Page 29 of Right Number, Wrong Man
I lay back on the platform, and my inner muscles burn as I shove my fingers deep into my pussy. The stranger’s video replays in my mind, melding with my favorite fantasy: The masked man.
My thrusts pick up speed. In my imagination, I hear the anonymous stranger’s moans coming from under themask, feel his pierced cock stretching me and grinding along my g-spot.
Stopping physically hurts. Pleasure aches cascade through me as I send the recording, but my notifications stay dry.
I can’t believe he’s making me wait after being so pushy and impatient! Now he’s really done it. I’ll block his stupid ass and?—
A message comes through with a video attached.
Unknown
Watch. That’s what you do to me, Sugar.
I tap play and my heart stumbles. The stranger cradles his balls with one hand, the other stroking himself until his hips stutter. His cock swells and throbs. Cum erupts from the head, spilling over his fingers, and I wish he’d be spilling into me instead.
Another message appears at the top of the screen.
Unknown
Do you wanna come, too?
Me
I do, Sir.
Unknown
Beg for it.
Me
Please, Daddy, can I have an orgasm? I need to come or I’m going crazy!
Embarrassment lights up my face. I don’t know myself like this, so submissive and willing. But there’s something about his messages and his unwavering confidence that demands respect on an animalistic level—even over text.
Unknown
That’s my good girl, asking for permission. You earned your orgasm tonight.
Let me see you come all over your fingers for Daddy.
This time, I don’t hesitate and set up the phone to record.
My fingers slide easily into me now. I ride them like I would ride his cock, imagining his hands gripping my hips as he guides my movements. Stars scatter under my skin when I unravel. I forget where I am, moaning freely while I chase every spark of pleasure.
Crash!
I freeze—with my fingers buried in my pussy.
What the hell was that bang? It sounded close by.
Chills creep along my back as I slip my hand from between my legs and quit the recording. Stuffing the phone in my pocket, I jump off the pedestal to collect my panties and put them on.
It’s quiet now. Did I imagine the noise? I might’ve gotten a little too into the stalker fantasy and?—
The light in the projector room turns on.
My heart catapults into my throat. With a muffled squeal, I drop behind the nearest row of seats like I’m starring in a secret agent parody.
