So this isnât the story you asked for, but itâs the one that came to me when I sat down to write. This is what I wanted to write. That should be enough.
âOne week?â She had asked, unsure of why she was even contemplating this.
âYes, baby. One week. Thatâs all. One week, and we can forget that any of this happened.â You flushed in shame, not just in what you were asking of her, but also the erection that had quickly followed after.
Months ago, you had messaged an online profile, someone professing to be a dom and a bull, someone who claimed to be able to corrupt women, turn them into bimbos, sluts, bitches, whatever he felt like, and whatever lay dormant within them. You professed your fantasies, talked about them for hours.. Over the days, these fantasies turned into careful planning, and before you knew it, he had turned up at your door in a white sportscar, under the pretense of being your old roommate from college, a gay man who needed a fake girlfirend to bring to his cousinâs wedding.
Of course she was furious that you would agree to such a thing without consultation, but eager to look after a vulnerable gay man, to prove her credentials as a radical feminist, she couldnât bring herself to say no once she understood the situation. For your part, you couldnât help but find your head swimming.. It all felt a little real when the sportscar had parked up outside. Your real fantasy had been to see your girlfriend corrupted into a leathered biker queen, and this bullâs sportscar was close enough at least, but was this what you really wanted? Your heart felt like it would explode through the meeting, the feigned catch-up, you thought you were going to be sick when they left through the front door. But when you heard the rev of the engine and your girlfriend pulling away in a strangerâs car, a quiet descended on your mind⌠and you felt a stirring in your crotch.
A picture arrived in your inbox a week later. Youâd had a steady stream of texts from her the first three days, they slowed after that, and she left you on read by day 6.. This was day 8.
âWeâve been on a little roadtrip.â
You couldn't believe your eyes. This had to be fake? Your girlfriend was covered in tattoos, glasses gone, full face of makeup, her nails had been done, her hair tied back. She was sat in front of the same white car she had left in, but there was no way she would wear anything like that - tight, form fitting black material, and those shoes?! She looked like porn. The way she looked at the camera too, you had never seen that look before - entitled, expectant.. even aroused? Another text.
"You can't believe it can you?"
"Hahahaha you fucking loser."
"You know all she needed was to actually feel desired?"
You were reeling. Of course you wanted this girl.. But this wasn't the plain girl you fantasised about corrupting just to spice up your sex life, the same girl you shared pictures of with other men because you couldn't cum any other way, the girl you avoided having sex with because you wanted to masturbate in the bathroom instead...
No.. This was the girl that was inside her all along. But you never realised that. You were about to type a response but another text came through.. a voice note..
It started with a woman's laugh, and then: "Daddy told me all about your sick little plan~ God what a fucking loser I was dating.. You know, all this time I thought I was the problem. But daddy wanted me, I felt that the first time he put his arm around me, the first night we parked up outside that motel... He wanted me to be my best self.." The voice note trailed off into a small giggle.. "I can't believe you even thought I was yours to give away."
You felt that same sickness welling up inside you. The one you felt when the two of them left. You tried to type, but no words came to mind, you were pathetic, how could you argue with that; all you could think of to type was: "I'm sorry".
As you sat, alone, in bed that night, still in shock, you felt your phone buzzing. It was a video call from your girlfriend. Your heart started to beat again, a thousand times a second, but you had to pick up, just for a chance to say sorry, to tell her what she meant to you, to tell her that from now on you would just be honest to her.
You never got that chance. Instead he picked up, speaking before you even got the chance:
"Hhahaha, 'sup loser. So, in case you haven't realised. There never was any deal - I decided to make her mine."
You started to speak but he cut you off again:
"I decided I'll let you watch though."
And for some reason you couldn't stop watching.
He turned the camera round to reveal your girlfriend, face made up, collar round her neck, sitting on a motel bed, breathing heavily, expectantly. You saw a strong hand reach down and caress her face.
And for some reason you couldn't stop yourself getting hard.
It felt like hours. You watched another man stroke your girlfriend's face, feed her his fingers. You watched his muscles flex as he moved past the camera, the true image of a man who took what he wanted. What he wanted was your girlfriend. That much was clear when he pulled up her skirt, fondled her bare ass.
And for some reason, hearing her moan, you couldn't stop yourself reaching into your shorts.
As you watched him slide her onto his lap, now stripped to underwear you'd never seen before, as you watched her face soften, gave in to his assured touch, as you watched your ex-girlfriend melt onto his perfect cock, you couldn't help but stroke, stroke to the girl she was becoming. She was becoming someone else, someone you'd never know, but she was also becoming your dream - a woman that no man could ever resist.
You were still jerking when the video stopped.
No one hung up, you were still watching them intently, watching her moan as he tasted every inch of her, watching her body grind into his, imagining with every fibre of your being that it was you doing that to her. No, you suddenly became aware that the video stopped because they forgot about you. The phone had run out of battery after two hours. No one in that room realised you were even still there.
Every one of your sick little fantasies had come true and you had lost her. She was falling in love with another man, becoming better than you ever believed she could be, and you were still masturbating to the thought, alone, in your pathetic mess.
And that's how she found you. A week later. In a filthy apartment, you were jerking your tiny cock to that photo of her in front of that fucking car, jerking to every call she refused to pick up, and then the bell rang. She had come to pick up her things. Well, the expensive stuff.
You almost came on the spot.
