Page 1 of Chase Me

1

Ithink I’m being watched.

Well, IknowI’m being watched.

Wherever my hunter is, though, I can’t find him. But I guess that’s the point. It’s not much of a hunt if I can spot him easily, is it?

Despite not being able to see him. I can feel his heavy gaze on me, tracing over every inch of my skin. There’s too much of it on display. Suddenly, I feel stupid in the red mini dress. My fingers grip the hem, pulling it down in a feeble attempt at modesty. I get an extra inch of coverage on my thighs, but in turn expose more of my cleavage. The edges of my black lacy bra are visible to anyone who passes.

This was a bad idea.

I’m on the top floor of a nightclub, one that has women dancing seductively in cages, but I know if I go down a level, things will get…kinkier.

That’s the whole point ofDesire, after all.

The app gave me a whole spiel when I signed up. “Lean in to your deepest and darkest desires and find your match.”

I found the app through an ad on social media, boasting that it would connect me with my most compatible partner. Their biggest claim? Sex.

Kinky. Fucking.Sex.

I had pressed my thighs together as I read through the testimonials. Hundreds of couples sharing intimate details about how they met their kinky match through this app and its associated clubs.

Before this, I’d only explored my kinky side in the safety of my bedroom, hidden under my covers while I stared at the blue light of my cellphone. The things I wanted…the depraved things I got off to, they were too much to ask of another human being.

I mean, I’m sure there are people with stranger kinks than mine, but how was I supposed to ask someone to chase me through the fucking woods, strip me bare, and fuck me senseless?

ButDesire? They made it seem like kink was at the forefront. After all, the front page of their website explicitly stated, “If the sex doesn’t work, neither will the relationship.”

I scoffed the first time I read the line, but after I thought about it, I couldn’t deny the truth that lingered there. I hadn’t asked most of my ex-boyfriends to do the things I wanted. Instead, settling for vanilla sex that left me dry and unsatisfied.

And when every one of those relationships inevitably ended, they all said the same thing: “It’s just not working.”

Of course, I took those words personally, assuming the issue was with me and not them. That something must be wrong with me. That I wasn’t good enough. Hot enough. Nice enough. Just plain old,not enough.

But what ifDesirewas on to something? What if all of those relationships failed because of one thing? Sex.

And after reading all the kinky stories on their website and all of the things they had available, maybe my kink wasn’t actually that kinky. I just wanted someone to chase me. To hunt me down like prey and take me then and there.

The one lone boyfriend I had mentioned this fantasy to looked at me like I was absolutely insane.

“So you want to be raped?”he asked, disgust dripping from his words.

It had nothing to do with rape, but I never shared my wants with anyone else after that for fear of being judged. It felt too dirty, too off-limits. But now, I was sitting in one ofDesire’sclubs, waiting for someone to do exactly what I wanted.

To find me, to chase me, to hunt me down.

I squeezed my thighs together at the thought. I could feel him watching me, but from where, I had no idea.

Desirehad the basic profile you’d create on any dating app. Picture, name, age. But then it had a question-and-answer section. Some of them were simple enough:What’s your favorite drink? Your ideal first date? Your favorite place to vacation?

And then the questions got…naughtier… They asked about kinks, soft limits, hard limits. And then the question that changed it all:What’s your dirtiest fantasy?

I debated what I wanted to say. I could tone it down, make it more…palatable. But in the end, I decided to write out the dirty little details of how I wanted to be pursued.

Stalked from afar until my blood is running cold, goosebumps pebbling on my skin. I can tell someone’s watching me, but I can’t find them.

They’ll follow me to my car, making it known they are watching, but not enough for me to actually see them. Maybe my car won’t start, or my phone will die before I have a chance to call an Uber.

---