Letting Go (Letting Go Series #1) (3 page)

I grab my fluffy blue dusting wand and begin wiping it
absently over surfaces, glancing at my monitor every minute or so. I feel totally foolish every time I look, but I can’t help myself.

My vigilance pays off.
Less than fifteen minutes after I sent my email, my screen lights up with a new message.

I drop my wand onto the dresser and rush to my desk, smiling. My smile fades when I see it’s just another piece of spam.
Silently cursing all senders of junk email to the deepest levels of Hell, I delete the message. Before I can turn away from the screen, another new email pops up. This one is not spam. This one is from him!

I wonder if
maybe he’s been watching his email as eagerly as I’ve been keeping tabs on mine, but somehow I doubt it. Such eagerness wouldn’t fit the dominant personality type, I don’t think. And there was nothing rushed or hurried about his ad, that’s for sure. He was probably just working at his computer, doing whatever it is he does when he’s not searching for a sex slave.

The
first words I see are “VERY good girl.” I feel myself grinning as I read the words—for some reason, I’m especially pleased with myself. I guess my response was pretty much right on with what he wanted from me. I’m even more delighted by the thought that I seem to have pleased him. I guess I really am a VERY good girl.

The second part of his message is also simple and to the point—but much more frightening. He’s given me my first order. “Call me,” it says, followed by a phone number. The message is signed simply with a capital S.

What do I do now? My heart is racing and my palms are growing sweaty. I definitely was not expecting this, not so soon, at any rate. I thought we’d exchange a few harmless emails first, getting to know each other a bit and giving me plenty of time to back out if I want to. Talking on the phone is a whole different matter—much more real, much more personal…and much more dangerous. I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. In fact, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.

Luckily, I don’t have to decide right now.
Our emails have gone through the craigslist servers, so he has no way of knowing when I opened his message. He won’t know if I delay before I call—if I call, I remind myself. I won’t lie to him, not directly anyhow, but I can always have his email in front of me when I phone him and say something like “I’m looking at your message right now.” If he takes that to mean that I’m looking at it for the first time, well, that’s not my fault, is it?

My very logical thinking has the effect of slowing my heart rate down at least a little. I’m feeling quite proud of myself. Maybe it’s possible to be a “VERY good girl” and still have things a little bit my way.

I frown.
Very surprisingly, something about that last thought feels wrong. In fact, it feels bad. It’s making me feel like I’m a very BAD girl. To my surprise, I don’t like the feeling one bit. I want to be bad in some ways, but even when doing so, I want to be a VERY good girl.

Trembling,
I pick up my phone.

CHAPTER
4

“Hello.”

His voice is deep, and there’s no trace of the questioning inflection that most people answer the phone with. He sounds like he’s answering a call he was expecting.

My mind starts racing. Does he know it’s me? Was he so sure I would call this quickly? Maybe he’s expecting someone else. Or maybe he always answers the phone this way.

Seconds are ticking by and I haven’t said anything. I need to say something, but my voice is frozen in my throat. My hand begins to shake so much I’m forced to hold the phone to my ear with both hands.

Say something
, I scream at myself. Still, nothing comes out. Mothing even comes to mind. I don’t want him to have to repeat himself, or to ask who’s calling. Worse, I don’t want him to hang up.

He does neither. He seems to be waiting patiently, as if this happens all the time. Maybe it does.

Say something
, I plead to myself again. If this happens regularly, I don’t want to be like everyone else. I take a deep breath to try to calm myself, and then another.

“Hi,” I finally manage to choke out. “I
, uh, responded to your ad.”

“I know,” he says. “You’re my
very
good girl.”

Holy crap! How could he know? Does he really know it’s me? Or does he have a list of very good girls who might be calling him at this number?
I have no way to know. I struggle with what to say next, but he saves me by speaking first.

“What is your name, good girl?”

My name? Shit! I’m such a dumbass. Of course he’s going to want to know my name. But am I ready to tell him? I don’t want to lie to him, but…. I decide to give him my middle name.

“Rose,” I say. “What’s yours?”

He doesn’t answer my question. In fact, he doesn’t say anything for at least ten seconds. What is he doing?

“You don’
t sound like a Rose,” he says at last. His cadence has gotten slower and his tone seems to have dropped a notch. “Yet I do not hear a lie in your voice.” He pauses before continuing. “I think maybe you have told me a half truth. Is Rose perhaps your middle name?”

Oh my fucking god! How does he know these things? It’s impossible.
My knees begin to grow weak, so I sit down on the edge of my bed. Could he be someone I know? Someone I’m close enough to that he would know my middle name? I don’t see how that could be.

He remains silent while these thoughts fly through my
head. I need to answer him.

“Yes, it is.”

“But you don’t go by your middle name, like some people do, do you?”

I
know I have to be honest here. “No, I don’t.”

“Your hesitancy is understandable, but do not lie to me
, or tell me half-truths again. If you do, I’ll hang up and we will never speak again.”

The thought of
never hearing from him again is surprisingly painful.

“I’m sorry,
” I say, meaning it.

“Now, let’s try it one more time. What is your name?”

I reply with only the barest hesitation. “Jennifer.”

“It’s nice to meet you,
Jennifer. You may call me Sir. Or Master, if you prefer.”

