crap and opened the door.
I rushed into the path leading to our house and virtually ran to the gate. It was closed and after opening it I rushed onto the street, looking first left and then right and then all around me. I saw no one. I kept still and silent, glancing occasionally left and right to see if there was any movement anywhere.
Nothing. No sight nor sound of anyone.
I eventually resigned myself to this strange event and went back inside. I picked up the letter and opened it as I walked towards the bin.
No need to bring anything with you on Friday
Just yourself, everything will be supplied
I already know you’re looking forward to it!
I ripped it up and buried the letter in the rubbish, once more.
I was, however, intrigued. Questions raged through my mind: Who the fuck could post this through my door and then disappear so quickly? What was it all about? Would I go?
The last question was the big one for me. In a way I was already hooked on knowing what it was all about. But it felt sinister or even worse, evil.
The next day came and went; still without any idea as to who was pulling my strings. If it wasn’t for the wife continually wanting my attention, I would have stood by the door and waited for an envelope to be pushed through it; keys already in the door waiting to open it and catch the perpetrator red-handed.
Every now and then I would venture out to the kitchen so that I could check that nothing had been deposited. On my third recce I saw it; lying flat and unpretentious on the ‘Welcome’ carpet by the door.
I picked it up, opened it and started reading.
Tomorrow is going to be so much fun
You must be so excited, waiting and anticipating
I wonder though, are you as excited as me!
Always three lines, I thought to myself, and no clue as to who it could be. None at all. At least this time there was reference to another person that may be there with me.
As I turned the letter in my hand I wondered who was posting them through my door. Someone I knew obviously, or maybe not. Could it be a complete stranger? The next door neighbour? My wife? No it wasn’t her, unless of course she asked someone else to post it the night I was walking up the stairs.
I raised my eyebrow at the thought and after discarding the letter went back inside to look at her a little more closely.
She seemed oblivious to anything and I immediately came to the conclusion that it had nothing to do with her. My next culprit was Justin. He was the kind of guy that would continue with extended practical jokes like these. Then I remembered the second letter, about this not being a joke.
In my mind, it had to be a prank. Didn’t it!
Friday came. I was shocked to find a letter on the carpet as soon as I got downstairs. My wife had obviously not noticed it and I quickly picked it up as I joined her in the kitchen. I made some coffee and graciously accepted the toast that my wife had made.
Tonight is nearly here
Can you contain yourself, I can’t
Don’t forget that you will be working very late tonight!
Six o’clock came and went. Six thirty followed it.
I picked up the phone and dialled my wife’s number. I explained that I would have to work very late on a report that was due in the following Monday. I apologised profusely for letting this get out of hand. I flustered when she asked when I would be home and whether I needed food.
I didn’t know what time I would be home so I just told her to leave me out of her plans.
I started to twiddle with my pen as soon as the phone was replaced on its stand. I picked up the phone again and ordered a take-away pizza to be delivered. By seven o’clock I was devouring, very nervously, a Margherita pizza. I don’t know why but I shied away from pepperoni just in case.
By seven thirty I was packing up my work and getting ready to leave. I had an hour to get to Carlton Avenue. I started to panic. I was looking left and right as if directional thought would help me in any way, but I couldn’t remember the number of the house on the first letter. The number twenty kept repeating itself but I couldn’t be sure if that was right.
I kept struggling to remember all the way down in the lift. As I reached the door to the office a security guard called my name. I turned to look in his direction as he informed me that there was a letter for me.
My mouth opened and I quickly shut it tight as I walked towards him to retrieve it. My name was clearly written in script on the front. I opened it as I walked to my car; pulling roughly at the envelope and ripping it with my finger along its length. I extracted the letter quickly.
You must be leaving work if you’re reading this
Don’t forget
Number 22
A sigh of relief hit me like a lightning bolt but was quickly followed by anxiety and concern. How did they know I couldn’t remember the house number? Again, just the three lines on the letter. I scrunched it up and pocketed it before getting in the car.
My heart was pounding in my chest. I kept looking around to see whether a car was following me, while at the same time driving straight to Carlton Avenue, number twenty two. I would have been useless as a spy; never once covering my tracks or being cautious about this whole affair.
I turned left into Carlton Avenue and then I pulled up outside number twenty two.
I was breathing heavily, and I could see my breath as it hit the cold night air. I wandered up to number twenty two expecting to ring the bell or knock on the door but it was already open; ajar and waiting for me to enter.
I cautiously pushed it open expecting someone to jump out and frighten the life out of me, but the door opened quietly and I stepped inside.
The house was eerily quiet. The door swung to close behind me but didn’t shut tight. That suited me, just in case I needed to run for it.
I headed for what looked like the lounge. Inside, on the coffee table was an envelope.
