Page 1 of Cyber Revenge

ONE

LYDIA

The glow of the gaming setup lights my face in electric pink and cyan, casting my features in the kind of soft, flattering light that makes me look like a fever dream on camera. It drives the fans crazy.

“Okay, boys. One more round and then I’m logging off,” I purr into the mic, my lips twitching into a smirk as my chat explodes with protest. “For real, I’m serious. A girl’s got needs, and I’m not talking about XP.” I wink at the cam.

My voice is honey over gravel. Smooth but teasing, with just enough edge to keep them guessing. It’s practiced, and easy to give them this version of myself at this point.

The killcam flickers across my screen. Victory. Again. My fingers dance over the controller as my signature outro plays, an 8-bitremix of a moan that makes my chat scream in emojis and tips. I adjust the angle of my webcam, leaning forward just enough to give them one last peek at my cleavage spilling out of my black tank top.

"Y’all are way too easy,” I laugh, biting my bottom lip. “Night-night, simps.”

I click the stream offline and pull my headset off, tossing it onto the desk. My shoulders slump, the performative energy draining from me all at once. But the satisfaction of another successful stream is still there, warm, electric. Streaming lights me up from the inside. Always has.

I stretch my arms wide, back arching, long red-and-blond split-dyed hair tumbling down over my chest in messy waves. My tattoos peek from under the tank, black ink swirling over creamy, curvy skin. My body, soft and thick in all the places that make men and women forget how to speak, and I know exactly how to weaponize it.

My eyes flick to my phone.

TikTok.

Masktok.

My poison.

My guilty pleasure.

I open the app and scroll, biting my thumbnail as the algorithm delivers exactly what I want right now—people in black balaclavas, leather gloves, and combat boots. No faces. Just voices. Heavy breathing. Veins. Hands.

One video stops me cold.

A man in full tactical gear stares into the camera. His voice a low rasp against my spine.

“If you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to walk. You wouldn’t be able to scream. You wouldn’t even remember your own fucking name.”

A slow exhale slips from my lips.

I toss my phone onto the bed, lean back against my pillows, and let my legs fall open. My hand slips beneath the band of my loose shorts, no panties. Because why the fuck would I wear panties under clothes? I’ve never seen the point.

My fingers dip straight into my slick heat, already soaked from the video, from the voice, from the image of being ruined by a man who didn’t need a face to own me.

A soft moan escapes my lips as I drag my fingertips through the wetness before circling my clit in slow, torturous spirals. My hips arch off the bed.

“Mmmfuck…”

I bite my lip, my eyes fluttering shut, my other hand sliding up my tank top to cup one of my heavy tits. The pad of my thumb brushes over my nipple, hard and sensitive, sending a jolt through my body.

Two fingers slide inside me, knuckle-deep, my palm pressing against my mound as I fuck myself slow and steady. My walls clench around the intrusion, needy, greedy.

I imagine him behind me, one of the masked ones. No…Him.TripsterGuy. His gravelly voice growling filthy things into myear, his hands pinning my wrists to the headboard, his cock thrusting deep, rough and punishing.

My fingers pump faster, messier, the wet slap of them filling the room. I add a third, gasping, my back arching off the bed involuntarily.

“Yes... god. Yes…”

I press harder against my clit, rubbing it with the heel of my hand as my other fingers curl deep inside my pussy, hitting that perfect spot that makes my legs tremble.

The orgasm crashes over me like a violent wave, sharp, loud, sudden. I cry out, thighs shaking, pussy fluttering around my fingers as I ride it out in ragged, breathless moans.

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