The unguarded one.
The real one.
The one no one else gets to see.
She wants proof that her darkness doesn't repel. That being watched at her worst—her most vulnerable, her most depraved—makes someone want hermore.
Not despite who she really is.
Because of it.
I stroke harder.
She doesn't know I've been watching.
Doesn't know I've seen every private moment.
Doesn't know I've catalogued her routines, her habits, her tells.
When I reveal it—and I will, eventually—she'll be horrified.
Violated.
Furious.
And so fucking wet she won't be able to stand.
Question 4: Describe a time you felt most vulnerable during a sexual or intimate experience. What made it significant?
I stop stroking completely.
Read the name.
Derek.
My jaw clenches.
She's typing about the forum where they met. The fantasies she shared. How she trusted him with things she'd never told anyone.
How he violated her safeword.
Kept going while she begged him to stop.
Laughed at her. Called herbad at this. Then ghosted her like she was nothing.
I set my laptop aside. Stand. Walk to the window naked, cock still hard, mind clear.
Derek Morrison.
Twenty-four years old. IT consultant. Lived in Boise.
Lived.
Past tense.
I found him four months ago. Wasn't difficult. She'd mentioned enough details in old forum posts—before she learned to scrub her digital footprint. His username. The city. His job.
Took me three days to confirm his identity.
