jackOfMaterial

Strip down to your panties. Sit down at a desk or table. Lay out your materials: coin bowl, empty bowl, vibrator, whatever device you’re reading this on. And you’ll probably want to straddle a towel yourself as well.

To begin with, we’ll need some inspiration material. I might recommend scrolling through #nsft audio, or just availing yourself of the excellent @soundsofpleasure. Headphones if you’re nervous. Speakers if you’re brave.

Now you’re going to start touching. Over the panties, light movements, not too much pressure. You may begin with eight strokes, counting each under your breath, one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight.

Pause. Just long enough to move a coin from the full bowl to the empty one.

Clink.

Return to what you were doing. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine.

Pause.

Clink.

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten.

Pause.

Clink.

You can follow the pattern now, can’t you?

Good girl.

At some point, you’re likely to lose count. That’s all right. You can just start over at eight, but from now on, it’s two coins per pause into the rapidly filling bowl. Same for if you get too frustrated by the barrier of wet cloth between your fingertip and your sex, in which case you may add another coin-per-clink and remove them, placing them on the table next to your vibrator.

You didn’t forget about that, did you? No, you can’t use it. Not quite yet.

Not until you have transferred all the coins from the first bowl to the second, or reach orgasm, whichever happens first.

Good girl again. Whichever way you complete the first stage of the game, take a moment to catch your breath, but not more than ten seconds. Because we’re about to get to the real reason you washed those coins.

Turn on the vibrator. No cheating with low speeds or oscillating patterns; you’ll need to set it to standard mode and at least 60% of its maximum power. Place it directly against your most sensitive spot and keep it there, firmly situated.

Until you have moved all the coins back to the first bowl. With your mouth. One. At. A. Time.

This is a game of testing your capacity and desire for overstimulation. Maybe you’ll get off again from the evil little toy you’re holding against yourself; I certainly hope you do. But for each successive orgasm, there is no pause and breath-catching permitted. Instead, if possible, you’ll need to turn up the intensity and keep going.

Don’t give up. I know it seems like it will be too much to handle; that’s the point. You can take it. Go ahead and cry if you want. Let it out. And then keep playing until you get the last coin back where it came from.

You’re going to be so proud of yourself, when you hear that clink. I’m proud of you too.

Oh, and one more thing. Remember how you got to start with your smallest toy, if you want to?

Every time you play, you’ll need to use a stronger one. And the only way to get special dispensation to reset to the little vibe is to ask.

This isn't just someone with a similar face to yours. This woman is you, down to the mole on your hip, the divots in your earlobes where your old piercings healed over, the scar on your elbow from when you fell out of a tree in second grade. She has your eyes, your mannerisms, your smile. You can always tell when she cums for real, because you know exactly how you fake an orgasm.

It isn't just her, either. The room she films in is your room. Her vibrator is your vibrator. That oversized dildo isn't yours, but you know where she got it; you considered buying it yourself, but couldn't justify the price. Really the only things you don't recognize in her public videos are the men. None of them appear in more than one video, and you never see their faces, but none of their voices or bodies are familiar.

You discovered her by accident. You opened Pornhub and there she was, right there in your suggested videos, staring out of the thumbnail with your eyes. You devoured her entire library in a haze of grim fascination, a fist of fear gripping ever tighter in your chest as each new video refused to conform to any rational explanation you could imagine. The last video you watched was the first one she ever posted: a grainy, 8 minute clip of her in your previous apartment, keeping her face out of frame as she circles her clit with her fingers. Her nails are painted with the blue and purple pattern you got at Lauren's bachelorette party last year.

Her OnlyFans is only a little older than her Pornhub, but there's a lot more to see. in addition to the more explicitly sexual stuff, she posts a vlog almost every day. Sometimes it gets dirty, other times she's just going about her day. Or rather, she's going about your day. Because every one of her vlogs covers a day in your actual life.

The one from last Sunday, for example, sees her start the day with breakfast in your kitchen, and a run in the park near your apartment. She takes a shower, then goes to run some errands. She picks up groceries, goes to the post office to collect a package that couldn't be delivered, and stops by an antique store to pick up a gift for your mother. Something about that disturbs you more than anything else; Sunny Skies has a mother, and that mother will no doubt enjoy the vintage copper kettle just as much as yours did.

