Do Not Disturb
Page 23
I was there to stop Ralph, to save Annie before his fantasies become reality. But who is there to stop me? Who will keep me in check? Who will stop me before I kill another?
For now, it is Simon. Simon, who religiously turns the lock that keeps me in this apartment. The lock on the door that three inches of steel guarantees will keep me inside, will keep others safe.
Yes, even though I’ve allowed myself some freedoms, a few steps into the world of normalcy, I haven’t lost my awareness of the need for control. I still need assistance at certain times. Like night. Night is still the hardest. Night is still when the urge to kill is greatest.
Tonight is a bad night. I hear the lock turn and relax, the tension in my arms loosening as I shake out the limbs. Locked in. Others are safe. From me, at least.
CHAPTER 27
I AM BARELY in free chat when my speakers chime, indicating the start of a private chat. I straighten up out of my lazy, sloppy pose and into one that puts all of my assets on full display.
---freebird71 just entered into a private chat with you
freebird71: hey
I smile. “Hey. How’s it going?”
freebird71: good. I video chatted with you the other night. Remember?
His username doesn’t ring a bell. It takes something extreme to get me to remember someone. One guy chatted with me twenty-three times last month. I remember him. Though with the username ElephantCock4You—he was hard to forget. So was his eleven-inch dick. NuttyBuddy73, who painted his penis with peanut butter and then licked it off? I remember him too. But freebird71 doesn’t ring a bell, not that I’d ever admit that to him. “Of course I do!” I say brightly, flipping screens and opening the word document I keep in the background, type in his username with a few quick strokes. Two notes beside the resulting cell. Marcus. Asked where I lived. I lean back on the bed. Smile as I part my legs in a way that draws attention to my underwear’s hot-pink crotch. “It was…” I tilt my head to the side as if deep in thought. “Marcus, right?”
freebird71: right.
freebird71: good.
freebird71: get naked. I want to see you.
I get naked.
I arch.
I touch.
I pull open the toy drawer and get creative.
The eight-inch white dildo is declared to be his favorite. I pretend it’s my favorite too.
He finishes by putting me on my knees, having me look up into the camera. I lick my lips and open my mouth and beg. Lick imaginary cum off of my lips and tell him it tastes delicious.
Chat timer: 37:02. He wants more. A second round.
I hop off the bed. “I’m gonna grab some water.”
freebird71: ok
I glance at the wall clock. 3:15 p.m. Briefly wonder at this guy’s time zone, if he is in his office or his pajamas. It’s so hard to tell when they just type. When I can’t hear the tone or volume of their voice. I prefer the cammers who turn on their audio, whose voices travel through the lines and paint the pictures of the confessions of their souls. My favorite are the whisperers. Makes the entire thing feel clandestine, the idea that they are risking their jobs or their lives in order to virtually fuck me. I pull on a thong, open up the fridge, and grab a Voss. The fridge clicks shut as I uncap the bottle, swig the cool water, and walk back under the heat of the lamps.
He’s still there, the screen unchanged, the clock in the upper-right-hand corner letting me know that my stroll to the fridge just earned me somewhere around the neighborhood of two dollars. I take another sip, watching my video feed, seeing the flush of my cheeks, the tint of naked skin. I move the bottle down. Rub the cold plastic over the tops of my breasts, my nipples instantly responding, pebbling hard, the high-def camera catching every reaction, the wet path of the bottle leaving a smear of glisten across my skin.
freebird71: do that again
I ignore him for a moment, leaning my head back and taking another long pull of water, moving my free hand to the camera’s control and zooming in further.
The art of seduction is now second nature. The tease. Giving them what they don’t know they want, and then withholding long enough to make them pant.
freebird71: do it again
I move onto the bed, sit Indian-style, and frame the camera on my body, mattress to shoulder, putting the bottle in the hole between my ankles and my crotch, the cold plastic wet against the silk of my thong. It’ll leave a damp spot. He’ll like that. I set down the cam remote, run my hands across my breasts, dragging the moisture across, gently pulling the tips of nipples, squeezing the flesh of breasts, lowering my mouth and lifting a pink tip into my mouth.
freebird71: jesus I want to fuck you so badly.
