Losers: Part I

I made up a story to tell my parents once I got home. Mom thought I’d spent the night at Danielle’s again, and I didn’t correct her, but trying to explain my car breaking down and my ensuing bargain was significantly more difficult.

In the end, I settled for telling them I’d gone to a local shop and knew the mechanics from high school, so they were able to give me a discount. Dad wanted to know the hard numbers to make sure he couldn’t get me a better deal elsewhere, but I was able to deflect by focusing on Mom’s questions instead.

“Who are these boys again?” she said, narrowing her eyes at me from the end of the table. We were seated for dinner, the first full meal I’d had all day.

“Lucas and Manson,” I said, trying to keep my mouth stuffed with as much food as I could to delay the questions. But Mom reached over and smacked my hand as I reached for another roll.

“Stop stuffing your face, Jessica Marie, slow down.” She sighed heavily in disgust. Across the table, my little sister, Steph, snickered, pleased to see someone else getting scolded. “Lucas and…Manson, you said? Those better not be the same boys that got expelled for assaulting other students.”

Damn it, of course she remembered that. Both incidents had resulted in the school sending letters to parents explaining the situations and the action that had been taken. Mom had lost it both times, convinced that Wickeston was going to hell in a handbasket and my high school was growing more dangerous by the day.

“Well, I mean…yes?” I winced, and Mom threw up her hands in exasperation, glaring at my dad as if this was all his fault.

“Roger, are you really not going to say anything about this?” she demanded. “About our daughter going to a shop run by criminals?”

My father responded in his usual slow, measured voice, “Now, Charlene, calm down. I don’t think we need to worry much about it —”

“Not worry? Not worry?!” Mom’s voice had reached that ear-splitting pitch that usually sent me running out the door. “You want her dealing with these men? Who knows what they could do? They could be traffickers, Roger!”

“Mom, they’re not traffickers —”

“You never know, Jessica. That’s the thing, you never know.” She jabbed her finger at me in warning. “Just the other day, Jeanie’s daughter said that some couple was following her around the Walmart, probably trying to snatch her up. People have been talking about it all over Facebook.”

“Ah, yes, Facebook, the epicenter of breaking news,” I muttered, and Mom’s fork clattered on her plate. “Listen, Mom, I swear they’re fine. They’re not dangerous.”

That wasn’t exactly true. Those men were extremely dangerous, but not in the way she thought. They were a danger to my pride, my reputation, and my panties.

“One of them threatened your boyfriend with a knife,” Mom snapped. “I swear, how did I raise a daughter with no damn sense?”

I dropped the subject because there was truly no point in arguing with her, and the rest of dinner passed in strained silence.

But her words still bothered me once I’d retreated upstairs. She knew only the barest details about those men, but that hadn’t stopped her from making wild assumptions about them. Just like most of the people I’d gone to high school with, Mom was more interested in gossip than in the actual truth.

I paused to take another sip of coffee. I’d gotten through almost the entire list Manson had given me and the questions had become pretty obscure. I had to Google the definition of “katoptronophilia,” only to realize it meant getting turned on by having sex in front of a mirror.

That was a five out of five on the interest scale for me, along with dozens of other fetishes that had never even crossed my mind.

Extreme bondage. Impact play. Whips, chains, domestic discipline, marking, scarification, degradation; the list went on and on. In a weird way, it was reassuring to see things I was interested in on a list like this. It was a reassurance that someone else out there — more than a few someone’s — had the same desires I did. But it also made me feel like I was in over my head.

Spanking and handcuffs felt acceptably kinky, even a little trendy. But there were fetishes for stalking, kidnapping, and captivity, all of which had me practically shivering with desire. They fell under the umbrella of “consensual non-consent,” which involved the submissive person roleplaying that they weren’t willing. All of it got a five out of five from me.

By 1 am, I’d completed the entire sheet and was squirming in my seat from the fantasies it inspired. At least it was finished and I could have a little date with my vibrator before bed. Except…

Damn it. Their stupid rules. I wasn’t supposed to masturbate without permission, and again the question sprang to my mind: how would they even know?

