One
Vaughn
THREE MISSED CALLS!!!
One thing Ariel never does is to decline my calls.
She always answers my calls. I tap my black Christian louboutins on the brown marble floors, my hands on my hip and phone on my shoulder as I adjust my sleeves. The phone rang but she isn't picking the goddamn phone. I was becoming worried that something had happened to her.
That's when the phone pinged with a message from an unknown number.
My brow furrows.
My phone number is encrypted, so no one should have access to it, let alone someone unknown.
Every instinct tells me not to open it, but then again, I need to know who the hell got hold of my number. Could it be her captor? God forbid Ariel was kidnapped.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:For your entertainment
With a deepening frown, I click on the cloud link attached, and it takes me to a video.
The footage is a little unsteady, with faint light barely illuminating what appears to be a hotel room.
At first, I can’t make out what I’m seeing as the camera trembles slightly, but gradually, it steadies, coming into sharp focus.
A huge hard c**k lies between big breasts with brown areolas. I tilt my head to the side, a prickling sense of recognition washing over me.
“Damn, these t**s are f*****g amazing.” The deep, slightly raspy voice I'd recognise anywhere.
“You don’t mind me filming, yeah?” he speaks again, thrusting his c**k between the breasts cradled in a pair of scarlet-tipped hands.
“Why are you filming?” she asks in an extremely familiar breathy moan.
“Because I want to keep this memory beautiful.”
“It’s okay. Just don’t post it online or show anyone, especially Scarlette. She'd kill me.” She's concerned her best friend would see it, not me?
“I won’t. This will be our dirty little secret.” I can hear the smirk woven through the lazy drawl of his “dirty.”
I don’t need to see their faces to know exactly who’s speaking. They’re both etched so deep in my psyche, it’s impossible not to recognize them. Ezra, my rival from the very first day I started school in Ashbourne and my f*****g girlfriend I've dated for five years.
A part of me refuses to accept it.
“You’re so f*****g hot, did you know that?” The words fall from him in a soft growl.
The camera follows his c**k as he slides it down her stomach and over the gold dress that’s bunched around her waist. The gold dress I bought for her to come to this gala.
“So are you.” She moans, running her fingers over defined abs, and he films that, following the motion of her red nails. “f**k me with your huge c**k, handsome.”
“You want this c**k pounding your little p***y?”
“Mmm.”
He puts on a condom, and I tilt my head as he strokes his c**k in one rough go, humming deep in his throat.
“Like this?” He thrusts inside her, and she screams, and it sounds like, “Yess, f**k me, please.”
The camera shakes as he drives into her with long, harsh strokes in a way I wouldn't f**k her because to me, she's the softest thing I've ever had. She was my little treasure but not anymore.
Because in the video, she’s moaning and screaming as she’s being f****d to within an inch of her life by someone else.
That someone flips her around, hauls her off the bed, and f***s her doggie style, shoving her head on the carpet as she blabbers and asks for more. He removes the condom, whirls her so that she’s facing him and fists her hair as she deep-throats his c**k. His fingers flex, his groans filling my ears as he f***s her face, making her gag, c*m and saliva trickling down her chin.
Her face shows in those shots, so messed up with snot and tears and his c*m, and yet she looks at him with big, wide eyes, her cheeks flushed, her expression eager.
Something I’ve never witnessed, because she’s never looked at me the way she’s looking at him—as if he’s a god.
She’s so into it, she comes more than once.
I can see it in her shaking limbs and hear it in the throaty moans and loud screams. I witness it in her eagerness to help him put a condom on.
She even suggests removing it altogether, but he doesn’t.
The entire thing rolls before my eyes in high definition. I see the way his c**k plunges in and out of her p***y again. I listen to degrading, dirty talk. I wouldn't dare say to her that she seems to get off on it.
And all I did was watch.
I witness the absolute sheer madness of how he f***s—going deep and slow, then harsh and fast as he kneads and slaps and parts her ass cheeks.
And I listen, really listen, to the way they moan and groan and how she whimpers and begs.
I’ve f****d Ariel more times than I can count, and yet I’ve never seen her like this.
It’s like I’m watching a complete stranger.
As she rides Ezra and keeps praising his c**k, his performance, and the way she’s “feeling him in her stomach,” I let my real emotions slip through, numbness.
I don’t know how long the video lasts. It’s long enough for them to go into multiple positions. Long enough that I feel like I’m watching porn stars on drugs.
I don’t even see all of it since it was edited and cut and zoomed in on all the parts a “porn director” would think are fit to tantalize his audience.
Just when I think the video will never end, the final shot, the one that exists in all porn movies, comes through. He grunts, rubbing his c**k— aggressively, I might add—then comes all over her stomach, breasts, and face.
He marks her in front of the camera for me to see as she licks his c*m off her lips. Then, she moans with a sigh, sounding satisfied and positively spent. “You should’ve used my mouth.”
I expect the video and the surreal experience to end.
Instead, the camera flips back to show the face of the man whose d**k’s performance I watched for the past half an hour or so.
His hair falls on either side of his forehead, damp with sweat, his eyes glinting, the blue looking darker, almost gray, the brown as black as his soul.
He grins at the camera, then bites his lower lip, and says in Russian, “This could be us, Zaychik”
Then the video stops. On his face.
