All day, I simultaneously felt like a live wire and a car running on fumes. No fewer than three colleagues remarked (nicely) that I looked like I hadn’t gotten enough sleep and that I also should’ve forgone that fifth shot of espresso for breakfast that gave my eyes their quasi-manic hyper-awake gleam out of their bruised-looking sockets. I laughed it away with that trademark faux cheer – haha, y’know how it is, sleeping in strange beds, haha, all that excitement for the day to come, canoeing, biking, PowerPoint presentations from corporate stooges, so exciting, exciting! – and tried to twitch a little less obviously.

But twitch I did. All damn day. Especially in my panties, but then also in my entire lower belly, and in my nipples, and on my ass – even the lips of my mouth were hypersensitive all day, to the point that eating the chocolate mousse that was served for dessert became an almost sexual experience. The coolness and the fluffy texture of the treat in and around my mouth… the slippery kiss of the small spoon… the way that it all melted on my tongue… I faked a cough attack just to have a good explanation for the redness of my face and pressed my thighs together hard underneath the table.

And here I am, still twitching – and wide awake despite my acute lack of sleep – as midnight creeps closer. I toss and turn in my bed, hyper-aware of the still-unfamiliar weight and smell of the duvet (some sort of wool filling) and of the ebbing noises of my colleagues around me.

And of the silence and blackness of my phone in my hand.

The screen shows the conversation with Mr. Unknown.

The last message reads I’ll see you again tonight, Missy.

Three lines above that: You will ask me nicely.

The cursor blinks balefully at me from my empty text field.

I put my phone, screen-down, next to my pillow and enjoy the absence of its pale blue glow for a second. My eyes are stinging from all the sweating, the warm summer air, the staring at projection screens, and from not having gotten enough sleep the previous night. I rub them with my forefinger and thumb.

Perhaps I should put on my mask and…

I grab my phone again, hammer in the passcode, and stare at the digital clock – 0:14, it reads – and then at the string of messages for another long minute.

“I have no choice,” I whisper noiselessly to myself. “No choice.”

I've done wrong, and I want to suffer for my sins…

And then I type.

[Missy: U win]
[Missy: What do u want]

The answer comes after a long, tense minute.

[Unknown: Don’t be petulant now, Missy.]
[Unknown: I want the same thing that you want.]

I glower and consider sending him some expressive emojis. (The thought of the eggplant makes my muscles clench.)

[Unknown: But given that you did not, in fact, ask nicely]
[Unknown: and that you kept me waiting half the night]
[Unknown: I think some punishment might be in order.]

[Missy: no please]
[Missy: im sorry!!!]

And I am. I’m queasy with sudden anxiety. Punishment? Is he going to send my picture…? To whom? My brain spins – he knows my name; he knows what company I work for. He could easily find my address. And then my parents’ contacts. They’re very conservative; seeing me like this would destroy them! Or maybe he wants money? But-but I don’t really have-

[Unknown: Not yet you aren’t.]
[Unknown: Get your earbuds out. Plug them in.]

Earbuds. Earbuds. Oh god, what would I need earbuds for? I dive for the handbag that’s leaning against my nightstand and dig for the cable. I find it – knotted all to hell. No time. I pull it apart rather roughly, then jam the jack into my phone.

I’m in the middle of composing a pleading message – something along the lines of “I’m doing what you want, please don’t publish my nude photo” when the next message arrives.

[Unknown: Take off your clothes.]
[Unknown: All of them.]
[Unknown: Put them next to you on the bed.]
[Unknown: Lay them out so that they can be seen properly.]

I’m immediately, heatedly, perspiringly, heart-throbbingly aware again of just how many other people are in the room with me: in close proximity, next to me, right behind an artisanal divider draped with some summer clothes, in front and behind me, barely hidden by gently wafting curtains. So many of them. I have barely learned all their names, can barely recall their faces – and imagine what those faces might look like when they walk past my bed and see my panties put on display there.

