The title of her post was simple. I stared at it for the long time, looking at her username.
I’m going to make you rape me, by alittledoll.
Several minutes passed before I finally clicked on the voice clip attached to her post. Her moans filled the room. Hot, needy, so fucking desperate she had me rock hard the second I heard her whimper. She sounded unbelievable. I never thought a voice of a submissive girl could have so much power; an amazing, insane impact on my body. My hips reacted to her moans, and my cock got hard as she cried. It took me by surprise, and I only realized halfway through the recording my hand was jerking my dick, long stroking motions trying to get me off, so desperate to come for this filthy little vixen I didn’t even know.
I came in seconds. It wasn’t even a full minute, it couldn’t have been. And I didn’t particularly want to, either, but her sinful little voice got me off so fucking good. I blew all over my shaking fist, cum leaking through my fingers as I stroked the remains of my orgasm from my throbbing cock.
I cleaned up and stared at the recording playing out on my computer screen. She was giggling after making me come like that, laughing because the sweet little bitch knew every man who had just listened to her voice got off like never before. She fucking knew it, and she was begging us to punish her for making us come that way. She was begging for pain, begging to be hurt. It was a mind fuck if I’d ever seen one. She was making my head pound and my cock throb, and I didn’t even know what the fuck she looked like.
There was no question about it – I had to message her.
I knew she got a shit ton of messages. The comments and views on her posts were crazy, she must’ve been flooded with unwanted dick pics. But a part of me thought she fucking loved them, so I started a message to her pretty little self anyway. I didn’t give a shit if I was one of many. I knew she’d reply to me. I knew she’d crave me the second she saw my message. She had to feel this incredible connection we had, just like I did. It was already scaring me, and I was a grown ass, big man. I wondered what the lust I felt listening to her would do to my little doll.
I shot off a simple message and waited in my seat. There was no way to see whether she was online on the site, but I had a feeling she was one of those obsessive, needy little bitches who wanted attention all the time. I had no doubt that she checked her messages every second of every day, unless she was sleeping. I knew I’d have a reply back in a couple of minutes, and I was fucking looking forward to it.
I opened my message again, re-reading what I’d just sent her.
* * *
I could be anywhere right now. I could be so very close to you, just a short drive. Maybe I need to make an excuse and pay you a visit. You talk about wanting me to come to your apartment. Unannounced. Forcing you. Taking what I want from you. Maybe I should make it happen. See whether or not it was all talk, how you would really like it if I snuck in, clamped a hand over your mouth, slapped you dizzy and raped that pretty little pussy, leaving you with a womb full of my cum.
As I was reading it, I saw my own reflection in the computer screen. My hair was messy from having just woken up. Light brown, with a smattering of gray throughout it. I was wearing a simple vest top with tattoos over my forearms – the only decoration on my tanned skin. I knew I was handsome, but I hid my dirty, dark side very well. It was a prerequisite for the job I had. There was no fucking kinkiness in banking, that was for damn sure.
While I was looking at myself, I saw I got a message back. A grin was plastered on my face as I checked what she’d written.
You’re scaring me.
Fuck. All those audios, all that talk, and she was scared already. I wrote back.
You should be scared, little doll. Tell me you’ll beg for me to use you.
Please, I don’t want to.
Then why are you replying to me?
I got a feeling about you.
What feeling?
You’re going to be so bad for me.
That’s not a good reason to reply, little doll.
You still there?
Yeah.
You want this.
You want to be used like a little fuckdoll. You want to be raped and fucked in public while everyone watches, don’t you?
Yes.
I’ll help you, little doll. Will you let me?
Yes.
I got this fucking feeling in the pit of my stomach. A rumble, a tense, tight sensation that made me think this girl might actually be exactly what my depraved mind wanted.
I’d never really unleashed my true personality on anyone. I’d had girls who liked playing rough before. Nasty, needy little girls who let me do anything to them, much younger than me too. But I never had anyone like her. Never a girl who tapped into the darkest part of my mind and begged me to unleash all the monsters that lurked in the darkness. I never had a girl who was as desperate for that depravity as I was. And I wanted to use her. I wanted to make her submit. I wanted to see what her limits were and if they went as far as my own did.
We exchanged more and more messages. I asked her about herself, questions she carefully evaded. She offered a tidbit of information here and there, offering a piece of herself, and I felt like a kid being teased with candy. She was giving me small pieces but I wanted the whole fucking pie. I wanted all of her. Wanted to consume her. I wanted to fucking own her.
The intensity of my lust for her never faded as we chatted more. I found myself so overtaken by the immediate need to feel her, to be inside her, I couldn’t focus on anything else. She’d claimed my mind and my dick in only a few minutes.
She was mesmerizing, and I was getting addicted. I knew I was moving too fast, and I knew I’d probably scare her off, but I needed so… Much. More.
Tell me your name.
I don’t want to.
Tell me your fucking name, doll.
It’s Cleo…
That’s beautiful. You know I’m not going to use it until you’re a dripping, shaky little mess for me? I’ll only use it to remind you that you’re human after you’re so spent, you feel like a happy little fucktoy for my dick.
