The Diary

Heather never thought she was prudish or unadventurous, but John's lifestyle was a particular one. And it's not that she wasn't interested, she really was, but she wasn't sure how far he planned to take it. The ropes had given her some sense. They'd felt amazing on her skin. It required a scissors to remove them last night, and she'd waited until well after the two hours he'd suggested for safety, but she kept looking at herself in the mirror thinking how sexy it looked and how naughty it felt.

And now, ironically, the only thing that could help her figure out what to do was the very thing that got her into this quandary in the first place—Sarah's diary. She needed to know more about their relationship, about Sarah's training, about how she managed it. It was the only way to know what to expect.

So Heather sat in the middle of her bed, amidst bits of cut rope, reading more about Sarah's pending submission.

******

Dear Diary, for better or worse, today is the day. I expected to be gone for the night and maybe part of tomorrow, but John told me to expect the whole weekend. I'll bring you along in case I have time to write in between whatever is in store for me.

John is on his way over to say goodbye before I leave. I think he wants to give me encouragement. Wasn't he the one that told me the lifestyle was nothing to fear? He makes me a little nervous lately. I think he doesn't want me to meet Becca. I can understand that in some way. I've wondered what she looks like and how she acts and what it was about her that drew him in and nearly trapped him. I've wondered about her a lot actually...

John paced back and forth through the apartment. He stopped and lifted my dress.

"Cotton panties?" He bemoaned. "You're not serious. Take them off."

"Why? They're comfortable."

"Take them off now!" He bellowed. "I'm trying to save you trouble down the line."

"Cotton panties are going to cause me trouble?"

"Everything is going to cause you trouble."

"Really?"

"You aren't just going for an experience as a submissive. You're asking for real training. You're asking The Mistress to train you. And not just to be a submissive... but to be a submissive for me... someone she trained to be Dominant. And the Mistress is a woman who I happened to fuck for a few years. And she happened to offer me a job at the place you're going. Don't you get it? There's a reason this is a bad idea. You. Are. Fucked."

"Oh... well... fuck..." I said feeling suddenly worried. "If you'd worded it like that when you initially disagreed with the idea... well... fuck..."

"Panties." He said holding out his hand.

I pulled off my comfy, cotton undies and put them in his hand.

"What should I wear instead?" I asked.

"Sexy panties or no panties."

"Like trashy lingerie?"

"Not trashy, sexy." He huffed. "Her job is to make you feel trashy. Your job is to be as poised and sexy as possible while you're being taught and used."

He lifted my dress again. "Wait." He said. "You didn't shave or wax?"

"My muff has character."

"Your muff will be waxed within thirty minutes of going in that door."

"You're just saying that to get me to shave my pussy."

"Fine." He shrugged. "Do whatever you want. Did you pick your safe word?"

"Yes."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"I've seen how strong you are?" John said taking my hands in his. "Whatever you're expecting... expect to be surprised. When you're certain that you don't have the strength to continue, find something extra for me."

"You worry too much."

"Address." He said handing me a slip of paper. "Go. Take the steps down to the basement entrance. Knock. Follow instructions." He paused. "Sarah? Are you listening?"

"Yeah, I got it. Follow instructions."

I took a cab down to the West Village. It dropped me off on the corner of Leroy and Bleeker. It's hard to describe how I was I feeling. It was Friday night and the city was abuzz with activity. And this part of town was known for all kinds of interesting nightlife. It didn't seem like anything nefarious would be hidden away.

I walked down Leroy Street looking at the numbers until a came to a three story, brick brownstone with a stone stoop and staircase leading to a front door. To the left of the stoop a small fence surrounded the steps going down to the basement entrance. The strangest part was how beautiful the building looked. The brick looked clean and in good condition and the wrought iron fence that surrounded the stairs was lacquered shiny black.

I wanted to walk down those stairs and knock on the door. I really did. But I was nervous. Becca was in there—The Becca. What if I hated her? What if I liked her? What if... what if... what if...

I walked back around the corner and bought a bottle of water. I allowed myself a small panic attack before circling the entire block. At this point I was just wasting...

