The call was the last thing you expected. Scrolling through Tumblr again, rubbing your cunt absentmindedly, you had only just gotten into it before you felt your phone vibrate and, a second later, saw the notification pop down: Unknown Number.
"Hello?" You say, ready to give the call all of five seconds before you block the number and report it as spam so you can get back to the important stuff.
"Make a safe-word." A low, passive, crystal-clear voice comes through, like you'd expect from a ransom call.
"Excuse me?" Part of it was frustration from being interrupted, but most of that response was sheer surprise. What the fuck?
"You haven't provided one on your Tumblr, make one now."
Oh fuck. Oh SHIT. How did someone get your number? How did he know it was you? he didn't even ask if it was you, he just knows? WHY IS HE ASKING YOU FOR A SAFE-WORD?!
You consider hanging up, obviously. I mean, sure, you've made a hundred posts about wanting someone to come into your room at night and rape you into a fucked-up mess. You've begged strangers relentlessly to cum inside you without protection, smack your ass and thighs and tits until they're black and blue, to laugh at you as you struggle and to leave you to cry yourself to sleep with their cum leaking out. But like, you wouldn't shouldn't really let it happen, right?
"Bananas." You hear yourself say. "My safe-word is "bananas."
"Since you're already scrolling," HOW DOES HE KNOW THAT "why don't you stick that in your pinned post? Just in case someone pays you a visit."
"Uh- uhm- oh- okay." You mumble, feeling yourself getting frantic. You move over to the Tumblr app again and start editing the post, your fingers can barely hit the right buttons as you feel yourself start to shiver slightly. As you hit "save" you find your voice again.
"You're gonna listen when I say it, right?" You realise as you finish talking that he's already hung up.
"If I feel like it." Your head shoots up to where the voice is coming from. At your window is a man with a full burglar's outfit: Black sweater, gloves and balaclava. He's staring at you. Not moving. Just staring right into your soul.
You should scream, not only because the right thing to do is to desperately call for help, and absolutely not to invite him inside like you fantasised about, but also because it should be the natural reaction. But you're frozen, you've never felt so still, like you're trying to fool him into not seeing you.
His hand moves, you flinch, he places a finger over his mouth in the "shhhh" position. You choke back the scream that was finally gonna come out. Maybe he's telling you "if you scream it's gonna be a hell of a lot worse." And you don't want to find out (you don't, right?)
A smile forms under the mask. His hand opens and moves from his mouth to the side of his head, palm towards you. His fingers come down, covering the palm, then come back up, down, up, down, up, he's waving at you, mocking you.
After a couple seconds of waving (that felt like an eternity) he moves out of view to the side of the window, not taking his eyes off you as he moves out of view. You stay frozen, waiting. Where is he gonna come out from next? You wait. And wait. And wait. Slowly you feel your breathing come back, deep breaths in and out. The feeling returns to your skin and you feel how clammy you are.
Eventually, you lie down. Is that it? Are you gonna get violently raped tonight or not? As you calm down more and more the petrifying fear turns to disappointment.
Why are you disappointed? You know it's because your fantasy didn't come true, but just a few minutes ago you were so scared. Were you scared? Were you excited? Both? You could've sworn you wanted to run away and scream your lungs out for help, but then you wouldn't have gotten... then he wouldn't have... oh god... if you'd run away he wouldn't have raped you.
Your fingers find your cunt. You didn't even know they were searching for it, but how much do you really know your own body at this point? It's soaking wet, which you knew would be the case, but you still feel shame wash over you when you confirm it.
As you fall asleep with your hands between your legs, you try not to think about how fucked up it is that your cunt won't stop throbbing.
