Ohio Nude Anon Novels & Stories

Everything points to something intimate, inherited, secret. I start digging into social media, scanning profiles, looking for messages, potential enemies. I discreetly ask questions to people who seemed nervous that evening. Some answers are vague; others raise suspicions. An anonymous message arrives, a slender thread of hope or a trap, talking about a "midnight meeting, bridge" and "the ring." I feel adrenaline surge. Is it a clue? Or a decoy?

Well, most of them, anyway. Taking his beer with him, Judd went back into the house and headed for his laptop on the desk in the corner of the living room. Taking a slug of Blue Moon, he pulled up FetLife. There had been a time when he trolled the site regularly, but it had been months since he'd scrolled through the posts. As usual, there were a handful of messages from would-be submissives looking for a Dom. These he generally ignored on principle. Bypassing the messages, Judd zeroed in on a chat group that was local to the area. Members all lived in southeast Florida. Scrolling down the page, he found a thread where people were posting about night clubs they liked to visit.

In the room were ten men, seated naked in a circle on single wooden chairs. The room was well lit and had a patient bed somewhere at the corner. There were charts of penises hung up on the walls and a banner on the wall that read boldly : TINY PRICK HUMILIATION Ana was a dominatrix. And the founder of the community that consisted of a group of sub men who had a fetish for humiliation, mockery and downgrading. “Welcome to TPH. My name is Anna and I am here to help you learn… how to own your disgraceful jokes of pricks.” Anna said, taking her seat on a couch at the top of the circle.

I’m sprawled naked on my childhood bed, sheets kicked to the floor, phone propped on a Mountain Dew can while I scroll the private F******k group somebody made called “Kaylee Breeding Weekend, UNCENSORED.” Four thousand members now. Riverbend’s population just doubled overnight. I’m halfway through a video of Big Lisa power-driving me with that black strap-on when the front door slams so hard the walls shake.

“Annyeong,” Nathan introduces himself. “I’m Nathaniel Policarpio. Some people call me Nathan and others call me Nate. Personally, I’d prefer it if you call me Nate because Nathan reminds me of the time I spent in Camp Unplugged, the Internet addiction rehabilitation center that was on the news with, uh, Shadow and me.

"Before we go any further, I'll ask you to sign NDAs. This is a private, invitation-only facility, and our members rely on our discretion." Dad looked over the form and signed it. I followed, trusting him as I have for 21 years. Janice slid the forms back into the drawer, leaned forward, and changed our lives forever. "This is a clothing-free facility. You must be nude, too, since you will be working inside the facility. Per the NDA, you cannot tell anyone who or what you see here." WTF? Nude? Really? Dad sighed. "I see. Well, I understand, and I thank you for your honesty." Dad got up to leave. I held up my hand. "Janice, could you give us a few minutes?"