******

Heather shot straight up in bed. Her finger swiped at her tablet. Nothing. It was the last picture.

"No!" She cried in frustration. "No! It can't end here. Sonofabitch!"

Sarah's first diary ended with this entry. If Heather wanted to know what happened then she needed to get the next diary, and she knew where that was hidden. It was in Callie's room in the bottom of that old chest. How would she ever get an opportunity to sneak back in? She didn't have a reason anymore.

Heather quickly realized that it was more than just knowing how Sarah handled her submission. She wanted to know the rest of the story—Sarah's story and John's story. She was addicted to it. It was beautiful and complicated.

Some part of her wanted to go across the street and just agree to his conditions. She want to get into that presentation position and let him tie her up and fuck her and fill her with pleasure, whatever the cost. But another part of her wanted to know him first—all of him—the whole story.

She rubbed her hand down over her pussy and played with her nipples, aching for another orgasm before she figured out what to do next.

******

The beast roared from somewhere deep inside, somewhere in the very core of his being, the distinctive roar of freedom. John felt it. And he felt the self-assurance, confidence and need that accompanied that old, yet familiar, growl.

He'd gotten dressed for the day—blue jeans, Banana Republic long-sleeved, collared pullover, a pair of loafers. He stared back at himself in the mirror above the dresser. And then looked down at the valet where his watch, wallet and wedding band sat. He pulled open the drawer and placed the wedding band inside. Maybe it was time to keep it out of sight and move past those old memories.

He turned around and found Callie's new panties crumpled on the floor next to the bed. He picked them up and brought them to his nose. The sweet smell of her virgin cunt was still fresh on the fabric. He smiled knowing that little hole would be his soon. If he hadn't cum so quickly in the shower he might've been tempted to take her right there. Oh, how things had changed so quickly, so unexpectedly, and to such a satisfying end.

John walked down the hallway. His restraint was nearly gone now. Why not continue to fuck Heather? Why not fuck Jenny and Allison and her little bitch daughter too for that matter? Why not fuck them all, the whole lot of them, every damn woman that glanced in his direction? Why should he care any longer?

He stopped in front of Callie's door. It was a teenage girl's room—his little girl's room. The thought of fucking her should bother him, he considered briefly. It didn't. He looked at her white canopy bed, the one he bought special after Sarah passed, and thought the tall posts were perfect for tying off rope, a thought that never occurred to him when he picked it out so many years ago. He took a seat on the edge of her mattress thinking about her climax as he came on her face—right here on this very spot, in this very bed.

John leaned back wondering if he was a bad man for what happened over the last few days. He wondered, maybe more importantly, if he cared. Sure it was wrong. But Callie wanted it. And he wanted it. So why should it matter? He laid back and stared up at the canopy adjusting the pillow under his head.

When his hand hit the book under her pillow, he pulled it out curiously. It didn't take much to guess what it was—a diary. Part of him thought he should leave it be. All of Heather's snooping had only fucked up her relationship with Jenny. And he couldn't deny that things with Callie were perfect. But she held her place in the pages with a letter. Perhaps a peek wouldn't hurt—just one page, her last entry.

John opened the book and his heart shattered. The letter had his name on it and he knew the handwriting all too well—Sarah's. It couldn't be from her, he thought. He'd never seen it before and the diary had her script as well. He opened the letter and began to read, and just that quickly, his new confidence disintegrated away leaving only heartache and tears.

John was utterly lost as he stared at that chest, which held all the answers he'd ever wanted for all these years. He couldn't bring himself to open it. The letter alone was too much for him. Callie had read it and hidden it from him and he was angry and sad and confused and unsure of every choice he'd made over the years.

He grabbed the diary and the letter and left the chest untouched, and then made his way downstairs grabbing his keys. He went to the garage and opened it. John never treated himself except for once. It was important to him that Callie be grounded in reality and not overly spoiled. But he'd given up his life in the city. He'd given up a job that could've made him wealthy beyond his dreams. John had still done very well for them, exceedingly well, but he kept their life modest and comfortable. He'd done it all for Sarah—everything was for her—except his one small splurge, that was for him.

