The Twist

The last hour went differently than Silke had expected.

The three men had had their fun, but they weren’t wild animals. After the third one had cum inside her, they pulled back. They used her tits and mouth one more time — each one fucked her breasts, came on them, and made her lick everything clean. Then they set the timed lock to exactly 30 minutes, placed the key visibly on the nightstand and left the room.

“Have fun, little one,” one of them grinned before the door clicked shut.

Silke lay there — bound, covered in cum, trembling. The 30 minutes felt endless. The vibrator kept humming inside her. She came once more, quietly, almost exhausted. When the timer finally ran out, the lock clicked open. She freed herself with shaking hands.

The room looked terrible. The bed was a mess and full of stains. Cum was everywhere — on the sheets, on her body, in her hair. The air smelled of sex, sweat and beer.

Silke got up, washed herself thoroughly in the bathroom — hot water, lots of soap, scrubbing every inch of her body. Then she changed the sheets on Jonas’ bed, wiped the floor, aired out the room. She put on fresh clothes and tried to look normal.

Just as she was finished, she heard the key in the front door.

Jonas came in.

He saw her, beamed from ear to ear, dropped his bag and immediately pulled her into his arms. He kissed her passionately.

“Baby! What a surprise! How did you know I was coming back today? I wanted to surprise you!”

Silke stood stiffly in his arms. She was completely overwhelmed. Jonas didn’t notice her mood. He was exuberant, happy, talking non-stop.

Eventually she pulled away from the hug and asked quietly:

“Don’t you want to know… how it was?”

Jonas looked at her in confusion.

“How what was?”

Silke stared at him. She was stunned. He rummaged in his drawer, found his old phone that he had apparently forgotten, and turned it on.

Silke broke down inside.

What is wrong with Jonas? He’s acting like we haven’t seen or written each other in weeks… as if nothing happened… as if he hadn’t been chatting with me the whole time…

Jonas didn’t notice her expression. He excitedly told her about his road trip, the places he had seen, the crazy stories. He was completely the old Jonas — the shy, loving Jonas.

Then he looked around the room and said cheerfully:

“Oh, Max has already moved out? Right, he wanted to leave yesterday. Too bad he’s not here anymore. The movers must have been here too. Did you help them? That’s so sweet of you!”

He hugged her again and pressed her against him.

Silke stood there, frozen. The shame, confusion and exhaustion of the last few days crashed over her. She had given herself for him, humiliated herself, slept with Max, let strangers use her — and Jonas hadn’t known anything about it. His phone had been lying here the whole time.

She slowly pulled away from his embrace, sat down on the freshly made bed and looked at him.

Silke sat on the bed and waited until Jonas went into the bathroom. Then she quickly grabbed his phone that he had left on the nightstand. She opened the chat with herself.

Everything was gone.

The last few days — the dirty messages, the photos, the videos, the commands, the promises — all deleted. The chat history was clean, as if the entire escalation had never happened.

Silke stared at the screen. She went ice cold.

Who was I talking to? That wasn’t a dream… the messages were real. The commands, the vibrating egg, the tickling, the sex with Max… all of that happened. But who was it? Was it Max? Did he use Jonas’ phone? Or someone else who knew I was alone in the flat?

She looked at her own phone. Everything was still there — the chats, the photos, the videos. But on Jonas’ phone there was nothing.

The movers. The three men. Max’s note. The open door.

Everything fell into place — and at the same time made no sense at all.

Jonas came out of the bathroom, still in a good mood. He kept talking non-stop about his road trip, the landscapes he had seen, the funny stories. He didn’t notice how quiet Silke had become.

Suddenly she couldn’t take it anymore. The tears came without warning. She broke down crying — not loudly, but quietly, desperately, deeply.

Jonas immediately took her in his arms and stroked her back.

“Hey… hey… it’s okay. I’m back now. Those are happy tears, right?”

Silke only nodded weakly. She couldn’t speak. Jonas really thought she was crying from happiness.

They didn’t have sex that night. Jonas was tired from the long drive and just wanted to sleep. Silke said she was exhausted too and wanted to go home. He walked her to the door, kissed her goodbye and smiled.

“See you tomorrow, baby. I love you.”

Silke went home. She barely slept.

The next morning

Her phone vibrated. A message from an unknown internet number.

“Hey Silke. I hope you enjoyed what you did the last few days. The thing with the movers wasn’t planned. Sorry. No one expected you to tie yourself to the bed like that. I hope you still had fun anyway.”

Silke stared at the message. Her heart raced. Then a second message came — with a photo.

“Hey little one. If you ever want to fuck again, just write me. The one with the big cock.”

Below it was a picture of him — naked, his thick, half-hard cock in his hand.

Silke felt her pussy start throbbing immediately. The memories of the night flooded back — the hands, the thrusts, the humiliation, the raw lust.

She put the phone down, but she already knew:

She would call him eventually.

The story was far from over.