I can hardly believe I'm doing this. After months of talking on Lush, we've finally reached the point where we're actually going out on a date, and even though we've never met in person, I feel like I know him pretty well. He's much older than me, living in a faraway city and working as a boudoir photographer. His stories have captivated my imagination, and I can't get enough of them.

When we first connected, he messaged me in a chat and told me about his desire to explore the depths of our shared passion for erotica. We then proceeded to write an erotic story together, gradually revealing each of our deepest and darkest desires to each other. Our creative collaboration allowed us to freely express all the naughty fantasies that had been bubbling beneath the surface, which led to a greater sense of closeness and intimacy between us.

He quickly became the focus of my most intense sexual fantasies, and I masturbated while imagining us doing all the dirty things we had talked about. It got so bad that I couldn't concentrate on anything else, and I seemed to be constantly aroused and desperate to make our fantasies a reality.

For months, I had been stalking his profile, drooling over his athletic body, and enjoying the topless photos he occasionally posted. He had hundreds of pictures of beautiful women on his profile. Some of them even posted explicit pictures of themselves on his wall to get his attention. Compared to those women, I felt insecure and self-conscious, because I was more of a girl-next-door type—curvy and petite, with dark hair and a shy personality. I wasn't nearly as adventurous or uninhibited with my body as they were.

I was overjoyed when he told me he was in town and asked if I wanted to meet up. The fact that such a sophisticated man wanted to spend time with me made me feel special, and I couldn't wait to see him, especially since I hadn't had sex in a long time and knew he was a man who could satisfy me.

But how much do I know about this man? I don't even know his real name—just his username—yet he feels like a close friend that I can trust. So far, everything I've seen of him has been photographs: shots of him topless or dressed in a chic tailored suit, always with his face hidden behind a camera or obscured by some stunning woman standing in front of him.

As I enter the luxurious hotel, my heart begins to race as I prepare to meet him for the first time. Even though neither of us has said it aloud, we both know what my agreeing to meet him in his hotel room, especially on Valentine's Day, means. The sexual tension between us has been building for months, and I'm sure things will escalate quickly when we finally see each other.

When I step into the elevator, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My black off-the-shoulder dress hugs my curves perfectly and shows off my toned legs. My dark hair falls around my shoulders in gentle waves, framing my face and making me feel even more beautiful. The heavy burgundy lipstick and smokey eye makeup I wear make me feel prepared to face anything.

As I knock on his door, my hands tremble with anticipation. When he opens the door and our eyes meet, I feel as if my heart might leap out of my chest. Despite my stiletto heels, he towers over me. His ruggedly handsome features, a testament to his Italian ancestry, sear me with electrifying intensity. I can't help but notice the few wisps of gray streaking through his dark hair, which make him seem even more attractive. His dark gray button-down shirt clings to his well-toned body, and his black pants hug his hips and thighs, revealing a noticeable bulge in the front.

His eyes roam over my face before settling on my lips, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knows what's coming next, and he's eager for it. Goosebumps break out on my skin as I breathe in his potent cologne and I feel intoxicated by his masculine scent. My cheeks are flushed with embarrassment—or maybe desire—an open invitation for him to take whatever he wants from me. Nothing stands between us and the yearning to be devoured by each other—only a few millimeters of tantalizing air.

He holds the door wide open for me, inviting me in with an expectant gaze that never leaves mine, and my heart races faster as I move closer to him. The dim lighting in the hotel room creates an intimate atmosphere, and there's an amazing smell coming from the food he ordered. A bottle of sparkling wine sits at the center of the table. Tonight will be special.

As we dine, he keeps the conversation light and tells me stories of his travels. The more wine I drink, the more I open up and soon our conversation flows like sparkling wine in our glasses. His smoldering gaze travels up my body like a wave of pure desire and ignites an erotic fire deep within me that I haven't felt for what feels like an eternity.

He moves toward me slowly and deliberately, gazing at me with an intensity that both terrifies and intrigues me. I want to kiss him so badly that it hurts, but I remain motionless, allowing him to take the lead. The anticipation builds, and then, just when I think I can't take it any longer, he leans in and presses his lips to mine. Our passionate kiss is like a spark, igniting a primal need within me that I had no idea existed.

As his hands move down my body, I feel the rush of excitement that comes from surrendering to the moment and giving in to my desire that I feel for him. His lips linger on mine as he slowly pulls away, his breath hot and ragged against my ear.

"Why don't we take this to the bedroom?" he says, his voice is thick with desire and it only makes me more hungry for him.

I take his hand, a silent agreement, and he leads me into the bedroom. He takes his camera from the nightstand and sits down on the bed, then looks up at me standing in front of him. The shutter snaps, and I can feel my heart thudding in my chest as he takes picture after picture of me. Feeling uncomfortable, I try to cover my body with my arms. He smiles at me and tells me to relax, making me feel silly for feeling shy in front of him. Slowly, I let my arms fall by my sides.

His voice is low and commanding as he says, "Take off your dress."

He is aware of my fantasies of posing for a nude photo shoot, daring to expose myself in all my raw vulnerability, only to then be savagely fucked by the photographer. To experience the feeling of being completely exposed, yet safe in the knowledge that the images would never be seen by anyone but us. Even though I do not want to disappoint him, I am tense at the sight of the camera, and reluctant to undress.

"Don't let your nerves hold you back," he says softly and gently. "I'll help you feel comfortable in front of the camera."