Julian would titter like he always does. Hayley would scoff and call me a slut. Patrick might steal my shirt, entertained by the idea that I might run around with my tits out.

All of their gazes would be heated.

“I have no choice,” I repeat breathlessly to myself like a mantra and get under the blanket – I pull it all the way up over my face to hide – then take off my clothes. Gauzy nightshirt, silky undershirt with the little built-in bra, teal cotton panties. I try to hide the wet spot when I put them down on the bed. The feeling of the duvet against every inch of my exposed skin makes me prickle all over.

I fumble for the phone again, suddenly aware of how bright the screen is even at the lowest setting. I feel that too much of my chest is illuminated by it like there’s a spotlight on my décolleté.

[Missy: now what]

Half a minute passes, then a link to a sound-file sharing website appears. I tap it and my browser opens to a simple music player and an audio file that’s displayed lengthwise in a waveform. There’s a big ‘play’ button and a volume control switch, that’s it. As I watch, the file starts to play, the first pixels of the waveform turning from light to dark gray.

[Unknown: Put in the earbuds.]

Just to be safe, I pull the volume down to 1%, put the earbuds in, then slowly increase the loudness until I can hear something.

There’s the soft rush of wind… and then breathing… panting…

It’s me again. It’s the file he made of me last night again. I shiver.

[Unknown: You won’t take the earbuds out again until the end of the file.]
[Unknown: You won’t pause the file or skip anything.]
[Unknown: I will know if you do.]
[Unknown: Once you’ve listened to the end, you will go to sleep.]

I've done wrong, and I want to suffer for my sins…

[Missy: ok]

The audio in my ears picks up. I can make out the shape of words in the shuddering of the breaths. ‘Please.’ ‘Deeper’. ‘More.’

“Oh, god,” I hush and inhale shakily. My neck prickles with goosebumps.

The person with the unknown number is typing again. I watch the dots appear and disappear with trepidation.

[Unknown: Tonight, you won’t get to touch any part of your body]
[Unknown: that’s hidden underneath your blanket.]

My middle clenches in disappointment, and anticipation, and from the sickening thrill of the notion-

There are new sounds laid over my silent pleas. Deeper breathing, lower whimpers, and the… the slide of a palm against lubricated flesh. Unmistakably a man, masturbating.

[Unknown: A couple of your colleagues will be heading out for their night walk soon.]
[Unknown: Maybe they’ll all hurry?]

He sends me a winking emoji. I look around me, seeing nothing but gently wafting curtains in the muted light of the dormitory hall, and Koryn and Andrea to my left and right. I don’t know if either of them will be joining the night walk.

And I don’t know if I dread it or…

[Unknown: Put your mask on and lie down now.]
[Unknown: You know what to do.]
[Unknown: And what not to do.]
[Unknown: Have a good night, Missy.]

In a daze, I lay down my phone after the screen fades – the recording keeps playing regardless – then pick up my sleep mask and slide it over my hair and onto my face. The tight fabric presses the earbuds somewhat uncomfortably into my ear canals at first, but the feeling fades quickly. My attention is already entirely elsewhere.

As the mask steals my sense of sight, the volume of the edited recording grows exponentially until the hush of breathing and the slick-slick-slick of someone – Mr. Unknown himself? – jerking a stiff cock fills out my entire head. I open my eyes to the utter darkness of my mask and can’t escape the mental pictures.

Me, on my bed. Him, on his. Perhaps me in number twenty-four, him in number fourteen, right behind the curtain? Maybe in a bunk bed, him on top, feeling the frame of it shudder with the other one’s increasingly frantic movements? Or maybe we’re not hidden at all… maybe I’m in my cubicle and he’s in his, and we’re both working overtime, two people alone in a cube farm office, surreptitiously masturbating to the sound of the other one masturbating, each thinking themselves so stealthy and clever…

‘Hah, hah, hah – uh, hah,’ the man gasps in my ear, his breath hitching. Mine hitches, too.

