Justin wants Kyla and he’d do anything to have her. He’d do anything to control her.
This bad boy usually gets what he wants.
This story is an erotic short with graphic sexual content.
Twenty-one-year-old Kyla Adkins frequents the Internet in search of her soul mate.
While online, she meets hot and devilishly handsome Justin Brogan. Dangerous, arrogant and quite psychotic, Justin hacks into Kyla’s computer and soon he controls everything, including her heart and her life.
THIS STORY CONTAINS X-RATED CONTENT. ADULTS ONLY!
Summertime lasted three months, making it worse than Valentine’s Day.
Summer. A season when lovers held hands, embraced and kissed as they strolled side-by-side on the walkway heading nowhere. Sometimes I was forced to watch these lovers, considering my small apartment loomed above the street.
My computer desk sat by the living room window. This gave a clear view of the city skyline where distant buildings peaked; so many obstructive buildings that I forgot what the moon looked like.
I used my laptop six hours per day, stopping off long enough to fetch one snack after the other.
A lousy receptionist job got in the way of Internet surfing, when I’d rather immerse myself in chat rooms to escape reality.
A little overweight at five feet and 125 pounds, I’d struggled with weight since the age of twelve. But that’s life. No one’s perfect. No body’s perfect, and I had nice features like wheat blonde hair, green eyes and a shapely figure.
I turned men’s heads in public. My real problem was lack of self-confidence. It hindered and held me back like a dead weight, instead of any literal weight issue.
It was easier to ‘speak’ to men on the Internet. It opened up an entire new world for me. An accessible world with accessible men.
As for those stick-thin, perfect models stuck in your face–via ad bombardment–I looked as damn good as they did. An extra pound or two wouldn’t convince me otherwise.
Best not to dwell on depressing matters, so I turned my attention to a certain website.
Perched behind my desk, I clicked through endless pages of True Christian Love, obsessively searching for the best looking guys; though I wasn’t sure why since it was pointless. Either way, this site catered to Christians seeking love matches.
No I wasn’t a Christian. I only used the site to avoid men who trolled strictly for sex. I hated guys like that (usually). They were arrogant, conceited and entitled jerks.
I admired profiles of hot guys even though they’d turn me down or ignore my flirts. Considering these men were too good for me (or they thought they were), I messaged average guys.
In the space of six months, I’d dated four times but the relationships didn’t go anywhere. I didn’t sense a spark or chemistry.
Would loneliness remain and define me as a person?
Yet there was more to life than settling down with a husband, or settling for a guy I wasn’t especially interested in.
Which poses further questions: What type of guy ‘especially’ interests me? Is there a snowball’s chance in hell he’d be waiting for me on this site?
I snickered at my own naiveté.
After browsing photos, I clicked my inbox and found two new messages. Good thing I didn’t get my hopes up, because the first came from a bearded man in his sixties.
I deleted it. Sorry grandpa, but you’re too old for me.
Someone called GeniusOne sent the second.
GeniusOne. Isn’t he’s modest? Intrigued, I began reading his PM.
Great boobs you have (I noticed the cleavage in your photo). So what size bra do you wear?
Either way they look amazing. Luscious. A single look got me ravenous.
Let’s chat, honey. I wanna get to know you…
– GeniusOne (Justin)
ps: I don’t give my real name out to just anyone. Hope that makes you feel special.
Warmth met my cheeks. I stared at the closing line, disappointed that I’d been trolled.
Awash with sudden curiosity, I clicked the troll’s profile and a low-resolution photo emerged of a young man with a flashy white smile.
GeniusOne was quite a handsome troll; the kind of sensual looks that could melt any woman’s heart. Also sometimes people appeared even more attractive in person. Not that I’d let him get that far.
Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Shouldn’t.
But yet he seemed so… so damn tasty, and oozed enough confidence for both of us.
Sometimes bad trolls could be good trolls. Sometimes bad was good. Although insta-crush = not good.
And then a chat invitation appeared. Wasn’t that something?
Fuck it. I’d humor him and myself. It’d be fun, and I could use a little relief from the same-old boredom of net surfing and dead-end dating sites.
I typed a response.
Him: oh terrific, you decided to take me up on my offer. What’s your name, hon? ;o)
Me: what do you want? Frankly I found your earlier PM very offensive.
Him: you mean the part about your nice boobs? Why would you find that offensive? You should be flattered that you have such luscious, round, firm beautiful breasts.
Him: uh–yeah?? so you don’t like me talking about boobs? They’re a natural part of the female anatomy – like vaginas – and there’s reasons why a penis fits inside a vagina.
