Page 36 of Endless Obsession

Even with the anonymity, my encounter at Masquerade felt personal. It felt real.

I pull up sites with actual profiles, scrolling through, but nothing feels quite right. And then something pings in the back of my mind, something I remember hearing a few of the guys in one of my computer classes in college talk about. I remember it specifically because, at the time, I was so shocked by it.

It was a chat site, one on the dark web, accessible with a VPN and a decent bit of willingness to explore parts of the Internet that most people either don’t know about or consider better left alone. I remember them talking about finding women to chat with who had dark, kinky fantasies that they were embarrassed to talk about with anyone else. I also remember them laughing and talking about how much better it was than porn.

Isn’t that what I am? A woman discovering dark, kinky fantasies that I’m ashamed to tell anyone about?

I bite my lip, taking another long drink of my wine. I have a VPN on my laptop. Most people I know who are knowledgeable about computers and IT are, even if they never use it for anything remotely out of the ordinary. It’s like a doctor taking vitamins, because they know all the ways that the human body is vulnerable. I’ve just never gone onto any site that might be deemed questionable.

But I’m curious. I’m more than curious—that night awakened a craving in me that I want to explore. And despite my racing heart and apprehensions, I find myself looking for that site that I remember hearing about all those years ago.

It’s less difficult to find than I would have thought. I hesitate as I make a profile, chewing on my lip as I try to decide on a username. I remember the man at Masquerade calling me his little dove, and I find myself smiling a little as I type out CuriousDove24 into the field.

It feels like a little inside joke for myself.

I’m too nervous at first to try to chat with anyone. But there are forums, too, full of posts of users describing fantasies that they’d like to play out. One of them is a description of wanting to be chased by the woods by a man wearing a Jason-style mask, and as I read it, I can feel myself starting to get turned on. I can feel my thighs squeezing together, my breath coming a little faster as I picture exactly that—maybe not the hockey mask, but a different type. A skull, maybe. Chasing me through a dark field, or the woods, knowing that he’s going to catch up to me eventually. That he’s going to make me do whatever he tells me to.

My breath hitches as I navigate over to the link for videos. With every link that I click on, every gulp of wine, I start to feel less and less self-conscious, all my inhibitions floating away on a mist of arousal that makes me feel as if my body is winding tighter and tighter with every moment that passes. I feel warm, achy, needy, like I did that night at the club. A longing for pleasure that I’ve never experienced with anyone that I’ve been with.

And then the chat box pops up, in the lower right-hand corner of my screen.

I hurriedly pause the video that I was watching, snatching my hand away from where it was resting at the very edge of my shorts, on the verge of sliding under them, and peer at the box.

Venom69xxx: I haven’t seen you here before.

My breath hitches again, for an entirely different reason this time, mingled fear and anticipation pooling in my stomach. But that’s exactly the feeling I’m looking for. That feeling of toeing the line, of doing something risky, mixed with the possibility of the pleasure that I didn’t believe existed before this.

I fight back the urge to just close out the windows and run away from the whole thing, knowing that I’ll just end up back here if I do. I want this. I just have to find the courage to reach out and try it.

So, fingers trembling, I reach out and type back the first thing that popped into my head.

CuriousDove24: That’s because this is my first time. ;)

The admission feels vulnerable. And I don’t know if it’s better or worse that there’s a screen between us this time, instead of that vulnerability being in front of a real person, the way it was at Masquerade. At least this time, whatever I say, I don’t have to see this man at all. Whatever his reactions are, I won’t know. And I never have to talk to him again, if I don’t want to.

That feels freeing. It’s enough to keep me going, chasing that high, that feeling of reckless adrenaline mixed with pleasure. I can feel the slick ache between my legs, begging me to do something about it, but I wait, wanting to see what he’ll say next.

Venom69xxx: What are you hoping to find here, dove?

It’s such an honest question that it catches me off guard for a moment. What am I hoping to find here? An audience that won’t judge me, maybe. An outlet for the things I’m thinking and feeling. A way to explore. An easy escape, if it gets to be too much.

But I’m not sure if I’m ready to tell him any of that, yet.

CuriousDove24: I don’t really know. I just know that I want to figure out what it is that I like. I’ve never had the chance before. And I keep having these thoughts…

Those thoughts are rushing through my mind, now. Fantasies of being told what to do, of being chased, of being taken, all by a man with his face hidden, giving me orders from behind that shield.

Venom69xxx: What thoughts are those?

That urge to run hits me again. But instead, I hedge it just a little longer. What will he do to pry it out of me? I wonder, and that feels daring. Like what I want to be.

CuriousDove24: I don’t know if I should say…

Venom69xxx: Isn’t that why you’re here?

CuriousDove24: I hooked up with a man whose name I didn’t know.

Venom69xxx: And that was out of the ordinary for you, I’m guessing?

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