Not Quite Busted

by Eido

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© Copyright 2020 - Eido - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; bond; cons; X

So many old stories start with 'I never imagined this would happen to me' that the line had become a joke well before I was born.

But, I never thought this could happen to me. I mean, okay, I do a few things to remain anonymous, and I avoid topics in my kink writing that might warrant the attention of the police or other authorities.

I guess I thought I was low key enough that nobody would care to put the effort into finding, or outing, me. And the last person I expected it from was fellow writing critique group member Paige Maddux.

Yes, I am trying to launch a legit, non-kinky writing career. Or at least a profitable hobby. Okay, a mildly satisfying pastime. I write whodunnits, mostly set in the late 80s before the digital age made technology skills more important than people skills.

My work, and life in general, was plodding along just fine. Today was our little group's meeting day, and I sat, hunched over my notebook, secure in the certainty that my life was absolutely predictable and all my little secrets were safe. Then Paige walked over to my table and plopped into a chair without any semblance of her usual athletic grace.

"Rough day?" I asked without looking up. Absorbed as I was in my computer, I didn't notice anything unusual until I peered over the top of my screen.

Even when she came straight from work, Paige usually looked a little grubby. Not now. Today, her thick brown hair had been braided and pinned into an eye catching pattern winding down the left side of her head and onto her shoulder. She sported a dark red silk blouse, short sleeved, showing off her arms, but still buttoned to the collar. I liked Paige. She was sharp and funny, and her comments and suggestions on my writing were spot on. It didn't hurt that she looked great too. Her build was more athletic than fashion model, which suited me just fine. I often reminded myself not to stare at her, especially during the summer months.

"Stupid meetings. Stupid project. Stupid team members," she said. She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "But work is done, and now I can do something important."

I laughed at her description of our little group. Four writers, all in different genres, struggling to get published (somewhere, anywhere) hardly seemed important. But to the four of us, it was.

"Where's Ken and Jackie?" I asked with a glance at my phone.

"Ken isn't coming today and Jackie quit. She says she's going to spend her energy on other projects," she said.

Damn it. We were back to three again. Our goal was five group members, but we could barely keep four.

"What?" I said. I heard her say something, but I was too busy whining to myself. "Sorry, I was doing the dammit-where-are-we-going-to-find-another-member dance in my head."

"I said 'Eido' Tom," Paige said. "You must have been having a serious internal monologue to miss that."

I kept my annoyed face on, a stunning bit of subterfuge for me. "What did you do?"

"I said Eido." she pronounced it 'Eye Dough'. "As in Eidolon90."

Now I switched to perplexed face. "Is that her new band?"


"Jackie's new band. She's always talking about starting a new band," I said. Inside, my guts were churning into an acid fueled hurricane. This was the 'oh crap' moment I had only casually prepared for.

"Okay, play dumb. But I really like your style. And I like the particulars of a lot of your stories. Stockings and heels. Tons of rope bondage, especially those hogties and chair ties..."

She stopped talking because I had pushed my chair back and was waving my hands. The nice thing about the cafe slash bakery where we met was the layout. Big rooms, well spaced tables.

"What the hell, Paige? That's not funny!"

I saw the first hint of doubt in her unguarded face. Unlike me, Paige had no reason to lie, and her thoughts were plain on her face.

That tiny bit of uncertainty quickly morphed back into a triumphant smile.

"Nice try, but I know it's you. Your writing styles and word selections are a dead giveaway. He is you. You are Eido, the BDSM writer," Paige said.

"Is that a paying gig?" I asked. Paige looked at me like I was speaking Greek.

"What? I don't think so," she finally spluttered.

"Then it's not me. Really Paige, that was a little much." Still standing, I posed, leaning forward with both hands flat on the table, hoping to convince her with my tone of voice and dramatic acting.

"Besides, what are you doing reading crap like that?" I asked, leaning further forward so I could be conspiratorially close and act like I was guarding the dark secret of her porno addiction.

"It's not crap! Well, it's not all crap. Some of it's okay. Like yours," she said.

"That's nice. You need a hobby, I get it. Do you have some redlines for my actual work in progress, or are we done here?" I said, putting a little irritation into my voice as I returned to my seat.

"Okay. Okay. You don't want to talk about it," she said as she pulled her phone out. Paige pursed her lips and blew out a long exhalation.