I saved the pages to my phone and attached them in the group chat Vincent had set up, along with the message: If this list ever gets in front of anyone else’s eyes besides you four, I WILL KILL YOU.

I left my phone on my desk, locked my door, and rummaged under my bed for the box I hid my sex toys in. It wasn’t a particularly large collection, but well-used. Usually, I didn’t feel such a thrill when I opened the box, but knowing I was doing this against their orders made it feel particularly naughty.

My ass was still sore from the last spanking I’d gotten, yet I was prepared to break a rule already. I should have warned them that rules and I didn’t get along.

My phone buzzed again, and I sighed. I should have guessed at least one of the boys would be awake. I snagged my vibrator from the box and tossed it on the bed, flopping down among my pillows before I checked the text. It was from Manson.

Our customer’s proprietary information is of the utmost importance to us. Your dirty little secret is safe.

Staring at the screen, I imagined him looking over the list. I’d been brutally honest, even for the kinks I never thought I’d admit to liking. I’d felt wildly brave while filling it out, but now that it was out of my hands, I was nervous.

When do I get to see your lists? I feel like it’s only fair I get some blackmail material on you too. I responded.

A text from Lucas came through. It isn’t blackmail if we’re not afraid of it getting out. If the public wants to know how I fuck, that’s fine with me.

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. It was easy to imagine Lucas loudly declaring exactly what he liked to anyone who would listen.

To my surprise, Manson responded with an attachment. Then Lucas, then Jason. Then Jason again, with the message: This one is Vince’s. He’s at work.

I vaguely recalled that Vincent worked as a bartender, but I wasn’t sure where. I opened up Manson’s attachment first, unable to resist skimming through the list. My thighs squeezed a little tighter together as my eyes widened, and I found myself pinching my lower lip as I read. Every time I found our interests to be similarly aligned, there was a little throb in my chest as if my heart had jumped in excitement.

Reading through his answers was far more of a turn-on than I’d expected. I reached for my vibrator, flicking it on and slowly trailing it over my inner thighs. He’d rated scarification as a five on his interest scale, and immediately I thought of the tiny heart etched into my finger. There was something so unbearably erotic about him slicing into my flesh, watching my blood well up and consuming it right in front of me.

What would it be like to let him cut into me deep enough to scar? To beg him not to hurt me and have him smile at me in response, knowing that he wasn’t going to stop —

Are you about to get yourself off, Jessica?

My phone almost slipped through my fingers. The text was from Lucas.

I messaged back hurriedly. You told me I wasn’t allowed to without permission.

So you DO remember the rules, Manson responded. Why are you already breaking them, brat? Trying to get spanked again already?

Put the vibrator down, and start begging for permission instead, Lucas’s next message read.

Shit, I’d already fucked up. But how did they know this? What was going on?

I frowned, switching off the vibrator and setting it aside. My curtains were open, and I leaned toward the glass, peering down into the yard. Nothing but darkness was out there, but…

I snatched up my phone again. Where are you? How did you know I was using a vibrator?

Lucas’s next message was quick to arrive. It doesn’t matter where I am. But if you pick up that toy again and start using it without permission, I’ll know.

Lucas’s text had a photo attached, and I had to wait for it to load. But once it did, it stuttered my breath to a halt.

It was a photo of my bedroom window. The curtains were open, and the light was on. The angle was taken from somewhere below. I scrambled toward the glass again, taking a much more thorough look at the yard. The bushes, the trees, the wooden fence, behind the garbage cans…nothing.

Does it scare you? Knowing I’m watching you?

I stared at his message, then back out into the dark. It didn’t scare me, not exactly. This feeling was different.

How long have you been watching me? I wrote.

Doesn’t matter. Just consider yourself lucky that I’m willing to give you permission to orgasm.

Vincent responded for the first time, but it was just a laughing emoji and a confetti effect. That fucking clown. My fingers flew over the keys.

What do I need to do?

My fingers tapped rapidly on the mattress as I waited for his response. I kept glancing at the window. Even being on the second floor, I had the irrational fear that I was going to look over and see Lucas outside, staring at me from the dark.

Kneel on your bed in front of the window and give me a show.

