Lexi’s POV
I shouldn’t have downloaded the app.
That was the first clear thought I had when the notification lit up my phone screen at 1:14 a.m. The display cut through the darkness of the room from where it sat on the nightstand.
I’d been half-asleep, body twisted in the sheets, one leg kicked free, the other tangled. My mind was floating somewhere between dreaming and consciousness when the screen flashed again.
"Your match is waiting."
I sat up slowly, reaching out to pick up the phone.
I should have swiped the notification away. Should have rolled over, shoved the phone under the pillow, and pretended the last eleven weeks never happened. I didn’t. Instead, I tapped on the screen to read the message.
The chat opened the same way it always did—no name, no bio, just pure blankness. But I knew it was a guy's account. Not from anything obvious. Not from the empty profile or username. I just knew it the way you know the difference between a hand that wants to hold you and a hand that wants to own you.
Match_09: Tell me the worst thing you’ve ever wanted someone to do to you. Be blunt about it. No pretty words. The actual worst.
My throat tightened. I'd been using the app for three months.
It was supposed to be anonymous—no photos, no real names, just sexting with the kind of filthy honesty you could never say out loud.
Most matches I interacted with ended the chat session after the first real answer, but this one... He stayed.
Not just for a minute to hear a response and end the chat like I wasn't offering what they wanted, but for weeks.
Eleven weeks.
Eleven weeks of mild escalation. Eleven weeks of questions that were always one step past where I thought I could go. I typed anyway, unconsciously curling my toes under the sheets.
Me: I want someone to use me like I don’t get a say over my body. Like my body is just there for whatever he feels like that night. I want it to hurt in the good way and the bad way. I want to be left marked and sore and still dripping so I feel it the next day at work and remember I didn’t stop him.
The reply came almost before I finished reading my own words.
Match_09: Good girl. Now tell me how you’d want to be restrained. Be specific. Every detail.
Heat flooded low in my belly. My free hand was already sliding down, two fingers finding the slickness that had gathered the second his message appeared. I was so fucking easy for this. For him. No face. No voice. Just words that somehow knew exactly where to press.
Me: I want my ankles spread out and tied to the corners of the bed, with my wrists above my head and tied up. I'd like something covering my mouth so I won't be able to talk. Also, I'd like to be blindfolded, though that's optional—sometimes I want to see what’s coming, sometimes I don’t.
Match_09: And if he decided to invite someone else to watch? Or join?
My stomach flipped. That was new. He’d never gone there. I should have closed the app. Instead, I pushed two fingers inside myself and typed with my thumb, hips already rolling.
Me: I’d hate it. And I’d still get wetter from knowing that someone was watching.
Match_09: Of course you would. You’ve been getting wet every single time I push past the line. You like the fear and thrill at the same time.
I hated how accurate he was. I bit my lip and kept going, chasing the edge while the conversation continued.
Match_09: Take your fingers out.
I froze. How the fuck—
Me: Who told you—
Match_09: Shhhhhhh. I know everything about you. Just do as I say. Now. Take them out and sit on your hands. You don’t come unless I say.
I pulled my hand free, fingers shiny and trembling, and shoved both under my thighs. My cunt clenched around nothing, empty and furious. My clit throbbed in protest.
Me: Done.
Match_09: Good. Now describe exactly how empty you feel.
Me: Aching. My cunt is clenching around nothing. I’m dripping on the sheets. I want to finish so badly it hurts.
Match_09: Perfect. Stay like that. I’m going to tell you what I’m doing to you in my head right now, and you’re going to listen without touching yourself. Not one finger. Not even a shift of your hips. If you move, I'll stop.
I stayed still, just the way he ordered.
What followed was worse than any porn I’d ever watched.
He started speaking.
Match_09: Imagine I'm on top of you. Can you think of that right now?
Me: Yes, I can. I'm seeing the possibility.
Match_09: Good girl. Imagine I have one hand pressed over your mouth so hard you can taste my skin. The other is between your legs, a finger already inside, curling up against that spot that makes your thighs shake. You’re trying to close them, but I force them open with my hands. You’re so wet the sheets under your ass are already soaked. I add a second finger when you least expect it. You scream against my palm, but I don’t stop. I keep going, curling until your cunt is stretched so wide it burns.
I let out a soft, shaky breath and scrolled down for more.
Match_09: I fuck you with those two fingers the way I’d fuck you with my cock—hard, deep, relentless. Every time your head rolls back, I'll rub your clit until you come the first time, shaking and sobbing under my hand. I don’t pull out. I keep going. You’re still pulsing around my fingers when I start talking.
“Thank me.”
You try to shake your head. I press harder on your mouth and keep thrusting.
“Say it. Thank me for using your cunt.”
Your voice is muffled, broken, but you say it. Good girl. I reward you by adding a third finger. You’re crying now, real tears, because it hurts and it feels too good, and you can’t tell which feeling is winning. I don’t care. I keep working you open, slow now, watching every change in your expression, every fresh leak of slickness that runs down over my wrist.
I leave you like that for a while—fingers buried, hand still over your mouth—until the shaking stops and you start to go quiet. Then I start again. Harder. Faster. I make you come a second time with my fingers alone, and this one is worse. Your whole body locks up. You try to twist away, but I pin you with my weight and keep rubbing that swollen, oversensitive clit until you’re begging through my fingers, the words wet and desperate.
“Please—please stop—I can’t—”
I don’t stop. I tell you you’re going to take it. That this is what you asked for. That your body belongs to me tonight and I decide when it’s had enough. I keep going until the third orgasm rips through you so hard you actually scream, the sound muffled and high and broken. Then I pull my hand free. Your cunt is open, red, dripping, pulsing visibly. I wipe my fingers on your thigh and leave the mess there so you can feel it cooling on your skin.
You’re still tied. Ankles spread. Wrists above your head. I sit back and just look. You’re shaking. Tears on your cheeks. Cum and slick all over your ass and the sheets. I reach down and spread you open with two fingers, holding you like that so I can see every twitch.
“This is mine,” I tell you. “I’m going to leave you exactly like this. Tied open. Messy. So every time I walk past the bed, I can look at what I did to you. If I feel like using you again in an hour, I will. If I feel like making you wait until morning, you’ll wait. And you’ll stay wet for me the whole time because you know I’m watching.”
I leaned forward, still sitting on my hands, thighs pressed tight, every muscle in my lower body clenched against the need to move. My clit was a steady, furious pulse. I could feel fresh wetness sliding down my ass to the sheet. I typed with shaking thumbs.
Me: Please. Let me touch.
Match_09: No. You stay empty. You stay aching. You think about how it would feel if I was actually there right now—if those fingers were real, if that hand over your mouth was real, if someone else was standing in the doorway watching me ruin you. You think about how wet you’d get knowing they could see every time your cunt clenched around nothing. And you don’t come. Not until I say.
I stayed like that for a long time, the phone screen still lit up in the dark, my body shaking.
The empty ache between my legs had turned sharp and impossible to ignore.
And still, I didn’t move my hands to touch myself.
Because he hadn’t said I could.