Bookapy License

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please go to https://bookapy.com/ and acquire your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The urge to text my ex-boyfriend again is strong, but against all odds, I swipe past his blocked number and throw my phone on the bed.

It's not like I miss him so much-he was the definition of emotionally unavailable and we'd only been going out for two months.

But… I'm horny. And he knows exactly what I like. It's why we'd lasted so long despite arguing every other day. Josh could put me in my place when it came down to it.

“Ugh.” I massage my forehead. Sure, I had a list of other guys I could text who would fall at my feet to do what I wanted-but that was boring.

My phone pings with a notification and I pick it up again. I roll my eyes at the spam email ad, clicking on it.

“Kinkblr matches you with someone who shares your sexual fantasies anonymously,” I read aloud, getting somewhat interested. “Matches disappear within twenty four hours, so you don't have to worry about your privacy or your identity being exposed.”

My eyebrows climb all the way into my hairline. That… actually sounded great.

Of course, I'm not stupid enough to click on links from spam mail, so I open the app store to search for Kinkblr. Sure enough, it's right there with images showing the app's layout.

“Perfect,” I cheer, tapping install.

As I wait, I wonder what I'll put in my profile. Do I want to reveal that I’m in college? Men usually found college girls vapid and immature, but that could work to my advantage.

Soon enough, I'm setting up my profile as I kick my feet in bed. The pictures I use are the ones normally locked in my private folder. One with me on my knees with a collar around my neck, another taken from behind with my ass red from spanking, and one with me face down, back arched, in a latex bodysuit.

The bio reads, “Clementine,” because using my real name on an app would be insane-anonymous or not.

After finishing my profile, I put my phone down to make myself lunch. My stepdad is in the kitchen when I get there, sitting at the kitchen counter with his laptop.

“Hi dad,” I say. It'd taken a while to get used to calling him that without feeling like I was betraying my own father from beyond the grave.

He looks up and his piercing stare sends shivers down my spine per usual. He's a pretty good-looking man, with his man bun, nerdy glasses and rippling muscles. Anyone would be attracted to him. I definitely am.

“Hey, Bridgette. Didn't think you were home?” he replies. “Done with your paper?”

“Getting sustenance so I can finish,” I correct, opening the fridge. Lucky me, there's some leftover cake from my birthday last week.

My stepdad chuckles. “Knock yourself out then.”

I take the cake back to my room, pick up my phone, and settle down at my desk. “Oh wow, a match already?”

'Bear' was a reasonably buff man with tattoos on his back. His bio said he was 46 and had a DDLG kink, as well as an exhibitionism kink.

“Does not mind putting little girls in their places,” I murmur, eyes scanning his profile.

He had a faceless photo of himself shirtless on a chair, manspreading, with a belt in hand.

I swallow. “This might actually work.”

So I strike up a conversation.

Bear apparently was in the military once upon a time, but now he works in real estate. I ask if he's married, to which he hesitates, but eventually admits that yes, he is.

'Well, I won't tell your wife if you don't', I text back good-naturedly.

'You've got yourself a deal :-)'

I spend the weekend texting Bear. Something about him feels eerily familiar, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what.

He's calm and respectful of my boundaries-doesn't ask too many questions or pry. It's almost like he doesn't care to know me at all.

I manage to bring it up in one conversation and he seems to be struck dumb for a few minutes.

'That's not true,' he finally says, 'I just feel like I know you already. I won't take anything you're not offering.'

At this point, I really want to meet him in person. I tell him as much, and I can practically feel his surprise.

'Just like that?'

'Just like that,' I reply.

'Hm. Are there any coffee shops near you?'

'There are, in fact. My favorite is Gianni's, just down the block.'

'Good. I'm going to leave my credit card at Gianni's for you at 9:20am, so you can buy whatever you think we'll need for our… activities.'

I can't help but frown. 'That's not a meeting :-(', I type back.

'You'll understand why soon', came the cryptic reply.

That seemed like a lot of trust. What if I just took it and skipped town? Well, obviously he could remotely block the card, but it's the principle of the thing.

