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Marius: I have your social security number, your bank balance, your entire social service history, and you’re asking how I got your number?
Okay, that was fairly dumb.
Me: I forgot you were a first-rate stalker.
Marius: I’m the best at everything I do ;) So, about that dream…how about I come over and make it happen, huh?
I swear my eyes roll so hard I see the back of my skull.
Me: Right. So you can get off and leave me hanging again. Pass.
Marius: You know I only left you hanging because you’re a stubborn little thing, your highness. Admit you want me and I’ll make you come until you pass out.
A shiver passes through me, settling in my core. I know what my body has to say about it.
Me: Oh, wow, classy. I’m your 1 am booty call.
Marius: So you’d say yes at noon? Six? Eight pm?
He’s ridiculous, and what’s even more unbelievable is that, for some reason, I’m smiling at the screen, thoroughly amused.
Me: If I say no, would you kidnap me and strap me to a chair to have your way with me again?
I need to remind both of us what he’s capable of, and all the reasons why that’s not going to happen.
I half expect him to deny it, because who’d say as much via text; if I wanted to report him, I’d have evidence, right here in black and white. Then again, anyone looking at our conversation so far would likely assume we’re flirting.
Because you are flirting, dumbass. The guy is literally a depraved, deviant predator, and you’re flirting with him. What’s wrong with you???
My inner conscience is a spoilsport.
Marius: Wouldn’t rule it out. I bought duct tape. It’ll hurt less than the zip ties.
Oh my god, he can’t possibly be serious.
But of course he is.
Now’s when you end the conversation. Now’s when you block him.
Me: I’m surprised you don’t have something stronger in your arsenal.
I blame this evil movie. It’s giving me ideas. Very dangerous ideas that makes my slutty pussy tingle.
Marius: I do. I simply figured I wouldn’t send you running quite yet.
Me: Seriously?
The next message, arriving a couple of minutes after my question, is a picture, taken in a dimly lit bedroom. He’s on a dark gray bed, holding a metal bar attached to four padded cuffs. I recognize his strong hand, and I don’t miss the bulge in his sweatpants underneath his hand.
Me: Oh my god, seriously?
Marius: You asked.
I did. I wet my suddenly dry lips.
Me: How does it work?
Marius: I can come over and show you. Or pick you up. I have far more toys at home than I did at my grandma’s.
