Chapter 9 - A Promise
The next day…
The silence of the night weighs heavily on my shoulders, a leaden blanket that seems to thicken as the hours pass. Since my message to Emmy, the waiting has become unbearable, transforming into true torture. Each second without a response is a cruel reminder of the blurred line between reality and illusion where I’m slowly getting lost.
“Emmy, I… I don’t know exactly how I feel. This is all so new to me, and sometimes, I feel like I’m losing control. But I know I love talking to you, that I eagerly await your messages. You mean more to me than I ever thought possible. I don’t know if it’s love, but I really want to discover who you are behind all of this.”
It’s been two days since I sent that message, living with this knot in my stomach, unable to focus on anything else. The lack of response from Emmy haunts me, each passing minute feeding my doubts. I can’t help but wonder if I made a mistake, if I was too honest, too vulnerable. What if she decided never to reply? What if my confession scared her off, or worse, disinterested her?
My phone has become an extension of myself, an object I can’t take my eyes off, afraid of missing her response. I check the screen at regular intervals, almost frantically, hoping to see her name appear, hoping that every vibration, every notification is the one I’m desperately waiting for.
I lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling as if the answers might be up there, but all I see are the worst-case scenarios my mind conjures. What if she never replies? What if she doesn’t feel the same way? My thoughts spin in circles, growing darker as the days pass without a word from her.
Then, finally, just as I’m about to lose hope, a notification lights up the darkness of my room. My chest tightens. I grab my phone, hands trembling with anticipation. Her name appears on the screen, and a wave of relief mixed with intense apprehension washes over me. This is the moment of truth.
- Emmy (message): “Hey… I’m sorry for taking so long to reply… I needed time to think, to make sure I really felt what I thought.”
My heart races as I read her words. I continue scrolling through the conversation, hanging on every letter.
- Emmy (message): “What you said really touched me. To be honest… I feel the same way, but it scares and excites me at the same time. It’s different with you… I feel like you understand me, that you see beyond what I show here.”
A smile forms on my face despite myself. Her words warm my heart, but I also sense a twinge of apprehension. This relationship is becoming increasingly intense, and the implications start to overwhelm me.
- Emmy (message): “But I have to ask you something… Does it bother you that I take care of my other subscribers? I mean, I’m still doing my job, responding to their requests… I don’t want you to feel left out or… well, you know…?”
I read and re-read that sentence, the words echoing louder each time. A surge of emotions rises within me: attachment, but also a shadow of possessiveness. The idea of her being close to other men stirs something raw and ugly inside me. I try to push it down, but it’s there, clawing at the edges of my mind.
- Me (message): “I understand. It’s your job after all. It’s just that… I don’t know, it feels a bit weird sometimes. But I don’t want to limit you; I just want to be honest with you.”
There’s a long pause before she replies. I can feel the tension in the air; each second of waiting is a trial.
- Emmy (message): “Thanks for telling me. I’ve always been honest with you, so I want you to know that I’ve never talked about myself this much with anyone else.”
Her words ease some of my worries, but the question remains lodged in my mind: what makes me different? Why would she treat me any special way? These questions intertwine with a growing sense of attachment, and perhaps even dependency.
We continue talking, and the conversation naturally shifts to lighter topics. Yet, a question burns on my lips, a curiosity tinged with jealousy that I can no longer ignore.
- Me (message): “Do you… do you have subscribers who ask for specific things? Some things a bit more… risqué?”
I see the ellipsis indicating she’s typing, then it stops. Time seems to stretch until she finally responds.
- Emmy (message): “Yes, there are. Some have been around since the beginning, and to please them, I sometimes fulfill more specific requests…”
I feel a flicker of annoyance and jealousy rising within me, a reaction I can’t contain. I type my response faster than I want to.
- Me (message): “What do they ask you for, exactly?”
