Sexting My Mr. X

My Mr. X

Chapter One

Iris

It all started when my best friend, Livia, recommended an app that promised discreet pleasure—a space where you could pick a man who matched your fantasies and indulge in s*x chat. At first, it seemed impossible and, frankly, a bit cringy. I hesitated for days, thinking I could never lower myself to that level. But curiosity got the better of me, and I downloaded the app.

I designed my version of the perfect man: tall, with broad shoulders, toned abs, a chiseled jawline, and deep, piercing eyes. A man who exuded raw masculinity and power—someone who could make you feel things with just a look. Someone who could bend you to his will with just the slightest touch. I swiped through profiles, unimpressed until one caught my eye: Mr. X.

From the first chat, I was hooked. It had been pleasure after pleasure since then, a rush of words that felt dangerously real. We never shared personal details, just hot half-naked pictures with no face, sometimes, and our desires. I didn’t need to know his real name, and he never asked for mine. He was Mr. X, my Mr. X, my forbidden escape.

His words did things to me that I didn’t think even physical contact could do—unless it was from him, of course. But we were never going to cross paths. Even if we did... no, that was impossible. He was an anonymous man, and so was I. He was far away in a place I didn’t know, and he thought the same about me. He was just there to say the words that made me squirt and orgasm with ease every damn time.

He made me feel things I’d never felt before with just his words, and each message he sent left me craving more. I wanted more and more of him, more than I could get. Sometimes I wished it was physical, but that was never going to happen. Still, I knew him—at least, I knew his c**k was huge, over six inches. I knew he had broad shoulders and tattoos on his shoulder. I knew how he moaned and groaned when he jerked off for me. I knew how his c**k created that tantalizing outline in his shorts. I’d seen it plenty of times in those mouth-watering, p***y-dripping, brain-shaking half-naked pictures he sent.

He was so f*****g hot.

The sound of a notification snapped me out of my blissful thoughts. I whined and picked up my phone, only to let out a low squeal.

Well, speak of the devil—it was Mr. X.

“Ready for more?” his message read. Simple but dripping with promise, just like always.

My fingers hesitated over the keyboard, a familiar tingle spreading through my body as I imagined what we’d say to each other tonight. I glanced at the clock. I still had over a few minutes before I had to leave for the airport.

“Always,” I typed back, biting my lip in anticipation as I watched the three dots loading, indicating that he was typing.

His response came faster than expected. “Good girl. Tell me what you're wearing.”

I looked down at myself. Oversized t-shirt and nothing else. But that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. I typed, “Black lace panties. Nothing else.”

I pulled off my t-shirt, exposing myself to the cool air, and sprawled out on the bed, my boobs hanging heavily on my chest, my n*****s pink, wild, and erect. My legs were slightly crossed, teasingly hinting at my throbbing core, which was a little visible under the lace panties. He could get a clearer view if he zoomed in—I was sure he’d do that because I did the same with his pictures. I snapped a few pictures in different seductive poses, carefully cropped my head out, and sent them to him with a caption: Like this.

I grinned when I saw the blue tick showing he’d seen the messages. As usual, he reacted with a hot emoji and a cucumber emoji. And hell, just that made me wetter. I rolled on the bed, aching to touch myself, but Mr. X had told me not to without his permission. He was far away, yet he had so much control over me. I didn’t even know what the cucumber emoji meant until he explained it months ago.

My phone buzzed again. “I love how you know just what I need,” his first message read. I savored it before moving to the next: “I’d do anything to f**k you right now.”

My phone slipped from my hands, my legs trembling with need as my wetness dripped down my thighs. I picked it back up with shaky hands. “Me too,” I typed back.

“Then touch yourself for me. Let me hear you moan.”

My hand slipped into my panties, and I swiped up to open the recorder app. Sometimes I couldn’t believe myself. What I was doing should have been embarrassing and cringe, but it felt so normal. I’d been doing this with Mr. X for months, and I’d grown inexplicably attached to him—his words, his good morning messages, his half-naked pictures. It was all so perfect.

“You know how we do it. Dip two fingers into your p***y, for me. Then move them in and out, slowly at first. Increase the pace after a few strokes. Make it as fast as you can. I want to hear you scream. I want to hear you moan my name, kitty. I want it to feel like I’m right there, on top of you, your hands and legs tied to the bedposts, f*****g you with a force you’ve never known.”

With my fingers parting my folds, I dipped two fingers inside myself, my head rolling back as I grabbed the sheets. My eyes fluttered shut, unholy images flashing before my eyes. I imagined him—not a specific face, but I knew he was hot as hell. I pictured him above me, his earthy scent making me slicker, his c**k teasing my opening before sliding in with a slow thrust, his hips rolling to hit every spot inside me. Then, faster, harder, my hips bucking, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the room.

“Oh God! Yes... yes... yes...” I cried out. “Yes, Mr. X, harder!” My toes curled, my legs shaking as I neared the edge.

Just as I was about to c*m, a shrill ring yanked me back to reality. “Heck!” I growled in frustration, picking up the phone to see it was an unknown number.

“Your ride is here, ma’am,” the voice said before I could even speak.

Reality came crashing down.

I sighed, quickly texting Mr. X back., “I’ll have to be your good girl another time, Mr. X. My ride’s here. Enjoy this token for now.” I added a smiley emoji with the short recording I made.

His response was instant. “You can’t leave me like this, kitty. But we’ll finish this later. I promise I’ll make you come like never before.” He tagged the recording.

I wished I could stay and touch myself some more for him, but I had to leave or I’d miss my flight.

With frustration and excitement lingering in my body, I tossed my phone aside and rushed to get dressed. Today was the day I was leaving for Italy, a new chapter, a new life. I had no choice but to move in with my estranged father after Mom’s death a few weeks ago. I had last seen after their divorce when I was just five. He never came back to check up on me, but now he has no choice to take me in. I knew without being told that it wouldn’t be a big welcome like I would’ve liked, he didn’t want me. Apparently, no one did.

I stuffed the last of my things into my suitcase and grabbed my passport. As I headed out the door, I couldn’t help but wonder what this new life would bring. Would I still be able to keep my secret life with Mr. X? Or would this move change everything?