There are differences, too. Sunny's breakfast is a fresh fruit smoothie, not your usual bowl of cereal or cold leftovers. When Sunny showers, she bounces and fondles her soapy tits for the camera. On her errands, Sunny makes a stop in the post office bathroom to quickly rub one out. And then, of course, there's the lunch.

After her errands, like you, Sunny goes to a little cafe for lunch with Mark and Carol. The camera sits on the table, carefully positioned so that hers is the only face visible, but you recognize their voices, and the pattern on Mark's shirt as he sits next to her. They talk for a bit—she edits most of it out of the video, cutting only to a few funny or interesting moments. Then Carol, laughing, can be heard to say, "oh my god, are you serious?"

Sunny has just let out a soft moan, and grins bashfully at Carol's comment. Someone, presumably Carol, picks up the camera and lowers it below the table to reveal that Mark has two fingers deep in your pussy. Sunny's pussy. Your panties are pulled to the side, and your lips and upper thighs are wet with your own juices. You can hear Carol panting with laughter as she raises the camera again to show you, or rather, Sunny, obscuring her face with her hand as her back arches and her shoulders heave. Below the table again, Mark withdraws his fingers and Carol presses playfully on your swollen clit with the pointed toe of her shoe. At that point you closed your laptop.

There was a violation to it, to the whole thing; this woman was using your body, your life, your image, to do things you would never do, behave in ways you would never dream of. But that wasn't what scared you, not really. What scared you is how much it turned you on.

Ignoring the growing wet spot on your panties, you opened your laptop again and sent Sunny Skies a message: "Who are you? Why do you look like me?"

The response came back almost immediately. "Aw, hi cutie 💕 I was wondering when I'd hear from you! Are you enjoying my content? Now that I know you're watching, maybe I'll start to ramp it up a bit! 😉"

"What do you mean?" you said. "Answer my question!" but there was no response.

The next day was the first day of the new semester. You rode the bus to campus, and when your last class was over you decided you'd walk home. it's about a 30 minute walk, but it was a nice day and you weren't ready to go back inside yet.

About halfway home, you were rounding a corner when you saw a skinny redheaded man a block behind you. You'd seen him earlier, close to campus, and thought nothing of it, but seeing him again after 15 minutes made you nervous. Your fears were confirmed a minute later, when he turned the same corner you just had and stayed on your trail. He didn't appear to be getting any closer, though it wouldn't have been hard for him to close the distance if you turned onto a more secluded street. What really troubled you was the prospect of him finding you where you live. You would have to lose him.

You turned again at the end of the block, onto a busier street that actually took you away from your building. Then, while you were obscured from his view, you ducked into a dimly lit bar and waited. A minute later, you watched through the window as he passed, craning his head to catch a glimpse, probably assuming he'd lost you in the crowd. When he was gone, you slunk back onto the street and made it back home without him spotting you again.

It's evening now. You've eaten dinner, started your laundry, cleaned the kitchen. Now, as you do every night, you kick off your shorts, lay back in bed, and open OnlyFans.

Tonight's vlog starts with Sunny Skies on the bus, talking about the start of the semester, and how excited she is to get back into her studies. She doesn't film during lectures, but she chats to the camera for a few minutes between classes. "God, look at this," she says, sticking the camera under her skirt. "I'm all wet for no reason. I don't know why I've been so horny lately."

It's true, you have been unusually horny recently. But you know why it is. Your other self has been awakening things in you, urges you don't know how to act on, desires with no object. You're afraid of what she's doing to you, but a part of you doesn't want it to stop.

There's a hard cut from Sunny's wet panties to her face, lightly flushed from activity. The camera bobs as she walks, and she holds it down by her waist, as if trying to be discreet.

