Dark as Ivory Pt. 01

I was getting so fucking horny I ached all over thinking about the possibilities from someone like him. Again. I'd be alright with you caring for my needs.

You're going to have to be patient, Two. I'll head fuck you so hard, but you play my way and you behave.

Somehow I knew what those words meant. He was going to draw this out, torturing the both of us with a dark game. And I wanted that, I suddenly realized, more than fucking anything. What else was he going to do? How else was he going to find ways to violate me from a distance? I couldn't wait to find out. That made me an insane, possibly very stupid, fucking physicist - Master's degree or no - and I had the thought that if there was any justice at all in the world Flatline would turn out to be a charming axe murderer and I would be raped and tortured with my body never found.

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Ivory

I didn't know when I decided to do something fucking crazy with my little playmate, if I'm being honest. At first, talking with her had been a pastime on a kinky website for those moments when I didn't have time to go to my favorite fetish club and dominate a cowering little masochist. And those little masochists were hit or miss for me and they had started to become mostly misses. Don't get me wrong, I love domination and sadism. It's my life, something that completes me, but I craved something deeper and darker than just one night stands from fetish clubs or my phone contacts. One night when I was reading torture porn stories and masturbating to some particularly dark thoughts after a stressful day, I somehow ended up messaging her for the first time on the kink site.

I never once regretted it. She understood the fucked up shit I talked about and she spoke of feelings that were so familiar to me that it made my chest hurt. She talked about the comedown of guilt after masturbating to a pure evil fantasy and the thoughts of "what's wrong with me" and "why am I like this". She spoke of the desire to color outside the lines and explore other creative ways of playing. And when I revealed my fantasy of stalking someone and violating their day to day privacy until they wondered if they were ever safe, she had turned the game back to me after a minute or two of the tell-tale ... message that indicated her typing. I still remember what it said.

Would you break into my store and watch me when I wasn't looking, leaving pictures later that sent chills down my spine? To let me know that you were there and I wasn't safe or alone?

It was the first time we'd broken that barrier between talking of fantasies and inserting ourselves into the roles. It had thrilled me beyond bearing, that she would play along.

Of course I also knew the plight of a masochist, so I approached those moments for a long time with the wary sense that there was a massive difference between a person's fantasies and what they could handle in real life, how much strain the psyche could take. But then we had started talking of experiences, both embarrassing ones and hot ones that had worked for us. And I had learned that the line between fantasy for her and what she could take truly was the thinnest of anyone I had thus far met. She was evidently an extremely gifted masochist and edge player.

A few weeks after some more role play I had rented a small apartment right across the street from her. By then she had let slip her name and I had searched for her on my laptop in the early hours of the morning. It hadn't taken long to find the Tuesday who owned a gaming store 30 minutes from me. In the dark I searched through her store's website, searched her Facebook page. She didn't have any privacy settings on at all and I looked through pictures of her while stroking my cock. She was a little thing for being so edgy. In the pictures she looked just barely five feet tall and she had shoulder length, thin dark hair that was straightened down to her shoulders. Very rarely she would have her septum ring show in a picture, which had delighted me with images of her shuddering on a piercer's table from the pain. More often, she had it hidden though. Her expressions held a hint of mischief in every picture that made me smile because I knew what that innocent little face hid. And that wicked little quirk on her lips was the only indicator that she was a depraved, sick, twisted fuck just like me. I imagined her small waist between my hands, so little and fae-like that I could kill her if I wanted. I never wanted that, but the thought sent dominance hot through my veins.

It was crazy. It was all so fucking crazy. The night I talked to her I had hunters' binoculars with me and stood in my new apartment, wondering what the hell I was doing. I had the money for this kind of frivolous spending, so that part wasn't actually that crazy but the actions themselves? Now that was the crazy part. Fuck me, I had masturbated to this girl's Facebook photos and bought an apartment and needed to walk the hell away and be a sane human being.

