She needs to talk to someone about it

She used to feel calm after sex or after masturbating. Now all she felt was hunger. A hunger that craved humiliation, the stares of strangers, the taste of cock, and the feeling of being used. And all because of a few damn dreams.

She reached for her phone, wanting to text Mia. Just some trivial message—a distraction, a sense of normalcy. When she unlocked the screen, the camera app was open. A small thumbnail was sitting in the corner.

That couldn’t be.

She tapped on it.

The pornographic pictures from the locker room. From the dream. They were there. Sharp, detailed, unmistakable. The photo where she was pulling her pants down from behind. The one where she was spreading her labia. The one where she was sitting on the stool, legs wide, two fingers inside her, holding her wet, rosy entrance directly toward the camera. Exactly as she’d done in the dream. Even the angle and the ugly neon light in the locker room were right.

She wanted to delete them. The button didn’t respond. She wanted to move them to a folder. Nothing happened. The images were there, and they wouldn’t go away.

Panic crept up on her slowly, then hit her with full force. Her heart was racing. Her hands grew cold and clammy. This wasn’t a normal dream anymore. This wasn’t stress, or repressed libido, or random overstimulation. Something was interfering with her life. Something that was leaving traces. Something that was placing photos from her dreams on her phone and trapping them there.

She couldn’t tell anyone about it. Mia would laugh at her or think it was some embarrassing attention-seeking story. Her parents—unthinkable.

Jennifer. The name popped into her head on its own. Jennifer from her hometown. They’d known each other since school. Jennifer had always been a little quieter, a little more intense in her gaze when she was with Lena. Lena had known for years that Jennifer had a crush on her. It had never been said out loud, but it hung between them, warm and a little dangerous. Jennifer would believe her. Or at least listen without judging her right away. And maybe, just maybe, there would be a little more to it—a kind of attention that Lena desperately needed right now.

She opened the chat. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. What should she write? “Hey, I’ve been having hyper-realistic sex dreams for days where strange men are using me, and now there are pornographic photos from a dream on my phone that I can’t delete”?

She deleted the sentence she’d started. Instead, she just typed:

“Hey Jen. Do you have a minute? I think I’m losing my mind.”

Then she placed her phone on her chest and stared at the ceiling, while the undeleted images continued to glow on the screen and the unsatisfied throbbing between her legs just wouldn’t stop.

Jennifer read the message and felt her heart skip a beat.

Lena. The beautiful, unattainable Lena, who had already turned heads back in school and was now studying media somewhere in the big city and working as an influencer. Lena had texted her. Lena had asked her to call. Jennifer didn’t waste a second. She didn’t even type a reply; she pressed the call button right away.

Lena picked up after the second ring. Her voice sounded different than usual—thinner, strained, as if she hadn’t slept all night.

“Hey… thanks for reaching out.”

“Sure,” said Jennifer, sitting up straight on her bed. “Everything okay with you?”

She immediately sensed that something was wrong. The way Lena was breathing, the little pauses between her words. Still, they exchanged a few pleasantries first—about the weather, whether Jennifer was still living with her parents, whether Lena had her next set of classes planned out yet. Jennifer let it go. She sensed that Lena needed a moment to collect herself.

Then she asked openly, quietly, and without pressure:

“What’s going on, Lena?”

A long pause. Jennifer heard only the faint static on the line and Lena’s irregular breathing.

Then Lena began to tell her story.

She spoke of the dreams. Of the fat follower in the basement, of Mia, who had exposed her on the stairs, of the lecture hall where she suddenly had to strip and perform, of the old janitor who had licked her and to whom she had given a blowjob. Then the scene in the locker room. She described the humiliation, the powerlessness, how her body had gone along with it every time and even orgasmed, while inside she felt ashamed and disgusted. She spoke of the arousal that wouldn’t go away afterward, of the feeling of being used, and of how the dreams felt more real than reality itself.

She didn’t say a word about the photos.

Jennifer remained silent and just listened. When Lena finally finished, there was a long silence.

Jennifer searched for words but couldn’t come up with any clear advice. Only what felt true to her.

