Well, I’m not entirely sure how I ended up in this situation. I’ll recount it all as best as I can. Please forgive any lapses in my memory. It seems I’ve not quite been myself lately.

I guess I should start by saying that even as a child, I was shy, quiet, reserved. Though, I always wanted to be one of the outgoing girls. They always seemed to have so much fun, smiling at everyone, laughing at all the jokes. I just never had it in me to be anything but the timid girl that sat quietly at her desk. Even during free time, I’d rather read and listen to my music than join in the frolicking of the others.

I also had a tendency to keep my distance from others because I was overly sensitive to sounds, touch, lights, and smells. When everything around you can elicit a physical response from you, either good or bad, you tend to limit your exposure to things. I didn’t have the typical childhood because of this condition, I isolated myself instead. No sleepovers, no squealing girl chats, no field parties.

This hasn’t changed in my adult years. I still long to be part of something exciting, something bigger and greater than myself, but, I cannot seem to break free of my reservations. Well, except for recently. The past month or so has been quite different for me. I thought maybe the books I’d been reading had something to do with it. Now, I’m not so sure.

I’d actually happened upon the first book by accident a few months ago. I’d gotten a whole box of books from a yard sale. Some were the murder mysteries and crime drama I typically read. Most were silly romance novels, where impossibly cute pirate captains rip off the bodices of a young, hapless female captive and she falls instantly in love with him, though he treats her like scum on his boot until he loses her, then figuring out he loves her too and crosses the world, leaving a path of dead in his wake as he seeks her out. Those kinds weren’t really for me, so I donated them to a local retirement center.

However, I did find one book that, I am nearly ashamed to say, and I could barely put down. The simple red covers held between them a world I’d never seen, one that spoke to stray thoughts I’d had since I was young. I loved reading about the tests they put their body and minds through, either for their own pleasure or for another’s.

I could only imagine the smell of the leather falls and they fell along a person’s back. Or nearly hear the metal jangle of a set of shackles that bound one person in the book. I took the book with me everywhere, since the cover was so nondescript. I’d read it every chance I had; I could not get enough.

I would read it on my lunch break at work and on the bus. I’d even read it while waiting for the bus, and that was only a 5-10 minute wait. If I had a spare moment, I’d find the book in my hands and headset on as I lost myself amongst the scenes portrayed in my little red book. It was like a drug.

Once I finished the first book, I started seeking out other titles by the same author. I found a used book store that I’d never been to before and tried to casually make my purchases without making eye contact or small talk with the owner. I didn’t know whom else to look for yet, and didn’t realize that there really may be more writers than this one. Sadly, this author had only written three books and I quickly finished with those.

I did try to go back to my typical reading fare, but I soon realized I’d lost interest in them, at least for now. I finally had to go to the used bookstore that I had been frequenting and ask the lady behind the register if she knew of any similar books. I nearly died from embarrassment and I’m still not sure how I ever got the words out.

Thankfully, she didn’t give any sort of indication that I’d made a strange request, she simply told me to follow her. She pointed out a small section tucked away in a back corner of the store. I remember standing and staring at the shelves, in awe that there were so many books to choose from. I browsed through a few before I settled on a handful of inconspicuous titles.

I admit that I’m not the most observant person. All too often, I have my nose stuck in a book, tunes playing in my ears, and a fabricated world in my head. So, I can say with all seriousness that as things occurred during the past month, I really made no connection between them all. I was slowly sinking into something that was way bigger and deeper than I’d ever imagined.

I do remember the first time I noticed him. I didn’t think anything of it then, of course, but looking back I can see where some of it makes sense. There are still things I can’t explain, maybe that stuffs related to the books. I know, I know, I’m skipping around. Let me try to tell you what I remember.

I’d been boarding the bus and felt something make contact with me. Gasping and pulling away quickly at the unexpected overload of physical sensation, I look to see the source. I see this guy standing there with a shocked and guilty look on his face.

His brown hair was neatly kept in a typical style. He was about the same height as me, so I’d say average height for a male. He certainly wasn’t a body builder, but he wouldn’t blow away in the wind either, so I guess average in size as well. In fact, everything about him seemed to be average, except for the intensity in his tan eyes.

He started to bend down and I took a step back, my eyes following him warily. Then I saw he was retrieving my book that I’d dropped when he startled me. I was hoping against all hope that he didn’t look at the book too closely. I nearly snatched it from his hand as he passed it back to me.

I had my headset on still so I couldn’t hear him, but I saw his lips move in an apology. I had no clue how to respond, I didn’t want to talk, I just wanted out of there. So, I nodded and grabbed the first seat I could, hoping he’d move on past. I gave a quiet sigh of relief as I saw him do just that.

I opened up my book, but was too frazzled to read. My eyes skimmed over the lines repeatedly, but I couldn’t make any sense of it. Had he seen what I was reading? What would he say if he knew? My arm still tingled where he had grazed against me. I fought the urge to physically turn in my seat and look back to find where he was sitting. Was he watching me? I felt like someone was. Why had his eyes been so focused on me when he handed me my book?

