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Upstairs, I pace my office, staring at my computer like it might bite. Marissa’s voice rings in my head like the shrill whine of a wounded bird. I let out a bitter laugh, because even when she’s not here, she still manages to make herself heard by occupying my thoughts and holding my peace of mind hostage. Agitated, I keep walking a path back and forth in front of my desk, my feet padding down the carpet like I’m going to wear it out. Anger bubbles inside me, as it so often does these days.
Porn addiction. What a stupid thing to say.
Glancing at the computer, I know that a good tug will calm my nerves, but I’m unwilling to actually sit down and give it a go because I don’t want to give my wife the satisfaction. I don’tneedit. I’m not addicted. I want it, for sure, but that’s not addiction. It’s just a distraction from everything that’s fucked up in my life. A distraction from mywife.
I inhale and exhale slowly, hoping to get some oxygen to my racing, crowded mind. I need silence, quiet, calm. I need to relax, but how the hell can I with her shrill voice screeching in my ears? I put my hands on either side of my head as if that’ll drown her out, but her accusations and grating words keep pelting me like golf ball-sized hail.
When’s the last time I didn’t go online to find some sexy video to jerk off to?
I stop and stare hard at my computer, thoughts circling like hungry sharks round and round my mind. Has it been that long? In the beginning, my search through porn sights wasn’t even about release. I wasn’t searching for any kind of gratification or something to watch to get off to. When this all started, I’d been searching for my sister, Rachel, and hoping that maybe, against all odds, I’d find her as some empty-eyed porn star in need of rescuing. I let out a low chuckle because of how fucked up that thought seems now, given everything that’s transpired since that first painful, unproductive search for answers.
Circling the room, I flop down in front of the couch, turning on the television for some background noise while I grab my phone. One thing I’m happy to admit, it's a lot easier getting off with someone who's just getting paid to make the right noises and say the right things.
I usually just watch videos, but as I'm scrolling through, I see an advertisement for a cam girl. Normally, I scroll past that shit, but this one is wearing a schoolgirl uniform, and with her long, dark locks, she looks a lot like Chloe. Fuck it, at this point I'm not above a few more indulgences. She turns to the camera when I click into her chat and gives me a flirtatious smile.
“Hi there, stranger,” she purrs, kicking her heels up behind her head and propping her chin in her hand. “What's your name?”
I don't know what possesses me to say it, but her low, flirty voice and that sexy schoolgirl outfit make me say, “Mr. Reed.”
“Mr. Reed,” she echoes and flutters her lashes at me, pursing her lips and pushing her breasts out toward the camera, barely held together with a bright pink bra and a tiny white shirt over that. “Are you my teacher?” When I nod, she lets out a breathy giggle, her cheeks staining pink. “Lucky me.”
I have absolutely no idea how to talk to cam girls, but the way she says my name already has my dick hard in my pants. I shift my weight and clutch my phone tighter, clenching my jaw.
She flutters her lashes again and fixes me with a pout. “I'm sorry I did so bad on my last exam, Mr. Reed. I tried…sohard to do it right for you.” She sighs. It's exaggerated and clearly some kind of script, but goddamn if it isn't doing something for me right now. “Is there any way I can get some sort of…extra credit?”
“I'm sure something can be arranged,” I murmur. She grins at me and pushes herself to her hands and knees on her bed, wriggling her breasts and ass enticingly in the direction of the camera. “Turn around.”
I'm getting tired of seeing her face; she looks like Chloe but not enough to give me the illusion I crave. That and I don't want her to watch me jerking off. She giggles and obeys me, pressing herself flat on her chest and showing me her ass, perfectly framed in a short plaid skirt and the tiniest pair of hot pink panties I've ever seen that disappear between her perfectly rounded ass cheeks. She spreads her knees out with an exaggerated moan, tossing her hair and working her hips in little figure eights. I groan, because God, that's perfect. Unzipping my pants, I pull my erection out, stroking slowly in time with the rocking of her hips, all while picturing Chloe in my mind.
“Touch yourself,” I command. “Over your panties. Tell me how wet you are.”
She does, rubbing her fingertips up and down teasingly, much too light I'm sure to actually feel good for her, but I don't care. I'm already embarrassingly close again, ready to bust just at the idea of sinking into her pussy and pounding away.
“I’m so wet, Mr. Reed. I've never done this before,” she says softly, biting her lower lip. “Is this okay?”
“You’re doing great, Chloe,” I say breathlessly. “Now, pull your panties to one side and let me see that sweet little pussy.”
She flashes me a grin and reaches down. Just as she's about to show me what I really want, my phone blackens and starts to vibrate with an unknown number. I bite back a curse and resist the urge to just block the number outright, but I can’t do that. It might be a student's parent, or someone else important.
I answer the call. “Hello?” I growl, stuffing my cock back into my pants.
“Mr. Reed?”
Even with my arousal surging at the sound of her saying my name, my blood goes cold at the panic in Chloe’s voice. She’s upset, and she sounds like she's been crying. Instantly, my protective instincts are on high alert.
“Chloe? What's wrong?”
“I need your help,” she whimpers.
“Where are you?” I ask, already on my feet.
“I-I’m at Fawkner Park,” she whispers. She sounds breathless, like she's been running. “Near the main entrance. I'm sorry to call you so late, I just…” Her voice breaks, giving way to a wave of sobs. “I was attacked. Some guy, he tried to—”
“I'm on my way,” I cut her off, keeping my voice as calm as possible.
Grabbing my keys, I head to my car, immediately suspecting the worst. I can hear the fear in her voice and Chloe doesn’t strike me as the type of girl to panic easilyorreach out for help.
Outside the park, I spot her immediately, even in the pitch black of the night. She has a bruised eye, the circle bright and fresh, and her shirt is torn, barely clinging to her body. I get out of my car and race over to her, my blood thumping in my veins. Tear tracks stain her cheeks as she wipes her face and sucks in a shaky breath.