Still, I agree to it, and by 9:20, I step into Gianni's, expecting to see Bear. Nobody here fits the description, just some college students like me and I can't help but pout.

However, there's a table by the window with a croissant and a latte on it, but nobody is sitting there. I ask the baristas about it.

“Oh,” says the tired-looking girl, “Some guy bought it for someone named Clementine. Apparently she's on her way but he had somewhere to be.”

“That's me!” I tell her, a wide smile stretching across my face.

“Really? Knock yourself out then.”

I sit at the table, practically inhaling the still warm latte. But there's no card anywhere. Unless…

I lift the croissant plate, and then the napkin next to it. A-ha! There it is! All sleek and black and-

The color drains out of my face at the name on the card. Keith Phillips.

That wasn't… it had to be someone else, right? Two people could have the same name, right?

There's no way I've been sending pictures of my tits to my mother's husband who is also my stepfather, right?!

Suddenly, him not asking anything about me makes an insane amount of sense. Of course he knows me… he's been in my life for eight years now. And I'm sure he's heard me say his name while I touch myself at night…

Fucking hell.

This is fine. It's completely fine. I'm an adult; he's an adult. Everything is okay.

I mean, he's my mom's husband but my mom is somewhere in the Amazon rainforest for some 'Save The Animals' charity thing. She'd never find out.

After sufficiently rationalizing everything, I pick up my phone and text him.

'So, how soon can you have your way with me?'

'I'll send an Uber in 15 to home. I’m at the office', is Keith's reply.

‘So you knew it was me?’

‘I suspected as much,’ he replied. ‘See you soon?’

‘Of course.’

It's easy to go back home and change. I put on a cute skirt with little bows on the edges and a tight Sanrio shirt, displaying all of the little characters in a circle. To finish off the look, I throw on some thigh-high socks to go under my shoes.

I feel cute. And I'm fairly confident that he'll think I'm cute, too.

Glancing at my phone, I can see that it's already 9:50. Nervously, I make my way downstairs to meet the Uber driver already waiting.

The car sets in motion, and I watch outside the tinted window as the trees and buildings of my neighborhood grow farther and farther away. Inside, a million thoughts and questions buzz about like a swarm of bees.

What's he going to say to me? How will we do this? It can't be a trap, right?

I try not to let my mind wander too far in the negative direction.

Soon, we reach the heart of the city. Preoccupied people hurry down the sidewalks and a surplus of cars bustle about the traffic-filled roads. Honks and ambient noise are constantly audible.

The driver speaks up. “We have arrived. Allow me to get the door for you, Miss Clementine.”

I promptly unbuckle and clutch my purse as if it's some sort of safety mechanism. After thanking the driver one last time, I set off towards the skyscraper's entrance, craning my neck up above to try and guesstimate where Keith's office might be located.

The large doors at the entrance of the building are attended by a man who nods politely and opens for me.

As I enter, I'm suddenly more anxious than I already was. Several well-dressed businesspeople walk past with purpose towards the elevators, stairs, entrance, or front desk. They all seem to know exactly what they're doing and where they're going, unlike the little girl dressed in a childish outfit with cartoon characters on it.

Crap... Please let this be over soon, I wish, wanting to get out of the public eye.

Already having received directions from Keith, I head straight for one of the six elevators. I press the white button and wait for less than a minute before the doors glide open, revealing a sleek interior. I step forward as confidently as I can manage and choose to occupy the space in the far left corner after selecting the 50^th floor-the end of the line.

Before the doors close, a man with a briefcase steps in beside me. He presses a button for one of the lower floors, although I can't tell which exactly.

I peer down at the floor, still clutching my bag. I can see the man staring at me out of the corner of my eye.

I can't blame him, really. Who wouldn't stare at someone who looks so out of place? I half-expect him to interrogate me about what I'm even doing here, but I'm glad when he remains silent.

The elevator ascends rather rapidly, but before long, it comes to a gentle stop. With eyes trained forward, the man efficiently disembarks and disappears behind a corner to the right. The doors once again swing closed and the movement continues upwards.