Page 39 of Sexted By a Stranger

Eva

The black text on my phone screen might as well have been a nail driven straight into me, pinning me in place.

you sent this to the wrong person, kitten. I'm not your agent.

Heat shot up my cheeks so fast it felt like I'd been slapped. It crawled up to my ears, my skin burning. Shame crashed over me in a wave so strong I almost drowned in it.

Oh God.

OH. GOD.

What the hell did I just do? I'd just sent those photos—those photos—to a complete stranger?

The ones where I'm wearing nothing but lace lingerie, striking those deliberate, practiced poses? My heartbeat spiked. My grip on the phone went tight, my fingers trembling.

A thin sheen of sweat started breaking across my forehead. This had to be a mistake. It had to be Ivanka's fault—her careless fingers dialing the wrong number. She was always so damn sloppy.

And him, the man on the other end of this wrong number, what was he doing right now? Zooming in on my body, my face, his eyes curling with mockery? Forwarding the pics to his buddies so they could all have a laugh at the desperate little nobody who thought she could sleep her way to the top?

My stomach twisted. I wanted to smash my phone against the wall, watch it shatter, then bury myself under a mountain of dirt and pretend none of this ever happened.

My thumb, running on autopilot, slid over the cold glass, almost tapping "Block & Delete" when another notification flashed across the top of the screen.

but your eyes, they got my attention. think I can help you.

My finger froze midair.

He didn't laugh at me.

Didn't sneer.

Didn't reduce me to a body and a face, the way Marty—the assistant director—always did.

He noticed my eyes.

My brain fired off its loudest alarm: Eva, run. This is a trap. You don't know who he is or what he wants. He feels like a hunter. And you? You're the dumb rabbit walking right into the snare.

But there was another part of me—a smaller, desperate voice, the one that had been beaten down by too many no's, too many locked doors—that whispered back: What if?

Ivanka's contacts list was full of rich men, powerful men.

What if this is my only shot?

I drew in a slow breath, fingers hovering over the keyboard, trying to calm the shaking.

Me: sry to bother you. my friend gave me the wrong number.

Reality sat heavy on my chest, pressing the air out of me.

I needed a crack in the wall, a way out.

And right now, he was the only one offering me a hand—no matter how dangerous it looked.

Impulse shoved reason aside.

Me: if you're in a position to help me, I'd be grateful.

His reply came in seconds, fast enough to make me feel like he'd been waiting.

Him: what do you want?

Another ping.

Him: whatever you were trying to win with those photos… must matter a lot to you.

That tone—like he could drop anything I wanted right into my lap.

Him: I saw the hunger in your eyes, Eva Stone. tell me—how high do you want to climb? What do you really want?

The question hit something deep in me, a place I kept locked and hidden.

What did I want?

A valve inside me twisted open.

Before I could stop myself, I was typing, spilling it to this faceless man like he was my confessor.

Me: I want a real role. something with blood and bone, a soul I can actually bring to life.

I'm sick of three-line bitches written to make the lead look good.

Sick of greasy directors using "art" as an excuse for bullshit casting couch games.

I want to prove I'm the real deal. I want to prove I'm an actress.

Silence. A long, heavy pause.

Him: and what would you give for that?

My pulse jumped. His words were like a hook, sliding under my skin, tugging me toward him.

Me: anything—if it's worth it.

Him: including your body?

The bluntness made my thighs clench. My teeth sank into my bottom lip. My brain screamed Stop. Block him. But my body had other ideas.

Me: if the man was worth it.

My heart was hammering so hard it hurt. This was insane. Dangerous. And yet the auditions that ended in humiliation, the rent I couldn't pay, the dull grind of survival—it all had me cornered, pacing the cage, desperate for something reckless.

Him: you're interesting, kitten. I can prove I'm worth it. But first—you prove you're not just talk.

I swallowed. I vaguely knew what kind of "proof" he meant.

Him: what are you doing right now?

I glanced around my dimly lit room. I was curled up in bed, wearing my nightgown. Should I tell him? Why not? Maybe it was harmless. A game.

Me: lying in bed. in my nightgown.

Him: what kind?

