Chapter 3
THREE
PIP
Mondays in a radiology department are always a mixed bag. Halloween brings out all sorts of crazy injuries over the weekends in the lead up. It makes working in radiology a little bit more exciting; you never know what popcorn-worthy orthopedic trauma you’re going to see.
I finished reviewing the scheduled appointments and prioritizing the ad-hoc lists when one of the girls in reception calls me over.
“Hey, check this out.” She hands me a blank form on a clipboard for show. “On the down-low… aren't they some of the guys from Friday night in the waiting room?” she whispers, tilting her head behind her. She’s not wrong; they are.
They’re wrecked: split lips, swollen eyes, and bruises creeping along their cheekbones like ink spreading through water. One of them is holding his ribs, wincing with labored pleuritic breaths. They look like they were chewed up and spat out by something bigger than them.
Someone.
Him?
“Whoa!” I mumble, quickly lowering my eyes back to her. I’m finding myself wishing I had more than a trail mix for my break because, damn. The radiographic images and slices from their injuries are going to be epic.
I love radiology. When you’re not there to hear the break, but you get to see the aftermath on film? That’s the money shot. I suppose that makes me a bit of a sicko, but everyone has their quirks.
Her eyes widen. “Right? Do you think it was those two guys?”
I scoff a little too quickly. “Pfft! No way. Two guys taking on all of them?” I shake my head.
But doubt slithers in.
Grayson’s hands. His knuckles. The way he looked at Tanner that night.
Violence suits him.
The thought shouldn’t thrill me, but it does. The thought of him in a fit of rage in my honor before turning up to my doorstep to bend me over, rail me, and praise me for being a good girl turns me on.
Especially after the way he had worked me up with all the eyefuckery in the gym.
Then I remember his rejection.
He thinks I couldn’t handle him.
Damn, even his rejection makes me shiver.
The day passes in a blur. Fracture after fracture. Sprain after sprain. None of the guys from the bar said anything while being processed like they had never seen me before. I sure as shit remember them.
On the way home, I stopped by the veterinary clinic to see Viv for some girl chat.
Of all the people in this town, I’m probably closest to her.
Trauma bonding over broken homes and childhoods does that to people.
There are no off-limit topics between us—no matter how twisted. She’s the Thelma to my Louise.
Viv lets me into the back, where she’s cleaning out the animal-holding cages when something on her neck catches my eye.
Hickeys. Not just hickeys—bite marks.
“Girl, either one of those cats went feral, or you’ve got some explaining to do!”
She grins, her eyes practically glowing with mischief. “Met a guy online. At least that’s the story I’m running with.”
"And he bit you?" I demand.
She snorts. “I like weird shit; he likes weird shit. We do weird shit, okay?”
My stomach tightens. "What kind of ‘weird’ are we talking about?" I say as I reach for her neck, only to be swatted away with a laugh.
“You’re warped like me. So, I’m just gonna come out and say it because I think you’d like it, actually.
It’s like a dating website for people with specific tastes.
” A beat passes, she elaborates when my eyebrows again refuse to lower.
“Kinks, Pip. People who like kinks. Specifically, either chasing or being chased and everything that goes with that obsession.”
“Like stalking?”
“Exactly,” she beams, pinching my cheek and grabbing my hands. “Okay, humor me. First thing that comes to mind. Hot?”
“Cold.”
“Ice?”
“Fire.”
“Flesh?”
“Fantasy.”
“Batteries?”
“Vibrator.”
She pauses, a slow grin forming. “Hunter?”
My breath catches before I can stop it. “Prey.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, her grin widening. “Oh, Pip. You might like this more than you think.”
###
Viv’s words are still running through my mind as I drop my house keys on the counter in my kitchen.
I pour myself a glass of sauvignon blanc before heading up to my ensuite to shower.
She had talked my ear off throughout dinner about this DystopiaNet chat site with two online forums: The Hunters and The Flock.
I understood it to be like a one stop shop for all your cat and mouse stalker fetish desires.
I’m absolutely blown away that there is a cyber world out there where this exists and anyone walking down the street could be on it.
She had disclosed, on pain of death, the guy she met actually owns the gym we frequent— Danny from Friday night.
This got me thinking… if he’s on there, is it possible Grayson is, too?
Does the god with green hazel eyes have kinks and obsessive desires that would make me blush and curl my toes?
Is he a culinary delight of anything but vanilla?
Before I know it, my hands are traveling down my body through the soap suds.
I caress my breasts, imagining him touching me with his large, bruised hands.
Nibbling at my swollen peaks and gently sinking his teeth into my flesh.
I moan, thinking about how his tongue would feel, lashing at my body and praising me with his husky voice.
I imagine him forcefully turning and taking me against a wall, railing me while growling my name.
Would he choke me? Would he say vile things to me to force my submission?
Heat pools in my core. My hands divert—one traveling up to my throat, imagining him having me in a chokehold—the other slides down my navel to the apex of my thighs.
My fingers slide into my slit, seeking entry into my warm center.
Arousal coats my digit as I pull it out and push in again…
deeper. I explore myself and massage my throbbing clit with my thumb, thinking about how his tongue would feel as he brings me both pleasure and pain.
The thought of him filling me and dominating me sends me toppling over the edge, and I cum, moaning his name.
What would Grayson think if he saw me now? Would he still think I couldn’t handle him? Would he entertain my darker desires? Possess me? Own me? Would he challenge my idea of a darker lust with his own?
The idea of being craved by him, obsessed by him. Chased down and consumed by him drives me wild, the heat building again between my thighs.
When I come down from my second orgasm and finish up in the shower, I quickly throw on my robe. Curiosity has gotten the better of me. I turn on my laptop and bring up the website.
Well… fuck!
So many stalkers to pick from. So many kinks to explore. So many people are seeking the thrill of the chase.
I take a deep breath and open up the link to create an online account, pausing a moment to think about the roles in a cat or mouse pursuit.
“Mouse… I’m definitely the mouse,” I mumble as I click The Flock option.
Completing the application, I sit back with a dorky giggle, pleased with my creative attempt at a username: Pipsqueak.
My finger hovers over the enter key as I view my details, and without the rest of my body’s permission, it strikes the key.
Oh shit. I did it. I really fucking did it. Oh God…
I hold my hand over my mouth and look around my room like it’s full of Karens ready to pounce on me with judgement and dismay. Only, it’s just me. Judging myself. The nervous leap of faith into the unknown. The very kinky unknown.
The screen refreshes reading:
Post #2284 - u/Pipsqueak98
Title: Mouse seeks chase in Salem, MA [MLW]
TL;DR Full-time medical professional seeks thrill and excitement of stalker/prey/play from a strong, athletic man in his 30s.
Soft limits: knife play, bondage, breath play
Hard limits: blood, scat, watersports, figging
I exhale loudly; the deed is done. Now, I wait.