I have a little rule about porn. He’s allowed to watch, view, or read it, on the condition that he sends me files or links to anything he finds particularly exciting. I like knowing what turns him on–I’ve found it’s very useful information to have, and of course, information is power. To the best of my knowledge, he has complied–a few times a month, he sends links to videos, images, and stories that he finds particularly hot.
But when he left his laptop with me to figure out why it was running so slow, I couldn’t help but look on his hard drive to see if there was anything he wasn’t sending to me. When I agreed to fix it, I informed him that I would look at anything I found on his machine and advised him to take it elsewhere if he was worried about what I’d find. He was confident I wouldn’t find anything disagreeable.
He was right, and frankly, I was a little disappointed I didn’t find anything interesting on his machine. In hindsight, I should have realized I wouldn’t find anything–because everything is available online, there’s no reason for him to save anything to his drive.
When we first got together, I learned he had a long history and lots of experience in the BDSM scene, and I’m sure there’s plenty I don’t know about what turns him on, what he can’t resist, and what he’s secretly ashamed to admit makes him weak. Despite our porn rule, he’s human, and I imagine if he was into something he was embarrassed by or something he knows I’m not into, he might “neglect” to inform me.
Unfortunately, his hard drive didn’t satisfy my curiosity about what I might not know.
If I wanted to learn anything new, I’d have to see what he was looking at online. So after I cleaned up his laptop, I installed a tracker that would let me remotely monitor his internet browsing. After two weeks of watching him, with the exception of learning about his interest in various cooking and recipe websites, I learned his browsing, even his porn consumption, was largely uninteresting.
However, I did notice that his browsing habits are fairly consistent.
Every morning, after he gets to work, he checks his email, Facebook, and then spends about a half an hour reading the New York Times online. He returns to his email for another half hour, presumably responding to messages. After that, besides the occasional Gmail check and cooking website, he’s generally offline until after lunch.
Everyday around 1:30 pm, just after he returns from lunch, he goes to the adult website SkinMachine.com1 and reads their “Real Fuck Tales”–submissions from readers about their real-life sex adventures. Every day, like clockwork, he checks for a new Real Fuck Tales story.
Of course, there was no way I could pass up an opportunity to use his predictability to have a little fun with him.
On Thursday night, I spent hours and hours writing down the details of our last play date. I didn’t use our names, but I included enough physical detail that he might recognize us in the narrative–the color of his eyes, his height, a description of my corset and favorite stilettos. I wrote down what happened as best as I could remember… my instructions for him to disrobe and bring me his collar, the kissing, the twisting, the number of times I hit the backs of thighs with the cane (he kept count for me), the way I bound his limbs, straddled his head, and got off against his face… the way he begged me to let him come (I didn’t).
I ended the story by suggesting that if the boy in the story (my boy) wanted another opportunity to come this weekend, he (my boy) should drop what he was doing (right now), call his Domme (me), and await her instructions.
He would read the story, realize I had written it, and of course, he’d be a little spooked that I had secretly submitted the details of our last play date to a website he frequents. But he’s a slut, my slut, and if he thought there was any chance of me letting him come, he would certainly call to get my instructions.
I submitted the story and I was fairly sure it would be picked up and published the next day. I planned accordingly, made tapas reservations, and booked a nice hotel room near his office. When he called–at around 2 pm, I thought–I’d be waiting downstairs at his office complex, ready to whisk him off for a quick bite to eat and an evening of hard use and abuse.
2 pm came and went. 2:30 came and went. At 3 pm, I snuck into his office lobby to use their WiFi to connect my laptop. I was worried that the editor hadn’t accepted my story and I’d have to call my boy to tell him about my sexy plan… and then tell him why it didn’t work.
Without the hot story, my voyeurism of his browsing habits was just creepy. Without the hot story, I looked like a creepy stalker waiting for him at his office.
I powered up my machine, opened a browser, and went to SkinMachine. I clicked on the “Real Sex Tales” link…
Broken link. Busted plan.
1 Not a real website. I mean, maybe it is… I haven’t checked.