Without sight and with my hearing muffled, I can only assume that my colleagues are rousing all around me from their short sleep, getting ready to see the starry night sky from up the hill, but seeing an entirely different sight. They walk past my bed and see me lying there, flat on my back, my clenched hands draped on top of the duvet, the duvet up to my chin… and a display of clothes – undergarments – next to me.

Greg, Alison, and Amanda point and chuckle. Amanda points out the wet spot in the gusset.

My hands are folded, my knuckles white.

Underneath the duvet, my untouched pussy drools in despair.

I fight to keep the moans in and desperately count my breaths like I learned in the yoga lesson the other day. One, punishment. Two, punishment. Three, some punishment might be in order.

‘Please, don’t stop,’ my own voice whispers into my ear, and a man gives a distraught groan when the sounds of masturbation suddenly, abruptly fall silent. ‘Oh, oh please,’ the man begs, and I picture him tied to a chair, his stiff, ruddy cock in the grasp of a cruel mistress. ‘Keep going, please, please, oh-‘

My pussy clenches. My juice rolls down my crack.

Oh God, I need to touch myself.

‘Don’t stop,’ my voice adds, echoing oddly, ‘don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.’ It’s so loud that it leaks out of the earbuds, and my colleagues catch the words as they pass by my bed. Madison, Thomas, and Richard grin gleefully. Zack adjusts his crotch.

I sweat and ache. How much time has passed? It feels like half an hour. It’s probably only a couple of minutes.

‘Ohh, ohh, uh, uh! Uh!‘ the man whimpers desperately. ‘More, please,’ my voice adds, and we’re suddenly both tormented by the same cruel mistress. One of her hands is haltingly, torturously slowly stroking his hard cock – slick… slick… slick… – while the other clutches the remote control for the vibrating egg in my pussy, her thumb playing with the toggle – up, down… up… down, more, less, nothing at all, too much, too little, round and round.

My whole body is taut and tight. This punishment is pure torment. I’m bathed in sweat, soaking through my linens. My thighs press together rhythmically, but it’s only enough to make me hornier, wetter, messier; it’s not nearly enough to relieve myself.

‘Ahh!’ the man in my earbuds now moans pitifully, angrily, frenetically. ‘Ahh, please! More! Touch me more! No! Don’t stop! Don’t--Don’t! Nooo!’

I want to touch myself.

‘Please!’

I need to touch myself.

You won’t get to touch any part of your body that’s hidden underneath your blanket.

Mike, Stephen, and Linda are standing by my bed, their phones’ cameras pointing at me. Mike smirks – he always knew I was a horny bitch – and Linda watches me with equal parts disgust and craving in her icy blue eyes. Stephen just watches me impassively, patiently, like he knows. He knows what’s coming.

‘Oh, my god, please, I can’t…’ the man sobs in my ear, and last night’s Missy joins in, ‘Please, harder, please.’

My hands un-knot and grab at the top seam of my duvet – I halt one last time, fighting – ‘Ohhh yes, yes, please!’ – and then give in.

After the sweltering sauna of my own body heat, the night air feels almost icy against my chest and upper belly. The cold shock of it makes me realize that I am not brave enough to pull the duvet off all the way tonight, and I whimper, despairingly, frustrated, and so insanely horny.

I grab my nipples, not only because they are begging for touch but also because they’re being bitten by the cool breeze and it’s enough to make me gasp. The second my fingertips close around the stiff nubs, the feeling of relief and arousal drives all the air out of me, and I’m left gasping like a fish on land.

I pinch my nipples, harder than I ever have before. Never have they been this sensitive, this receptive; never have I felt the pinch in my clit when tweaking my nipples, but tonight, there’s a direct line from them to the throbbing place between my thighs.

Mike and Stephen, Linda and Madison, Thomas, Richard, Zack… they all watch me while I pull and squeeze my nipples roughly, grab the small globes of my breasts and knead them like dough, bounce them on my chest.

Mike and Thomas would step forward and grab my wrists, pulling my hands away from my breasts.

