I manage to get a few hours of sleep before my alarm goes off at nine thirty. As soon as my eyes open all I can think of is the mysterious stranger from Skype. I didn't even ask his name but it already feels like we've had such an intimate encounter. Trying to avoid overthinking my late night online rendezvous, I take a quick shower and pull on some quick clothes. Alice would not be too pleased if I miss out weekly brunch date.

As I pull through the heavy Seattle traffic I can feel last night wear on me. I know I shouldn't have stayed up so late talking to…Skype guy? I just couldn't hang up. He just has this pull on me.

Pulling into the restaurant we always have brunch at I see Alice's tiny little Porsche sitting next to an empty spot. I have no idea how a little family from Forks, Washington could afford such a vehicle but it must be great to be a trust-fund baby. Parking my car I go into the restaurant and slide into the booth Alice has already occupied.

"Damn, Bella. You look like shit." She scrunches up her face as she takes in my appearance. "Did you not sleep well or something?" Man, if only she knew.

"No, not really. I was up late…just couldn't sleep." Yeah, from some random stranger who could do things to my body with just his voice.

"Why do you have your sexy face on?" Her head tilts to one side as if she knows what I was up to last night.

"Wha- huh- no- I- I- I don't have a sexy face!"

"Yeah, you do. It's this face you make whenever you get turned on! I mean, I never saw it with Mike around but I know I saw it when we went and saw Magic Mike. You get flushed and stuff. You're an open book, Bella." She just rattles all of this off while glancing through the menu. I guess I need to work on my poker face.

"Do you promise not to judge me?" I can tell her some details, just leave out what Skype stranger and I have in common.

"Bella, we've been best friends since grade school. I won't judge you." I begin to fill her in on the call and finish with a big huff. She sits across from me with a blank face. "So…"

"Yeah… I don't know what it is but I just love talking to him and I want to go back and talk to him right now practically." I stare at my hands on the table and pick at my napkin wrapper utensils.

"Well, you're just going to have to get on Skype tonight and call him again. Don't let that pass up!"

"Alice! He lives in Illinois; I really don't think there's a reason to call him again. Sure, it was hot. Sure, it was great to talk to him. I just feel like I'm somehow already attached to him and that's really scary. And I don't want to call him and seem like a stage five clinger or something."

"Well, think about it this way. He lives in Illinois. It's a chance to be able to fuck something up and not deal with the ramifications. Plus, you dealt with two years of Mike the flopping fish, I think you need to make up for that time. If this is how you can, go for it." She calmly sips her coffee as I churn over her words. Our waitress saunters up to take our order but I haven't been able to look over my menu at all. I place an order for my usual as she walks off.

"I guess you're right. I'll just roll with it." Even as I say it out loud, I know that I won't just roll with it. I'm already invested and that scares me.

After brunch the usual plan is to go window-shopping a bit but I'm too exhausted to do anything but go back to my place and crash. I say goodbye to Alice and go back to the apartment where I fall asleep quickly and deeply.

When I wake up, I see the first hints that the sun is reclining into the horizon as my window and can't believe that I've slept until almost 5 o'clock. I guess that's what staying up all night with Skype strangers will do. Despite my intentions, I open up my laptop and load the program up. The little "whoomp" welcomes me as I log in and I see that I have a message.

"I know it may be weird, but I'm thinking of you": a simple little note to tell me that he's thinking of me. He's just thinking of how much I turned him on right? I mean, I'm thinking of how much we had in common and when we both cracked up over stupid comments one of us said. That's all he's thinking about. It has to be.

Before I respond, I slip into the kitchen and fill my stomach; I can't be talking until dawn again if I'm hungry.

As soon as I finish my small dinner, I can't deny myself anymore and log back on. As soon as my little icon is set to show I'm there, I get another message.

"Hey." Okay, simple enough. I don't really have to think about this too much.