But then she'd messaged me back while I sat thirty minutes from my work place and she was right across the way from me without knowing I was there. Even then I hadn't been intending to play the game I did. The lights were still off around me but the phone app chimed with her message and I opened it, looking up to her apartment and inhaling with a little bit of shock.

Because she was bent forward over her laptop, wearing not a fucking thing. Her small, naked form was restless with her excitement to message me back. I didn't even need the binoculars to see her. They were just for a better view.

I wondered there, briefly, if she'd had a bad event through her day, something that made her more brazen than usual. Because she was. She rarely directed the flow of the conversations and generally let me take over to guide her through dark fantasies that got both of us off. But this time, the time that damned me? She let me know clearly what she was thinking about and it was something that made me moan with a little torment. I truly intended to behave. And then she'd brought up my favorite fantasy, the one that had already started down the dark path of becoming reality. Me stalking her, hunting her. The thought of head fucking with her everywhere she went, work and home and even other places, made me hot all over. I had masturbated 40 times to the thought of assaulting her in a parking garage or some gritty place like it, of feeling her struggle in terror while I stroked my cock against her slit through her jeans and whispered foul, graphic threats to her.

I tried to give a warning, but if I were being honest it was as flirtatious as I could make it. With her, I might as well have been the devil standing in the entrance of a torture chamber, beckoning and purring the words "come and play with me" in an erotic taunt. You're playing with fire.

But then I looked up and saw her sprinkling the hot wax on her sensitive abdomen and I was lost, grinning wickedly in the dark, deliberately keeping the lights off so she wouldn't see me even while I so greedily molested her no longer as naked form with my eyes. She had at least put on some pajama pants, but Jesus Christ, what a bad fucking tease of a girl. If I could look and watch her kinky masturbation then so could fucking anyone else. My God, I would have to punish her for lack of safety out of basic human decency if I ever reached that point with her. And then I realized I was imagining my game in full in my mind, planning it out in graphic detail. The things I would do to fuck with her, the ways I would violate her privacy and the head fucks we would share. I was going to hunt her if she wanted to play, hurt her in delicious ways, eventually. I looked down at my phone, thinking of how much bigger I was than her. I'd made working out an obsession in high school and was still all muscle. I could bench press over two of her easily. It would be nothing to overpower her, to feel the violent surge while she cried out in pain and wished she could get away. I hoped she'd fight me, hoped she'd scratch at my arms uselessly while I forced her.

I didn't have as much self control as I once thought. The realization actually shocked me when I fell like a rock for the temptation right in front of my face and sent her that message that started the landslide, deciding I was keeping the rented apartment for a time. She wanted to play, my wicked siren, and I had craved for harder games for so long that there was no escaping her song. She hit every hot button I had like it was a bingo card.

————

Tuesday

When Friday came two days after my wild night, I was more than ready for it. I had a Magic the Gathering tournament and my two hired workers were both coming in to help because it was a stunningly big affair. But it would be a huge profit because I opened Magic packs and sold the rare specifics that people coveted at a huge turnover. For a card game, it was an expensive ass hobby and the people into it were usually willing to spend the money for specific cards after they stole packs from Walmart or some other bullshit. Because everyone stole Magic packs from Walmart. I was smart enough to keep mine behind a locked display case.

The entire Friday was cool. A busy night, which I liked. A fun night, which I also liked and I was riding an energy wave after Flatline's game and threats and promises of more.

When the phone rang while the tournament was in full swing I went to the back to answer it, leaving the two guys who worked for me to take care of the tournament board. Both Tate and Jackson were trustworthy geeks who knew their shit, both college kids in different science areas. And they were having fun with the tournament so I happily took the phone call.

I paced to my back room and cheerfully answered. Funny enough many people who called for the first time thought I was my own worker because my voice was high pitched, almost mousey. It sounded too young sometimes and I had a problem with submissive behaviors in all things. But this time my voice had some confidence to it when I said my standard introductory message. "You've reached Grenadier's. This is Tuesday, how can I help you?"