‘Ahh go---d, please, no, don’t, don’t stop!’ The man keeps sobbing, and how there’s a rhythmic bouncing sound like he’s thrusting his hips so hard that the chair he’s tied to is thumping against the floor.

Richard and Linda, standing on either side of my bed, would bow down and suckle the abandoned, abused tip of my tits into their mouths. My breath leaves my body in a hoarse cry. Harder, harder, suck me harder!

‘Please… Make me cum… Harder, please!’ my voice moans through my earbuds, and I echo it, humping nothing, desperately wishing I was brave enough to uncover myself fully and make me cum, wishing someone would come and release me, rescue me, touch me, touch my clit, my pussy, please! Please, don’t just nibble and lick my nipples, please, more!

Zack would stand next to my face. He would grab the panties I draped there, bring them to his nose and take a deep whiff, maybe even run his tongue across the crotch. He would watch Richard and Linda suck and bite me, then take his cock out, and rub himself roughly.

I use my fingernails to pinch my tits and pant through the pain and pleasure of it, and I know that I must be loud, that everyone can hear me.

My hips snap up and down, and I know that my bed must be making an unmistakable noise.

Any moment now… Any moment now, everyone will see. Keen embarrassment makes my pulse spike and drives my body temperature up so suddenly that I'm bathed in sweat all over. I screw my eyes shut as if that might help against being seen.

Seen by everyone.

Zack would groan once and then cum all over my chin and chest, groaning something about horny sluts, pervert bitches, and filthy little teases that don’t deserve orgasms.

‘Yes! Yes! Thank you, ohhhh, yes!’ the unknown man moans and wails in ecstasy.

“Huhhh,” I hear myself even through the headphones.

My body convulses. The knot in my core bursts open and for less than a split second, there’s a piercing, bright joy.

And then everything dulls, and a yawning numbness spreads from the middle outward.

My legs twitch open and closed, my pussy muscles constrict rhythmically, my throbbing lips are drenched with juices… but the euphoria doesn’t come and neither does the relief. 

Ruined. Because I’m not allowed to touch myself under the blanket, and I’m not allowed to touch because I’ve been a bad, bad girl. I quietly sob, stuffing my knuckles into my mouth to stifle the noise.

My spasming lower half, my breasts and bruised nips, and my bitten knuckles throb in time with my galloping heartbeat, my untouched slit seeps honey, sweat drips out of every pore, and frustrated tears slide out of the corners of my eyes to be soaked up by the sleep mask.

The tension is not gone, the itch no less urgent than before, but I know that I will be numb and oversensitive for the rest of the night and unable to do anything at all about it. I suppress a defeated whine and try to ignore how the sound file in my earbuds is still playing, how the cruel mistress finally brings the man over the brink, causing him to moan and groan and give quivering thanks over and over – and then she polishes his oversensitized cockhead without mercy. The man's thanks turn to animalistic wails, and eventually, he just sobs miserably.

I know I will dream of those delicious sounds.      

Belatedly, I pull my duvet back up over my boobs. My nipples twinge when the cotton of the duvet rubs against them. My thoughts flash back to Richard and Linda sucking on me, and I imagine that the beads of sweat that stream down my neck, chest, and belly are actually Zack’s cum, and how Linda and Richard both lap up all the white trails- 

I almost cry again when the sounds from the recording finally fade, signaling the end of the file – the implicit order for me to go to sleep. I pull the earbuds from my ears and blindly stuff the tangled cord into the general vicinity of my handbag, then equally blindly fumble for my nightshirt and panties and pull them underneath the duvet to hide them from sight.

I only put on my panties - and pull them up hard between my legs, feeling the delicate fabric soak through, feeling the pressure and friction, feeling the throb, and getting no relief. I sigh, dejected, and resign myself to restless, shallow sleep and tantalizing dreams, overlaid with the sounds of an unknown man receiving a slow, cruel handjob and the sounds of me, begging for mercy.

***TBC***