We fall easily into a conversation spanning numerous topics until suddenly we stumble into handcuffs. It wasn't intentional. He had told me about the time he wore the handcuffs during "Prom Promise," the scary demonstration schools do before prom. He's description was innocent enough – he just described the metal digging into his hands, the awkward position pulling his arms back, and the little bit of soreness in his arms afterward. It wasn't dirty, it was provocative but hearing him describe them made me a little wet and pulled a slight groan from my lips.

I had thought I was quiet enough until I heard a slight chuckle from the other end of the line. "My, my, my. Does that excite you?"

I go to nod my head before I remember he can't see me. "Y-y-es, it does."

"Can you feel your panties being drenched right now?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to touch that little pink pussy for me?"

Moan.

"Rub the wet tight pussy."

Louder moan.

"Think of me handcuffing you. Feeling that metal dig into your wrists. I have you bound to a rack, your arms hanging above you. Your ass is so beautiful, so round and full. I bet it'll feel every bit of the smacks I land on it. I'll turn your ass pink, then red. My hand will turn your ass dark red and you'll be dripping, won't you, slut?"

My outrageous moans throughout his entire description and the extra groan at the end must have tipped him off because he continues. "Your pussy will be dripping down your leg, your clit throbbing, you'll want to touch yourself – but I'll put a stop to that." I can feel my panties getting increasingly wetter. My fingers slide into my opening easily and find purchase, I'm pumping them almost violently into me. I can't get close enough.

"I'll keep painting your ass red until you beg for me to stop. Then I'll trail my hands down the front of your body, pushing my body into the back of yours. My pants will dig into your fiery ass before I start rubbing my fingers through your soaked folds. I bet my little whore will moan, won't she?"

At this all I can do is babble incoherently. I think I get out a "yes, yes I will" but I'm not quite sure. I finish with a wanton moan though. His deep voice, like liquid velvet, pours through the speakers and floats around my room. I can almost feel him here: dragging his hands across my ass, his fingers rubbing me down, his body pressed against mine. Knowing he isn't here is a bit unnerving.

He dark chuckles turn into a slight moan. I know he's rubbing his cock and it's exhilarating knowing he's turned on because of me. No matter what a girl says, knowing that you've caused a man to do that is empowering.

"I know you will. You're such a little slut, look at you. Your ass is throbbing red and painful yet you keep trying to push your ass into me, aren't you? I bet you can feel my erection against your ass. I'll pull my pants down and spread your legs. I bet that hurts, doesn't it little slut? I don't care. I'll pull your hips back towards my dick before I slip inside your dripping. wet. pussy." I feel like I want to combust.

"Don't you dare cum." How could he know?! I'm so fucking close to where I need to be – where I have to be it's not even funny. I know he won't really know if I cum but I know at this point going quietly isn't an option.

"Those fingers need to stop, do you understand? Do not rub. Do not fuck yourself on those fingers. Put them in your mouth – I'm sure they're filthy by now." Why. Why. Why.

"I'm going to fuck that tight little pussy of yours. I'm going to fuck you on my cock as your tight little ass presses against my body. Your ass will be so red – welts forming, sore as can be. I'm sure you won't be able to sit for days but I'll keep fucking your pussy with abandon."

"I bet you want to fuck your fingers right now, don't you? I bet you want to fill your fingers in your pussy and want them to be my cock, don't you?" I only moan out a response. "Answer me, whore."

"Yes, yes, please let me fuck my fingers! Please, I want to cum!"

"Fine, slut. Fuck your fingers. But ask me before you can cum."

I slide my fingers back across my slick, slick flesh. They eagerly enter my body again as I start a rhythm. I rock back and forth on them as my palm rubs against my engorged clit.

"What a slut you are, I can hear your fingers sliding in your cunt from here. I bet you're just drenched, coating your fingers, your hand, your thighs." I know I am. He knows I am.

"Are you close, whore?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Then beg, whore."

"Please, please, please sir! Let me cum, let me cum like the whore I am! I can't hold back anymore. Please, please!" My begs come out one after another and I don't think I've ever wanted to cum more than I have in my entire life.

"Fine whore, you did impress me." And with that, I explode.