Like, say it’d be a natural process for me to slide my cock up your puss vagina.
Nothing to get worked up over. ;-D
Me: um no. it’s disrespectful, incredibly creepy and spare me the sex lecture. I’m sure you’re old enough to know better. Aren’t you? Or are you really 15 and pretending to be old enough to spout filthy vile things from your mouth?
Him: maybe. But seriously, does my profile pic make me look 15? roflmfao.
I’ll compromise. Would you prefer if I called them bewbs? How about tits? If so then I’ll start over and say you have nice tits. Better?
Me: not by a long shot, asshole.
I clicked off the site. Holy shit, that turned into a complete disaster. My bad.
I retreated to the sanctuary of my bedroom, far from the horrid laptop and GeniusMisogynistPig.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
Later I drifted to sleep and dreamed of GeniusPig’s blurry face, which pissed me off when I woke the following morning.
Disgusting. Sick. Revolting. I vowed to find a much better, respectable dating site.
Good luck with that, Kyla Adkins. And good luck with getting this demented sicko out of your head. This lunatic is your ultimate weakness.
Even if you don’t realize it, your subconscious does.
* * *
As the sun rose early the following morning, I ended up searching profiles on that website.
A compulsion. Obsession. Can. Not. Stop. Besides, why let one troll spoil the entire site?
Alert for a new PM. I ignored it and continued browsing.
Alert for a second PM. I ignored it too.
Alert for a third PM.
Alert, alert, alert. Damn, damn, damn!
I hit the inbox and furiously scanned my messages. A blinking chat box commanded my attention as well.
Demanding entitled asshole!
Me: what the hell do you want??
Him: hi honey. It’s me.
Me: I know it’s you, dickweed. So what do you want? this is getting OLD and btw stop calling me honey, dammit.
Him: Baby, I’m just being friendly. No need to get bitchy. 😦
Me: Pls stop messaging me. You’re verging on stalking and I’m sick of it.
Him: aww, PMS time?
Me: You know what? You’re a total prick. Fuck off.
Him: say please.
Him: say please. Please please pretty please please please
Me: PLEASE FUCK OFF
Him: I’ll fuck off for you, if you really want me to.
Him: Okay. Meet me on Skype tonight and I’ll do it.
Him: I’ll fuck off on camera. You wanted to see me fuck off, no?
Me: . . .
I shut down the laptop instead of chucking it out the window. My face flushed hot, heart racing as I launched from the chair and stormed into the kitchen.
With my backside wedged to the fridge, I made a decision. I had to do it.
For the next seven days I distanced myself from the laptop–as if it were alive and my worst enemy.
Actually I think it was my worst enemy.
However, this evening I gained the nerve to log into True Christian Love. So much for keeping distance.
TCL’s home page alerted me to a new text. I inhaled, exhaled and clicked the dreaded inbox.
Hey baby. Where are you? The damn site keeps saying you’re offline and I miss our enlightening conversations. Since you’re not here, I find myself staring at your gorgeous profile pic. Then I find myself in the bathroom…
Oh god no. He didn’t write that. A sense of panic squeezed my heart, so I started to exit the site. But my finger froze on the mouse and I stupidly skimmed the rest:
I find myself in the bathroom jerking off. When I imagine your pretty face surrounded by that lush blonde hair, all I wanna do is come, come and come. I need to blow a hot wad every time I think of you, or else I’ll go insane.
I wish to god I could blow my hot cum inside you. I constantly fantasize about it. Can’t help myself. Can’t stop it. I’ve totally fucking lost control.
I wanna totally lose control all over you.
Mmm. I can imagine how you taste, smell, how you feel, how tight you are. I wanna experience your beautiful legs wrapped around my waist while I’m fucking you.
I want to possess every single inch of you. Nail you. Fuck you.
Please tell me you’re game. I’d love for us to lose control with each other.
God. I hope I’m not scaring you… am I? Am I scaring you?
Anyhow, baby, I’m sorry if I offended you the last time. How about another chance?
I promise never to hurt you.
– GeniusOne (Justin)
I gaped, rereading his crude suggestions over and over. His crazy apology. His sexually explicit rants.
A complete stranger sent me the dirtiest, most provocative message I’d ever seen in my twenty-one years of living. This guy wasn’t a genius; this guy was a certifiable nutjob. He apologized for offending me–though he kept doing it.
What the actual fuck? And why—in god’s name–couldn’t I stop thinking about him?
Because he’s your type, a little voice hinted. Baddies have always been your type. Remember?
There was definitely something intriguing about GeniusOne; aside from his perversions and good looks. I couldn’t exactly pinpoint what fascinated me the most.