My thumb hovers for a moment above the send button, hesitating, then I finally press “send.” A part of me immediately regrets my reaction, but another part can’t help but want to know. To understand how far these other subscribers have gone and how far she’s been willing to go for them.
The silence that follows my question is deafening, and every second feels like an eternity. Then, finally, her response arrives, and I feel a tightness knot in my stomach.
- Emmy (message): “I prefer to be honest with you. Some subscribers sometimes ask for specific things. It can range from certain poses to more… suggestive setups. Sometimes they want me to use certain objects or wear particular outfits. For example, there’s one subscriber who asked me to use a plug… and to stage certain scenes, etc.”
I read her message several times, each word sinking in deeper than the last. My chest tightens, and a lump forms in my throat. I’m not sure what I expected, but her honesty hits me like a punch in the gut. The image of her in those scenes, fulfilling those requests for other men, burns itself into my mind, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake it off.
- Me (message): “And do you enjoy it? Fulfilling their requests like that?”
It takes me a moment to realize how harsh my question may sound, even accusatory. But before I can add anything else, Emmy responds, and her reply surprises me.
- Emmy (message): “I told you to be patient. There’s still so much I want to show you… Don’t let jealousy take over. What I share with you is different, and that’s why you need to trust me.”
I freeze at her message. Her tone is reassuring, almost tender, but there’s also a hint of authority that brings me back to reality. She’s right. This isn’t the time to let my emotions take over. I try to regain control, to calm this inner storm.
- Me (message): “You’re right…”
- Emmy (message): “Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.”
I feel a wave of relief wash over me, but a part of me remains on edge. This relationship is far more complex than I had imagined. I realize I’m ready to go further, to discover more about her, even if it means navigating moments of doubt and confusion. Because deep down, one thing is clear: I am irresistibly drawn to her, to the mystery she embodies.
The intensity of our exchange reaches a new high when I receive a notification that Emmy has sent me a photo. My heart races as I open it, knowing in advance that what I’m about to discover will push the boundaries of our relationship. The image that appears on the screen is both explicit and intimate.
I feel a mix of fascination and desire wash over me. I never imagined she would go this far, showing me such a vulnerable and private part of herself. Yet, a dark thought crosses my mind: I’m surely not the only one she’s sent this kind of photo to. The excitement is there, but it’s tinged with jealousy and an undeniable doubt.
Thoughts swirl in my head, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Despite everything, I feel an irresistible urge growing inside me, a desire to respond, to mark this moment in a way that’s uniquely ours. My fingers tremble slightly as I type my reply, each word carefully chosen to express how I feel.
- Me (message): “Damn… you turn me on so much…”
I hit “send” with a mix of anticipation and nerves. I’ve never been this blunt in my exchanges with her, but the intensity of the moment drives me to be completely honest, to reveal my deepest desires. The silence that follows my response is almost unbearable, but finally, her message appears.
- Emmy (message): “I knew you’d like it…”
A wave of warmth floods over me, her words resonating with an intensity I’ve never felt before. The idea that she wanted this, that she waited for my reaction, intoxicates me. I feel more connected to her than ever, as if every barrier between us is falling, one by one.
- Emmy (message): “You know, it’s part of the process with my subscribers. Slowly revealing myself… it’s a way to keep their interest and satisfy them. But with you, it’s different. Even though I do this for others, there’s something special between us….”
I reread her words, feeling a delicious tension settling throughout my body. The fact that she acknowledges both the professional side of her interactions and the difference she perceives with me adds a new layer of complexity to our relationship. It’s no longer just a simple erotic game; it’s a connection, a mutual attraction that seems to transcend our virtual exchanges.
As our exchange continues to intensify, I sense something even more significant is about to happen. Emmy has always known how to maintain that tension between us, a delicate balance of mystery and seduction. But tonight, there’s a shift, a new dynamic settling into our conversation.
- Emmy (message): “I think it’s time I show you something… Something I’ve never shown anyone here.”
