Page 50 of The Masquerade: Room 2

Eight hours later, I emerge under the cover of darkness, my body tired, my mind exhausted, and my heart full at a job well done. Hailing a cab, I jump in and pull up the calendar on my phone, eager to find the next time I can meet with Sir.

It’s only as I think of him that I realize I may have given him my first name, but I refused his offer. What does he think of that? Do I even want to know? I add my availability for three days from now and type out a quick message to Sir.

Me: I updated the calendar. Does Thursday work for you, Sir?

I almost sent that without addressing him as Sir. I’m a little disappointed that I won’t be adding to my punishment.

Sir: That works. Why are you up at this time, little one?

Me: Long night at work.

Sir: Did you take a cab home? I don’t like the idea of you walking around Manhattan alone in the middle of the night.

Me: I’m in a cab, Sir. I knew it would displease you if I walked the couple of blocks to the subway.

Sir: Good girl.

Why do I crave his approval? I barely know the man, yet my mind is consumed with the desire to please him.

Me: Thank you, Sir.

Sir: Are you prepared to be punished?

Me: Yes, Sir. I’m looking forward to it.

The moment I hit send, I regret it. I shouldn’t admit such a thing. Who wants someone to hurt them in pursuit of sexual gratification? It’s a rhetorical question, of course. I’ve done extensive research on the matter, and Venom is full of people who enjoy punishment.

Sir: You say that now, little one. Wait until your body is shaking, your ass burning from the sting of my cane. You might think otherwise.

Me: I trust you, Sir.

I really do. I trust him with my pleasure and conversely with my pain. He’s shown me tenderness, and there is something in his eyes—a discernment I admire. When you look at someone behind a mask, their gaze is magnified, distilled with a clarity that’s refreshing. It’s as if I truly see him and him me.

Sir: Trying to get on my good side?

Me: Always, Sir.

Sir: Good answer. Are you home yet?

Me: No, Sir.

Sir: Let me know when you’re home safe with the doors locked. If you’re going to be working these hours regularly, I’ll have a town car pick you up.

Me: Then you’d know far too much about me, Sir.

Sir: Safety comes before anonymity. I’ll figure it out. Let me worry about the logistics.

Me: Yes, Sir.

By the time the cab driver pulls up at my apartment building, moving my limbs is hard work. I’m so tired. Once I’m safely inside, I let Sir know I’m home and crawl into bed, sleep instantly settling over my weary body, my mind taking me to a certain playroom, a set of piercing forest green eyes staring back at me.

“Hello, little one.”

The bite of the restraints against my wrists is deliciously wicked as I sit on my heels in the position Sir requires of me. Waiting for him like this is the greatest form of torture. Tonight, he set out sumptuous wine-red lingerie—a stunning basque lace thong and a matching jewel-encrusted mask. The ropes that currently hold my hands above me are the same deep shade of red.

“Hello, Sir.” My voice is barely above a whisper, my breathing shallow as my pulse races.

“Are you ready for tonight’s lesson?”

---