"You guys will not believe this," she says without looking down at the camera, "but I think there's legit someone following me." The camera leans around her side to show the sidewalk behind her. "See that guy with the red hair? He's been behind me for fifteen minutes. Watch this, I'm gonna turn here, and he's gonna turn too." You can see by the buildings in the background that she's decided to turn in exactly the place you did. "See that? I have a fucking stalker or something! What do you think I should do? Do I confront him?" She winks at the camera. "I'm gonna confront him!" She turns again, but this time you don't recognize the background. It's not storefronts, or apartment buildings, or anything really; just bare bricks and concrete. Your stomach drops. She's turned into an alley.

She rests the camera on something chest height, probably a dumpster, and drops your bookbag on the ground. She assumes a relaxed sort of pose, and stands confidently in the middle of the alley. Moments later a shadow appears on the ground, and then the top half of a head of red hair peeks into frame.

"Why are you following me?" The question is phrased more like a statement. A challenge.

"I'm not," says a man's voice, more tentative than you'd have expected. "I mean, I saw you back there and I'm a big fan..."

"Oh, and that makes it okay to follow me home?" She takes a step forward, and so does he. "Like some kind of creep?"

"I'm sorry," he says, taking another step toward her. "I swear it wasn't like that. I was just going to say hello, and then I was working up the courage..." his arms are outstretched, placating but not nonthreatening. Like someone trying to catch a cat before it runs away.

The other you doesn't seem to sense the danger, or else willfully ignores it. "You think just because you pay to see my tits you're entitled to my time?" They're almost nose to nose now. "Am I supposed to be impressed that you've rubbed your tiny little dick to me a couple times?" She goes to shove him, but she's barely touched his chest before his hands are clamped around her wrists.

"You're being awfully rude to someone who's just trying to be nice." The tremor in his voice is gone, replaced by cold steel. "Especially to someone who could break you over his knee if he wanted." In one fluid movement, he drops your wrists and wraps his hands around her throat. Your throat. Her throat. She yelps and tries to loosen his grip by beating at his arms, but he must be stronger than he looks. Unphased by her fists, he drags her to the brick wall nearer to the camera and slams her up against it. "You want to call my dick small? Maybe you should find out for yourself."

Her eyes are bulging, but Sunny just purses your lips and spits in his face. With a howl of rage, he lifts her up by the neck, holding her against the wall while her legs kick uselessly.

"Are you gonna be a good girl? Are you gonna do as I say?" After a few seconds of gurgling like a goldfish, Sunny gives an affirmative grunt and the man lets her down again, gasping and wheezing. "Good. Now unbutton my pants."

You watch as she fumbles with his belt, heart pounding in your chest, blood rushing in your ears. When she pulls out his cock, almost comically large in proportion to his body, you clench your thighs together in fear and need. When he begins to fuck her, you finally give in.

She moans as he rapes her. Rapes you. Rapes her. Your eyes roll back in her head and she bucks your hips into him, even as he continues to hold her by your neck. Your breath comes in halting gasps, your fingers desperate and shaky on your clit, your soaked panties around your ankles. You cum as she does, as he pushes all the way inside you and lifts you against the wall again, supported only by his hands on your neck and his hips against yours.

The video ends with Sunny alone in the alley, panting, cum running down her leg and staining your favorite thigh-highs. She catches her breath and comes to collect the camera, flashing you a wink and a sideways smile before it cuts to black.

As you lay there, basking in the sick, sweaty aftermath of your own orgasm, a comment appears below the video. "What the fuck is this??? i followed you like you said but you ditched me!! who is this guy? how did you get him to look like me?"

And then, seconds later, it disappears.

There's a message waiting for you in your inbox.

"Did you like that one??? I've never been raped before but it was sooo hot 😩😭 Too bad you didn't join me though"

Your fingers fly across the keyboard. "Why are you doing this? what do you want??"

"I want what's best for you, silly! I want you to feel as good as I do💕 You may resist it now, but i know you'll thank me eventually.

Next time I send someone your way, I'll make sure you don't see them coming 😘 You'll see how much better it can be."

You slam your laptop shut, heart pounding, staring at every shadowy corner of your apartment. A car passes outside. The refrigerator hums in the kitchen. You'd been worried about the possibility of someone from real life seeing her, thinking she was you, but you should have been worried about her reaching out to them. She could consent to anything, with anyone, on your behalf. She could tell them where you live.