He’s a bad boy. That’s what’s so damn fascinating, you idiot.
Even as I shook my head in denial, the facts couldn’t be denied or dismissed. I blew out a sigh, fighting those inner voices which reminded me of my attraction for weirdos.
Shit, maybe I was the weirdo? Yes, yes. That was it. This strange obsession just couldn’t be explained by anything else; except he was one of a handful who’d expressed intense interest in me. That made him stand out.
Actually ‘intense interest’ was a massive understatement and his crazed ‘sexts’ struck fear in me. Despite this I found his attention exciting. Thrilling. He was the first man to give me such a reaction.
Justin. A name that stole my breath and accelerated my pulse.
Oh wow. I’m absolutely as crazy as he is. Troubled by this self-diagnosis, I leaned back and folded my arms over my head. The shitty old chair creaked.
An image popped to the screen. Puzzled, I unfolded my arms and slanted over to discern the home video. It lightened, drew into focus as a lean silhouette became a man. He stood before a camera, somehow streaming live video to my computer.
And I’d be damned if he didn’t begin to strip.
No, just no; but there it was in plain sight.
“Hi baby.” His pouty lips belonged to a face etched with strong features. Styled in a faux hawk, blond highlights streaked his auburn hair. Elevated cheek bones, a subtle slant to azure eyes, straight nose and smooth complexion completed this portrait of perfection.
“Call me Justin.” He winked, stripped off his shirt and revealed a rippling, golden-brown stomach.
He loosened his belt and drifted closer.
“Wondering how I’m streaming this video?” He removed the belt, unzipped and inched his jeans lower, lower.
Smooth skin shone under his navel as if he shaved everywhere. Not a hair in sight.
“I’ve been waiting to show you this.” Clad in black boxers and eyeing me via the lens, Justin stepped out of his jeans. He eased his hands across a toned mid-section, rubbing, taunting, hips swaying in a seductive dance. Occasionally he yanked his boxers down, widening his arrogant grin as he gave a side glimpse of his bare ass.
Justin’s tongue swept his lips teasingly and flicked outward like a snake’s. No longer able to resist, I melted as my knees weakened.
Totally. Absolutely. God, I had to have him. Had to get a taste or I’d die.
He reached into his shorts, worked his cock until it grew to a shocking length. Before I could react, he tugged his boxers and proudly put his cock on display.
I couldn’t avert my eyes.
Justin’s prick stood at attention, huge and aimed upright like a missile. He stroked and stroked, paused to massage his swollen balls. He never glanced from the camera and I imagined he was gazing straight at me.
Fresh hunger darkened his eyes. “Don’t worry. I don’t mind if you watch me come.” He puckered his lips to blow a kiss as he stroked, caressed. His cock enlarged and turned shades of violet.
He gasped, sighed and closed his eyes. “Oh, baby, baby. Ah, oh, oh.” Stroke, stroke, stroke. “God I want you. Right now I’m pretending to drill you with my cock. Mmm.” Another series of slow, easy hand motions.
Groaning, he sped up, frantic while he thrust and jerked his cock. Its violet hue deepened, tip bulged ready to explode.
Justin moaned, moaned and his breath caught. He furiously bucked the air as his cock fired.
Jerk jerk jerk. Two, three, four spurts.
“Ah, ah, ah, yeahhh. I’m fuckin’ you good, baby.” His head tossed back, torso twisted while he struggled for breath. Every muscle in his body flexed.
He squeezed his cock with a shaky hand. Cum remnants dribbled down his wrist.
Sated, Justin leered and tucked his dick inside his boxers.
This was the craziest experience. Ever.
“You never answered my question, baby.” His lips drew to a feigned pout.
“I can’t answer your questions since you can’t hear me, dumbass,” I told the laptop.
“Wrong. Your OS has a new program that mimics Skype. I hear you just fine,” he said. “And don’t call me a dumbass. I’m far from it.”
Confusion mounted. A new program like Skype?
“I’ll go ahead and tell you how I did it.” Justin’s mouth curved to a wicked smile. “I hacked into your computer. Your name’s Kyla Ann Adkins. You’re twenty-one and your birth date is June the tenth. Happy birthday.”
My mouth dropped.
“Yeah. I know everything about you, Miss Adkins. Everything.”
“How?” I shook my head.
“First I hacked into the TCL site by exploiting an XSS security breach. Then I injected a script into my profile page. After you looked at my profile, I gathered your login information, got your real name, email, and from that point I was able to get your physical address, birth date. I remotely installed software on your computer that let me stream this live video.”