For now, it is Simon. Simon, who religiously turns the lock that keeps me in this apartment. The lock on the door that three inches of steel guarantees will keep me inside, will keep others safe.
Yes, even though I’ve allowed myself some freedoms, a few steps into the world of normalcy, I haven’t lost my awareness of the need for control. I still need assistance at certain times. Like night. Night is still the hardest. Night is still when the urge to kill is greatest.
Tonight is a bad night. I hear the lock turn and relax, the tension in my arms loosening as I shake out the limbs. Locked in. Others are safe. From me, at least.
CHAPTER 27
I AM BARELY in free chat when my speakers chime, indicating the start of a private chat. I straighten up out of my lazy, sloppy pose and into one that puts all of my assets on full display.
---freebird71 just entered into a private chat with you
freebird71: hey
I smile. “Hey. How’s it going?”
freebird71: good. I video chatted with you the other night. Remember?
His username doesn’t ring a bell. It takes something extreme to get me to remember someone. One guy chatted with me twenty-three times last month. I remember him. Though with the username ElephantCock4You—he was hard to forget. So was his eleven-inch dick. NuttyBuddy73, who painted his penis with peanut butter and then licked it off? I remember him too. But freebird71 doesn’t ring a bell, not that I’d ever admit that to him. “Of course I do!” I say brightly, flipping screens and opening the word document I keep in the background, type in his username with a few quick strokes. Two notes beside the resulting cell. Marcus. Asked where I lived. I lean back on the bed. Smile as I part my legs in a way that draws attention to my underwear’s hot-pink crotch. “It was…” I tilt my head to the side as if deep in thought. “Marcus, right?”
freebird71: right.
freebird71: good.
freebird71: get naked. I want to see you.
I get naked.
I arch.
I touch.
I pull open the toy drawer and get creative.
The eight-inch white dildo is declared to be his favorite. I pretend it’s my favorite too.
He finishes by putting me on my knees, having me look up into the camera. I lick my lips and open my mouth and beg. Lick imaginary cum off of my lips and tell him it tastes delicious.
Chat timer: 37:02. He wants more. A second round.
I hop off the bed. “I’m gonna grab some water.”
freebird71: ok
I glance at the wall clock. 3:15 p.m. Briefly wonder at this guy’s time zone, if he is in his office or his pajamas. It’s so hard to tell when they just type. When I can’t hear the tone or volume of their voice. I prefer the cammers who turn on their audio, whose voices travel through the lines and paint the pictures of the confessions of their souls. My favorite are the whisperers. Makes the entire thing feel clandestine, the idea that they are risking their jobs or their lives in order to virtually fuck me. I pull on a thong, open up the fridge, and grab a Voss. The fridge clicks shut as I uncap the bottle, swig the cool water, and walk back under the heat of the lamps.
He’s still there, the screen unchanged, the clock in the upper-right-hand corner letting me know that my stroll to the fridge just earned me somewhere around the neighborhood of two dollars. I take another sip, watching my video feed, seeing the flush of my cheeks, the tint of naked skin. I move the bottle down. Rub the cold plastic over the tops of my breasts, my nipples instantly responding, pebbling hard, the high-def camera catching every reaction, the wet path of the bottle leaving a smear of glisten across my skin.
freebird71: do that again
I ignore him for a moment, leaning my head back and taking another long pull of water, moving my free hand to the camera’s control and zooming in further.
The art of seduction is now second nature. The tease. Giving them what they don’t know they want, and then withholding long enough to make them pant.
freebird71: do it again
I move onto the bed, sit Indian-style, and frame the camera on my body, mattress to shoulder, putting the bottle in the hole between my ankles and my crotch, the cold plastic wet against the silk of my thong. It’ll leave a damp spot. He’ll like that. I set down the cam remote, run my hands across my breasts, dragging the moisture across, gently pulling the tips of nipples, squeezing the flesh of breasts, lowering my mouth and lifting a pink tip into my mouth.
freebird71: jesus I want to fuck you so badly.