Me: silk. thin.

Him: imagine I'm right there beside u. looking at u. now, take it off.

The order hit me low, sharp. Just like that? But I didn't think about saying no. I got up, slid the slip down my body. Cool air kissed my bare skin, making me shiver. My chest rose and fell, flushed.

Me: it's off.

Him: and now? you're wearing nothing, right?

Me: right.

Him: good girl. close ur eyes. Imagine my hands on u.

I obeyed. In the darkness, everything sharpened—the sound of my breathing, the softness of the sheets.

And in my head…

Him.

The man I'd seen for one fleeting, shattering moment at Platinum Plus. The one whose presence stole the air from my lungs. My mind dressed this stranger's voice in his face—the sculpted jaw, the eyes like deep, dark water, the weight of someone who could own a room without trying.

I pictured him at the foot of my bed, towering over me. His voice, low and accented, whispered the same filthy commands lighting up my screen.

Him: my hand's on your neck, stroking your skin.

I traced my throat, goosebumps racing down my chest.

Him: now on your breasts. pinching your nipples.

A quiet gasp slipped out as I obeyed. The pleasure spiked fast, sharp.

Him: how does it feel, kitten?

Me: hot.

Him: my hand's lower now. past your stomach. inside of your thigh.

His descriptions grew increasingly vivid, and my hands followed suit, caressing my thighs. My skin was incredibly sensitive, and every touch sent a shiver through me.

I could feel my lower body wet, desire simmering like a flame.

Him: now, where you're already wet.

I touched myself and bit back a moan. The fantasy-man leaned over me, his mouth to my ear.

Him: stroke urself. pretend it's me.

My hand moved, slow at first, every pass pulling me higher. His phantom weight pressed me into the mattress, his growl curling in my ear.

Him: faster now, kitten. imagine me inside you.

My fingers moved faster, going in and out, bringing intense stimulation. My body began to tremble, and sweat soaked the sheets. The fantasy-man pressed against me, his phantom weight making me feel completely possessed. I could feel his breathing, his growls, every thrust.

"Oh, God!" I murmured, my fingers moving more vigorously. The pleasure surged like a tide, and I squeezed my legs together, trying to control it, but it was all out of control. The imaginary man looked at me, his eyes filled with conquest, and said, "Cum for me, babe, now."

I reached my climax, my body convulsing violently, a wave of intense pleasure erupting from my lower body, spreading throughout my body.

I let out a suppressed cry, my hands clenching the sheets, the aftermath of my orgasm shaking me.

Seconds later, I collapsed on the bed, gasping for air, my heart pounding.

Him: well?

Me: amazing.

Him: my kitten, such a good girl.

The next morning, I woke up to a new message on my phone. That man had sent it after I fell asleep.

Him: go buy a remote-controlled vibrating toy and insert it into your vagina today. u got a job? if so, wear it while u work. I'll control it at any time and give u an orgasm like never before, kitten.

This wasn't a request or a suggestion. It was an order.

My heart pounded, my body trembling with an involuntary mix of fear and excitement. My dull, monotonous life suddenly felt thrilling, electric. A hidden side of me was uncovered—one that craved being dominated and controlled.

In the afternoon, I bought the toy at a discreet adult store.

It was small but powerful, with the intensity and mode controlled remotely via a mobile app.

I told him to download the app, paired it with his phone, and stuffed it inside me before work, following his instructions.

I felt its cold surface against my most sensitive spot.

Work at the club started like any other night—on the surface, at least. I greeted customers, served drinks, everything normal.

But inside, every step felt like walking on a knife's edge.

This wasn't like any other night. I wasn't just some exhausted, dead- eyed server anymore.

I was chasing something new, something thrilling.

The toy sat silent, still—but I knew it could strike at any second.

Then, without warning, it buzzed. Just a light vibration, but sharp, precise—like an electric shock shooting straight up my spine. My knees buckled, my grip on the tray faltered, and the glasses clinked together loudly.

"Miss, are you okay?" a customer asked, frowning.

"Just my heels," I lied smoothly, flashing a practiced smile even as my heart hammered in my chest. "They're killing me."

