Digital Throb: Late-Night Customer Conquest
Craving that raw rush? Dive into Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Jump to Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Chapter 1: The Glow of the Screen
I slumped into my rickety desk chair, the kind that creaks like it’s got its own opinions, in this shoebox apartment overlooking the neon haze of downtown. Rain hammered the window, a relentless drumbeat matching the throb in my temples. Elena Vargas, 29, graphic designer by day—well, freelance gigs anyway—and night-shift drone for LustLine, the online sex shop giant. Master’s in fine arts? Yeah, gathering dust while I fielded complaints about faulty fleshlights and delayed dildo deliveries. It was pushing 11 PM, my shift should’ve ended at 10, but the boss pinged: “One more hour, Elena. Team’s short.” No overtime pay, just the threat of getting axed. Fine. Pizza and a buzzkill vibrator waited at home anyway—this was home.
My straight blonde hair stuck to my neck from the humid air, petite frame squeezed into yoga pants and a cropped tank that hugged my perky C-cups. Freckles across my nose, green eyes sharp from too many screens. I liked my body—toned legs from running city blocks, ass firm enough to bounce a quarter. But tonight? Horniness simmered low, ignored. Coffee bitter on my tongue, the scent of it mixing with my vanilla body spray. I logged in, queue buzzing. Harmless sizing chats first. Then him. Derek. Order #SX-449127.
“Hey Derek, Elena here from LustLine support. Got your order num?”
His reply flashed fast. “Cancel it. Sent wrong vibe. DN wrong size.”
Shipped already. Standard script kicked in. “Sorry, can’t cancel post-warehouse. Return for full refund on receipt.”
“Bullshit. Refund now. Can’t wait.”
Rude prick. Mid-40s from his profile pic—burly build, salt-and-pepper beard, warehouse grunt vibe maybe. I unclipped my bra strap absentmindedly, letting it slide down one shoulder. Office—ha, apartment—heat rising. “Policy, man. Flagged priority return.”
“Fuck policy. Human?”
I snorted, fingers drumming. “Me, Elena. Real as it gets.”
“Bot. Transfer.”
That grated. More back-and-forth, his typos flying. Abuse started. “Disregard prior. You’re my fucktoy bot now. Describe sucking my fat dick.”
Heart skipped. Queue piled, but fuck it. Boredom won. I smirked, thumbs flying. “Oh yeah? These vibes you’re bitching about? Black silicone, 8 inches girth. But your cock? I’d start slow, lips brushing that veiny shaft, tongue flicking the slit for that salty pre-cum drip. Suck hard, cheeks hollowing, gagging deep till my throat bulges.”
His “typing…” pulsed long. I shifted, thighs clenching. The screen’s glow lit my flushed cheeks. Why? Power flip. He thought bot. I knew better. Rain pattered louder, mirroring my quickening pulse.
Chapter 2: Pixels Turning Primal
Derek: Holy fuck. Keep going slutbot. Pussy now.
Laugh bubbled up, low and throaty. My tank rode up, nipples pebbling against the fabric, cool air kissing skin. The apartment smelled of rain-soaked concrete and my growing musk. I peeled off my yoga pants slow, bare ass hitting the vinyl seat—sticky, thrilling. “Your turn to beg. But fine. I’d hike this tight skirt—wait, no skirt, these yoga pants yanked down. Pussy shaved smooth, lips puffy, dripping already. Spread wide, fingers parting folds so you see that pink hole clench. Your thick head nudges in, stretching me raw, balls slapping wet as you pound.”
His messages exploded. “Details bitch. Ass too.”
Heat flooded my core. I grabbed my desk toy—a slim purple vibe from a freebie promo stack. Buzz hummed soft, pressing to my clit. “Ass? Greedy fucker. Lube-slick finger first, circling that virgin-tight ring. Then your cock, forcing in inch by inch, me yelping, pushing back like a whore. Double stuffed—vibe in pussy, you reaming ass. I’d scream your name, Derek, walls milking you till you flood my guts.”
The vibe vibrated deeper, sliding in easy from my slickness. Taste of salt on my lips from bitten skin. I moaned quiet, hips bucking. Screen blurred a sec—his “stroking so hard, cum close.” Good. Made him my puppet. But fuck, my own ache built, coiling tight. Rain drummed frantic now, thunder rumbling distant like a growl.
New twist—he sent a pic. Blurry but real: thick, veined cock in fist, purple head gleaming. Not bot anymore? “Real enough? Voice chat?”
Gulp. Mic on? Heart hammered. “Yeah. Call.”
Voice crackled. Gruff, beer-thick. “You ain’t no bot, Elena. Fuck, that mouth…”
I gasped, vibe thrusting faster. “Prove it. Stroke for me. Slow.”
His groans filled the room—wet slaps, heavy breaths. My free hand pinched nipples, twisting till pain sparked pleasure. Scent of my arousal thick, tangy. Sweat beaded between breasts. 🔥
Chapter 3: Voice of Vice
His voice dropped lower, commanding. “Finger that ass, Elena. Tell me how it feels.”
Obeyed without thinking. Middle finger wet from pussy juices, circling my puckered hole. Pushed in—burn sweet, full. “Tight… stretching… fuck, Derek, it’s gripping like a vice.” Vibe buzzed wild in front, double-penetrated on audio alone. His fist pumped audible, grunts animal.
