Take A Slice

Part Five: The Tape

"Y'know. If teaching ever falls through for you, Porn is definitely an option."

She laughed at you. Then her gasp came, "Oh God, I'm close."

Meeting each and every one of her thrusts, you helped her reach her screaming high.

Not once, but twice.

It felt like she had just run a mile, when she flopped down onto your chest, panting against the sweaty skin.

"Jesus Christ. You're amazing."

"Tell me something I don't know." You smirked.

Your only reply being a light slap to your chest, both of you awaiting your next round.

—

***

It was Saturday. Which mean you spent the night at Natasha's place, after "date night". Which almost always consisted of making -or ordering- dinner and watching a few movies, before retreating to bed. More often than not, to continue the night, in the most pleasurable of ways.

There was a pep in your step as you walked to your car, pizza in hand. When you felt the telltale vibration of your phone in your pocket.

You had gotten a text.

From an unknown number.

Which read.

Have you seen her?

Confused by the semi-cryptic message, with your eyebrows scrunched slightly, you replied.

I think you've got the wrong number.

I've got the right number.

This only further confused you.

I really don't think you do.

Y/N Y/L/N.

How the fuck do you know my name? Who gave you this number?

You should block them.

You'd be an idiot not too.

No longer moving, you stood on the sidewalk, your car just in front of you. All the while, staring intently at your phone, waiting to see if another message came through.

That's not important, right now.

You were in the midst of typing out your reply of, 'like hell it is!'. But before you could even finish writing it, another message from the anonymous person came through.

But what is important, is if you've seen her.

Yelling sounded in the back of your brain, only growing louder as these texts went along. Telling you to "BLOCK THEM!" Like what has already been stated, you would have to be an idiot not too.

Seen who?

Yeah.

You were an idiot.

Big time.

Miss Natasha Romanoff.

It felt like your entire world dropped, a cold sweat beginning to break out across your skin. You could feel your heart beating in you now sickly stomach. And yet. You never dropped the pizza.

Then, rationality came back to you.

She was a teacher.

A very attractive and popular teacher at that.

This was probably just some creepy student in her class or one that fancied her. Or both.

Yeah? You asked them, I'm in her Psych class, of course, I've seen her.

No.

I mean, have you seen her?

And then they sent a clip.

You dreaded opening it. But all the same, you opened it, after a few seconds.

If you had thought that your would had fallen apart before, it was nothing compared to how you felt now.

Thank God, your phone was still connected to your ear-phones.

Loud moans flowed into your brain as your jaw dropped, unable to rip your eyes from the screen.

—

There she was. Your Professor. Your Girlfriend. Tits bouncing as her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. Getting fucked, like it was the thing she was born to do.

You almost thought it was something else. Until your voice played in your ears.

"God, you're such a little slut. What are you?"

"Oh," she cried, "I'm daddy's little slut!"

—

Then it ends.

And you're greeted horribly by another message from the mystery person.

That was just a teaser.

Anger flowed through you.

No.

No.

Not anger.

This was so much more than anger. This was rage. Curated from forged flames, and directed at one person.

Deciding to skip past all this bullshit texting, you called the person who somehow managed to get ahold of your privacy. Your girlfriend's privacy.

It went straight to voice mail.

Which only angered you more. You could practically feel the steam coming off of you, rivalling the smoke coming from the BBQ a few houses away.

Now's not a good time. I'm in class.

One that I don't have to fuck my teacher to pass.

You're gonna be in a fucking hospital when I get my hands on you. Now. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?! AND HOW DID YOU GET THAT?!

Now, now, Y/N. Is that any way to talk to the man with such information?

Are you fucking blackmailing me?

Your jaw ticked as you awaited their reply.

Only time will tell.