Taking a deep breath, I slowly pull the zipper down the side of my dress. Fear and doubt flash through my mind as I remove my dress and stand in front of the camera wearing nothing but delicate black lacy lingerie—completely exposed but determined not to let my fears win.

"You look so beautiful," he says, reassuringly.

His compliments help me feel more at ease in my skin. As the shutter clicks, I allow my confidence to take control. The bulge in his pants only further emboldens me, and I find myself becoming more willing to experiment with the way I move and the poses I strike. He motions for me to turn around, and as I spin slowly in my thongs, exposing my bare bottom, my heart begins to race.

"Damn," he groans when he sees my bubble butt. "You sure do your squats right," he says, clearly impressed by the view.

I blush, not sure how to take the compliment because I'm not used to being the center of attention, but I'm becoming increasingly aroused by the moment as he continues to photograph my barely covered ass.

"Would you like to show me more?" he asks, his voice low with desire.

Reaching behind my back, I unclasp my bra, allowing it to fall to the floor. My cheeks burn as I slowly turn around, revealing my naked breasts to his approving smile. His camera flashes, my nipples harden under his gaze, and I can sense the depth of his desire for me as his erection strains against his pants. As he clicks away, I let myself be carried away by the sensation of being admired and desired.

"Your breasts look so perky—like a teenager's," he says, and a sinister grin spreads across his face, making him even more enticing. "Why don't you get on the bed and show me your pussy?"

I hesitate for a moment before climbing onto the bed. He proceeds to take pictures of me as I lie down on my back with my legs spread, revealing my exposed sex.

"Fuck, you're dripping," he murmurs as he takes close-ups of my wet, glistening pussy.

He finally puts the camera away after a few more photos and stares at me, his smoldering gaze warming my cheeks. I watch with bated breath as his fingers deftly unbutton his shirt, revealing his toned body beneath. As he gets ready to make me his bad girl for the night, he takes off all of his clothes, his erection standing tall and proud.

He climbs on top of me and lifts my arms above my head, positioning the tip of his cock at my eager entrance. I bite my lip as he begins to slide into me, pushing deeper and deeper with each movement until I can feel every inch of him inside me. His grip tightens on my wrists as I let out a soft moan of pleasure, feeling the sensation of his hips pressing against mine.

"You appear so innocent," he murmurs as he thrusts his hips.

As he speeds up, his movements become more forceful. My breaths become deeper and my moans become louder.

"But you're such a dirty whore," he groans, and I freeze in disbelief, my eyes widening in perplexity as to why he said that—he knows I've never done anything like this before.

He has an almost sadistic smirk on his face as he notices my confusion. His eyes meet mine, and I can see the dark glint in them as he says, "I love it."

My heart is pounding in my chest as I try to process what he said, and as he pounds harder into me, pushing me closer to the edge, I can't help but feel the thrill of impending orgasm. With every thrust, I feel as though my body is being taken as if I am nothing more than a toy in his hands, completely at his mercy, and it turns me on in ways I never expected.

As I gasp in delight, he chuckles and whispers, "Cum, you little slut," as he thrusts faster and harder.

With his words, I feel my body tensing up as a wave of pleasure sweeps over me, and I scream in ecstasy as I reach the peak of my climax. His thrusts keep coming, his rhythm picking up speed, until I feel him shuddering against me as he lets out a deep moan and fills me with his warmth.

After he pulls out, I can feel his seed dripping down my inner thighs as I lie there, completely spent from the pleasure. He grabs the camera and snaps a few close-ups of my cum dripping pussy before laying down next to me and cuddling up.

Moments later, he asks if he can borrow my phone to check his work email since his had died earlier in the day. As I'm still buzzed from my orgasm, he goes to get it once I tell him it's in my purse.

"What's the password?" he yells from across the room.

"Bring it here, and I'll unlock it."

"You don't trust me?" he sneers.

I feel bad for having implied that I don't trust him, so I tell him my password. After a few minutes, he returns to the room and begins getting dressed. Confused, I sit up in bed and ask him what he is doing.

"I have to catch a flight," he says, a cold expression on his face. "The room is paid until tomorrow; you are welcome to stay, but I have to go," he says, leaving before I can respond.

I'm alone and confused, the weight of his words and the unexpected goodbye pressing against my chest as I try to piece together what just happened. After deciding it's best for me to leave, I go take a long, hot shower to clear my head and come to terms with what has just happened.

After I finish getting dressed, I hear my phone buzz and realize he has sent me a message. In addition to sending me my naked picture, he texted, "What happens to bad girls? They get punished."

As soon as I read it, I feel a wave of dread washes over me. Another text quickly follows: "Check your Lush profile."

When I open the Lush page, I'm surprised to find myself logged out and unable to log in, so I quickly create a new account and search for my original one. A new album, "Happy Valentine's Day," has been added, with a cover image of me in lingerie. When I open the album, my worst nightmare comes true: all the photos he took of me are included.

Every inch of my naked body is on display for all to see, and the number of my friends and followers is growing at an alarming rate. I call him, but he doesn't answer. I text him, pleading with him to remove it.

His reply is succinct and to the point: "No."

When I tried calling his number again, I was greeted with a recorded message that said the number was no longer in service.

Tears stream down my cheeks as I am overcome by the fear of being judged by strangers and the realization that my life as I knew it is over.