This Is How It Happened 2

I kept talking. “Then the second text,” I said.

The message was longer than the first one.

She did. Back on the dance floor. The holes in her dress are really hot. She’s not wearing any panties. I had my hand under her skirt; her pussy was really wet. She has a hand in my pants—through the slit in the cape. She jerked me off for several minutes while I got to grope and kiss her. She said that phrase again. Bunny. Hat. Something like that. I just nodded like Bob. Then she pressed herself against my dick and I almost came. She stopped just as I was twitching. Laughed. Ran off. I’m standing here with wet fingers and a dick that hurts.

Silke’s moaning again. Even while I was still reading aloud.

The fingers inside you made the sound that the guy had described. Wet. Indecent. You didn’t quite come—just halfway—a quick thrust, your tits trembling, your nipples rock-hard, and then the orgasm hung in the air because I didn’t stop talking. That’s exactly what you wanted. Keep going. More. The next humiliation came as a thrust.

“You were already horny before he even touched you,” Max said.

You nodded from behind the mask. A wet, miserable nod. The hand didn’t stop.

Then there was no text.

A video.

No name at first. Just the file.

The video wobbled, then stopped.

A yellow light bulb. A storage closet. She was on her knees, mask on, top already down. At first, she didn’t look at the cock. She looked into the lens. Searched for the red dot, found it, stayed there. For a heartbeat, just the bunny ears and the gaze—as much as the rubber allowed. Only then did her mouth touch the glans, without taking her eyes off the camera.

She knew she was being filmed.

That’s why she did it.

She took her tits in both hands, pressed them around the shaft—the glans visible at the top—and lifted her chin so the phone would capture her face, breasts, and cock in a single frame. Up and down. Slowly. Deliberately. Every time the tip disappeared between her breasts, she looked back into the lens, as if proving to someone in the chat: This is the job. This is for you.

“The rabbit’s out of the bag,” she said aloud, close to the mic. “You can have it all.”

After that, she gave the camera a performance, not a moment of tenderness.

Mouth open, glans in, gaze upward. Out, a string of saliva, gaze upward. Tongue flat against the underside, holding the shaft, showing the camera her wet skin, then deep again until the mask pressed against her stomach. Gagging. Staying put. Not looking away. Her eyes moist behind the slit, but fixed on the lens, while saliva ran down her chin onto her chest.

She pulled it out, only to place it against the lens.

Between her tits. Tight. The glans against her sternum. One stroke, one lick, one “Everything” spoken into the camera. Then back to her mouth, faster, smacking, her free hand at the base, the other eventually on the cell phone he was holding, as if she wanted to adjust the angle. Closer. Deeper. More cock, more lip, more of her.

When he moaned, she stayed focused on the lens.

When she gagged, she stayed focused on the lens.

When saliva dripped, she didn’t wipe it away—she let the camera capture the trail, from her lower lip to the glans, and then took it back as if the rest were part of the shot.

Just before the end, she pulled him right up to her lips, tongue out, the shaft in her fist, and held exactly that: open mouth, wet tits, bunny mask, gaze fixed on the red indicator. Then deep. Once. Twice. He came. She visibly swallowed—the gulp down her throat, the rest on her tongue—briefly showed the white fluid to the camera before she took it off, and licked the glans clean without looking away.

A drop on her breast.

She took the cock and ran it over her skin, slowly, for the screen, staring into the phone the whole time as if the lens were Peter.

Next to Max, in the basement, Silke watched this and grew more restless.

The same woman. The same gaze into the camera. Except that the man behind the screen wasn’t the one she’d given that look to. The fingers between her legs found the wetness immediately. She came, while in the video her own face, still wearing the mask, continued to stare into the lens—aware, proud, as if she’d done everything right.

The chat exploded.

The guy with the video: She said the whole sentence. The rabbit’s out of the bag. And after that, you can have anything.

Stranger: What does that mean?

Stranger: Code?

Jonas: Hold her down if you see her.

Someone with a top hat emoji: Password. It has to be a password.

Bob: Is that why she slid my hand under her dress??

Stranger: That’s why she pulled it out.

Stranger: That’s why she did that with her mouth. I just nodded, and she got down on her knees.

Then the discussion—stupid, fast, and dangerous.

Is this a game?

Does she do this with everyone?

Why are there holes in her dress?

Why isn’t she wearing underwear?

You looked at the screen and groaned in despair. “Everyone has that video of you now.”