My Masturbation Recording Was Listened To 146 Times By The Ice Hockey Hunk Chapter 01
I accidentally uploaded a masturbation recording to the Google Drive shared folder that Zach and I use.
The second I realized what had happened, I frantically deleted the audio, emptied the cloud recycle bin, and erased every last trace of it. Once I finished, I messaged him cautiously to fish for information.
“While you were going through the Drive folder last night, did you come across any files that shouldn’t have been there?”
Zach took a long time to reply. Only one cold word appeared on my screen:
“No.”
But starting that day, Zach changed completely. He deliberately kept his distance and avoided me at every turn.
He used to listen patiently to every oneminute voice note I sent over social media. Now he would not even open them. He rejected my calls and only ever replied with text messages.
Then one evening, I picked up his phone, which he had left on my sofa, and tapped an audio file named study notes.
The moment I put in my earbuds, my own voice, soft with faint gasps, flooded straight into my ears.
At the top of the screen, it stared plainly back at me:
Play count: 146
It was elevenoclock at night. I locked my bedroom door and burrowed under the covers.
The women’s vibrator I’d secretly ordered online was sitting by my pillow.
Only at this moment did I finally muster the courage to open the packaging. My palms were already slightly damp, my heart slamming hard against my ribs with every beat, anticipation and nervousness colliding like two hot currents inside my chest. I drew a deep breath before tearing the wrapping open.
I lay flat, legs parting slightly. When I pressed it against my entrance, the cool touch made me shiver lightly.
I pushed it in slowly, feeling my body swallow it inch by inch until it was fully seated against the deepest point. My finger hovered over the switch for two full seconds—then I pressed it.
Continuous, fine, scorching vibrations exploded through me at once. The pleasure hit hard and fast; I clenched around it instinctively, only making the vibrations grind more sharply over every sensitive spot.
My whole body trembled uncontrollably, my hips lifting of their own accord, soft fragmented moans spilling past my teeth, harder and harder to hold back.
The waves climbed higher and higher, nearly sweeping away all reason, before they finally began to recede. My body burned, chest heaving as I gasped for air. It took a long time before my racing heartbeat gradually settled.
I glanced at my phone. It was still fairly early, yet I was already starting to feel sleepy.
Halfasleep, I opened Google Drive to upload my course, and study materials. Once they finished uploading, I mindlessly scrolled social media until two a.m., when my eyelids grew far too heavy to hold open.
Just as I was about to lock my phone for bed, a system notification popped up.
New file detected. Back up to cloud?
My brain was foggy with exhaustion. I assumed it must be a class lecture recording. Without opening my eyes, I tapped Confirm.
I tossed the phone onto my nightstand and sank straight into deep sleep.
I slept until nearly noon the next day. When I grabbed my phone, my browser was still open to the Drive page.
I went to close the tab, and my eyes locked onto a brandnew fourminute audio entry sitting inside the folder.
A terrible premonition washed over me. I pressed play.
My moans from the previous night poured through my headphones.
“Mm…”
My mind went totally blank.
When on earth had my phone recorded this? And I had backed it up to the shared Drive I used with Zach!
Zach — my childhood best friend, the star forward of our university icehockey team.
Panic crashed over me.
My hands shook badly as I deleted the cloud copy, cleared the recentlydeleted folder, and emptied the recycle bin, wiping every possible trace.
My heart pounded hard against my ribs. I could not stop myself from wondering: had Zach already seen it?
The file had uploaded around two a.m. Zach kept brutal hockeyteam hours. He should have been sound asleep by then.
Clinging to that sliver of hope, I pulled up our chat window.
My stomach dropped.
Between three and four a.m., Zach had sent over twenty messages. Every single one had been unsent.
Goosebumps prickled the back of my neck. He had been awake in the middle of the night. What if he had already opened that audio?
No. That was just my imagination torturing me.
My fingers shook as I typed: “What happened last night? Why were you awake so late?”
The typing indicator popped up the second I hit send. It flickered onscreen for ages.
Finally, two lines came through: “Nothing. Why?”
Dread made it hard to breathe. I forced myself to keep pressing.
“Did you log into the Google Drive last night? Did you see anything strange?”
This time the typing indicator lingered even longer. It was obvious he was typing, deleting, rewriting, caught in turmoil on the other side of the screen. I sat there covered in cold sweat, feeling like I was under interrogation.
At last his reply appeared: “No.”
I let out a long exhale.
His calm answer meant he had seen nothing. Thank god I had erased everything fast enough.
I relaxed completely, a tiny streak of luckiness even flickering through me.
“Bring me lunch. Chipotle chicken bowl, hold the onions.”
His reply came instantly: “OK.”