Back to Me

I’m nothing if not true to my word and I transfer the funds to Jessie’s company. It’s a bank account held in the West Indies, I know it’s safe and would take years to unravel the chain to get back to me.

Whilst I enjoyed watching Jessie play her game, I’m feeling a little bit disappointed as I pack away my equipment. Nobody has been in this old warehouse for years, as far as I can tell. The air is thick with dust and most of the windows in the sloping roof are broken. As I crush the SIM cards and pack the dummy back into his duffel bag I wish I had been able to watch her fumble her way through the meeting. I wonder if she could even speak so soon after getting her throat fucked by that thick dildo.

I need to find a way of watching the aftermath of these games. I wonder what she’ll do after her meeting. Will she go to the police, report what happened? Will she try to find Tom and make him explain? Will she be tempted to get back onto the machine and let it fuck her until she has that orgasm she so obviously needed? Having looked at her try to put herself back together just before that meeting, I doubt she will do any of those things. But I do think she’ll sit back in her chair and open her legs, then make herself cum. I wonder if she’ll beg her next lover to fuck her arse? Or her throat? I think of her face, just now. I’m pretty sure it won’t be long before she has a cock or a toy up her ass.

My laptop finishes copying the video of this latest game onto the zip drive, which I remove and slip into the duffel with the dummy.

I wonder if Jessie will ever piece this together. I decide that no, she probably won’t. She was always self-obsessed, even back then. I doubt she even remembers my name. She probably remembers the things she and her friends did, and I wonder what she thinks of those times. Does she think of it and smile, or does she feel a deep embarrassment?

Well, whatever. She feels a deep sense of embarrassment now. Partly because of how much she enjoyed it, in spite of herself. And I’m pretty sure she’ll be chasing that feeling for the rest of her life. Like I said, people share so much of themselves online. Too much for their own good.

I leave through the back door of the warehouse and pull my hood over my head against the rain. I like that I can run something like this game with equipment which fits into a bag over my shoulder. In a few minutes I’m walking along the main road, occasionally dropping a broken mobile phone or smashed SIM card into a drain or a waste bin. Leave no trace.

An hour later, I’m back home. I’ve dropped off the bag and collected my keys at a storage unit owned by one of my companies. That dummy is probably one of the riskiest things I have, much more than the laptop and cameras. That would be pretty hard to explain if anybody found it, but I have to admit that I like the theatre of it. As the games progress, and inevitably start to gain more attention, it might be that the police start to look into all of this. Jessie might not talk to the police but Sarah was almost certainly taken in for an interview. But with these fucking self-absorbed idiots, I’ll hopefully be finished with the games before anybody works out what’s going on.

I check my phone as I make a drink for myself. Answer a couple of emails, listen to a voicemail. Nothing urgent. I recall Jessie with those dildos down her throat and up her arse. I imagine her after her meeting, flushed as an accountant confirms the money appearing in the bank account and everybody congratulates her. I picture her sitting there, pulling her skirt up around her waist and fingering herself. I bet she’ll push a couple of fingers up her asshole, maybe even try to detach one of those big black dildos and shove it inside herself. It’s the only way she’ll be able to reach that orgasm she nearly got to enjoy, and maybe she won’t be able to climax satisfactorily from now on without that same sensation.

Upstairs I stand in front of the full-length mirror and slip my hand inside my waistband. I decide to strip all of my clothes off and watch myself masturbate. I know, and I shake my head, I can’t cum without feeling like I’m being watched. It’s not quite the same if I’m only watching myself, but it’s okay. It works. And just like Jessie will never forget what I did to her this morning, I know that I can’t ever forget what they did to me. That’s why I love to be watched, and I hate to be seen.

With my clothes on the bed behind me I tug on the ring through my left nipple. It hurts. It feels good. I turn to the side to look over the tattoos covering the right side of my torso. All memories, all ways I tried to cope before I started playing my games.

I hold both hands over my groin, the way I used to when I tried to cover myself. I remember fearing that moment when my arms would be pulled to the side and I would be exposed to them. I think about Jessie, then and now, and as I watch myself in the mirror I move my own arms to the side and look at my exposed body.