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“When I get myself off, I always picture myself blindfolded... I’m always giving myself to men I can’t see. There’s this one guy in my fantasies, and I never see his face, couldn’t ever point him out in a crowd, but I’m always ready for him... always spread wide for him to take me as his... he could be anyone, and I wouldn’t even know... I don’t want to know... I don’t want to know the men he brings to me, either...”
My throat turned dry. “Wouldn’t you be scared?”
“Yes,” she rasped.
“And you want that?”
“I shouldn’t...”
“When you play with your filthy little snatch at night, is it me you think of? Am I this dirty fucking stranger?”
She moaned, a perfect sound. “Always, Jason... you’re always the dirty fucking stranger...”
My voice came out as a growl. “Give me your number.”
“I can’t,” she said. “It’s against the rules.”
“Come on, Lucy... let’s stop playing around.”
I could almost hear the cogs turning, fear creeping in. “Shhh, Jason, I’ll lose my job. For real.”
“So, tell me some of it, give mesomething, work in code, riddle, rhyme, I don’t fucking care, just give me something.” I was working my cock too fast, too frantic, threatening to shoot my load all over the sheets.
“I can’t...” she hissed. “Jason, I can’t...”
“Do it, Lucy, just one fucking clue...”
She was worked up, less careful with the volume of her voice. I could hear the rustle of her bedcovers under her body, the jagged race of breath. “Fuck... I want you to fuck me...”
“Come on, dirty girl, give me something...”
She tipped over the edge, and her jarred little groans sent me over too. I could only just make out the words as she said them.
“Zero, seven, nine...”
“Good girl, that’s my good sweet dirty fucking girl, Lucy. You’ve made me so fucking proud.” I caught my breath, reaching for a notepad from my bedside drawer. I scribbled the three digits.
Her voice was nervous when she spoke again. “If I get caught...”
“Shh,” I said. “Don’t mention it again. I’ll be listening out. Feed them to me whenever you can.”
I waited, heart pounding and aching for the affirmative. Christ, I was losing my fucking mind, snared in a crazy web of fantasy with a girl I didn’t even know.
“Ok.”
I breathed a happy sigh. “I’m not a psycho, Lucy.”
“Hope not,” she said. “Although I hope you can put on a good act.”
I wouldn’t disappoint.
***
Chapter Four
Jason
I have few friends I really speak with, man to man. Steve Dean is one of them. I’d known Stevie since high school, way before drink or pussy or mortgages. It’d all been about football back then, although Steve hadn’t made the grade. He was a carpenter now, based on a big farm on the outskirts of Cobham, a ten minute drive from Kensington Rangers’ training ground, where I spent the majority of my working week. Steve had done well for himself bar a nasty divorce the year previous, another reason I was loathe to sign my life away. Poor fucker was still picking up the pieces of financial warfare.
