[Part 4] Wicked Wednesday
A Dark Romance
This is the continuation of a “Story Starter” I published a year ago. I’ve enjoyed getting out of my comfort zone and trying something a little… less sweet. Control and consent are interconnected when it comes to sexual fantasy. NonCon and DubCon are not for everyone. Be aware of your limits and use your safe word (that back arrow) if you need to.
TRIGGER WARNING: This short story series depicts home invasion, threat of bodily harm, blood play, bondage, CNC/NonCon/DubCon, and threat of/acting out sexual assault. Read with that in mind.
I wake up to an alarm I don’t recognize. The tone is obnoxious and only contributes to the pounding headache I have.
I’m naked, on the bed, and ache all over.
First I grab my phone off of the side table, rubbing my eyes, swollen from sleep, and see the time—7:00am—but no alarm to silence.
The sound is coming from somewhere in the corner and requires my immediate attention. It must be turned off or my brain might just start oozing out of my ears.
Behind the small vanity stool, I see a black flip phone… not mine. Every ounce of sleepiness dissolves as I open it and hit the “off” button.
That man. The Intruder—the one that terrorized me for hours—this must be his! My hand instinctively reaches for my mouth, remembering his hand there. It’s tender to the touch, my lips swollen and likely bruised from his grasp.
Passing out was a relief, I remember, but now my mind is racing. I can recall every second as if it were happening to me all over again and to my displeasure, I’m wet.
Just as he anticipated, the violence he inflicted for hours that I thought would never end—the fear of dying—for some reason it turns me on all over again. Every ounce of my restraint is going to be used to not masturbate to the memory of him.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
The phone vibrates in my hand and I jump, coming back to reality.
There’s a notification that I click to open without having to input a password. Which is good, because I have no idea what it would be.
UNKNOWN: There’s a present in the bathroom. Clean yourself off, dress yourself up, and go to work with it on. Keep the phone close. Tell no one of last night.
Another text pops up with a picture. A tear runs down my cheek, stinging the wound he made there. My shaking hand zooms into the dark image to see a sleeping figure of myself. Blood is smeared across my naked chest, mouth open, and my Intruder’s dick halfway out of it.
“Fuck!” I scream, throwing the phone across the room.
He doesn’t have to state the threat. We all know what happens to women when a picture—not even one that graphic—gets leaked to the public. My family would never be able to look at me again without “SHAME” written on their face.
My actual phone chimes it’s “wake up” alarm and I scramble back across my bed to shut it off and take it into the bathroom with me to get dressed. I really, really want to call in sick to work and spend the entire day in my PJ’s eating ice cream and watching stupid RomComs, but I’d hate to defy my Intruder. I have no doubt he’ll weaponize that picture against me.
The moment I see myself in the bathroom mirror, though, I nearly pass out.
I’m naked, of course, but looking at my body… I hadn’t realized how much damage he’d done. Now that I have a second to truly assess myself, I see dried blood flaking off almost every part of me, bite marks and cuts, mascara darkening the bags below my eyes, and splotchy discoloration around my neck.
And that is nothing compared to the soreness between my legs.
The flip phone buzzes and I consider just leaving it but he seems so unhinged, who knows what he has planned if I disobey.
UNKNOWN: You’re gonna be late if you waste your morning staring at yourself.
UNKNOWN: I do love the art I did on you, though.
UNKNOWN: Now, take a shower, open your gift, and get to work.
I do as he says, avoiding the cupcake-box sized package perched next to the sink.
I get the water as hot as I can stand it and scrub painfully at all the places that already hurt. The water finally runs clear and it feels like a new start. I press down the feeling that I’m washing away evidence… We both know I’d never call the police. He’d just have to show them our chat history for them to deem it as consent. Or at least consent-adjacent.
Opening the box I find a black butt plug, maybe one size larger than the one I’ve used for fun, with a note that says “You know what to do.”
I roll my eyes grabbing the lube I keep under the sink, and insert it. A packet has a page devoted to app settings and a QR code.
Fuck. He can control it from anywhere.
I get no further texts while dressing or traveling to work, and the toy never activates, so when it does about an hour into my day, it makes me jump. Having been uncomfortable and awkward at first, I pretty much got used to it until it started its slow buzzing.
The email I was in the middle of had to wait while I adjusted and took a moment to get lost in the sensation. I cross my legs and lean back in my chair, aching for more. Wishing I had my bullet vibe, too, but honestly, the vibrations reverberate to the front the way I’m sitting. It’s not much, but enough to start the climb up the orgasm hill.
“Knock, knock.” My boss, Anne, taps on my office door, coming in without being invited. “Do you have those sales numbers?”
She hesitates halfway to my desk.
Shit.
“Are you ok? You look flushed. And what happened to your face?”
Double shit.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I stood up too fast a second ago and got a little dizzy. My face? Right. Um, I walked into the corner of my cabinet. Looks gross, huh?”
I’m so happy the bites and other marks were easily hidden by my clothing. Who knows how I’d have explained those.
The buzzing, soft and steady, continues and it’s all I can do to sit still. It’s a soft hum, indiscreet, but there’s always the chance she’ll be able to hear it.
All I want to do is squirm, grind on my chair, shove my hand into my panties to work my clit. The ache is building and I’m so close already.
“Yikes! Well, I’m glad you’re here. Hopefully…”
The vibration stops and I can’t help the hiccup of air I let out in frustration.
“You sure you’re ok?”
Dammit. This day is gonna be tough.
“Yep. Sorry. Just remembered I needed to do something.” My mind is totally blank so I hope she doesn’t ask what.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it.” I slouch down into my chair as she walks away, stiffening when she turns back. “Oh! I almost forgot. Just email me those sales numbers when you get a chance.”
She starts to leave again, but I stop her. “Anne?”
She turns.
“Could you please close the door for me?”
With a nod, she pulls the door closed with a soft click.
I wish I’d downloaded the app so I could control this thing on my own. I want more. I need to finish. I have to do something.
For a moment I contemplate texting my Intruder. Beg him to give me a few more minutes. But there’s no way I’m going to give him the satisfaction.
I’m strong. I can wait until I’m home to finish. I’ll call it “edging” to make me feel better about myself. But, damn, the ache is intense. It would only take a minute… two at most. There’s no harm in a little work break to ease my stress.
I turn my chair away from the door, and slip my hand down the front of my waistband. The tip of my middle finger finds my clit and circles it gently. Deliberately.
I shift in my seat, moving down a little so I can spread my legs more. The movement wiggles the plug and I gasp at the feeling of unexpected pressure.
My middle finger dips inside, parting the lips of my pussy, and playing in the arousal collecting there. Swirling around every edge, brushing softly over every bump and bend.
I’ve forgotten I’m at work.
Forgotten everything that happened last night.
Forgotten who holds the remote.
Right now all I want is the pleasure. The tease. I ache for the touch. Reveling in the sensation.