"I didn't email my feedback to the group," she said, not meeting my eyes. "And it's on my computer at home, I think."

"You think? Fine. We can do yours. Then I can start searching for Jackie's replacement. I was re-reading your stuff and my comments when you came in. These chapters looked well developed, so I went ahead and suggested some line edits. Have you looked at the file I sent back?"

She was still looking down at the table, or maybe at her hands, which were folded together, resting in her lap. I was about to say something soothing when she looked up, grinning brightly.

"Wait. I think I saved them to a cloud folder! Let me see your notebook and I'll just download the files for you," Paige said.

I slid the notebook across to her, knowing full well she was about to load the little machine full of spyware to confirm her suspicions.

And you would think, Gentle Reader, that I might be averse to such an action, but one of the precautions I adhere to without fail is to isolate my kink writing to one decrepit old desktop with no wireless capability. I archive stories to DVD, now. I still have some CD archives I need to update.

In other words, there was nothing for Paige to find on my notebook. I would save all my legit writing, notes, and outlines to a flash drive, shut the thing off before I got home, and tomorrow, I would reformat it. End of story.

Or so you would think. She slid the computer back across the table to me and we spent the next hour or so going over out current works in progress. We wrapped up and collected our scattered belongings from the table. I felt at ease, certain I had redirected Paige. She stood up, ready to leave.

Then she sprang this on me.

"Hey Tom, I could have been smoother about what I said earlier," Paige said.

"S'okay, Paige. Everyone makes mistakes. We'll have some good laughs about it after the shock wears off," I said.

"That's not what I meant, Tom. You are Eido. I'm positive. The thing I wanted to get to, in my clumsy way, is that if you ever want to illustrate one of your stories, I'd love to model for it," she said.

I stared up at her, utterly flummoxed.

"You want some weirdo to tie you up?" I finally said.

"No. I want my friend Tom slash Eido to put me into some rigorous bondage, like he writes in his stories. Just imagine," she said.

"Oh, I can imagine," I said. At that moment my brain was in overdrive and not just about how to deflect Paige.

I grimaced, clearly not the response she was hoping for. She opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.

"Listen, Paige. I know what it's like to get an idea that makes perfect sense, that is so crystal clear, and to chase that idea as hard as possible. And believe me, you are gorgeous and I really like you, and I always wanted to be your friend and not just another wannabe writer critiquing your stuff every three weeks.

"And as cool and sexy as doing what you asked would be, it would be a totally shitty thing to do all around."

She sat up at that. I don't swear often, even in my writing.

Again, I stopped her before she spoke.

"My Paige will kill me, at best," I said. Yeah, my girlfriend is also named Paige, as if the moment was not confusing enough. "Second, I don't know the first thing about tying people up. And last, when you find out I'm not this Eido, you will hate me, and we'll never be able to work together again, and this is too important to me to mess it up like that." I tapped my notebook gently with my finger.

Paige shook her head, and I thought her eyes might be a little wet. And yet, there was still a touch of stubborn resolve on her face.

"Fuck. I am so sorry, Tom. I don't know what the hell I was thinking," she said. For a moment I thought she was going to hug me, but the table was between us, and I was still sitting.

She gave me a long look, and I knew she was not convinced, but was at least going to drop it for now.

"So, see you in three weeks?" I asked.

"Yeah. And I know someone who might take Jackie's place. I'll text you the details," she said.

Paige walked to the door, no last second wave, no smile, no wistful glances back. I watched her, noting the black skirt, black nylons, and low black wedges that she wore, and how nicely they set off her blouse and her figure. She looked absolutely perfect.

I started plotting the story. A single, unattached man, younger and way better looking than me. A woman named Pamela, maybe shorter with hazel eyes, but still with that beautiful glossy brown hair.

Hogties and stockings? Would that be too obvious? I decided right there to go big or go home. There would be hogties, stockings, chair ties, table ties, and any other tie I could imagine. I would put my faux Paige into every demanding bondage scenario she had demanded and then some.

Bondage Marathon, there was my working title. The story, with Pamela and some lucky guy... He needed a name. Gordon? Brian? Daniel? That was it! Daniel.

The story was practically writing itself, unspooling in my head. No long build up this time. Readers often bitch about my long build ups. First person or third person?

A knock on the door on a quiet Saturday morning. Pamela, come to pry the truth out of Daniel about his extracurricular writing hobby.

And a different ending, of course. A much, much, different ending.


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