Page 47 of Whispers of Obsession

Unknown number

See what you’ve been missing out on all these years? The fun you could have been having. God, I want to watch you come apart for me. Do you want to come, Cora? Does my dirty little whore want to run back to class with cum on her thighs and no underwear to clean up the mess?

“Please,” I beg. I’m so fucking close. He said not to come, but how can I not when his words, when his actions on screen, are driving me so close to the edge?

My eyes blur with desire as I plead with him, whispering the words into the empty room. My hand works faster against my clit, matching the rhythm of the masked man’s wild thrusts on the screen. The heat is building between my legs, wetness pooling around my fingers as I edge closer to the brink.

Unknown number

That’s it, my sweet little slut. Imagine my cock inside you, fucking you hard. You love it, don’t you? You’re dripping wet for me. You want to come so bad, don’t you, Cora?

The words fill my ears, urging me on. The climax is building, the pressure escalating inside me like a dam about to burst.

Unknown number

If you come, I will punish you

My body shudders at the thought of his dominance. But I’m already so close. Punishment might almost be worth it. The thought intensifies the heat between my legs. The closer I get, the more I crave his attention. But will I be able to hold out and not give in to my desires?

The masked man’s wild thrusts seem to mirror my own frenzied movements, as my hand moves faster and faster against my clit. The pleasure is overwhelming; I’m wavering on the edge, uncertain whether to leap or hold back.

I close my eyes, imagining his cock deep inside me, fulfilling my every desire. The thought of his punishment is thrilling, arousing in its own right. It adds an extra layer of excitement to the mix, as if it’s an erotic game of cat and mouse.

As my fingers continue their relentless rhythm against my clit, I can feel the climax building inside of me, threatening to overtake me. The pleasure is intense, the anticipation almost unbearable, but I know I must resist, as I’ve been instructed.

I take a deep breath, steeling my resolve, and look back at the screen.

“No, I won’t come,” I whisper, my voice barely above a breath. “I don’t want to be punished. I want to follow your rules.”

I half hoped my submission would make him change his mind, but when his next message comes through, disappointment and frustration battle for dominance.

Unknown number

STOP

With a growl of frustration, I yank my hand away, panting and miserable. “Are you happy?” I snarl, pissed. What the fuck? He has me late for class, masturbating in a school bathroom, following his every command and whim, and I don’t even get to come for my efforts? That’s fucked up.

More fucked up than all the other shit he does to you? Get a grip, Cora.

I force myself to take a deep breath to calm down. My phone vibrates again, and without thinking, I pick it up and bring it back to my face, eager for his next words.

Unknown number

What’s the matter, Cora? Can’t take a little denial now and then? I’m just testing your resolve, to see how much you want me. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you wanting for long.

My heart skips a beat at the prospect of him giving in. I take a deep breath, trying to slow my breathing. I’m a mess, my body trembling and damp with arousal, my mind a whirl of confusion and desire. I clutch my phone to my chest, hoping to ground myself.

Then I hear the sound of footsteps outside in the hallway. Panic grips me, and I freeze. What if someone hears me? What if they find me like this? My heart pounds in my chest as I yank my jeans up my thighs, button up and race to wash my hands.

I consider my options. I can either wait for him to respond, or I can slip away and forget about the intriguing game we’ve been playing.

Unknown number

What’s wrong, Cora? Are you scared? Afraid to be caught being a dirty bad little slut, or afraid it’s me standing outside, about to burst in and make you scream?

My stomach twists with guilt and embarrassment, but I can’t help the admission.

“Yes,” I whisper, my voice barely a thread. “I’m scared.” I don’t tell him all the things I’m scared of – he probably already knows. He seems able to read me so easily.

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