Upstairs
Second door on your right
Open it
I looked at the letter and around at the layout of the lounge. The leather sofas seemed expensive. The ornaments and trinkets on the shelves were kept to a minimum. Only the soft glow from the standard lamps lit the room.
I saw a few books and magazines under the coffee table but looked no further as to any clues as to who they belonged to. I figured the biggest clue was upstairs, behind the second door on the right.
I headed up the stairs; trying my best not to make a sound. When I reached the top I looked behind me to make sure no one was following. I headed towards the second door; the only one to be left slightly open. I pushed it.
The room was lit by a few small table lamps. In the centre was a huge bed with posts at each end; but not your standard four poster bed at all. There was no duvet or pillows on the bed but there was a naked woman, blindfolded and strapped to the four posts in what seemed an uncomfortable way.
Each strapping was tied securely to her ankles and wrists. Her black blindfold covered most of her face. A studded leather necklace was the only thing she wore and her hair was laid out behind her in the shape of a fan. She was, to all intent and purpose, laid out like a sacrificial lamb on the white cotton sheet.
I could see the woman search the room with all the senses she had. Her head twitched when I moved as she searched out the direction of the sound. As I watched her I sensed she was sniffing the air for clues as to who was standing at the end of the bed.
The one envelope to her left was obviously for me. On the outside was written.
Mandy’s
Instruction Manual
I picked it up and opened it. I could see her mouth open and Mandy sucked in some air as I ripped the envelope apart. The instructions were clear.
Her name is Mandy
Do not talk – She mustn’t either
Do not release her bonds
She is your plaything for the evening
She knows nothing about you, who you are or what sex you are
Have fun!
You must leave once you have cum :-)
The person that left the note had obviously had a field day with six whole lines of text and a smiley. I looked at the note and then back at Mandy.
Her small breasts were lifting and sinking as she pulled against the ropes. There was little room for manoeuvre as she was pulled as tight as an elastic band by her bonds.
I rolled up the paper into a tube and let it gently rub the underside of her left foot.
Mandy squirmed and whimpered at the touch. I let out a small guffaw at her uncomfortable dilemma.
I felt myself getting hard in the trouser department and I could tell that it would be hard not to ‘have fun’ as the letter put it.
I stroked the inside of her leg with the same letter, letting it travel as far up her leg and thigh as it could without me touching the bed.
As I moved to the side of the bed, the paper slid further upwards until I pulled it completely away from her. The next touch was on her left nipple.
Mandy gasped.
I started to strip off my clothes. It was a big decision that I had made; a married man, a complete naked submissive, a blindfold and no repercussions.
I actually folded them neatly on the chair in the corner of the room before standing and looking down onto Mandy; except my cock was rigid and my eyes fully open.
I didn’t know where to start.
I smiled at her. Why? I don’t know, but I did. Maybe I was smiling to myself instead; like a boy let loose in a toy shop and told to choose anything he wanted.
Well, I wanted everything on display.
I knelt on the bed and dipped my head down onto Mandy’s nipple. I flicked at it a few times with my tongue; each time eliciting a sigh from her mouth. Mandy gasped when I took it into my mouth to suck on it but my fingertips were inextricably drawn to her nipples.
Mandy let out a squeal when I pinched them and my cock hardened at the scream she let out.
My next station stop with my fingertips was her pussy. I let my fingers caress all the way down her stomach until I dipped one of them into her belly button. From there my hand found itself snaking between her moist lips. Actually, moist is a bit of an understatement. Mandy was soaked, and the bed beneath her was sporting a damp patch. I just knew I was about to make it worse.
I wanted to draw my tongue over her lips but I slipped my fingers into her a few times before drawing the full length up and out of her pussy and across the hood of her clitoris. Mandy let out an audible gasp as I did so. Every time I touched her, the sounds she made, made me smile.
I finally knelt between her legs and I started to stroke my cock as I fingered her pussy. I knelt down and planted a few kisses on her knees; working my way up her thighs until I kissed her tender inner flesh. My breath snaked its way across her lips and I must admit to giving it a quick blow to cool her down. It seemed to have the opposite effect.
Mandy started bucking her hips a little; in expectation of my tongue or finger, touching her. I think she wanted it inside her some more. I lowered my head to her slick lips and kissed them tenderly before drawing my tongue across them and then up their length and over her clit. She let out an almighty moan at that single movement.
I settled down to licking all the way from the bottom of her pussy to the top; gathering in all the juices she was creating and swallowing just before I flicked her clit. I could feel her excitement build up.
I started pulling on my cock as I licked her; letting my tongue concentrate on her pussy lips for a while before I started going through the alphabet on her clit. I only got to the letter ‘K’ before she climaxed; flooding my mouth in the process with the copious quantities of pussy juice she exuded.
