Night Vision – Pt.4


The image and the message come through while I’m sitting cross-legged on my assigned bed (number twenty-four, middle row, third bed from the right) and scrolling rather mindlessly through my phone. The device buzzes abruptly in my hand. A holiday pic from my cousin? The number is unknown. Maybe Lisa got herself a new SIM card? She’s spending seven whole weeks in Chile, so that would make sense.Downloading the photo takes a couple of seconds – our lodge is basically in the middle of the woods, after all, so the connection is slow – in which I am left to squint at the blurry thumbnail. It seems very dark, with a brighter shape in the middle of blackness.The picture snaps into crisp eight-megapixel clarity the very second the text comes through.[Unknown: You looked beautiful tonight, Missy.]My breath catches.It’s me.That’s my body in that picture, half of my skin exposed, photographed from the foot end of the very same bed I’m currently sitting on.The photo shows me supine on my back, on top of the duvet. My naked legs are bent at the knees and parted wide, putting my (thinly, transparently) panty-clad, spread pussy into the dead center of the picture. The fingers of my right hand, outline clearly visible through the flimsy cotton of my panties, are buried knuckle-deep in my naughty hole. My left hand is up my nightshirt, groping my left tit roughly.“Oh, my God,” I hush out and almost lose hold of my phone. My hands are suddenly shaking too badly, my stomach is pulling taut, and I feel like I’m about to throw up.I should probably look up and look around. Whoever took and sent me that picture and the message must be right here with me, in this very room, just like they were last night. He (or she? No, probably ‘he’) is probably watching my reaction right now, and I should catch them in the act. But I can’t bring myself to do so. Shock and embarrassment keep my head down low, and my instinct is to not let anything show.Morbid curiosity makes me tap the picture and zoom in, to see just how many details it captured and whether I’d be as easily identifiable to other people as I was to myself.My sleep mask is hiding the top part of my face, but my distinctive cheeks, tinted with a fevered blush, are exposed enough. My mouth is set in a grimace of lust. The mole on the side of my jaw is on display. The ring I wear on my pinky finger is glinting in the flash of the photograph.  And my carrot-colored pubic hair is unmistakable, peeking past the crotch of my pastel-green underwear.I keep staring Fikirtepe escort bayan and staring at myself. At my body. At me. At the photo that some stranger took of me.If…If the circumstances were different, I…I think I might like this picture.It’s ungainly, sure. It’s not a professional porn shot by any stretch. My various bumps, pores, wrinkles, rolls, and hairs are not photoshopped to nonexistence. My boobs, even though they are on the small side, are flat on my chest due to gravity, my nipples pointing wide. I can see uncomfortably far up my nostrils.But still.I note how my naked feet are pointed, the toes all curled, speaking of the pleasure I was feeling at that moment. I note how the nipple of my left breast forms a bump underneath my sleep shirt that is positively magnetic to the gaze. I note the darker spot on the cotton between my thighs – how it traces along my slit… evidence of what a good and patient girl I had been before I started touching myself.I swipe my thumb across the screen to inspect the top half of the picture more.The fan of hair across my pillow and the whiteness of my skin form a spectacular contrast with the fuzzier darkness outside of the cone of the camera flash, and the entire composition reminds me of one of Fiona Apple’s music videos.I’ve been a bad, bad girl…Someone coughs.I flinch and tap the screen to zoom out again, belatedly checking whether anyone is close enough to have seen the full super-magnified six-point-one-inch display of my moist crotch. There’s nobody close, though.The devastating verdict is: Anyone would only need one look at it to identify me among the twenty-six women on this company retreat. None of the handful of female employees of the lodge come into question, either.While my heart is seemingly squeezing through my ribs with every thud, I hastily delete the photo from my chat feed. I know it’s pointless, that this will not delete it on his device. Still, it feels necessary.  I’m left with a gray [picture deleted]-note and his written message.[Unknown: You looked beautiful tonight, Missy.]He knows my name, too. My trembling fingers mash onto the text field, and then onto the keyboard that pops up.