Dylan Garcia

I tried to be rational. Logical. I even scolded myself that I shouldn’t jump to a conclusion that just because your sexy neighbor sounds like your favorite online dom doesn’t mean they’re the same fucking person, right? Except that voice was burned into my brain. A low, husky rasp that had whispered, growled, and moaned me to orgasm more times than I could count. I could recognize it in a heartbeat.

I’d heard it again earlier when Charles had passed by me in the hallway. He had chuckled at something stupid I’d said. God, I didn’t even remember the joke anymore, and my knees had nearly buckled. It was identical. My body knew before my mind would admit it.

But tonight… tonight I needed proof.

I couldn’t just sit there stewing in uncertainty anymore. Not when every fiber of me ached to know.

So I prepared like my usual ritual. Like I was gearing up for confession or sin—or both.

I set up my laptop on the nightstand, adjusting the angle like it mattered. My AirPods were already in, snug against my ears. I checked the lube, already uncapped, sitting in reach like a faithful companion. I didn’t even need to read the title of the stream. I’d memorized it a long time ago.

“My good slut – Interactive Dom Session.”

 Live in ten minutes.

I removed all of my clothes slowly, deliberately, almost ceremonially. The room was already warm, but my skin prickled as if even the air was teasing me. Goosebumps rose on my arms. I slipped into my silk robe, black and whisper-thin, one I only saved for indulgent nights when I wanted to feel pretty. But tonight wasn’t indulgence. Tonight was discovery.

I wasn’t satisfied with just the robe. No. Tonight was different.

I reached for the harness buried at the back of my drawer. The one I’d bought but hardly ever used because it made me feel too exposed, too much like an offering. Thick straps circled my hips, framing me in ways that made my reflection in the mirror obscene. I buckled myself in with shaky fingers, my cock already half-hard from the ritual of dressing up.

Then came the silver plug. The larger one. Heavy, with a thick base that sat snug once inside. I held my breath as I pressed it against my entrance. 

“Fuck,” I hissed as it slid in, the stretch both brutal and heavenly. My thighs trembled, my muscles twitching as my body clenched down instinctively. The weight of it anchored me, forced me to feel full, needy. Helpless. Exactly how Daddy liked me. But this time, I wouldn’t be alone.

On impulse, I reached for the remote and shut off the air-conditioning, letting silence expand. Then I cracked my bedroom window open. Just slightly ajar. Barely enough for a breeze. But enough to hear him. I climbed onto the bed, propped up the pillows, and clicked play the second the stream went live. And there he was.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Midnight Daddy’s voice rolled through the speakers, smooth and rich, low like velvet scraped over gravel. “I know what you need tonight.”

A violent shiver ran through me, toes curling under the sheets.

“Take a deep breath. Let Daddy guide you, yeah?”

My fingers tightened around the plug, grinding it a little deeper inside me. My lips parted. “Yes, Daddy,” I whispered, my voice shaky but obedient.

“You’ve been waiting for this. Been so fucking patient, haven’t you?”

I whimpered, nodding even though he couldn’t see me.

“You’re gonna touch yourself only when I say. Understand?”

“Yes, Daddy. I’m your good boy.”

I lay there, hands trembling at my sides, thighs parted, pulse racing, obeying his every word. He painted scenes with his voice, how he’d bend me over, press his cock against my hole, tease me mercilessly, but not fuck me yet. His words burned me alive. I was dripping, aching.

And then, it happened. Through the crack in my window, beneath the audio in my AirPods, I heard it. A grunt. Muffled, masculine, real. My heart stopped. I froze, breath caught in my throat. Then it came again, a low, throaty moan. Raw. Sensual. And definitely not coming from my laptop.

My head snapped toward the wall, pulse pounding so loud I could barely hear. It was live. It was happening. Just on the other side of the wall. The voice in my ear and the moan through the plaster matched perfectly. My skin prickled with goosebumps, my body trembling.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

I yanked one AirPod out, keeping the other in, lying perfectly still as I listened.

“Now,” Midnight Daddy’s voice purred through my earbud, “I want you to fuck yourself open for me.”

My trembling hand removed the plug, slick and gleaming, and I pushed a finger inside instead, stretching myself clumsily. My throat worked around a swallow. I didn’t know if I was obeying Midnight Daddy or… him.

Through the wall, faint but unmistakable, I heard it. The slow, steady rhythm of slick flesh in a fist. A grunt. A muttered curse.

Charles. My neighbor. He was jerking off exactly the same as the live. While talking to me. The air in my room felt thick, suffocating, like I wasn’t alone anymore. I whimpered, spreading my legs wider, my cock leaking into the sheets.

“Good boy,” Daddy crooned. “Now stroke for me.”

I wrapped my hand around myself and started pumping, slow and firm like he taught me. My breath turned ragged. My hips bucked.

“Are you close, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I gasped.

“Are you making a mess for me?”

“Yes~” I cried, stroking faster, grinding against the sheets.

From the other side of the wall, a sharp hiss cut through the silence. “Fuck.”

I moaned in response, louder than I meant to, my voice breaking. He had to have heard me.

“Don’t hold back,” he commanded in my ear.

I couldn’t. I bit my lip hard enough to sting, hips jerking helplessly into my palm, and came with a strangled cry, hot and messy across my stomach and sheets. I collapsed back, chest heaving, mind spinning. And in the ringing silence afterward, only one truth remained.

Charles. Was. Midnight. Daddy.

And he was right next door.