“I don’t understand. Speak English because I don’t know the first thing about computer hacking or security breaches.”
He chuckled. “Kyla, does it really matter? The point is–I’ve done it. It was simple, it’s over and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Really? What makes you think I won’t report this? There’s laws against hacking, cyber stalking and harassment.”
“Nah. You won’t report me.”
“And your smug arrogance will bring you down. I promise.”
“Way to be dramatic.” A flash of white teeth as he laughed, tight abs flexed. “You amuse me, Kyla.”
Dammit. I wouldn’t get charmed by his peals of laughter, the way his muscles bulged when he bent his arms, or the way his shorts bulged.
What this man did to me; the violation–everything he was doing–scared me, and his insidious attacks were escalating. Quickly.
I snatched my Smartphone from the desk. “This has gone far enough. I’m reporting this shit to police.”
“No. You won’t.” His grin fell to a firm line.
“I said–you won’t be calling anyone.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it if I were you.”
“Okay then, Kyla. Place your bet.” He spoke in a low, threatening tone.
The video cut to a black screen just as he smiled, winked.
Suspenseful silence filled the room. And why did the video abruptly end?
Something else was wrong. My intuition screamed it.
Smartphone chimed. Hand trembling, I clutched the device and found a new text.
‘Have you placed that bet?’
I barely finished reading before the Smartphone locked.
Then my laptop shut down. By itself.
One by one, these things happened while my fingers worked the phone trying to bring it back to life. Meanwhile Justin’s resonating threats wouldn’t shut the hell up.
For Christ’s sake! Why can’t you leave me the fuck alone? Why are you doing this? I don’t even know you!
I rose and tossed the phone on the desk. Its clatter made me jump, wince.
Any minute I expected the goddamn lights to go out as if he controlled those too.
‘Have you placed that bet?’ Justin’s voice chanted.
No I haven’t placed the goddamn bet, you sicko fuck!
Seized by paranoia, unsure of what to do, I grabbed my car keys and hurried to the front door. My hand enclosed the knob. I didn’t turn it.
Wait–he’s just a stupid troll for shit’s sake. It isn’t like he’d hunt me down and kill me.
I’m letting this guy drive me nuts. I’m giving him all the control.
On my way back to the computer, I threw the jangling keys on the kitchen table.
I sank to the chair and eyed the laptop. Minute upon minute passed as my muscles tensed.
Often I glanced at the overhead clock, and the minute hand that crept around the circular face. Going slow, slow.
By 9:40 my panic waned. Hesitantly I pressed a computer key, then recoiled as if it bit me.
The screen enlivened with vibrant colors, identifying the operating system. I watched as the picture darkened and shifted to my ordinary home page.
Perched before me, this desktop screen seemed innocent and normal. Dozens of tiny, colorful files and apps littered it. I scanned these files for anything peculiar but noticed nothing amiss.
Something still wasn’t quite right.
9:55. Eyelids drooped as I browsed the Internet. At this point I could hardly stay awake; it’d been such a long, shitty day full of drama.
Screw it. It’s getting late.
10:05. I got up, yawned, headed for the bedroom.
Maybe I won’t have horrible dreams tonight… maybe.
* * *
My eyes opened to darkness.
What woke me? Can’t remember.
I jolted upright when last night’s events flooded my memory.
GeniusOne. Justin. Computer hacking. Phone dead. Privacy violation.
Violation. Violation. Violation.
I slid from the bed, went to the gaping door and peeked past. The distant computer screen cast a bluish glow over portions of the next room. That ghostly light trickled down the reflective floor leading to my feet.
I followed its jagged path.
Sitting at the desk, I reread his latest message. As if this block of text were a puzzle, my brain refused to comprehend its meaning. Perhaps my mind simply refused to go there.
‘I won the bet.’ Four little words which flickered and conveyed a supposedly simple meaning.
Quick glance at the Smartphone, and yeah it still seemed dead. I’d scoop it up to make sure but my arms wouldn’t work. Just like my brain wouldn’t work.
Everything’s dead in this apartment.
Oh, his message vanished. A new one replaced it before I had time to grasp the last one’s meaning. I rubbed my eyes, cradled my head a moment as I contemplated.
A glimpse at the clock told me the hour: 2:35 a.m. Shit. Four lousy hours’ sleep.
I turned to the text.
‘Hi baby. I’ve missed you, but that’s okay since I’m here now.’
I understood two words out of twelve: Here. Now.
“Hi baby,” said a deep voice behind me.
Troll Part Two for Kindle (24 pages)
Troll Part Three for Kindle (25 pages)
Troll Part Four for Kindle (29 pages)