Mila V

Seasonal work on a cruiser boat turned out to be quite a repetitive enterprise. After a few days of cruising tourists along the shore, I was bored out of my skull. Bikini girls brightened up my mood somewhat, but they didn’t visit the boat often enough, favouring luxury yachts, and the constant stream of “all-inclusive” people mashed up in the solid mass of bodies smelling of booze and cheap perfume. I had no options but this summer contract, there was no other job for me. My ship was laid up for a few months, some legal issues with the cargo or something. ...

“Everyone has a secret life. Right?” My friends look at me like I just ate a bug or something. For a few moments there’s silence, interrupted only by the crackle of firewood. Then Lena bursts laughing and others follow, timidly and unsure. “What?” I ask. I’m genuinely baffled by their reaction. “Well,” says Lena, looking around as if for support, “I suppose, everyone has some secrets that they would be reluctant to share. But I wouldn’t call it ‘a secret life’. You sound like a spy, and not a very good one. You almost blew your cover.” ...

Part 2 Now, when my life depends on it, it’s very easy to get the key out, easier than inserting it with a shaking hand into the keyhole. I undo the cuffs and get up unsteadily - either it’s the aftermath of the electrocution or I’m feeling the oxygen deprivation already. Ah, the fingerprints! I grab the revolver and thoroughly wipe its handle and trigger with a dry and crusty dishrag found in the sink. Where else did I leave my traces? Basil’s phone - it’s got my pics now, I have to take it with me. Oh, I need clothes! Basil took off his shirt, he doesn’t need it now. I open the door and run to the back room. The shirt is hanging on the wheelbarrow handle, still wet but long. Fortunately, Basil was a big man. I button it all the way down and hope to pass for a decently dressed person from some distance away. There’s my bag of toys, as well as my phone and apartment keys, I grab them too. One more lap around the house wiping every surface that I remember touching: door handles, the table, the window frame. Don’t forget to pick up my timer lock in the garden and wipe fingerprints from both buckets. ...

I didn’t even plan for this session. Stars just aligned, I’ve got some spare time and a bag of bondage paraphernalia at ready, some particularly bawdy post on social media triggered my kink spring and next thing I knew I was riding my bicycle through the nearby woods imagining my upcoming adventure. Could have happened to anyone, right? No, of course not. It takes exposure to the right stimulus at the right age, the right amount of pressure from parents raised in more prudish times and maybe certain genetics underneath of all that to truly enjoy binding oneself in compromising positions in the middle of the woods. I do this quite often. ...