Swallowing Water

Swallowing Water SIGGY SHADE Copyright © 2023 by Siggy Shade All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 21. Epilogue About the Author Also by Siggy Shade Trigger Warnings Swallowing water contains the following content warnings: Anal penetration (extreme) Assault (brief attempted) Astral projection Bondage Doxing Double vaginal penetration Drowning Gaslighting (past) Identity theft Mass murder Revenge porn Semen drinking Sexual coercion (past) Sex tapes Stalking Thalassophobia Triple penetration Urination kink For everyone who likes it warm and wet and wriggling down their thighs. Chapter One They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but it’s nothing compared to how I feel about Robert. Hellfire doesn’t begin to describe what’s burning through my veins. I want him ruined. I want to burn him into cinders, resurrect him from his ashes, only to kill him again in cold blood. He’s stopped ringing the bell. Now, he’s pounding on the door with heavy fists. “Open up,” he yells. “I know you’re in there. Why did you change the locks?” My nostrils flare, and I glower at the trembling door. It’s locked, double-bolted, and secured with a chain—as is the one that leads to the garden. He’s not getting inside. “Miranda!” he roars. My heart pounds hard enough to drown out his bellowing, and my fingers tremble over the buttons of my phone. Should I call the police? I picture two burly officers, coming into the house, wanting to know why I locked Robert out and confiscated thousands of pounds worth of computer equipment. My throat tightens and goose pimples prickle across my skin at the thought of them wanting to see the evidence of all the filth he recorded. Wanting to see me starring as an unwitting porn star. “You bitch,” he snarls. “All my stuff is in there.” His voice gets louder, becoming more desperate. Robert is a programmer—something related to gaming, and owns the latest state-of-the-art equipment. His entire livelihood resides in my spare room, and I’ve just unplugged it all and disconnected the modem. The letterbox flaps open. I stagger back several steps and dart into the living room, in case he’s holding a weapon. “I knew it,” he hisses. My mind races. I’m not usually one to avoid conflict, but I’m out of my depth. Last night, while Robert was busy gaming, someone sent me an anonymous text with a link to a website. They wanted to know if that was me. When I followed the URL, it was one of those amateur porn sites. I recognized the bedroom immediately, but it took a few seconds of playing for my brain to process what I was seeing. Robert had installed dozens of cameras to record us having sex, edited the footage, and posted it online. There were so many scenes: in the kitchen, in the bathroom, on the stairs, there was spanking, tit wanks, blowjobs, anal, rimming, and period sex. Then there were the comments. I had a fucking fan base of regulars who would call me filthy names, make requests for what they wanted me to do in the next video, and demand my contact details for private sessions or a three-way. The worst of all was how Robert would reply to all those creeps as hot_slut_4u, pretending to be me, thanking them for their kind words and making promises for more degrading content. I double over, my gut aching from a fresh bout of nausea and betrayal. How can a man I’ve known since university have such hidden depravity? We had started as friends with the same taste in anime. I thought we had connected when his mother died since I’d also lost my parents in a boating accident that left me deathly afraid of large bodies of water. I never thought he could claim to love me while posting videos of our most intimate moments. “If you don’t open this door right now, I’m calling the police,” he screams, sounding shrill. His threat is the splash of cold water I need to snap me back to reality. “You’ve got some fucking nerve.” I storm out of the living room with my fists clenched. “Miranda,” he snarls. “Do you know how much my stuff is worth? Of course you don’t since I pay all the bills and you insist on selling your stupid coloring books on Etsy.” My nostrils flare. I’m so riled up that his usual complaints about my lack of a full time job slide over me like water. “Don’t talk like you’re doing me a favor,” I snap. “I pay for all the food and for all the repairs while you live here rent-free.” Robert doesn’t even hesitate to acknowledge my point. “I’ve invested every penny I earned in that equipment and you don’t get to lock me out of what’s rightfully mine.” I bend down to make eye contact and rest my hands on my knees. “Is it the computers you’re worried about or what’s inside?” “What are you talking about?” he snaps. “Hot slut 4U.” Robert releases the letterbox, letting it fall shut with a clink. My jaw clenches, and I flare my nostrils. “Where’s all that outrage?” I yell. “Where’s the police you keep threatening to call? You can’t because you and I both know what you did is illegal.” When he still doesn’t answer, I slam my palm on the door. “Robert!” Silence stretches out for several heartbeats, making my skin tighten with impatience. He can’t have gone. Everything he owns is in this house, including his phone. I spent