Page 38 of Left In The Dark

Me: Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner!

Logan: Congrats. When’s the shoot?

Me: In a week, but I can show you what was in the portfolio I sent them if you want?

Logan: Or you can show me what they haven’t seen. A pair of panties no one has seen you in.

My heart stammers.

Me: You mean a private shoot just for you?

I stretch out my legs, letting my blanket fall past my thighs, exposing my stiffening cock.

Logan: A mini one. You can save a full interview for another time.

Kicking off the rest of my blanket, I scurry off the bed and rummage through my top drawer until I find a pair with the tags still on. A baby‑blue thong with lace in the front. I can keep asking myself why I can’t stop listening and why I keep doing all these tasks asked of me, but the answer has been there all along, and as I’m slipping on the skimpy underwear, staring at the phone in anticipation, I can’t ignore it any longer.

I’m doing these things because I’m good at them and because he trusts that I will be. He must if he isn’t going to someone else for them. He’s unburied a part of me I didn’t think I could live out, and it feels so freeing. Also, I can’t stay away. I just can’t. He’s been right about so many things, and I can feel that empty space inside me finally being fulfilled. I can feel him on me and I want more.

It’s nothing more than the alluring fantasy, reeling me in whenever reality gets too heavy, and that’s every damn day lately. He’s been my escape.

I adjust my cock, exhaling slowly as I climb back onto the bed. Not only is the underwear different, the pose is too. More seductive and submissive. I tug at my nipple ring, pushing out my chest and spreading my knees. Lifting my phone, I snap a photo and then I position the phone after setting a timer. I spin around, looking back as I push out my ass, rocking forward and smiling as the picture is being taken.

After capturing a few more—one with me lying back, with my fingers slipping through one leg opening of my panties, and another with the head of my cock peeking out at the top—I send all the photos at once.

Logan: I can see why they hired you. You’re a natural. Wear those on Saturday. Under something I can easily slip my hand into whenever I feel like testing out how good you really are at waiting.

My body vibrates, heart skipping a beat and hands shaking as I write back.

Me: Okay. You sure you don’t want to change it to Friday?

Logan: Saturday. Just think of how good you’ll feel when I finally let you come while touching me.

My hole clenches and I slide my fingers down my stomach, squeezing my cock beneath my panties. I let go, not taking it further than that, my body at war with itself. I need to come and it would be so easy to, lying here mostly naked with my tip leaking as his words swim around in my head. And those groans from yesterday when he rubbed himself between my ass cheeks, getting himself off and leaving me emptier than I already was when he pulled away.

Sparks danced everywhere his skin touched mine and I wanted to move so bad. I want to move now. But I can’t. My hands are suffering from some type of paralysis when I try, my chest tightening to the point where I can’t breathe.

This is crazy. He doesn’t own my body. I’m not sure I do either anymore. If my hand doesn’t want to move then I’ll try another part of me. Shame hits at the first buck of my hips. Such a bad Blake. Such a bad boy.

Me: I won’t think of anything else.

Me: Don’t I get a picture too?

Logan: Will it make the wait feel longer if I send one?

Me: Yes.

Seconds later an image loads and my mouth waters. He’s shirtless, sweat dripping between those large pecs and rope clutched under his arm. His jeans hug his hips and there’s a slight bulge in the front. But what affects me the most are his eyes. Those fucking intense eyes with so much control beaming off them. They say “don’t come.” They say “stop touching yourself.” They say so much and so little all at once that I’m over here foaming at the mouth thinking “okay.”

Ten

Logan

This shouldn’t bother me so damn much. Saturday isn’t supposed to feel so fucking far away. He didn’t want to wait. Neither did I. How is he doing this? How is he so infuriating and addicting at the same time? Those sweet whimpers and pretty, pouty lips live rent free in my head. It doesn’t help that I know how good both feel wrapped around my cock either.

One more day. It’s only one more day, and I’m starting to think I should cancel but the thought has me wanting to come out of my skin. I like telling him what to do but I love how eager he is to follow even more. I never thought of myself as the dominant type, but I’ve found myself getting more wrapped up in our little game the more I play along. This buzz I experience when touching him has escalated, and I badly wanted to reach through the phone yesterday, teasing him over those panties to see how many wet spots I could create.

In a lousy attempt to toss my thoughts aside, I grab the drill while holding two pieces of plywood together. As I’m about to secure a screw through both, my phone buzzes. Ignoring the alert, I hit the on switch on the small tool and focus on the vibration running through my hand instead of the burning hole in my pocket. His texts have been coming in at inconvenient times and many instances have made me consider hitting the block button.