When my eyes open and the light filters in through my sheer curtains, I cover my face. For a second, I panic before I remember it’s Saturday. I don’t have to worry about work, grading papers, or answering emails. I can relax all day and maybe catch up on some reading.

I sigh, rolling over, and whimper. My nipples are still tender from where the asshole attached the forceps, the bite of them still on my mind. When I finally fell asleep last night, I dreamed of being trapped with that madman. Every time I closed my eyes, I’d see him.

I bury my face in my pillow and reach for the phone on my nightstand. Using only one eye, I read the screen.

Unknown: Good morning, piccola. When you wake up, snap a photo of your toy chest and send it to me.

Ugh. Rolling over, I hold the pillow against my face and scream. Letting someone peek into my toy box is like giving them a window into my kinky soul. I’ve never shown it to anyone, not even my ex-boyfriends.

When I finally work up the energy to climb out of bed, I do everything but send the photo. I brush my teeth, start the coffee, add his name to my contacts, and straighten up my bedroom—the entire time thinking about its contents.

With a fresh cup of coffee on my nightstand, I kneel on the floor and stare at the box under my bed. It looks inconspicuous, but I know the dirty things that are inside. Slowly I reach underneath and slide it out in front of me.

“For the love of God,” I mutter and stare up at the ceiling. “Why?” I don’t know if I expect a reply, but one doesn’t come.

The box has grown over the years and become more intricate. The contents kept me sane through all the breakups in my early twenties. Carefully, I lift the lid and set it on the floor to the side.

“I’m a perv.” I cackle and rock back on my feet before resting my ass on the ground.

Do I take everything out or just send him a photo as is? When it’s all thrown together, it just looks like a jumbled mess of plastic and metal. Taking out a rather large dildo, I feel the weight in my hands and cringe. “Jesus,” I whisper. “You’ve been a great lover, but you’re going at the bottom.”

Although I don’t mind pleasuring myself with it, it’s a bit large to show him right away. I don’t want him to get any ideas. I push aside the contents, toss the dildo to the bottom and cover it up again.

“That’s better,” I tell myself, leaning forward to get a better glimpse, and realize it helped nothing. Nipple clamps, vibrators, dildos, and other particulars are in full view.

Lifting my phone, I snap a picture because maybe it won’t look as bad on the screen as it does with the naked eye. I don’t even have to zoom in to see every kinky lover’s dream chest. The photo has done nothing but accentuate the collection. I turn the flash off to darken the photo, and once I feel it’s hard to make anything out in great detail, I send it to Ret.

Staring at the toys, I smile to myself because I feel sly, like I got one over on him. That is, until my phone beeps.

Ret: Use a flash and lay it out on the floor.

Fuckkkk. He can’t be serious.

Ret: I’m serious.

My mouth hangs open, and I peer over my shoulder, wondering if he can see me. “Bastard,” I whisper to myself as I start to remove every toy and implement and lay them out in two rows.

Row one is for insertables—dildos, vibrators, and plugs. Row two is for everything else. I hadn’t taken stock of my assortment in a while, and I am shocked by the variety and size.

Most of it I purchased after attending a demo at The Club. I figured if I were going to try my hand at being a Domme sometimes, I’d need the tools for the job. Usually, I ended up using them on myself for pleasure because I couldn’t seem to pull the trigger with anyone else.

Covering my face with my hands, I try to figure out how to get out of sending the photos. It won’t all fit on one screen, so I’ll have to take a number of shots. My hands drop from my face when I come up with the brilliant idea to stand and take one shot from far away, hopefully making it difficult to see.

I snap one, with the flash on, and send it off before checking it. After it switches from Delivered to Read, I open it too and zoom in.

“Fucking hell,” I say to myself and scroll to the left.

Everything is visible—clear as fucking day.

I set the phone down in front of me and sit cross-legged before reaching for my cup of java. I keep my eyes on the screen, waiting for his response as I take a sip.

I’m not really embarrassed by my collection, but I’m worried about what he’ll think or use on me. It’s both exciting and scary.

Ret: Thank you, piccola. Send me a photo of your hard and soft limit sheet next.

That, surprisingly, is less worrisome. I’ve shared it with many people during my time as a Club member. It not only covers what I’m willing to do, but also what I’ve done.

I click a few buttons and send it off to him without hesitation.

I shake my head and take another sip, letting the vanilla cream sit on my tongue before swallowing.

Ret: We’ll discuss this list together next time we see each other. Today, I want you to put in the purple butt plug, and don’t take it out unless you must or I tell you to remove it.

I purse my lips, twisting them around. Not because I dread the idea of shoving something in my ass—I’ve done if before, many times. I know that wearing it all day will turn me on. The tiniest movements will send waves of pleasure through me.

Me: Yes.

I sigh and pluck the purple one from the assortment and set it to the side. As I start to throw the toys in the box and wonder how many times today I’ll have to pleasure myself to maintain my sanity, he sends another text.

Ret: You’re not allowed to touch yourself. No coming until I say so.

I flick off the screen and groan.

Ret: Be a good girl and follow directions, and I’ll make it worth your while.

Again, I turn around and wonder if he can see me. I laugh to myself and shake my head because I’m probably not the first girl he’s done this with, and he can see my reactions coming before I do.

I climb up on the bed with the plug and a bottle of lube. “Thank God he didn’t pick the pink one,” I say, covering the plug in the clear lubricant. The pink one I’ve always had issues with inserting on my own.

As I rise up off the bed, balancing my body on one arm, I slide the plug against my asshole and ready myself. Slowly, I work it inside, turning myself on from the contact. A small pinch of pain causes me to wince before it’s fully seated.

I collapse, letting my ass get used to the fullness and wonder how this happened. How did I let Master Ret in?

My phone beeps and I scurry to the edge to see what he says next.

Ret: Take a photo of it.

I gape at the phone. He can’t be serious. I remember what I had on my list. Exhibitionism is marked Yes with a willingness of 5 which means Hell Yes.

Reaching behind, I try to take a good photo without giving him too much of a view. Craning my neck in this manner doesn’t seem to work. I roll onto my back, spread my legs and raise them high in the air. Reaching down, I snap a photo and take a quick peek. Not too shabby.

I send it off to Ret and wait for my next order. I did tell myself last night that I’d give in to him. For once, I’d put my faith in someone else.

Ret: Good girl, piccola. Meet me at The Club tonight at 8 p.m. Remember—no touching.

Me: Yes.

I shake my ass, letting the plug move around, and I can already feel the wetness between my legs. It’s only noon, and I’m dreading the next eight hours of my life.