Meg:You catch me with a giant dildo, one of the vibrating ones, and I’m teasing my clit with it.
I dropped the trash bag, my mouth hanging open, willing her to continue.
Meg:You see me. You call me a filthy, horny girl.
Hunter:I’m fucking hard for you already.
Meg:You push me back on the bed. I spread my legs for you.
Meg:You look me up and down. Then you tell me you’re going to give me something much bigger.
God damn, I needed her right now.
Meg:Then you pull out a vacuum cleaner and clean my apartment.
Hunter:Are you fucking kidding me. Then what happens?
Meg:I don’t know. Then you clean my kitchen, and I take a nap.
Hunter:You’re driving me crazy.
Meg:*smiley face*
I grabbed the trash bag and threw it in the garbage can and blew out a breath, willing my erection down.
But over the next few days leading up to the mayoral bake-off, she continued to yank my chain. The text messages escalated.
One afternoon, she sent me a picture of her tits, huge and round and perfect, the pink nipple perky.
Meg:I want your cum right here.
The next day, she sent me another image of her in the mirror in a lacy teddy, her pink nipples barely visible through the sheer fabric.
Whenever my phone would go off, I knew it was something from her. I developed a tic whenever it buzzed in my pocket.
“Dude!” Archer yelled. “Stop ruining the eggs.” My phone had gone off, and the egg in my hand had cracked, sending shards everywhere.
“Give me your phone,” Greg ordered, holding out his hand. “You cannot mess this up. You have to be somewhat competent.”
“Don’t you dare touch my phone!” I yelled at him. Nobody saw those pictures of Meg except for me.
* * *
There wasno way I was going to survive the bake-off.You just have to seem mildly competent.
But she didn’t even let me get any sleep. In the middle of the night, she sent me a video of her in yet another pair of sexy lacy panties, touching herself, making little whimpering noises, telling me how she wished it was my cock.
Hunter:Can I please come over?
Meg:I’m busy.
I thunked my head against the headboard as the video looped on repeat. “It’s just a baking competition,” I whispered to myself. “It doesn’t matter. You just have to do the bare minimum.” But I wasn’t even sure I was going to be able to do that.
53
Meghan
Had I gotten a bit carried away? Maybe. But I had a good reason to.