“That sounds…,” she began slowly, “as if it were someone else’s erotic dream. And for you, it’s a nightmare.”

She heard Lena gasp sharply on the other end of the line.

“You should get some rest,” Jennifer continued. “And try to find the cause. Something must have triggered it. Dreams don’t come out of nowhere. Especially not ones like that.”

That was the cue Lena needed.

Jennifer sensed it in the sudden change in Lena’s breathing. In the brief moment of silence that sounded different this time—no longer desperate, but thoughtful.

Lena thanked her. Her voice had softened.

“Thanks, Jen. Really. That… helped.”

“Anytime,” Jennifer replied. “Text me if you want to talk again. Or call. Whenever.”

Lena said a quiet “Okay” and hung up.

What Lena didn’t realize was just how aroused Jennifer was by the story.

Jennifer was lying on the bed, her cell phone pressed to her ear, her legs slightly bent. She was twenty-one, a brunette, her dark hair scattered messily across the pillow. Her body was softer and curvier than Lena’s—full, heavy breasts that were clearly visible beneath her thin shirt, a round, supple belly, wider hips, and thick, soft thighs pressed together.

At first, she simply stroked the fabric of the shirt with the flat of her hand. Slowly, in circles, over the heavy nipple that was already beginning to harden slightly. Her touch was still cautious, furtive, as if someone might walk through the door. The nipples grew harder, pressing more distinctly against the thin fabric. She gripped them more firmly, kneading the soft, heavy breast tissue, pinching the stiff tip between her thumb and index finger and twisting it slightly. A warm tingling ran from there straight to her lower abdomen.

Her free hand slid lower. Over her soft belly, which arched slightly beneath her fingers, down to the waistband of her leggings. She slid her hand inside, under the fabric, and placed her fingertips on the warm, smooth mound of her pubis. No underwear. The skin was soft and already slightly damp. She stroked back and forth slowly, without yet going between her labia, feeling only the outer warmth. Her thighs opened a little wider involuntarily. The soft inner thighs no longer touched.

As the arousal intensified—Lena’s voice was just describing how the janitor had licked her and made her come—Jennifer slid two fingers deeper. Between the plump, slightly fuller labia. They were already swollen and slippery. Her fingers glided along the wet slit, gathering the moisture and spreading it. Jennifer’s breathing grew heavier; her stomach rose and fell more noticeably. She circled her fingertips around her clitoris without touching it directly. The small swelling was already hard and sensitive. Every approach made her thighs twitch and her labia contract.

She was getting wetter. The moisture was now noticeably running down her fingers and pooling in the crease between her thick thighs. Jennifer pushed her leggings further down until they hung around her knees and spread her legs wide. The soft insides of her thighs trembled slightly. With two fingers, she penetrated the tight, hot opening. The walls were smooth and tight and immediately clenched around her fingers. She moved them slowly in and out, while her thumb rubbed firm circles over her clitoris.

Her body reacted more and more intensely. Her full breasts bounced with every movement; her nipples were now so hard they hurt. Her soft belly tensed as the arousal built up in her lower abdomen. Her labia were plump and dark pink, glistening with wetness. Every time she pulled her fingers out, a clear, sticky thread stretched between them and the wet opening. Jennifer moaned softly into the phone—so softly that Lena couldn’t hear it—as she moved her fingers faster, thrust deeper, and rubbed her clitoris harder.

Her thighs began to tremble uncontrollably. Her soft, full thighs twitched, and her hips thrust toward her hand. Her pussy made an audible, wet smacking sound. Jennifer curled her fingers inside and found the sensitive spot, while her thumb rubbed the hard clitoris incessantly. The orgasm built up, heavy and warm, rolling through her soft belly and full breasts, and unleashed itself in powerful, rhythmic spasms. Her labia clenched tightly around her fingers; clear moisture spurted in small bursts over her hand and onto the insides of her trembling thighs.

She remained lying there, her fingers still deep inside her, her body heavy and throbbing, as the aftershocks coursed through her soft curves. On the other end of the line, Lena thanked her and hung up. Jennifer heard the click, let the cell phone sink onto the mattress, and exhaled shakily.

Lena hadn’t noticed any of it.