Too dark for you?
I let myself remember the electric feel of him behind me, the beautiful man who said,Show me.
I push down my boxers and start to stroke myself. I abandon the plug because I need both hands to grab and squeeze and twist.
Too dark for you?
“No,” I whisper. No to the question. No to what he’s doing to me in my mind. I know, deep down, that I mean yes, but I have to deny it. I turn my face into the pillow, muffling the cries that I have to confine within the small, private space of my room.
I imagine everything that I need as desperately, as forcefully as I can, and it’s almost there, faint and ghostly, almost real. It’s enough that my cock kicks and spurts in my hand, that my body strains as I come, biting the pillow. For a second as I start to relax, I feel good, or something close enough.
But it fades.
I’m alone.
Empty.
Like always.
THREE
Elias
I’m two blocks into my walk to work when my phone buzzes with a text alert. Initially, I’m annoyed because I assume it’s Emmy telling me she gave my shift to her niece. It wouldn’t be the first time, and I can’t afford to lose shifts. Then I think maybe it’s a new pet sitting assignment, which would be great.
But it’s an unknown number, so my guess switches to spam as I open the new thread. At first, I keep walking, staring at the message.
Then I stop.
Fear rises up sluggishly, creeping out from a deep, buried place inside me. It trickles through my body, slow at first, clumsy, finding its old pathways. Then faster. Faster and faster until my heart is pounding and the fear becomes external, needling into my skin from the outside.
People try to manufacture this emotion all the time. They watch horror movies or ride rollercoasters. Maybe that’s enough for them, but it’s never worked for me. That’s adrenaline and a bit of imagination. It’s not the same. It’s not real.
Realfear requires a predator—because real fear is about beingseen.
Unknown:I told you to prepare, but I can tell you’re not using the plug. Do what I said—or I will hurt you.
I look up from the message. My eyes bounce around from the sidewalk to the doorways to the street. I don’t see anyone suspicious. But they, most definitely, see me.
I shiver.
I turn around. I walk back to my building.
I’m dizzy by the time I climb to my floor, sweating when I let myself into my apartment.
Oh my god.
Oh mygod.
Someone waswatchingme. Someone waswaitingfor me. And they could tell I hadn’t complied. How?
I lean against the kitchen counter. I’m not ready for this. Yes, I signed up for it. Yes, Ipaidfor it, but in my mind, this fantasy has always existed in its own isolated space, entirely separate from my day-to-day reality. It’s private. But if I follow the instructions …
I’ll be at work, around other people, with a plug inside me. I don’t know about that. I can’t imagine that.
Do what I said—or I will hurt you.
What exactly did that mean? And who sent it? Who is he?
