The Wrong Send

*A New Collection

I was sprawled across my bed in nothing but the thin silk robe I’d stolen from Mom’s closet, the fabric slipping off one shoulder as I read Tyler’s latest text for the third time. “Babe, I’m dying over here. Send me something filthy so I can stroke to it before I lose my mind.” My boyfriend had been stuck at a work conference all weekend, and the dirty back-and-forth we’d been having since lunch had me soaked.

My parents were downstairs. Dad yelling at the game on TV, Mom laughing at whatever he was saying, but they never came upstairs without knocking.

So I was safe.

My heart was already hammering as I stood up and let the robe fall to the floor. I looked good tonight. Twenty years old, skin still flushed from the shower, my perky tits full and heavy, nipples tight from the cool air.

I turned sideways in front of the full-length mirror on my closet door, arching my back so my ass popped, then spread my legs just enough to show how wet and shiny my shaved pussy was.

One hand cupped a tit, pinching the nipple; the other slid between my thighs, two fingers parting my lips so the flash would catch everything.

Click.

The photo was perfect - slutty, teasing, exactly what Tyler begged for. I could already picture him groaning in his hotel room, hand wrapped around his cock the second he opened it.

I opened our chat, attached the picture, and typed underneath: “Hurry up and get home so you can come all over these instead of just thinking about them 😈”. My thumb hovered for half a second, then I hit send.

A little electric thrill shot through me. I flopped back onto the bed, grinning up at the ceiling, waiting for the explosion of replies I knew was coming.

Tyler was never slow when I sent him nudes.

Usually it was instant heart-eyes, then a voice note telling me exactly how hard he was, even recording the sound of his thickness smashing a surface, then a dick pic in return.

One minute passed.

Then two.

Then five.

Why haven't him responded yet.

I frowned and reached for my phone. The message showed as delivered, blue ticks and everything. No “typing…” bubble. Nothing. Maybe he was in a meeting? Or driving? I chewed my thumbnail, scrolling up through our chat to see if he’d read it yet.

That’s when my eyes flicked to the contact name at the very top of the screen.

It wasn’t Tyler.

It was **Rick**.

As in Rick

Uncle Rick. Jesus - my dad’s best friend since college. The guy my dad called “brother.” The one who’d been at every single family barbecue, every birthday, every Thanksgiving for the last fifteen years. The tall, silver-fox lawyer who always showed up with expensive wine for my parents and some little inside-joke gift for me, calling me “sweetheart” and ruffling my hair like I was still fifteen. The man my dad trusted with everything - house keys, emergency contacts, even the spare car when ours was in the shop.

My naked picture - the one where I was literally spreading my dripping pink pussy for the camera - was sitting right there in our message thread.

Delivered. Read. Two little blue ticks staring back at me like a slap.

My stomach dropped so fast I actually felt sick.

“Oh my God…” The words came out in a broken whisper. My hands started shaking so hard the phone almost slipped through my fingers.

I stared at the screen, willing it to be a glitch, a nightmare, anything but real. But it was, it was real. The timestamp was clear - sent eighteen minutes ago. No way to unsend, and no way to pretend it never happened.

How the fuck did this even happen?

I remembered now - Rick had texted me earlier that afternoon asking if I could remind Dad about their golf game on Sunday.

His chat had been right there in my recent messages, right under Tyler’s. In my horny little rush I must have tapped the wrong one without even looking.

I had just sent a full-frontal, fingers-in-my-pussy nude to my father’s closest friend.

The panic hit me like a truck and my chest felt tight. I could hear Dad laughing downstairs, completely clueless, while the most humiliating photo of my life sat in Uncle Rick’s phone. What if he showed it to dad? What if he told him what kind of girl his “sweetheart” daughter really was?

I was still staring at the screen in pure horror when the three little dots appeared.

He was typing.

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I could feel it in my throat.

A message popped up...

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