A Condo with Two Views (14 page)

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, the 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...