It’s almost midnight and I’ve allowed myself a couple of glasses of wine to finish up my Saturday evening. It’s made me brave. Brave enough to wait online so boldly for him to arrive.
I can see the ending line of my last message, bold as brass on the tab.
Please give me what I need.
I may have cringed if it wasn’t for the alcohol.
I wait with tickling nerves, feeling like my broken soul is on parade while a total stranger reads about my nightmares. I wonder what he’s thinking.
If he’s hard.
If he wants this even half as much as I want this.
My pussy is aching, my belly fluttery with crazy fantasies. I’m already playing with myself when the typing icon shows on screen.
My breath is ragged when the message pings.
I enjoyed reading about your dreams.
I’d be lying if I told you they didn’t make me hard. I’d be lying if I told you this conversation hasn’t woken something deep.
I’d be dishonest to claim I’m not planning on fucking you like a beast while you beg me to stop.
You’re toying with a monster. If you’re not careful, I’ll bite you hard.
Be very sure you’re ready for that.
My reply is easy.
I’ve been sure forever.
I rub my clit as he carries on typing.
Tell me what your monster does to you when you think of him late at night. Tell me how you need to be broken. How you need to be hurt. Used. Taken.
And then I’ll tell you what you’re going to be given.
My pussy throbs when I take my fingers away to type.
I don’t hold back. Not a single thing.
The monster always catches me from behind. He’s strong. Strong enough to pick me up as my legs flail. I’d scream if his hand wasn’t over my mouth.
He tells me to stay quiet. Tells me he’ll hurt me if I cry out.
I’m tempted to scream just so he’ll make it worse for me.
Sometimes he forces me onto the ground, sometimes he drops me to my feet and throws me against a wall, his body pressed tight to mine.
And then he whispers. He always whispers.
He tells me that maybe he’ll let me enjoy it if I don’t fight him.
Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this. My clit is thrumming hard. My thighs clenching.
I wait for a response before I carry on.
His reply is just two simple words. All the encouragement I need.
Go on.
I go on.
He pins me tight and tugs my skirt up. He tears my knickers down and pushes his fingers inside me. It’s always rough enough to make me cry out.
I’m never ready for him.
I never want to be ready for him.
It always hurts and he always makes me take it.
He grabs my tits so hard it takes my breath. He tells me that I’m a dirty little bitch who asked for this.
Who wants this.
And I am.
I am a dirty little bitch who wants this.
I tug my bra down until my tits spill over the cups. I pinch my nipples until I moan.
I don’t need to wait long for another message.
You’re a dirty little bitch who’s going to get what’s coming to you.
My response is instant.
Please.
Please make this real.
Oh fuck, please.
I tug on my nipples and pretend that it’s him. I’m desperate for a response as I stare at that screen. Squirming on the bedsheets as my clit begs for release.
It throbs as I get the ping.
If you’ve any sense you’ll stop this right now.
Walk away before you’re in too deep.
I don’t know quite what he means until a photo icon flashes up.
My heart is in my throat as I click to open.
And fuck.
Fuck.
I’m sober in a beat, shuffling up to sitting as I maximise the image.
No.
It can’t be.
There’s no way. Just no way. He can’t really…
I can’t stop staring. My mouth is open wide.
And he’s right.
Oh my God, he’s right.
If I had any sense I’d stop this right now.SevenThe fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.
Vincent Van GoghPhoenixIf she has any sense in that pretty head of hers she’ll reply with a thanks but no thanks.
Part of me hopes she does.
The other part has my palm straining around the monster I just sent her a picture of. The angle didn’t hold anything back – the ladder of barbells on the underside of my cock glinting in metallic horror. The ridges are thick.
Threatening.
I don’t need any special camera effects to big up the scale. It’s no illusion that sees this weapon of hard flesh and steel towering high above my bellybutton. My hands are big, but they don’t look it, not as my fingers stretch around the girth.
Mariana said Christmas had come early when I first dropped my pants.
She changed her mind regularly.
But Mariana was also crazy enough to want more. Always more.