Three - Sin and submission

Vivian's POV

"So…..wait. She was trying to steal his sperm, and you’re the one who ended up assaulting him?”

Sarah burst out laughing like any of this was remotely funny.

I gave her a deadpan look, sipping my drink as she tried to contain herself. I’d just finished telling her everything that happened tonight every messed up detail and somehow, she was treating it like the plot of a dark comedy.

“Alright, alright,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Let’s switch over to Scott…”

I told her what happened with Scott. Or, more accurately, what didn’t happen.

Sarah had been my friend since the very first day of high school. I didn’t go to the best school but Grandma made sure it was enough.

Sarah was supposed to stay in New York for College but then her dad struck gold over the summer and everything changed. Suddenly, she was headed to Westvale University.

Westvale. The school of the elite. A place where last names mattered more than grades, and the campus didn’t just overlook the water....it was built on its own private island, it would be lonely without her but I was happy for her.

“I mean, it just means you’re not into him.”

Sarah says it so casually, like we’re talking about salad dressing and not my complete lack of interest in a man I was supposed to like.

I picked up my phone and typed:

"You’re the one who told me to give him a chance."

She glanced at the screen and shrugged.

“Yeah, I did. He seemed decent. His ex talked way too much about his skills, so I figured he’d be good for you. You’re not a nun, and you’re definitely not asexual. I’ve seen the vibrator.”

I stared at her. She stared back, completely unfazed. Then her mouth tugged to one side, like she was chewing on a thought.

“What if…” she started, eyes narrowing slightly, “you’re just not vanilla?”

I frowned and tilted my head, confused.

She sighed like I was being intentionally dense, grabbed my phone, typed something, and turned the screen toward me.

It was a website.

Sin and Submission.

“It’s for people who aren’t into straight missionary, lights-off sex,” she said, lowering her voice even though no one around was paying attention. “BDSM, dominance, restraints... stuff like that. You sign up, either get matched or someone claims you. It’s anonymous and safe. I swear. I wouldn’t suggest it if it wasn’t.”

I kept staring at the screen.

“If it freaks you out, just delete your profile. No judgment,” she added quickly. “But don’t be embarrassed either. That’s how I met my ex.”

I typed back:

No.

She let out a loud sigh. “God, you’re so boring.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue. I let her win that round out loud, even if something inside me itched.

She brought it up a few more times before the night ended, but I shut it down with looks and silence. Eventually, we called it a night. She hugged me told me to text her when I got home.

Yeah, I’d let Sarah talk me into some ridiculous things. Rooftop dancing. Tequila decisions I barely remembered. But this?

This couldn’t be one of them.

Right?

As soon as I got home, I headed straight for the bathroom. I soaked longer than I meant to, the steam curling around my thoughts like fog, blurring everything but Sarah’s voice.

What if you’re not vanilla?

Back in my room, towel-wrapped and skin still damp, I reached for the vibrator out of habit. But I paused. Her words hit again, sharper this time.

What if I am into crazy?

She said it was safe. Said it worked for her.

That little voice—the one I usually ignored—nudged me forward.

I grabbed my phone, opened the browser, and typed it in.

Sin and Submission.

The homepage was dark, sleek, almost elegant. Not tacky or overdone like I expected. Just a quiet promise written in soft white font: Find what you crave. Even if you don’t know what it is yet.

I registered.

It asked for a name. Preferences. Limits. Triggers. I clicked through the questions, my fingers slower than usual, like I was moving through water. I wasn’t even sure what half of it meant, so I looked things up, bit my lip, and kept going. I hovered over the “Limits” section for a long time.

Did I have any?

I thought about it... and landed on no.

I selected None listed. Maybe I’d figure it out as I went. There was a spot to pick a safe word. I stared at the blinking cursor, then typed: Glass. Something delicate. Easy to shatter.

It ended with one final requirement: weekly proof of STI screenings. There was a place to upload test results.

Strict, but smart. It made sense. Still, my heart pounded as I clicked Submit.

Then I tossed my phone onto the bed like it might bite me.

I stood there for a second. Skin was still damp. Nerves louder than my thoughts. I told myself to breathe, to move, to do anything else......but instead, I glanced toward the window.

And he was there.

Same spot. Same posture. But something felt different tonight.

The cigarette glowed faintly at the corner of his mouth, But he wasn’t just standing this time there was a soft glow on his face from his phone. He held it in one hand, thumb scrolling slow and lazy.

Then he looked up.

Right at me.

Like he knew I’d be watching.

My breath caught in my throat. My thighs pressed together on instinct, a strange ache blooming low in my belly....I hated how familiar it felt.

Then, as if it was nothing, he raised the hand holding his phone a

nd waved.

Not a big wave. Just a slow, deliberate wave

I stumbled back from the window, heart slamming against my ribs, skin buzzing. I crawled into bed like the sheets could protect me, like they were some kind of armor.

My phone pinged.

A notification from the site.

Congratulations.

You’ve been matched.

Category: Primal Play.

Welcome to the hunt.