Behind the Mask

After conversing online for almost a year, Giovanni offers to tutor the crippling shy Daniella through every kinky desire she has, and what better time or place than a masquerade ball during Carnivale of Venice? Shielded by a mask and transported to a country where no one knows her and she barely speaks the language, she’s emboldened to submit to his gentle command and live out her darkest fantasies.

But what armor will she use to protect her heart?

I’ve been reading this woman’s erotic poetry for over an hour, and everything about her intrigues me. Her thoughts, her curiosities, her kinks, her needs, and her untapped desires. From her profile, I suspect she’s curvy, with long, dark hair and golden skin. Of course, this is only true if the pictures on her profile are the woman writing the words that have captivated my mind. She’s shy for a person on KinkLife, the few pictures she’s posted obscuring her face—her body covered more than most of the bikini-clad women on an Adriatic beach.

And yet, I’m enchanted by her.

“I’ve spent an hour reading your poems and stories. They are very good. You have a way with erotic text that is both titillating and elegant. I’ll be following you to be notified when you post more. Thank you for sharing your words.” I send her the message, never expecting her to reply. Women don’t message with strangers on these sites. At least not the ones that aren’t running a paid live cam site. Not that I can blame them. Most of the men on these sites are dirtbags, running a numbers game where they throw out the same line over and over until a real person responds, only to send a dick pic or ask to talk off the site.

I’m not here to get laid, but I am here to be stimulated, and DaVixen’s poems and stories are working—if my raging hard on is any kind of testament to her skillful prose.

“Thank you. Which one do you like best?” To my surprise, she responds.

I lean back in my chair. “That’s hard to say—each one invokes a unique feeling.”

“Are you saying they turn you on in different ways?”

Straight to the point. I like her. “You’ve given me visions of what you like, who you are, what you want—and I want to know more.”

“You want to get to know me? And then, maybe we’ll get on a video chat and you’ll beg me to take off my clothes?”

Oh, I don’t beg.

It’s obvious the creeps on KinkLife have hit her and she assumes I’m just another one. Maybe I am. But I’m also a patient and nurturing Dominant who has a feeling about this little wannabe submissive. “No video chat for me today. It’s daytime here, and I can’t have a naked woman on my computer screen in the middle of the workday. It sends the wrong message.”

To whom, I have no idea, considering I’m in my rooftop flat alone, like I am most days. Being the owner of a tech company and designer of two social and gaming platforms grant you the ability to work from the comfort of your own home. I have a CEO and a president who deals with the day-to-day bullshit.

“Where are you?” she types back.

“Venice.”

“Italy?”

I chuckle. Sometimes inflection and tone are lost in online messaging, but sometimes they are not. “Sì, Bellissima. Parli Italiano?”

“No. Not really. How are you online if it is the middle of the morning? Don’t you have to work?” 

“I’m the boss. I make the rules. And you? What are you doing online so close to your bedtime?”

“I was posting another story.”

“Ah, another story. Buono. Where do you get your inspiration?”

“Books… and my imagination.”

“And personal experience?”

“Honestly?”

“Sempre,” I smile to myself and type out. “This means always. I want you to always be honest with me.”

“I’ve never come close to experiencing any of the things I write about.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know. Too shy. Too scared. Too embarrassed.”

I think about what she’s telling me, wondering how such a wickedly devious and vivid imagination could be trapped in a body paralyzed with self-doubt and fear. “You need the right Dominant to help you be free.”

“And I suppose that’s you?” Sarcasm drips off every written word. I scroll through her blog entries again, noting she’s only been posting for a few months. 

“You haven’t been on this site long enough to be so jaded, but I suppose it took no time at all for many men to abuse a woman with your writing talent.”

She doesn’t type back for a minute, and I’m thinking she’s closed her messenger window. I refresh and see she’s still online, but alas, there is nothing. 

“I enjoyed our brief chat, Bella. Please keep writing, and I will keep reading. Sleep well.”

Right before I sign off, my messenger beeps with an incoming message. “Maybe we can talk again tomorrow?”

“I have business meetings tomorrow, but I am free this weekend.”

“Okay, well, maybe we’ll catch each other this weekend.”

I think of one of her pictures on her profile. She’s wearing boy shorts with an anime print that is reminiscent of a popular video game and a wet white tank top that lays flat against her round breasts, her nipples pebbled against the cold fabric. I take a wild guess. “Do you play video games?”

She sends a heart emoji and follows it with an “I do!”

“If you’d like to talk away from this website, find me @GioCostaVenexia on your favorite game.”

“Which one?”

I chuckle. “It doesn’t matter. I’m on all of them. Ciao, Bella. Dormi bene.”

“Good night, or good morning, as the case may be, Gio.” She signs off, but seconds later, I’m rewarded with a new poem. This one I can visualize myself in…

And I like it.