Playing With Fire

I sent anonymous videos of me playing with myself with a vibrator to my deskmate just for the thrill of it.

I loved the thrill that came with carrying out forbidden, socially unacceptable acts like these—especially more so when he was frantically seeking out my identity.

The lower I sank, the greater the thrill.

…

Late at night, I lay spread out in bed, panting loudly as my body trembled like jelly. I stayed like that until the waves of pleasure finally calmed down, allowing me to relax the muscles in my back.

I wasn't in a rush to clean myself up. Instead, I grabbed the phone from the stand next to my bed and rewatched the video I'd just recorded.

After confirming that there was nothing in the video that would give away my identity, I switched to my other number on my dual-SIM phone, tapped into Austin Newton's messaging window, and sent the video to him.

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed with a familiar buzzing pattern.

It was from Austin. There were only five words in his reply.

"Who on earth are you?"

I lightly tapped on my screen and replied to him for the first time.

"Who do you wish I was?"

Moments later, Austin sent me a video call request.

I fell back onto the bed and calmed my breathing down. Then, I threw my phone onto the bed and let it continue ringing for all I cared.

I had been keeping up with this game for more than two weeks. It had started off with just photos of me in my underwear. Eventually, things escalated until I was now sending him videos of my masturbation.

I was slowly arousing Austin's lust and desire, little by little.

At first, he ignored my provocative messages, but eventually, he started demanding to know who I was.

I recalled the time in swimming class when I stole glances at Austin's well-toned abs and V-lines that led to his happy trail and the happier bulge in his pants.

The mere sight of it had the horny side of me howling with desire. I wanted him so, so much.

Eventually, my room was filled with the scent of lust. I squeezed the pillow between my legs, biting on my lips and with my toes curled. I rubbed myself against the edges, trying to contain my lust. I dearly wanted to stuff something inside of me to suppress the emptiness I felt inside my heart.

Up until I finally fell asleep, I was still wondering if Austin would agree to send me a video of himself jerking off if I asked him for it.

…

Austin was my deskmate. The first time I laid my eyes on him was the first day I went to the new school as a transfer student.

It was bright and sunny that day. The homeroom teacher, Mr. Troy Fischer, brought me into the classroom and showed me to my seat, which was in the last row, as it was the only empty seat available.

"You can sit here for the time being. I'll reshuffle seats again after the next exam results next month."

I sat down only after Mr. Fischer had left. I then stole a glance at the guy sitting next to me. He looked rather cynical.

I knew from experience that students who sat in the last row of seats were either the school bullies or the worst scorer in class.

In other words, I should probably stay away from people like him.

However, as fate would have it, we crossed paths earlier than I'd ever imagined. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that he would make his way into my heart that quickly, either.

The last class before lunch break was PE. While everyone gathered on the field, the PE teacher, Mr. Jay Wilcox, suddenly called me out.

"You! Why aren't you wearing proper sports shoes?"

All of my classmates immediately turned to stare at me. I felt intimidated.

I had always been the apple of everyone's eyes since I was young, and this was the first time I'd encountered a situation as embarrassing as this.

Austin was the one who came to my rescue. He answered Mr. Wilcox in a lazy, nonchalant tone, "She's a transfer student. It's her first day at school today."

It was only then that Mr. Wilcox decided to let me go.

I secretly glanced at the row of guys next to us and carefully gave Austin the once-over for the first time.