A message lit up my screen.

Him: how r u feeling? tell me

Me: barely felt it

I typed back, knowing damn well that wasn't the answer he wanted. He wasn't asking—he was testing. Waiting to take over.

Sure enough, the toy's vibration pattern began to change. Sometimes it felt like fine raindrops, hitting my most sensitive spot. Sometimes it became a slow grinding motion, each rotation bringing a grinding pleasure that nearly made me moan.

My legs began to weaken, and I had to cling to the cold marble counter with my hands to prevent myself from collapsing.

My colleagues were busy around me, and customers were laughing and chatting, but I was trying hard to hide my reaction.

Me: it's too intense. can't hold on any longer

He immediately replied.

Him: yes, u can. remember, you're mine. hold on, and I'll reward u

His words lashed me like a whip, stirring a deeper level of submission in me.

I forced myself to smile and serve the customer, but each vibration inside me made my legs weak.

Finally, I couldn't hold on any longer and hurried away, using the excuse of going to the bathroom.

The restroom was tucked away in a corner of the club, relatively quiet, but the occasional footsteps and laughter outside reminded me that this wasn't a safe place.

I locked the door and leaned against the wall, panting.

The toy continued to vibrate, and it didn't stop.

Me: im in the restroom now. plz stop, can't stay here for too long.

My phone vibrated.

Him: u sure you want to stop, kitten?

The vibration within me stopped, and this sudden withdrawal was more painful than the constant torture. My body was completely ablaze, desire gnawing at my very bones like countless ants, and the stagnant emptiness was driving me crazy.

Me: plz.

I typed tremblingly, even surprising myself at how easily the words flowed from my fingertips.

Me: make me cum.

He didn't reply, and the toy stopped vibrating. After a moment, the toy inside me suddenly began vibrating wildly, almost brutally, with uncontrolled force.

"Ah!" I couldn't hold it in any longer, a short scream escaping my throat, only to be stifled by my palm. My entire body felt like it had been electrocuted, my legs giving way, and I collapsed onto the cold toilet seat.

The pleasure raged through me. I could barely hold on any longer, feeling a surge of heat welling up uncontrollably.

Him: what do you want, Eva?

His message carried an undeniable authority.

Me: I want you.

My fingers tapped haphazardly on the screen, the pleasure overwhelming my thoughts.

Him: good girl.

His words radiated satisfaction.

The toy's vibrations reached a terrifying peak. It was no longer a simple vibration, but a powerful thrust, each time precisely rubbing against the most sensitive spot on my body.

Outside the door, footsteps sounded again, closer this time. My heart pounded, a mixture of fear and excitement pushing me to the brink of collapse.

Him: now, cum.

His final message swung down like the Grim Reaper's scythe.

I bit the back of my hand, swallowing back the scream that threatened to burst my throat. The pleasure within me was like a volcanic eruption.

The orgasm was so intense, so overwhelming, I felt as if my soul was being torn apart and thrown out of my body. My vision went black, and my body convulsed violently.

And so, our strange relationship began. His words were like poison, slowly eroding my sanity.

Sexting became a routine. He knew how to ignite my desires, how to make me lose myself in fantasy.

I often fantasized about the man I met at Platinum Plus, imagining him in every scene.

A week passed like this.

On Friday night, I was busy running around under the lights of the club.

My phone vibrated, and I realized that the stranger had sent me another message. Yes, despite the passing of a week and several flirtations, we remained tacitly strangers. I didn't even know his name or face. And he, though he knew my name and had received my photos, had no idea who I really was.

Him: what are u doing, kitten?

I smiled, raised my phone, and took a selfie. In the photo, I was wearing the club's black uniform, a professional smile on my face. I sent it with a caption.

Me: working.

It felt like an eternity, until I'd delivered two rounds of cocktails, before he replied.

Him: good girl, good kitten. now it's my turn to deliver on my promise.

My heart skipped a beat, and a strange wave of emotion surged in my chest.

The excitement and anticipation of escaping my monotonous life, the uneasiness of sensing a hint of danger, and the intense curiosity about this stranger's identity intertwined.

Who is he?