The voice on the phone made me pause and my rare moment of delightful assertiveness was instantly shattered. God, it was deeper. It reminded me of a few of the career marines who came in to play D&D. They always had this way about their speech, this militant, quick pacing. The officers were used to being in charge and respectful at the same time. This voice had those elements to it. He didn't stutter, knew exactly what he was going to say, and commanded with similar respect and politeness.

"Can you still order the legacy board game Blackgrave?"

I grinned at the question, working through that sometimes cursed desire to submit, and grateful for the subject. It was one of my favorite games to sell, a huge dungeon style board game with stickers that were put on the board when a decision was made. It was a huge game with a ton of pieces and it was expensive but it was a joy. "I can get it anytime you like. I can't order it over the phone due to security but I can tell you about it."

"Tell me." There was some other note in that voice, too, something that made me stop pacing and sit down hard, my heart going haywire in my chest. I didn't know why I was reacting so violently but it seemed like my body instinctively recognized what was happening while my mind rebelled the knowledge.

My voice shook when I spoke next and I stuttered, a touch of fear that I couldn't control making it through my usually tight locked customer service. Which was bad. That customer service was a lifeline against that voice in my head telling me to not be assertive, to bow my head and be polite. I was used to wars with myself against it, but it wasn't usually such a problem anymore. "Um. So it's... Blackgrave. Right. It's a legacy game which means when you make decisions, you place stickers on the board and the decisions stay in place. However, there's a new version out that comes with an expansion called Darkgrave that has removable stickers. It's 100 dollars more but it's twice the gameplay and replayable. Of course the original version is already-" I lost my train of thought with the shudder of breath in my ear and closed my eyes.

"Already what?" He finally prompted me and this time there a note of dark amusement to his voice.

Dear god, he was actually listening and doing what he was doing at the same time. My blood raced through my veins. "Already hundreds of hours worth of sessions," I finished weakly.

I wished he'd give me one sign, any sign, that it was him. I kept waiting for any indicator, no matter how small, but he wasn't giving one. He didn't slip up and call me Two, nothing. Without some indication, I felt dirtier by the second because I was getting aroused and didn't even know for sure it was him. That shake of breath was something that I would have hung up on before and I wasn't now and holy fucking God, what if it wasn't even him and I was playing along with a fucking stranger?

"Tell me how the sessions work."

My voice was shaking still and I couldn't get it under control. My pussy felt alive even while my mind felt violated. The word "sessions" scattered my thoughts and made me think of a very different kind of dungeon sessions. "So one person is the DM." Think. Fucking think. Not BDSM dungeon monitor, but gaming dungeon master. God that's still just as close and I bet Flatline is one hell of a master in the dungeon. Fuck me, think, damn it. It's a kid friendly game. "They set up the boards as the guide depicts. It's a lot easier than Dungeons and Dragons DMing is, too. You can set up the board for different difficulties and different amounts of players." I wanted to whimper. His breath quivered again and I felt my face turning hot from... Christ, I didn't even know what to feel anymore. "And then your initiative is based on attack choice instead of a dice roll. It's really... um, shit." I had never slipped up and cursed over the phone without knowing the person in all my years of doing what I did. True I wasn't the best with people but I had learned how to be good in order to make sales and most nerds and gamers loved me for the mild shyness because they were shy too. I held the phone away for a second, rubbing my forehead and trying to collect myself. "It's really thought- um, really well thought out. There's a lot of character choices and no two play is the same if you opt for the usable... um, reusable... er..." Holy hell. "Removable stickers."

A soft growling sound was the next thing I heard and I closed my eyes, leaning back. I had both workers with me, goddamnit, and couldn't masturbate to this and I shouldn't have been wanting to anyway because I still didn't fucking know for sure it was Flatline jerking off and coming to the sound of my voice over my work phone. His stalker fantasy and the game we had played had turned me inside out. I was mad with arousal even while I was freaked out but part of what made me so crazy horny was being kind of freaked out. I felt insane and twisted and that growl was wicked hot.