He pulled the cloth cover off his metallic blue 2012 Ferrari California. It was a trophy that he left parked inside and barely drove except early in the morning so people wouldn't judge him. But John was emotional and confused and didn't much care about anything at the moment. He only wanted to leave, to get away from this house and from Callie.

The engine roared to life and he revved it a few times warming it up. The diary sat on the passenger seat. He put on his Ray Ban sunglasses and peeled out of the driveway in a squealing, screeching tear.

******

Heather looked out the window when she heard an engine revving menacingly expecting to see some unruly teen showing off for a friend in his parent's car. But she saw John screeching out of his driveway recklessly and speeding off with blinding speed.

Her first thought, of course, was to wonder what could have him so wound up. She'd found herself wondering about him a lot lately. She once thought he was a sad widower and devoted father and all around good person. Lately, since she discovered the diary, she wasn't sure if she knew him at all.

The second thought that popped into her head was to wonder if Callie was home. She needed that next diary and this could be an opportunity presenting itself. If she could just slip inside and snap the pictures she needed then she'd know what happened next.

Heather was suffering the same questions that plagued Sarah. Who was Becca? What did she look like? What was that place in the Village? What happened to her there? She had to know. She just had to.

******

Callie hadn't intended on such a long shower, but after her dad left she was so turned on that her fingers found their way down to her pussy and couldn't stop. That cock, she thought. That thick, hard beautiful cock had finally been hers. She replayed every moment of it over in her head, every sensation, every taste. It was good that it happened that way, she decided. It was so much hotter and sexier and mind-blowingly amazing. She couldn't wait to have him again. And he'd said it wouldn't be long. She hoped that was true. She got a taste of him and wanted more—maybe she was a hot, little slut.

After she came a few times, she looked down at her pussy and pulled at her pubes. Her mom had taught her how to suck cock with that video—something she probably would've never imagined when she made it. Her mom had taught her so much with her diary. Callie wanted to be just like her. So she grabbed her dad's razor and slowly began to shave her pussy until there was just a small manicured patch of hair above her slit. It took a little time to make it perfect, but once she was finished and slid her hand down over her labia, she reveled in the smooth, soft, sensitive new feeling. It looked just like her mom's.

Callie decided from now on her appearance was important. She'd never been overly concerned with dressing sexy or looking hot. But after the last few days, she couldn't imagine not looking her best. She wanted her dad to think about fucking her every time he glanced in her direction. Her trip to the mall had been exciting. Maybe that's why Jenny Mills always dressed so slutty, she thought. She imagined dressing super-hot at school like when she wore her mom's denim mini. How many cocks had she gotten hard that day? Not that she wanted them. She only wanted one cock, but knowing she had the power to elicit that kind of response felt empowering.

She got out of the shower and took her time brushing out her hair and checking her face for blemishes in the mirror. She wondered what her dad was doing. He was probably working in his office in the basement. Maybe she could suck his cock there. She imagined herself under his desk like a naughty girl. That smile was still plastered on her face.

******

Heather was surprised to find the sliding door unlocked in the basement. She slipped inside and walked up the stairs. She unlocked the front door and then opened it as if she'd just come inside.

"Hello?" She called. "John? Callie? The front door was open. Is anyone home?"

She stopped and listened. Silence. She walked quietly to the stairs and stepped up the first few.

"Callie? Are you home?"

Still silence. Perhaps it really was her lucky day. She quickly made her way to the top of the stairs and then stopped again cautiously. Callie's door was open. She didn't hear anything. John's door was closed, but she knew he was gone. She poked her head in the hallway bathroom. Empty. She peered around the corner into Callie's room and then sighed with relief when she saw it empty too.

There was no time to waste. She lifted the lid on the chest and removed the items in order so she could put them back the same way. Then she removed the false bottom revealing the treasures beneath. She scanned the stacks of diaries finding the second in the series. If nothing else she needed this one copied. She pulled it out, flipped the cover open and then framed the first page and took a picture. She flipped to the second page and snapped another picture starting the arduous process of documenting the whole thing.