[Missy: U had NO right 2 take that photo!!!][Missy: Delete it NOW or I will take this 2 the authorities!!!!]As I hit ‘send’, I regret having deleted the picture myself. Did I just destroy evidence? I panic for a stupid second, then remember that nothing is ever truly deleted from the Escort Sancaktepe internet. I’m sure this app allows at least three methods of recovering data. Should I ever actually go to the police with this, I can surely somehow-[Unknown: Nonsense, Missy.]That’s all he – I assume it’s a man, just on principle – sends me for a whole minute. I stare at the two words for so long, that their afterimage starts swimming before my eyes. Nonsense, Missy. Asshole.Eventually, I do pop my head up and look around me more thoroughly, just to see if anyone is typing on their phones, or maybe acting… I don’t know… suspicious? Or looking like an asshole?Like they have seen and photographed me naked and without my consent and are now watching my reaction to receiving a nude pic of myself and cryptic messages from unknown numbers?But there’s no one there to catch my eye. The long, gently billowing curtains that divide the massive sleeping hall into ‘aisles’ are all pulled open and up, more or less allowing us to see each other sitting on or near our assigned beds.There’s only a handful of people inside right now: Marcus from accounting, clearly asleep sitting up with his mouth wide open, Brad B. and Brad W. from HR, discussing something (probably fantasy football) on Brad B.’s iPad, Ashlee from recruiting, talking quietly on the phone while pacing next to her bed. Outside on the porch steps, I can see Jada and Tamara from senior management enjoying tea together. Everyone else is on the camping grounds outside somewhere, or in the entrance hall, as close as they can get to the one source of WiFi.Nobody is looking at me.Still, I feel watched and paranoid, and I really need a quiet place to think, so I grab my purse and hurry over to the bathroom, lock myself into the very last stall and sit down on the closed toilet lid. I have received two messages in the meantime.[Unknown: Don’t worry. I will probably keep this picture to myself.][Unknown: I will cherish it.]“Ugh,” I snarl, just knowing in my gut that this is code for ‘I’m going to masturbate over it for the next decade’. The thought makes me warm and queasy.[Missy: Pervert][Missy: Delete it!][Missy: This is sexual assault!!!]He starts typing immediately and quickly, and a whole barrage of messages fires back at me.[Unknown: You spread your legs and diddled yourself to an orgasm, Missy.][Unknown: In a room full of innocent, sleeping people.][Unknown: You didn’t care if any one of them was watching.][Unknown: üsküdar escort You didn’t care if your moaning and gasping would wake anyone up][Unknown: or if the sound and smell of your sopping wet pussy would bother anybody.][Unknown: Under those circumstances, calling others “perverted”][Unknown: is rather like the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?]I grind my teeth, then lift my right thumb to chew on it. Normally, it helps me think. Right now, it just serves to remind me how I used that very same thumb last night, sliding the pad of it-The sound and smell of your-I quickly pull my hand away from my mouth again and feel myself blush fiercely. Sound, smell. I remember those from last night.I also remember hazy notions of the people around me opening their eyes, straining their ears to catch my little whimpers. Enjoying the idea of it, the suspicion that one of their co-workers was…I remember gently suckling the tip of my moist finger, enjoying the earthy, sultry taste.I put my palm over my eyes for a moment and let the shame wash over me, and the shame over the fact that my shame is so small and shallow, and that I don’t feel like a pervert – or if I do, I don’t know that I hate it.I’ve been a bad, bad girl.When I dare to face the world again, two new messages are waiting.[Unknown: I am fond of perverts like you.][Unknown: And perverts like you are fond of me.]“What’s that supposed to mean?” I hiss at my screen. Apprehension is unfurling queasily in my stomach. He’s typing some more, and I’m afraid he’ll answer my question.[Unknown: You’ll like everything I have planned for you.][Unknown: I promise.]Everything he has planned for me. The cold dread hardens like cement. My thumbs tremble as I type, then delete it, berating myself – Focus, Missy! Focus on the most important thing! – then type again.[Missy: Delete my pic u creep!!!]I stare at my screen, willing him to reply, dreading it, and already knowing what his answer will be again.When the silence has stretched into three minutes, I type a ‘please,’ but then delete it again without sending it, angry at myself for even considering it. Then, I type a ‘NOW’ in all-caps, but delete that as well, and get angry at myself again for being so chicken.A couple more minutes pass. Someone comes into the restroom and uses the toilet, then leaves. I stare and stare and stare at my screen, tapping it with my thumb to keep it from fading into standby-black. Eventually, I am too antsy to wait any longer.[Missy: What do u mean “everything u have planned for me”?][Missy: And FYI Im not found of u at all rn][Missy: fond]My damn phone doesn’t speak Posh.[Missy: I want u 2 delete my picture!!!][Missy: And stop taking pics of strangers you fckn perv!!!][Missy: Im gonna report you 2 the police][Missy: Ur a criminal]And he is, I’m 100% sure of it.

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