Fuck, stop, please. Too much.
Not too much. Just enough, little doll.
Will you talk to me again?
What do you mean?
This… this isn’t just a one-time thing, right? You’ll be here tomorrow.
And the day after.
And the day after?
Until you get sick of me.
I won’t…
And then some more, because I know you need to be forced, pretty little thing.
I have to go to work. Message me later?
Take your phone with you so we can talk.
Ok…
I thought about her slipping into a pretty summer dress, her panties getting a visible wet spot as she made her way to work. I thought about her juices dripping down her legs as she made her way to town, holding the bus rail and thinking about me forcing myself on her. She played the role of an innocent little girl but she was really anything but. She was perfect. So slutty, dirty and depraved but still so innocent, still so perfectly moldable. I was going to make the perfect little toy out of her. I was finally going to get what my cock wanted all along. She was so, so perfect.
She messaged me from her station. She worked in some sort of shop, but she wouldn’t tell me more. She event sent me a picture.
A cloudy day outside, humid and hot as hell. I caught a glimpse of her long, pale leg as she rode the bus to work, just like I predicted. Her nails were a pretty shade of pink holding onto the rail. I even recognized the bus. I used to take a very similar one to work daily before I made it big. I still remembered the scratchy fabric of its seats, the pattern reminding me of something psychedelic.
No tan for you, little doll?
No. I never get away for long enough to get one.
You need a vacation?
I need you inside me.
Fuck! My cock twitched at her words.
/> That could be arranged, slut… you just have to beg real pretty to convince me.
Would you listen to me beg for you?
My cock tightened at the thought of her doing just that.
You want to record an audio for me?
No…
My mind was racing.
You want to hear me?
Now?
Not now, maybe sometime later…
Now or never, little doll. Get to your bathroom, get fucking ready for me. I’ll call you. Give me your number.
No reply for what felt like several excruciatingly long minutes. And then finally, another message. Her number.
I was fucking glad it was my day off. Otherwise I would’ve blown my load for her in my fucking office, not giving a shit if anyone saw it.
I called her number and listened to the monotonous dial tone. She didn’t pick up for the longest time, and when she finally did, her sweet voice came in in breathy, desperate little moans.
“Hello?” she asked softly, just one little word along with a soft little gasp from those perfect lips.
I couldn’t say a word, and she moaned in protest when I remained quiet.
“Please,” she begged. “Please talk to me, I need to hear you…”
“Where are you?” I asked her roughly, and she yelped when she heard me. I could almost feel how turned on she was. I wanted her on my fingers. I wanted her to rub herself on my hand with the force of her own hips until she came all over my fingers, never breaking eye contact.
“In-in the bathroom,” she breathed.
“Are you going to play for me?” I growled, and she gasped again.
“Play now?” she asked softly.
“Right now,” I said. My voice was making her groan, and I could almost picture those little fingers I’d seen gripping the railing in that bus. Long, pale, with pretty candy floss pink nails. God, she was fucking perfect.
“I’ll play,” she said. “Just hurry, I don’t want someone to catch me…”
“Taste yourself,” I ordered her, and she gasped again. “Fucking now, doll. Tell me if your fingers taste as sweet as I imagine they do…”
CHAPTER 3
Cleo
I did everything he told me to. He made me come in that tiny stall like I’d never come before.
Yes, I’d had boyfriends. A couple, nothing too serious except for a guy that was so painfully boring I couldn’t even make myself fake it for him. They’d made me come plenty of times. It had always been easy for me, and every man I’d been with loved making me squirm. But in the end, all of those shitty relationships fell apart. It was just never enough. Never enough to satisfy me and make me feel full and complete. I always craved so much more.
The online stuff was supposed to be where I let this side of me out. Where I could be anonymous, and at the same time, barer than I’d ever been.
It was the reason my last relationship ended, too.
He found out about my recordings, and told me I either had to stop posting them, or he’d end things with me. For me, the decision was clear. I was going to stop seeing him eventually anyway, I’d just never gotten the guts to actually tell him it was over. So off he went, and I was alone again… Just me and my microphone, and all the strangers I made explode so many miles away.
I eventually moved my postings to a place more local, because the lust I felt for a real man was getting much harder to ignore. I’d gotten more and more lax with the details I gave away about myself. I lived in a big city anyway, and I was sure no one was going to find me by some information scattered around on the internet.
Even though I actually really, really wanted them to.
This fantasy, playing with non-consent, had been on my mind non-stop lately. I wanted it so bad. And I knew that wanting it in itself meant it wasn’t actually non-consent. But there was something else about it, something so addicting, so delicious, I just couldn’t resist.
I’d role-played with a couple of the boyfriends I’d had. But nothing like this. They’d be freaked out if they knew the extent of my obsession.
I tended to date nice guys. Safe guys. Guys who didn’t even suspect what was hiding in my head. By the time we broke up, they still didn’t have a clue about what I really wanted. Just the way I liked it. Clean. Easy. Simple. Easy to break off.
