Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

Sammy and Willow follow suit. I glance up and see Julian staring at the three of us, frozen and disgusted. “What the hell are you three doing?” he snaps. “The house is completely ruined and all you three can do is laugh and play in the mess?”

I throw a handful of balls at him. “Take some photos of us, you cranky pants.”

He folds his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow. “Miss Brielle, must you find everything funny?”

The puppy growls, leaning back on her back legs right before she pounces towards him in full attack mode. I giggle and get up with two big handfuls of balls. “Get him, kids,” I cry as I pelt the balls toward Julian’s head. We all jump up and chase him.

“Stop it,” he shouts as he tries to get away.

“Get him!” I order.

“What the hell?” he cries and he starts to run into the kitchen. The children squeal in delight and we grab his arms, the three of us dragging him to the floor and completely cover him in balls. I flop down beside him. Willow and Sammy do the same, and our little rock star puppy prances out and sits on Julian’s chest, proud as punch of her handy work. Julian shakes his head and looks to the ceiling for some kind of divine intervention.

“This is unbelievable,” he mutters.

I throw some balls into the air. “Tell someone who cares.”

Willow giggles. “Yeah, Dad, tell somebody who cares.”

I read the email again. It’s now Tuesday morning and I’m preparing for my date night.

Julian Masters

Requests the company of

Bree Johnston

Occasion: Situation inspection.

Date: 31st May

Time: 7 PM

Place: Room 612, Rosewood London

Dress code: Bondage

What the actual fuck does he mean by bondage? Does he expect me to turn up to the date tied up in a mummy suit with a ball gag in my mouth? Bondage is what you do, not what you wear. At least that’s what I thought. Not that I would really know, I suppose. I’ve never been with a kinky bastard before I met Mr. Masters.

I soon find myself walking through the heavy metal door of the sex shop, anyway. It’s completely soundproofed and the windows are painted over. A porno is playing on the televisions displayed on the walls. It’s 9:30 a.m. Jeez, these guys are hardcore. I glance up and see a girl on a bed. She’s on her hands and knees with three naked men standing over her. God, this place is seedy.

“Can I help you?” the young man asks. He looks about nineteen, like he’s straight out of school. What the hell is he doing here?

Does your mother know where you work, young man?

“No, thank you. Just browsing.”

I really do need his help but I’m not dealing with him explaining to me the ropes of bondage while literally showing me the ropes of bondage. The back wall is filled with whips, chains, and all kinds of tools that look like they belong in an archaeological dig up. I see a photo of a woman tied up, suspended from the ceiling. The ropes are wound around her breasts so tight they’ve turned her flesh blue. Surely that can’t be fucking healthy for breast tissue? I fold my arms over my chest, somewhat uncomfortable with what I’m seeing. What the hell does he think he’s actually going to do to me, anyway?

I take out my phone. I’m calling him. I’m not into this. He is not doing that to my boobs. Over my dead body is he doing that shit. I dial his number, and he answers on the first ring.

“Good morning, my beautiful Bree,” his deep voice purrs.

I smile goofily and put my head down so the young guy can’t hear me. “I’m in the sex shop,” I whisper.

“Are you?” He replies sexily.

“I don’t know what bondage is, but I assure you that you are not bruising my boobs.”