I furrow my brows, my heart racing. From the beginning, she’s always kept a part of herself hidden, a well-guarded secret behind her mask. The thought that she might finally reveal herself fills me with a mix of excitement and apprehension.
- Me (message): “You mean… you’ll show me your face?”
There’s a pause, longer than usual, before her next message arrives.
- Emmy (message): “Yes. No one has ever seen my face here. It’s my last shield, the one thing that keeps my real life and this platform apart. But you… you’ve made me feel safe. And now, I’m ready to break that barrier. I want you to know how unique our relationship is for me.”
I freeze for a moment, rereading her words over and over. Is it really possible that I would be the first to see her true face? A doubt crosses my mind. How can I be sure she hasn’t already done this with other subscribers?
I recall all those comments I sometimes read under her posts, the incessant requests for her to show herself without the mask. I decide to check. I quickly browse her account, looking for clues in the comments, and indeed, I see dozens of people pleading to see her face, some even offering more money for this revelation. That reassures me a bit, but the doubt lingers, light and insidious.
- Me (message): “I… I’m honored, Emmy. Am I really the first?”
A new pause, even longer this time. Every second stretches into infinity, my heart pounding so loudly I can hear it echoing in my ears.
- Emmy (message): “I understand your doubts. But I promise you’re the only one. The others… they only see a facade, a game I play with them. With you, it’s different. You’ve allowed me to be myself, and I want to show you who I really am. But it’s a big step for me, and I want you to be ready too.”
A mix of relief and anticipation washes over me. The idea that she might actually show me her face, that she might finally unveil herself completely, is both exhilarating and terrifying. I feel this moment could change everything between us, for better or worse.
Me (message): “I’m ready, Emmy. When do you want to do it?”
Emmy (message): “Tomorrow night, same time. I’ll show you everything. Be ready.”
I set down my phone, breathless. Tomorrow night… everything will change tomorrow night. The excitement mingled with anxiety keeps me awake much later than I would have liked, images of what could happen swirling in my mind.
But a thought creeps in, slow but insistent: what if, behind that mask, is someone I know? The way she talks, the way she slips in small clues about her daily life… it’s too familiar. Too close. My chest tightens as my mind starts connecting the dots, faces flashing one after the other, none fitting perfectly, but each one feeling just close enough to disturb me.
After all, Emmy has always refused to show her face, but she’s mentioned several times that she lives nearby, that she’s a student like me. The thought that she could be someone I cross paths with every day at campus suddenly strikes me with a troubling intensity.
My mind races. Have I seen her in the halls without knowing? Maybe we’ve shared a class, exchanged glances without realizing we were maintaining this secret online relationship. What if she’s part of my social circle, a friend of friends, someone I could meet at a party or during an event at the university?
The thought makes me dizzy. I mentally scan the familiar faces I see regularly, trying to superimpose the features I know of Emmy, even partially, onto those of the girls I know. But nothing matches. Or maybe I’ve never really paid attention.
I think back to our conversations, the details she’s let slip here and there. The clues are there, scattered throughout our exchanges. She’s talked about her classes, her schedule, her friends… But was all of that real, or just part of the game? Maybe tomorrow, finally seeing her, everything will make sense, all those puzzle pieces will fit together to reveal an image I’m not ready to confront.
And then there’s that obsessive thought: if she’s so close to me, does that mean she feels something deeper for me?
I can’t help but imagine the moment she removes her mask, when her face will appear for the first time. Will it be a shock, a revelation, or a relief? And what if I don’t recognize her, if she’s just a stranger after all? Or worse, what if I know her too well, if she’s someone in my circle, someone I would never have suspected?
These thoughts torment me, making sleep impossible. I turn over in my bed, heart racing, unable to calm this inner storm. This meeting is both a promise and a threat, and I know that nothing will ever be the same after this revelation. Everything we’ve shared so far, every word, every image, could take on a whole new meaning starting tomorrow night. And I don’t know if I’m ready to face this truth, whatever it may be.