I’d met some men on the internet, of course. Guys who got me off with pictures or their voices, or their dirty words. But I’d never felt myself fall so completely, head over heels in love with a man like I did with this one. And I didn’t even know his name yet, which felt strange as hell.
I sat in that bathroom stall with my fingers up to the knuckles in my pussy, and I came all over the palm of my hand, my fingers slipping out as they brought me an earth-shattering orgasm. The hand that held my phone shook so much it nearly clattered to the floor.
“That was too much,” I breathed into the receiver. “Too much for me…”
“Good girl.” I could tell from his breathy, low growl, that I’d gotten him excited too. I wondered if he had his thick, throbbing cock in his hand, and I wondered if he’d show it to me if I asked nicely. I wanted to see it so badly.
Just then, I heard the bathroom door open and someone stroll in wearing high heels. They click-clacked on the floor as I desperately cut the call and tried to make myself invisible in the stall.
Another set of footsteps followed the first and I heard giggling and chattering at the sinks. I blushed deeply as I put my phone away, and tried to exit the stall and not look as suspicious as I felt.
I approached the sinks and swung my purse over my shoulder, turning the water on to wash my hands. Two of my co-workers, Jacqueline and Grace, stood by the sinks giving me nasty glances.
“Good morning,” I said, and they muttered something back.
They spoke in hushed tones as I washed my hands and patted my face with a paper towel. I felt like a proper mess. My dress was riding too high, my neck felt hot and my nipples were so hard they were rubbing all over the fabric of my dress, making me itch for another dirty phone call. I wasn’t wearing a bra – the dress had an open back, and I didn’t want the straps to show. My tits were too big for it, but I thought it looked okay. I’d checked in the mirror several times before making my way to work.
“Oh, Cleo?” Grace called after me as I made my way outside.
I stopped and turned to face her. Both girls were wearing their bitchiest expressions, glaring at me as I fidgeted nervously in front of them.
“Was there something you wanted?” I prompted Grace, and she just shot me a nasty look.
She was technically my supervisor, even though the boss didn’t care about that. He was a nice, fatherly man in his fifties, who really had a soft spot for me. Jacqueline was his daughter, and Grace was her best friend, and they loved nothing more but to pick on me. I’d asked myself many times how a man as nice as Mr. Featherston had managed to produce offspring as thoroughly annoying as Jackie.
“Yes, in fact there was,” Grace said with a syrupy-sweet voice. “You’re going to have to dress more appropriately, Cleo.”
“What?” I stared at her wide-eyed. “My dress is only an inch above the knee.”
“That’s not the main problem,” Jackie said, meaningfully looking at my chest.
I looked down at the front of my dress. My nipples were so hard they showed through the white fabric, stretching and straining painfully under the cotton. I crossed my arms self-consciously, blushing so deep it felt like my cheeks and neck were going to catch on fire any second.
“I’d let you borrow my cardigan,” Grace said thoughtfully. “But I don’t think we’re the same size, darling.”
I hated them. Their nasty, girlish laughter, their mean ways.
I wasn’t that big, but I definitely had wide hips and a big butt, and my tits made me broader than I wanted to be. But my waist was small and I was neither tall nor short, and most days, I felt pretty good about myself. I knew men liked me. I’d gotten atte
ntion from them every day of my life. But girls… they’d always hated me and picked on me. I was used to it, and I shouldn’t have let a couple of nasty bitches like Grace and Jackie put me down. But I felt like a teenager again with them around. The oddball with no clique she belonged in, the girl who ate her lunches in the bathroom.
They say things change after high school, but when you work with people like Jackie and Grace, they will make sure you feel every blow you did in the school cafeteria. I hated them for it.
I left the bathroom in a hurry and tried to spend the rest of my workday quietly. I managed to leave on my lunch break and buy a pastel pink cardigan in a clothing store down the street. It even went nicely with my dress, so I ignored Grace’s stifled laughter as I made my way back into the store after my break.
My mind was preoccupied, anyway. I was busy thinking about him… The mystery man who’d made me come on the phone before my workday even began properly. He was claiming my mind, and even though I couldn’t find a free moment to send him a message, he was in my thoughts all day long.
I worked in a bookstore in a trendy part of town. We were popular because Mr. Featherstone still handpicked most of our selection, and he had good taste. Our customers ranged from people who’d been coming into Pages for decades, to hipsters who loved it because it happened to be trendy. It was always busy, and I loved it. I’d always worked best when I was busy.
It was about ten minutes before my shift ended, and for once, my end of the store was less busy. I used the chance to pull out my phone and check for messages from my mystery man.
He’d sent me a single picture, and my fingers trembled as I opened the message.
It was shot from above, him sitting on a chair, stroking his cock through a pair of sweatpants. He was shirtless, and his chest and stomach were toned so perfectly I thought it must’ve been a stolen photo. But somehow, I knew it wasn’t. I looked at his lips in the upper corner, quirked in a smirk. I knew it was him, because his voice fit in perfectly with that picture. And it made me wet as hell.
Drawn to Him: A Romance Collection Page 32
