Mark Johnson
4 min readAug 2, 2023


Booke frantically typed in her message and pressed send. The message she had just completed was a sensual one sent with a smiley face that looked a little naughty.

She tried focusing on finishing dinner for her daughter and her boyfriend. Still, her anticipation for what and how the party on the other end of her phone would reply to the message she just sent was possibly more than she could handle as she was tingling between her thighs something awful.

Five minutes had passed, then ten, then twenty. Brooke was beside herself thinking that now the message was over the top, too vulgar, maybe insensitive, she didn’t fuckin’ know. She finished making dinner, placed the food for her guests, and then excused herself from sitting out on the deck of her condo on the warm California night in case a message came.

It wasn’t even five minutes later when she felt she needed to fire off another text to find out what the hold-up was. The rapid movement of her fingers typed up her questioning mood and solidified it with a frowning-faced emoji.

The message blinked incessantly on the other end of the phone, waiting for James to check it. He focused on work, trying to close a lucrative deal for his agency. Although he needed to reply, seeing more of the abbreviated text, he caught the gist and was highly intrigued by how the rest of the text went.

Upon the meeting ending, James looked at his phone to see Brooke’s messages and fired back. She was pleased and even happier as he told her he would make the time to come and see her that weekend.

When the weekend came around, both their spirits were high. James’s drive-up I-95 calmed him after the intense negotiations during the week and his questions about the choice of surprise gift he brought for Booke.

As James’s ETA drew close, Brooke stood at the front window of her condo, intermittently watching for him to arrive and adding candles and lights to create more of an ambiance. She watched him get out of his car when he finally made it. He was tall and always looked put together, even in just a polo and khakis after a four-hour drive.

She watched him walk up the pathway to her front door, her belly full of butterflies. She let him knock before she opened the door. Upon opening the door, she jumped him for a kiss, which quickly turned into a full-on make-out session falling back onto her L — shaped sofa in the living room dry, humping each other like a pair of teens to the sound of a quiet house.

In between kisses and caresses, James began to tell Brooke that he had a surprise for her, to which her curiosity was peaked so much that she stopped her advances completely. She looked at him; her champagne-colored cashmere sweater now lay on the sofa, revealing her crimson Fenty bra and ample breasts. James smiled and reached for the overnight bag, sensing he had to show her now before too late. He reached into a pocket of his bag and pulled out a fine black leather red ball gag, with a bit of “Here, let’s try this” tone to his voice, and looked into his mahogany eyes.

Brooke didn’t know what to think or say, a bewildered look on her face as if she had to guess what he had brought for her. She’d never have supposed that in a million years. She was a bit afraid, pulling back a bit from him, but not to the point she’d overreact asking him whom the gag was for, to which he replied, “It’s for you.”

At her age, Brooke had tried several things to spice up her sexual encounters, but bondage as this is what she saw the gag as wondering if there was a pair of handcuffs in that same bag. James began to rattle off all the possible reasons this might be appropriate or sexy, making a case like a high-paid lawyer on a high-profile case.

It was when he began to whisper in her ear sweet talk that Brooke began to listen. He went on about how he would make her scream with a passion so loud that a gag would be needed going into all the explicit wet and juicy details of what he would do to her that weekend. This triggered Brooke down to her matching red Fenty panties, where she became so wet she nearly began to orgasm right there on her sofa.



Mark Johnson

Mark Johnson is a University of Chico graduate, a lover of the creative arts, avid photographer, with an undying entrepreneurial spirit.