I slip out of the park and head toward the parking lot that leads to the street and then to my house.
My heart keeps hammering in my chest. I still can’t make sense of what happened.
Who was that man, what was he doing in the park, why was he wearing a mask?
I go home hoping to tell Jared about all of this, but of course he isn’t there. Right, tonight is that party.
I sit down at my laptop and start searching the internet for any information about a masked man on campus, but there are no reports. Nothing like this seems to have happened before.
Was it some one-off incident, someone coming back from a masquerade ball who just decided to help a student being attacked?
I step into the shower to wash off the sweat and stress, and for the first time in a very long time I feel something new.
A small hit of thrill runs through me. I sit on the shower step and close my eyes, replaying that moment.
The long seconds he looked at me and then pointed toward the path to my home.
Mine.
A precise direction.
Why didn’t he point toward any of the other paths, there were four branching off from that spot, but he chose the one that led straight to my place.
Does he know anything else about me, is he some… other stalker? On top of the Tanners already stalking me? Madhouse.
Alright, maybe I’m being paranoid, the last two years of constantly feeling hunted must have messed with me in some warped way.
Some mysterious guy saved me, probably coincidence…
Saved.
I swallow hard.
It was Bay who used to do it…
My mind drifts toward the past, the vivid images of the feeling I had when with him; the safe feeling. Today, the stalker gave me this. The moment of safety, being protected, what I had lost then, along with my beautiful husband.
I run my hand over my chest, pretending it’s just for hygiene—just washing up—but my fingers brush against the tip of my nipple.
Oh, how I used to love sex. Couldn’t live without it. With Bay, it was so easy, so natural, so good. Once we brokethrough all the fear he harbored, sex became something magical, something we effortlessly shared.
But what about the past two years? I haven't been with anyone. The only pleasure I get is from my own hand and my dildos.
Now, I trace my hard nipples with one hand: they’ve always been so sensitive, while the other slides down to my cock.
Bay loved it. Nursed it, warmed it.
He called it magical how little it took to get hard. Small dicks do that, I guess, they go erect easier, faster.
Or maybe it was just him evoking it in me? Because since we broke up, it’s not as quick, not as easy. My body, drowned in constant stress, just won’t readily cooperate.
But today… something in me crossed a line.
I start stroking up and down my little shaft, closing my eyes. The stress, the panic, the terror from what happened, it’s all pushed aside, replaced by gratitude toward that stranger who saved me.
I feel it all at once as I touch myself. It’s not clear, I can’t explain it, but there’s something thrilling about being rescued, about… being worthy of that for another person.
And now, this act somehow links this mysterious man to Bay, placing him in the category of ‘righteous alphas’, the ones who chose to do right by a small omega in desperate need of help, protecting, instead of hurting.