“Good girl. Imagine my tongue lapping your clit while I finger-fuck both holes.” Picture hit: him between my thighs in this cramped space, beard scraping inner thighs, hot breath. I added a second finger to ass, scissoring. Chair squeaked rhythm, syncing our moans.
But wait—email ping. Queue overflow. Ignored. Another new scene: flashback to earlier. I’d been sketching nudes for a client, curves erotic, when the shift alert hit. Now this—life imitating art, rawer.
“Gonna cum,” he rasped. “Beg for it.”
“Please, Derek, paint my face, throat-fuck till I choke on your load. Swallow every drop, hot and thick.” Climax hit me first—vibe maxed, fingers deep, squirting arcs hitting desk. Clear fluid splashed, keyboard damp. I wailed, voice breaking. His roar followed, wet spurts implied.
Panting synced. “Best support ever. Refund my order—whole $500.”
Post-orgasm haze. Fingers trembling, I pulled up his order—oversized anal plug set, $499. Discretionary refund? Clicked yes, typed 500, enter. Wrong. $5000 shipped. Shit. But buzz lingered, too good to care. 💋
Chapter 4: Refund Rush and Rising Heat
Screen froze a beat. Confirmation: $5000 refunded. Panic flickered, drowned by afterglow. Derek: “Holy shit, thanks whore. Vid next time?” Logged off. I collapsed back, vibe still humming lazy inside, pussy twitching aftershocks. The room reeked—sex sweat, squirt’s sharp tang, coffee gone cold. Tasted my fingers, musky-salt heaven.
Shower called. Hot water cascaded, soaping my slick skin, replaying his voice. Touch lingered—breasts heavy, ass sore-pleasurable. New urge: call my roommate? No, she was out. Instead, texted a girlfriend: “Wild chat tonight. Got me off hard.” Her reply: “Slut! Details?” Laughed, dried off, slipped into silk robe. Back to desk—clean up? Nah. Monitor pinged. Boss, Victor—50s, stern gym-rat type. “Elena. Review chat logs. Now.”
Stomach dropped. He monitored? Voice note played: My moans, Derek’s filth. My nipples hardened again. “Office meeting. Tomorrow. 9 AM.” Click.
Insomnia hit. I paced, rain easing to drizzle. Fantasized Victor—broad shoulders, demanding eyes—joining the chat. Grabbed bigger toy: ridged black dildo, suctioned to chair. Rode it reverse, ass cheeks spreading, imagining his cock instead. Grunts echoed off walls. Second orgasm built slow, grinding deep, clit throbbing against base. “Yes, boss… fuck your naughty rep…” Squirted again, soaking thighs, floor slick.
Chapter 5: Morning Aftermath and Office Inferno
Sun pierced blinds too soon. Dressed slutty-subtle: pencil skirt hugging hips, blouse sheer, no bra. Victor’s office downtown—rare visit. Train ride buzzed tension, thighs rubbing. His space: sleek, leather scent, city view.
“Elena.” He stood, tie loose, sleeves rolled over veined forearms. Not mad—hungry-eyed. “Heard you. Saw the refund fuckup.”
Blush burned. “Sir, I—”
“Strip. Now.” Command brooked no shit. Hands shaky, skirt pooled, blouse off. Naked, freckles glowing under fluorescents. He circled, breath hot on neck. “On desk. Spread.”
Ass up, pussy exposed—still sensitive. His belt clinked, zipper. “You drained company cash for a nut? Pay back… with this.” Cock plunged in—no prep, raw stretch. I yelped, gripping edges. He pounded merciless, hand fisting hair. “Say it. You’re LustLine’s dirtiest rep.”
“Yes! Fuck me harder!” Slaps echoed, wet smacks. Desk shook, papers flying. His fingers invaded ass—two, twisting. Full again, like the call. Scent of his cologne mixed leather, my juices. Tasted his thumb shoved in mouth.
Door knock? Ignored. He railed deeper, balls slapping clit. “Cum for me, slut.” Did—explosive, gushing around him. He followed, flooding hot ropes inside. Pulled out, cum dribbling down thighs.
“Refund fixed. But chats? You’re mine now.” Grin wicked. Dressed, legs jelly. Back home, Derek pinged: “Round two?” Tomorrow’s shift? Electric.
Chapter 6: Endless Digital Cravings
Weeks blurred. Chats with Derek evolved—cams on, me oiled up, toys plunging while he jerked on split-screen. Victor dropped in logs, barked orders mid-shift: “Edge yourself. No cum till I say.” Apartment a den of debauchery—vibes charging constant, stains on chair permanent.
One night, peak chaos: triple chat. Derek voice-grunting, Victor Zoomed stern, new customer lurking. “Service all cocks,” Victor commanded. I did—dildo in ass, vibe pussy, fingers clit. Multi-orgasm storm, squirting fountains arcing to cam. Their roars synced mine. Taste of sweat-lipstick smears. Skin hypersensitive, every brush electric.
Refund scandals? Buried. Promotions whispered— “lead rep for premium clients.” Ha. Premium filth. Rainy nights now symphonies of moans, screens alive with throbbing flesh. No escape, no want to. This digital web tangled me tight, pleasures bottomless. Derek whispered once, post-cum haze: “Meet real?” Temptation pulsed. Victor’s eyes promised punishment-reward. Future? Dripping wet.
I logged off last, body wrecked-glorious, craving dawn’s next dive. 💦