"Thank you. I'll come by and order it."

And then the phone went quiet. "No, don't go," I whispered, too late. I got my cell phone and checked the messenger app for the kink website, but Flatline didn't send anything. I even broke a rule of mine and turned that chat on while I was at work so my phone would send me the notifications. As a standard rule I usually left those silent in case I needed to use my phone for a work purpose and couldn't have my kinky sexual deviances showing up on my screen. But hours later, when I was still high strung and running through the Magic tournament, he still hadn't talked.

Christ it had to be him. It had to. When I was closing by myself I finally broke and went back to the back room. I sat on the edge of a spare chair and took a picture of my jeans where my arousal had soaked them through with so much cum I could smell it while this close to it. My hands shook as I sent him the picture. I didn't ask him if he had called because he wouldn't like that. The night when he had watched me masturbate we had gone over some rules and one of his first ones was that if he didn't want me to know something, I wasn't supposed to ask. Not his name, not if he had been the one to leave an anonymous gift, nothing. If he didn't clarify I wasn't meant to know and that was that.

So I didn't ask because I wanted to be a good little sub. The truth was that no matter how bold I could sometimes act, my born nature was to please people and when it came to doms I cowered to their commands, wanting to please them more than anyone else. Instead, I said Thinking of you.

The chime scared the hell out of me in the quiet store. I looked over my shoulder out the windows, wondering, deliciously afraid. Fucking tease. Are you still at the store?

I felt dark as hell, vicious little thrills curling through my abdomen. Yes, sir. Sir, because I felt meek after this. Sir, because maybe like a rabbit going still in fright, the big, bad wolf might go easy on me if I submitted. But of course this wolf didn't seem to have ever gone easy on anyone. And I didn't actually want him to. It was a busy night. I couldn't find a break to even get off, so I've just been... suffering it. But I couldn't help flirting and teasing either. It was the equivalent of taunting and pushing at him, only to struggle in fear when he retaliated.

Go to your back room and pull your jeans around your ankles. I want you to fist yourself open. Take pictures and a video so I can see and if you're a good girl who shows me yours, I'll show you mine again.

I whined low in my throat but ran to obey, leaving the door cracked just a little so that someone might see if they walked to it and were quiet enough. There were no windows to this room, like any other store rooms, so the door was the only source of visibility and it felt delightful to leave it open that tiny amount. I vibrated with craving and kicked off my jeans. I hadn't sent him pictures or videos before but he had sent the first one and I was more than ready to play too.

I held my phone at an angle and recorded myself, stretching my pussy open and adding fingers. And it took an embarrassingly short time for me to stretch myself open too. For all of ten seconds I felt a little awkward recording myself but then my arousal ratcheted high and I flicked my hood ring with my thumb. I cried out with shocked bliss and worked myself over. When my fist finally fit my cry turned more desperate and I whimpered out the words, "Oh, please..." I had no idea who that begging was even for, wasn't thinking clearly and couldn't think clearly. All I knew was depravity and pleasure and I whined when my fist rubbed me just the right way and then I choked on ecstasy and my words became repeated pleas that didn't even make sense. I stopped the video after the last thrusts of my hips against my fist, riding out every last wave of bliss. And I sent it without looking at it because if I watched it I'd lose my nerve and never send it. Once it was done and sent, then I watched it.

It was definitely the kind of thing I would have deleted before sending it. Because every aspect of it made it slutty. You couldn't tell it was my store or that it was me at all, but you could see that it took place in a storage room of some kind and my voice was a whine of desire when I spoke. It was humiliating.

It was also so fucking hot it made me want to fuck myself, which was possibly the most narcissistic thought I'd ever had.

Look at all of that cum, you little slut. You had to stop it from dripping on your fucking floor it was so much at the end.