Heather couldn't have been more pleased with her luck. What were the chances? Soon she'd know how Sarah's submission turned out and maybe she'd decide her own fate too. It was all going perfectly until she looked up and saw Callie staring at her alarmed.

"Ms. Mills?" Callie asked confused at first. She was standing nude in her doorway holding her damp towel. "Why... why are you in my room?" Then she had the wherewithal to wrap the towel around her chest and cover herself. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Callie!" Heather startled. "Oh... hi... I... uh...your dad asked me to stop..." She was searching for a lie.

When the initial confusion wore off, Callie realized what she was holding. And then she noticed that the chest was empty and the hidden compartment was revealed.

"What are you doing with that?!" Callie screeched. "Are you taking pictures of it? That's mine! That's my mom's personal stuff! You can't touch it! Give it back!"

Callie reached down and snatched the diary from her hands. How did this woman know about the hidden compartment? The letter, she thought. The letter was in the first diary under her pillow. She'd been snooping. Callie went to her bed and pulled back the pillow. The diary was gone.

"You stole it!" Callie accused. "You stole her diary and her letters!"

"I... no... what?" Heather replied defensively. "I didn't steal anything!"

"Yes you did! It was under my pillow where I left it last night. It was there this morning. And now you're here and it's gone. You stole it! Give it back! Give it back and get the fuck out!"

"Callie, I swear on my life! I didn't steal it. I didn't steal anything! Check my purse. I promise!"

"How else would you know how to find the compartment in the bottom? You could've only read about it in the letter. It's all I have of her! Give it back."

"But... I... I don't have it!" Heather swore. "I... your dad... he asked me..."

"What does my dad have to do with it? Did you tell him about this? Does he know about the diary?!"

Heather knew this wouldn't sound good. "Promise me you won't tell him I told you this..."

"I'm not promising you anything! You're a thief!"

"But I'm not! Oh god... Callie, your dad asked me to snoop in your room on Friday when you got in trouble. He was worried something was wrong... that you were hiding something..."

"Nice try, Ms. Mills. I had that diary with me on Friday."

"It was after you got home. While you were downstairs talking to him, he had me come up and look around. I found the diary then. And I didn't tell him about it. I took pictures of it so I could read it. I've liked him for so long... I... I thought if I could learn something about him... maybe..."

"You used it to manipulate him? That's so fucked up." She said astonished. "Is that how you got him to fuck you? You're a terrible person."

"Oh god! You know that we..." Heather bowed her head in embarrassment. Then she looked back up with realization. "Wait. How come you haven't given him the letter? How come you didn't tell him about what you found? It's not like this was yours to keep. It's his. It's your mom's gift to him."

"I... I am gonna tell him..." She stuttered.

"Are you? You're sure waiting a long time. And you wore that outfit to school and he told me how much it fucked him up seeing you wear it. But he said you couldn't realize the significance... that you didn't know better. But you knew better, didn't you? You knew exactly what you were doing."

"Don't turn this around on me! You're the manipulative thief that talked him into bed with stolen information. Personal information... my mom's diary... they aren't your thoughts to read!"

"They are yours either, Callie!" She snapped back. "Oh! I get it! You have a daddy crush, don't you? Is that it?"

"Shut up!" Callie screeched. "Just give it back!"

"You don't think he'll fuck you, do you? Is that why you're so mad at me? Because I can and you can't?"

"You don't love him! I love him. Nobody will love him as much as I love him!" She stated passionately. "Just give it back, okay? I just want it back!"

"Oh, Callie... he's your father..."

"He's my stepfather..." She argued. "Now, please..." She held out her hand.

Heather felt bad for the girl who was clearly crushing hard. "I will say this one more time, Callie... I. Don't. Have. The. Diary." She punctuated each word. "I took pictures of the first one and I read it. And I got to the end and I need to know what happens so I came to take pictures of the second. That's what I'm doing here. Okay?"

"You don't have it?" She asked confused.

"No! I've been saying that."