The anonymous note wasn't for me.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not in the habit of reading other people's mail, but it was just a piece of paper with a few lines scrawled on it, clearly meant for the apartment upstairs. It looked so innocent, but decidedly deliciously
it was not.
Before replacing the noteand the ones that followed in its rightful slot, I devoured its contents: suggestions, instructions, commands. Each was more daring, more intricate and more arousing than the last
and I followed them all to the letter.
Before the notes, if a man had told me what to do, I'd have told him where to go. But submission is an art, and there's something oddly freeing about doing someone's bidding
especially when it feels so very, very
good. But I find that the more I surrender, the more powerful I feelso it's time to switch up roles.
We play by my rules now.