He’s kidding, right? If one of my girlfriends told me a guy
ordered her to call him Sir, I’d burst out laughing. If I said anything about this to Amanda, she’d do worse than that, for sure.

I think back to his
ad.
“How may I please you, Master?”
I guess he’s not kidding.

“Yes, Sir,” I say.

“Good girl.”

Once again, a rush of pleasures surges through me. I can’t believe how much I enjoy hearing him say that.
I tell him so.

“I love hearing you say that.”

“I know.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, as if it’s an established fact, like the sun rising in the east.

“How can you know that?” I ask. “We’ve never met. We’ve barely spoken.”

“I know it because it’s who you are,
Jennifer…who you are inside, where it counts. All we need to do is bring it out.”

I’m not sure if that really is who I am inside, but from the way my body and brain have been reacting since I started this journey only yesterday, I think
there’s at least a chance he might be right. Whether I want to bring that to the outside is another matter entirely.

I can’t sit still while I’m thinking about all this, so I stand up and begin pacing my apartment.

“If I decide to continue with this…”

He interrupts me.
“
If
you decide to continue?” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice.

I try not to let him fluster me. “Yes, if I decide to, how do we begin?”

I think I hear a single chuckle on the other end, but I can’t be sure.

“Why, sweet
Jennifer, we have already begun. As a matter of fact, we’ve already rounded the first turn.”

This stops me in my tracks, right in the middle of my living room.
Already begun
?

“And I think it’s going quite well so far,” he adds. “Don’t you?”

I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea that we’ve already begun something, and now he’s asking me if I think it’s going well?

“I… I don’t know,” I manage to say.

“I think you should sit down, Jennifer. Try to relax. There’s nothing to be nervous about—well, not much, anyhow.”

My head feels like it’s
beginning to spin. I falter backwards and plop down onto my couch. How could he know if I was standing up or not? Reflexively, I glance at the window. The curtains are still drawn. No one can see in. There’s no way he could be watching me. Yet he knew. There was no trace of guessing or uncertainty in his voice.

“I’m sitting,” I say, leaving it ambiguous about whether I was standing when he told me to sit.
For some reason, I feel the need to maintain small victories.

“That’s a good girl. Now take a couple of deep breaths.”

The “good girl” comment erases my need for any more victories. I suck in a slow breath through my nose and blow it out through my mouth, the way I learned in yoga class. I repeat the process. It helps—until I realize I’ve just obeyed two more of his orders. Then my heart starts beating faster again. This time, I can’t tell if it’s from nervousness or excitement. Some of both, I decide.

“May I ask you a question?” I’m not sure why I
feel the need to ask his permission, but somehow it feels right.

“Of course.”

“How can I tell if I’ve truly got what you’re looking for inside me, or whether I’m just curious and a bit adventurous?”

“That’s a good question,
Jennifer.” I realize that a little thrill shoots through me every time he speaks my name. “How are you feeling right now?” he asks.

That’s easy to answer. I was just thinking about that.

“A little nervous and a little excited,” I reply without hesitation.

“And do you think you would be feeling that way if this wasn’t touching something inside you?”

He has a point. “I guess not,” I say. “But how do I know exactly what it’s touching?”

He doesn’t respond for a few seconds. It seems much longer.
I hope I’m not proving to be more trouble than I’m worth.

“Let’s try a little experiment,” he says finally. “Close your eyes,
Jennifer.”

I do as he tells me
. I almost say “Yes, Sir,” but decide not to. He doesn’t seem to notice, or at least not to care.

“I want you to visualize the scene I’m about to describe for you. Try to put yourself into the scene, if you can. Will you do that for me,
Jennifer?”

This time it just pops out.
“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.
Some of it will be familiar to you from my ad. Here we go.”

CHAPTER
5

“Imagine you are standing outside the door of my condo,” he continues. “You see a dark brown wooden door with a shiny brass knocker in the center. Before you reach for the knocker, you mentally run down the instructions I’ve given you, wanting to make sure you do everything precisely as I’ve ordered. When you’re ready, you grab the handle and knock exactly twice, as instructed.”

So far, it’s not
very hard to picture. I’ve knocked on plenty of doors. I can feel my pulse beginning to quicken, though, as I wonder what awaits me inside.

“You see the doorknob begin to turn, and your heartbeat quickens. The door swings open, but you don’t see me, because I remain
hidden behind the door. You hesitate for a just a moment, then take a deep breath and step across the threshold. Your heart is beating faster now, because you know it is about to begin. As instructed, you close your eyes and drop to your knees, bending forward until your forehead touches the floor. You hear the door thud shut behind you, closing off any escape. But why would you want to escape? This is what you came here for.”

Fuck!
My heart
is
beating faster. I recognize this scene from his ad.
How may I please you, Sir?
His ad gave no indication of what was to follow, though. The not knowing is scary…but strangely exciting, too.

He continues his narrative.
‘“How may I please you, Sir?’ you ask. Without sight, your other senses are heightened. You hear my soft footsteps on the carpet as I walk closer to you. ‘Lift your head,’ I command, and you do so. I slip a soft blindfold over your eyes. You open your eyes, but the blackness remains the same—impenetrable.”

I remember now that his ad said he enjoyed blindfolding. My fear and my excitement grow.

“I order you remain on your knees and to strip down to your bra and panties. You obey with only the briefest hesitation.”