I had no answers to any of these questions, of course. I sat the rest of the ride to work in a semi-dazed state as I tried to brush it all off and return to normal. Working in a tizzy would not do me any good.

Finally, the bus arrived at my stop. I stowed my book away and exited the bus. With the incident still on my mind, I found myself watching the sidewalk as I walked along to work, moving on autopilot, avoiding collision with people and other obstacles as if by instinct.

Suddenly, someone was right next to me. I was just reaching to use my book as a weapon when I looked up and saw him, again. He was way too close, hovering on the edge of my personal bubble. I wanted nothing more than to sprint away, but instead, I found my hand reaching up and removing my earpiece as I addressed him, “Yes?”

“I wanted to…” he paused, a myriad of expressions sweeping across his face in an instant. Frightened as I was, it was intriguing to watch pain, caring, wonder, confusion all play out as he searched for what he wanted to say. “Um, I wanted to apologize again for bumping into you earlier.”

“It’s okay,” I glanced at him quickly then off at the people walking past. I was hoping that if something happened to me, one of these people would remember what I looked like, what he looked like. That thought got me moving again. It was time to get to work and away from this stranger. Suddenly, his hand was on my arm. Not roughly, very gentle-like, but it was too much for me without preparing and I gasped and jerked away. He mimicked my movement, jerking away as well.

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that, too,” he glanced at my arm before clearing his throat. “So, I saw you were reading a book. What’s it about?”

Oh my god, did he just ask me that, I thought. I felt the blood drain from me and rise to my cheeks. I slowly started stepping away, brain whirling as I tried to think. Do I tell him? What would he say? No, can’t tell him, he’d think it horrible! “I’ve really got to get to work. I’ll be late.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, I took off. I didn’t want to see if he was following me, I didn’t want to talk to him. I nearly jogged the rest of the way to work and was quite happy to be safely hidden behind its doors.

It took me until lunch time to calm down from both encounters. I don’t have much chance to talk to anyone once a day, let alone twice. And the physical contact was certainly too much without be being prepared. Settling in at lunch, I was finally able to unwind a bit and relax into my book.

Okay, I didn’t really ever relax into these books, quite the opposite in fact. They would really get me quite worked up, so I have no clue why I still read them at work and in transit. But at home, when I’d start feeling a bit too into the book and find myself damp and tingling, sometimes I’d quietly bring myself to orgasm. It never took much, as sensitive as my nerve endings are.

It was soon after that when I saw him again. And when I say I saw him again, I mean I started seeing him everywhere. He was on my bus, he was at my work, and he even started going into the apartment building diagonal from mine.

At first, it really creeped me out and I started carrying a small container of pepper spray. I warily watched him from the corner of my eye, but he never even seemed to look at me. He never came overly close and certainly appeared to be trying to keep his distance.

After I got over the fear of him being around, I actually started wondering why he wasn’t trying to talk to me again. Had I done that thorough of a job frightening him off? I had to sigh at myself sometimes.

One thing that reading these books did was certainly remind me that I was alone. He was the only male to really express much interest in talking to me in a long time and I had to go and scare him away. Sometimes I would think about how to get his attention, but finally gave up on that idea. There’s no way he’d want to associate with me if he knew how carnal my desires were! So, I ignored his presence as he ignored mine. It really was for the best.

I guess I started noticing a difference in how I felt about the time I went to celebrate my raise at my parents house. I only know this because I rarely leave my apartment once I get there in the evenings. After I’d spent some time with my parents, I came home to a strange smell in my apartment. I looked over my things and could see nothing missing or out of place, but still. My heightened since of smell left me thinking something was off. It almost smelled like male cologne, which I owned none of. But, since I could find nothing amiss, I dismissed it.

Over the next few days, I started caring a bit more of how I presented myself to others. I looked at myself from the outside, as if I were someone else, and saw a timid woman that was easy to pass over. I didn’t want to stand out in a crowd, but I certainly didn’t want people to walk all over me either. I started taking more time with my appearance, brushing my hair a bit better, and even going so far as to apply some spare makeup I had lying around. Maybe, in a way, I was trying to solve my single status. I don’t know.

What I do know is that, slowly, I was starting to feel more freedom, relaxed more often than not. I felt like I wanted the world to take note of my changing self. I was starting to feel like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

I went through the house and opened up every curtain I could find. I stood in my bedroom, staring out at the street, trying to resist this urge to just strip my clothes off right there and masturbate for the world to see. Shaking my head and blushing at such a wicked thought, I turned away from the window and stepped closer to my dresser to change out of my work clothes.

I did, however, stay in just my robe. It felt deliciously naughty to be wondering around in just my robe with my curtains open, knowing that someone somewhere may just be able to see me. I reclined on the sofa and began to read, and as had become my habit, brought myself to quiet orgasm.

