Blind Texting (Part 2)

[Da****]

Enjoy my dirty little sluts. I hope you feel good to my words.

_______________

The silence stretched between us like a wire pulled taut.

Her hand remained frozen at her collarbone, fingers splayed against her skin. The ambient hum from her headphones bled into the room, a soft white noise that she couldn't hear past. But I could hear everything. The candle sputtering on the counter. The old building settling in its bones.

And then the footsteps.

They came from the hallway. Heavy. Deliberate. A man's gait, unhurried, moving past her front door.

Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. Her shoulders snapped back. Her breath stopped mid-inhale. The fingers at her collarbone curled into a fist, knuckles going white against her skin.

I watched her chest rise and fall, a panicked rhythm now. Her head tilted slightly, trying to place the sound through the headphones. She couldn't. That was the point.

"Keep your hand where it was," I said, my voice steady. "Fingers flat. Palm down."

She didn't move. Her jaw was tight, the muscle jumping beneath her ear.

"Did you hear me?"

A faint nod. Her hand uncurled, trembling, and resettled against her collarbone.

The footsteps faded down the hallway. A door opened and closed somewhere in the building. The kind of sound you hear every night and never think about—unless you're blindfolded, wearing headphones, standing in your underwear in a room where a stranger told you someone might be watching.

"Good girl," I said.

The word landed. I saw it travel through her, a small shiver that started at her shoulders and worked its way down her spine.

"Now slide your hand lower. To the top of your left breast. Two fingers only."

She hesitated. Her hand drifted down, inch by inch, until her index and middle fingers rested at the edge of the black lace. Her breathing was shallow now, quick little pulls of air that made her ribs show through her skin.

"Trace the edge of the lace. Slowly. I want to watch you feel where the fabric ends and you begin."

Her fingers moved. A slow, deliberate path along the curve of her breast, following the scalloped edge of the bra. She swallowed hard. A bead of sweat trailed down her temple, catching the candlelight.

"Lower," I said. "Under the lace."

Her fingers slipped beneath the fabric. Her lips parted. A soft sound escaped her, barely audible over the hum.

The footsteps returned.

This time they were closer. The hallway outside her door. A pause. The faint creak of floorboards as someone shifted their weight, maybe checking their keys, maybe just standing there.

She froze completely. Her hand went still under the lace. Her whole body locked up like a deer caught in headlights she couldn't even see.

"Don't stop," I said.

She shook her head. A small, desperate motion.

"Don't. Stop." I let the words land separately, each one a small stone dropped into still water. "You heard me. Keep touching yourself."

Her hand resumed moving, but slowly now. Mechanically. Her attention was split between my voice and the door, between the warmth of her own fingers and the possibility of a man's shadow sliding under the crack.

I stepped closer. Close enough to see the fine hairs on her arm stand upright. Close enough to hear the catch in her throat when the floorboards in the hallway creaked again.

"There's a man out there," I said, low enough that she had to strain to hear me over the hum. "He lives two doors down. He's probably just coming home late. But maybe he's not. Maybe he heard something. Maybe he's curious about the candle burning in your window."

Her fingers moved faster. A small, *** response to the ***.

"I didn't tell you to s***d up."

She slowed immediately. Her hand trembled against her breast.

"Good. Now take your hand out. Lace back in place."

She obeyed. Her fingers emerged from the fabric and hovered, uncertain, at her sternum.

"Both hands at your sides. Palms flat against your thighs."

She dropped them. The motion was almost violent, like she was glad to have direction again.

The hallway fell silent. Whoever had been standing out there was gone now, or had never been standing at all. The lie and the truth blurred together in the dark, and she had no way to tell them apart.

I circled behind her. Slowly. Letting her feel the displacement of air, the shift of my presence from one side to the other. She didn't turn her head. She was learning.

"There's a game within the game," I said, my voice close to her ear. "Every time you hear a sound from outside this room, you're going to wonder. Every creak, every footstep, every muffled voice from the apartment above. Is that real? Is it me? Is it someone you don't want to see you like this?"

Her hands pressed harder against her thighs.

"Your heart is racing," I said. "I can see it in your throat. I can see it in your chest. You're terrified and you're aroused and you can't separate the two anymore. That's exactly where I want you."

I reached out and traced a single finger down her spine. She shuddered violently, a full-body tremor that started at her shoulders and rippled down to her knees.

"You're going to turn around now. Face the door. Hands behind your back, wrists crossed."

She turned. Her movements were unsteady, her balance compromised by the blindfold, the headphones, the weight of being watched by someone she couldn't see.

She faced the front door. Her hands found each other behind her back, fingers lacing together.

"Now you wait," I said. "You stand here and you listen. You listen to every sound this building makes, and you wonder which one is him. Which one is me. Which one means someone's about to walk through that door and find you like this."

Her knuckles were white where her hands gripped each other.

"I'm going to sit down," I said. "I'm going to watch you stand there and feel the weight of every possibility. And when I'm ready, I'll tell you to move again."

I walked to her couch and sat down. The cushion sighed beneath me. She heard it. Her head tilted toward the sound, searching.

The candle flickered. Somewhere above, a toilet flushed. The building groaned.

She stood perfectly still, blind and listening, and I watched the *** play across her skin like light on water.

[Da****]

I don’t know why it censored things on here. So I tried writing another version. Pick your favorite if both of them show up.

[Bi****]

Nicely written.

[pr****]

🥵🥵🥵

[K9****]

🔥

[Wi****]

Ok now we need part 3 please.

[Th****]

🔥🔥 asf

[Da****]

Yesterday at 06:07 PM, WildRachel said:

Ok now we need part 3 please.

Posted the final part

[Ki****]

Very nice you should go check out the one on my profile called strawberry and lavender. It’s a short one well relatively short, but I think you might enjoy it.