Page 2 of Beg Me
I set the phone down and press my palms against my eyes until I see stars. The apartment is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic. No one watching. No one judging.
Just me and the truth I've been running from.
I pick up the phone again and start typing before I can stop myself.
I want someone to completely degrade me. Call me names that would make me cry if anyone else said them. I want to be a toy to be used for someone else's pleasure. I want to beg for it while he taunts me for being so desperate, so needy. I want to be completely at his mercy, stripped of everything except what he decides I deserve.
I pause, breathing hard like I've been running. My cheeks burning.
The words stare back at me, black against white. Raw. Honest. Terrifying.
Delete, delete, delete.
No. I force my finger away from the backspace button.
This is the point. This is why I downloaded this stupid app at 2 AM after three glasses of wine and a lonely Friday night where I couldn't even get myself off because what I was imagining felt too... much.
If I can't be honest here, where can I be?
I hit "Next" before I can change my mind.
The next screen asks for photos. I scroll through my camera roll—professional headshots from work, casual selfies with friends, vacation pictures. Nothing that feels right for this. Nothing that shows who I really am.
I glance at myself in the darkened window reflection. Hair slightly messy, eyes a little too bright. Scared but determined.
I raise my phone and take a new picture. Just my face, no smile, looking directly at the camera. Daring whoever sees it to look back.
It's the most honest photo I've ever taken.
I upload it. Finally, the green "Submit" button appears at the bottom of the page. One tap and there's no going back. One tap and I've admitted to the void what I really want.
One tap and maybe, just maybe, someone out there will answer.
My finger trembles slightly as I press "Submit."
The screen changes to a simple message:Matching in progress...
Now we wait.
TWO
For a moment after I wake up, I completely forget what I did in a wine fueled haze in the middle of the night. But as soon as I pick up my phone, it all comes flooding back.
A long list of notifications shows on my home screen, each with the Desire heart shaped logo next to them. Sitting up against my headboard, I swipe open the app.
Twenty-three matches.
Thirty-eight messages.
Jesus.
I scroll through them. The usernames alone make me wince: DaddyDominator, Sir_Spanks_A_Lot, MasterOfPain69.
The messages are worse.
i can make u my little toilet slut
On your knees NOW