The next day, when I came home from work, I noticed the strange cologne smell again. But instead of investigating it, I went straight to my room and changed into my robe again. I did look around while I was in my bedroom, again, not seeing anything out of place.

I settled onto the sofa again with my book and soon found my fingers between my legs and slick with my wetness. I pressed harder with my fingers than I normally did, and thought I was about to lose my mind to the pleasure. My book slid to the floor and my whole body contracted as my climax washed through me. All I could do was lay there in shocked abandon as I willed myself to return to normal. I slid my fingers from me and had an urge to taste myself on them. I gave it a serious thought for a moment or two before shrugging it off and cleaning up.

It seemed like I was feeling bolder each and every day. I was constantly having thoughts that were not of my usual sort. I started wondering what it’d be like to actually do some of the things the girls in my books did. How would it be to be told how to dress and what to eat? Would I like it if I were spanked as a punishment? I shivered with the thought of the sexy tortures the girls faced.

I knew that fantasy and reality were two separate things, but I also started thinking that maybe some of the fantasy could seep over into reality for me. For instance, when I got dressed that morning, I almost didn’t put my underwear on. Most of the girls in the books aren’t allowed to wear them. Maybe if I started doing the same, acting the part of a naughty submissive girl, maybe I’d magically find a dominant. It was worth a shot, right?

That day another curious change overtook me at lunch. I was reading about this sweet girl that’s being whipped for forgetting to make her Master’s bed when I just could not hold back. I needed to feel something against my clit, so I started moving just my legs making the material of my pants between my legs grind against my clit. I could feel myself starting to slip ever closer towards a climax and thought that I had better move my endeavors to the restroom.

I took care of my tray and headed straight to the women’s locker room. I didn’t look around because I didn’t want to see if anyone noticed what I was doing. I was intent on getting to the restroom and enjoying a naughty moment at work.

I shut the stall door behind me and lowered my pants and panties to about mid thigh. Within seconds, my fingers where on my clit, rubbing in hard little circles. I was trying my best not to whimper as I let my fingers dip into my wetness and then back up to moisten my clit even further. It didn’t take long before my body tensed, my free hand gripping the toilet paper container as my climax rattled my body.

I stared at my fingers for a moment, nearly bringing them to my mouth. I’d never tasted myself before and was really feeling the urge to do so. I felt that I was supposed to. I guess maybe the books were making me think that, since most of the girls in them are made to suck their fingers clean of their juices. Instead, I cleaned off with toilet paper and exited the stall.

And there he was. Outside the stall. The man from across the road, the one that had bumped into me. He had some wrench or something in his hand as he worked on one of the lockers a few feet away. My first reaction was to retreat. But I figured that would be a bit too noticeable. Besides… a restroom stall only has one real exit. So, forward I went, trying to act as if nothing had happened, but I could tell my face was beet red. Thankfully, he never looked my direction, didn’t seem to notice anything amiss at all!

I spent the rest of the day wondering if he’d caught me or not. I kept expecting to be called to the office and fired for my actions. I really tried to put it out of my mind, but couldn’t. Even at the bus stop, I kept glancing at him to see if he was looking at me or anything. He never even seemed to notice my existence. I guess I’d made myself invisible to him as well.

I could not stop thinking about him nearly catching me playing with myself in the restroom at work. As soon as I got home, I went to my room to change out of my work clothes. As I removed my clothing, I found myself thinking of the scene at work that day, and found myself tingling and damp.

I removed my bra, finger tips gliding across my flesh slowly. How long had he been in there? My fingers slipped down over my nipples, making me shudder lightly as I pinched them gently between my fingers and gave them a gentle pull, making them harden even more. Did he hear my fingers in my wetness as I masturbated?

I caressed over my waist, down my hips and thighs as I pushed my pants and panties down, catching my socks in the process. Did he hear my moans as my orgasm came up on me? My hands trailed back up my legs, fingers disappearing into the slit between my legs, wet and warm.

My fingers continued to tease at my sensitive nub, rubbing first one way, then the other, my head tilting back ever so gently. Would he have allowed me to orgasm if he’d been in there with me? I gasped breathlessly as my climax mounted and flowed from me. Would he press his fingers to my mouth and smear my juices on my lips? My fingertips softly caressed my lips and my tongue peeked out to taste my own nectar.

And I snapped out of it instantly. Wait! What am I doing? I can’t believe I just came while thinking about getting caught! I shook my head and sighed before heading to clean up. I grabbed my robe and my book and settled onto the sofa, brain still a bit fuzzy from my experience in the bedroom.

I don’t know why, but I was starting to desire sexual release more and more often. It was starting to feel like the more I got of it, the more I wanted! It was all I could do to wait until lunch to go rub one off. The next day, as I went to the restroom during my lunch break, I peeked around to see if he was in there.