I stared at the text for a long time, chewing my lower lip. I could refuse and go to sleep, but I was hot and uncomfortable already. Sleep wouldn’t come easily unless I found some way to get this tension out.

It was the middle of the night and all the other houses on our street were dark. But what if someone saw me?

Yes or no. Before I get bored.

With my heart pounding, I crawled across the bed to kneel right in front of the window. Somewhere out there, Lucas was watching me. That smoldering heat in my belly flared with a vengeance. I tugged down the waistband of my pajama pants until they pooled around my knees, nervously licking my lips as I gazed out into the dark. But unless my face was closer to the glass, the only thing I could see was my own expression staring back at me.

There’s a good girl. Give me something sexy to show the boys when I get home. I’ll be recording.

I picked up the vibrator and turned it on, taking a deep breath. I started slowly at first, touching it lightly to my abdomen and caressing it over my pubic mound. They were all going to see me do this. Lucas would go home, show them this video…

Would they jack off to it? Stroke themselves to the sight of me, spill their cum when I wasn’t even there to taste it? The thought made my breath catch.

I had set my phone aside, but I could still see the screen.

You’d better have that thing on its highest setting.

I paused, flicking the button on my toy in the other direction. The vibrations grew stronger, reverberating through my hand. I rarely used this setting; it took me from zero to one hundred so fast it was almost painful. I moved it between my legs, adjusting to the power of it before I grazed it over my clit.

Don’t be pussyfooting around. I want to see you shake.

At least he couldn’t hear me whimper as I pressed the vibrator against my clit.

“Oooh, shit,” I whispered, exhaling heavily as I moved the vibrator again. This wasn’t the type of speed that would slowly ease me up to an orgasm. It would rip my orgasm out of me and beat me with it.

If you keep moving that vibrator away, I’m going to come up, tie you to the bed, and make you lie there with it between your legs all night. You wanted to break the fucking rules, this is what happens.

I moaned, my hand shaking as I held the vibrator in place again. I struggled to stay upright in front of the window, my legs rapidly beginning to ache. My clit wanted to retreat from the vicious vibrations, but my body was still responding. The tension built brutally.

How does it feel, fucktoy? Is it a little bit too much for you?

I nodded mindlessly, rocking my hips against the vibrations. There was something deliciously degrading about being referred to as nothing more than a toy.

Every inch of me was tense, rising so quickly toward an orgasm that I couldn’t manage to relax a single muscle. I held my breath in an effort not to make a sound, but even that fragile self-control was going to break.

Don’t stop. Make yourself come for me. Keep the vibrator there until I give you permission to stop.

“Fuck…” My voice cracked. My toes curled. I doubled over as I came, clapping my free hand over my mouth to muffle the groan that came with it.

Jesus Christ, it was too much. It hurt — it felt so good, but it hurt.

Sit up. Don’t you dare hide your face from me.

I barely managed it. I was shaking my head, whispering “please” over and over again as if he could hear me. As if Lucas gave a fuck about mercy.

She looks like she’s gonna cry, boys. Should I let her stop?

Another confetti message came through from Vincent. I would have been mad if I hadn’t felt like my clit was about to break.

Let her cry. Goddamn it, Manson.

Make her go for another minute. Sixty seconds. Jason’s idea at least put an end in sight. I leaned my hand against the window, the reflection of my own face too much to bear. My hair was disheveled, my cheeks were pink, my mouth hung open because I was panting so hard. God, my clit was so sensitive even a feather would have made me flinch. But this? This was torture. I wasn’t building toward another orgasm; I was still lingering at the end of the last one. Trapped, suspended in pleasure limbo.

That’s sixty seconds. Stop.

I almost sobbed with relief. I switched off the vibrator and tossed it down, collapsing onto the bed as I tried to catch my breath. My legs were twitching, my clit felt as if I’d hooked electrodes up to it. They hadn’t even touched me and they’d reduced me to this. My phone kept buzzing as I stared at the screen, bleary-eyed.

I think I killed her, boys.

Rest in peace, angel.

Vincent switched it up this time and sent some fireworks.

I was too tired to drag myself out of bed and into the shower. I was too tired to even send them a snarky response. I crawled under the blankets, and my exhausted body melted into sleep within minutes.