Chapter Text
It starts, of course, as a joke. A humorous article taken from the worst kind of website makes the rounds in the group chat at work; Rey snorts and makes eye contact with Rose— who’s experiencing a fit of giggles—over the top of their shared cubicle wall when she clicks the link.
Man makes five thousand women orgasm—without even touching them!
Alexa play I heard it through the grapevine
And I can’t even get a text back ajdhajaijfs
Ok but how do I get hired to investigate audio porn wtf?????
Me: there’s no way this real lol
Also me: coochie like deep voice thank u sir
The article details an interview with a man using a Pseudonym, calling himself Kylo Ren. And when she downloads the whole article, she can see why he’s reluctant to associate his job with his real name; he makes “audio pornography” recordings. On the scale of weird employment, it ranks pretty high, between professional juggling and dog-surfing instructor; but Rey has her doubts regarding the accuracy of his claims. A voice? Nothing but words?
“There’s just no way,” Rey says quietly in line a few hours later at lunch, waiting for an overpriced salad beside Finn. “I just need something visual. Can you imagine how goofy it is to just be laying in bed, knickers at your ankles and there’s a guy you’re never going to meet describing in your ear what he’s going to do to your-“
The woman standing at the counter with a child on her hip slowly turns around to give them a righteous glare, her free hand cupped protectively over the kid’s ears.
Rey clears her throat, avoiding the woman’s accusatory gaze, hefting her tote on her shoulder. The woman decides Rey is properly chastened, turning back to grab her order and walk out, no-longer-innocent offspring in tow—Finn, meanwhile, is doubled over in silent laughter.
“I dunno,” Finn whispers while wiping tears from his eyes. “Have you tried listening to it? I mean,” he whistles. “It’s raunchy stuff . Kinda hot.”
Rey rolls her eyes. “I have a Satisfyer and a pornhub account. Let’s not make it more complicated than it needs to be-“
She stumbles; she’d been eyeing up her kale and parm monstrosity behind the glass (they had given her the vinaigrette twice this month by accident, it wasn’t going to happen again on her watch) and managed to trip over her own feet right into the man standing behind her. He seems unaffected, respectfully steadying her with a single palm on the small of her back. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a curl of dark hair, a familiar masculine scent; Rey realizes she has the misfortune to know this guy.
“Shit. Sorry,” her eyes widen; it's Ben, from the IT Department, of all people; apparently salad is the lunch of choice of Resistance Allies Incorporated this afternoon. The dark-haired redwood was a brooding, silent hulk who used pure intimidation to fix every hard drive in the building. She’s seen him lurking about with his stupid-perfect hair and his stupid-perfect nose; using guerilla tactics on unsuspecting internet connections. He hardly ever speaks, just grunts at victims who dare to get too close when he’s summoned from his basement office by unruly technology.
He’s the first man she’s ever met who actually keeps his mouth shut.
And she strongly suspects this has something to do with her irrational attraction to him.
Okay, so the bulging seams of his button downs help, but after three bum relationships last year alone, Rey’s on a bit of a….dry spell. A sabbatical, if you will, from all things dating-and-feelings related. A fun before-bed fantasy of a man who couldn’t ruin himself by opening his big fat mouth was exactly what she needed to get her self-worth back in order.
Her spine feels electric and he’s not even touching her anymore; the damage is done, however. She can feel where his individual fingertips were splayed out, warm and strong over her rayon blouse. She has half a mind to faint into his arms like a Victorian-era widow just to gift herself a few more harmless items for the spank-bank.
“Order one-sixteen?” a voice calls out over the crowd.
Rey is forced to pull her awareness back to the present; she glances down at her receipt and sees that her ticket number hasn’t magically changed in the past few minutes. Oh well—it’s not like having the opportunity to chat with Ben was going to do anything productive for her anyway.
“That’s me,” Rey calls out, flagging down the bored-looking high school employee. She elbows two suits out of the way, grabbing her compostable container. It’s too crowded to justify standing in here, so she gives Finn a nod that clearly means I’ll be waiting outside. And then—she’s a little weak where he’s concerned, and her heart is still beating too fast, making her foolish: she finds Ben’s gaze and smiles, giving him a wave on her way out.
She swears he maybe smiled back; a tiny thing, more of an involuntary twitch, really. It’s cute. Like a baby learning they can do something for the first time.
Finn pops out the door onto the busy sidewalk moments later with his own bounty—balsamic caprese. “I heard the craziest rumor last week, slipped my mind to tell you—can you believe there’s people who think that IT guy-“ he jerks his head in the direction of the restaurant, where Ben is still standing a head taller than everyone inside, “-is related to Leia ?” He snorts, shaking his head. “If that was at all true, geneticists would still be studying his seven-foot ass full time.” Rey grins in response. The idea of tiny, chatter-box Leia Organa having a brooding, mute hulk of a son is just what she needs to get her through the day.
And perhaps because she waved at him, he’ll escalate her IT ticket next time when she inevitably forgets her password.
She barely gets her month-end reports done by five on Friday; she skips the pay-day celebration at the Cantina and heads home with a migraine. It’s only natural that as soon as she’s done with her shower she tries to relax. In bed. With her laptop. On a particular website.
Orgasms release endorphins which are proven to reduce migrane symptoms. It’s science. She definitely read that somewhere.
She has a few favorites; one where a mahogany desk is brutally held captive by two bodies. There’s another where this guy just lifts up the girl under her knees and suspends her like that in the air while he fucks her, so she’s impaled while her toes curl. There’s another where a blonde gives a magnificent blowjob, filthy and yet unashamed. In it, the guy tells her she’s earned getting that pussy fucked. It makes her stomach flip and her insides clench every time she listens to it.
Every time she...hears...it.
Her cursor hovers over the search bar; Rey bites her lip. So maybe the group chat had a point: dirty talk was hot. She’s not immune to the charms of a masculine voice working through vowels, turning them dulcet-sweet. Words that she’d be nervous to say aloud—Rey finds that the image of someone confidently using vocabulary like cunt, cock, come; it’s a little switch in her hindbrain labeled “turn on”.
It’s not the worst idea she’s ever had. She wouldn’t be hurting anybody; the guy in the article got paid via ad revenue. It could be interesting. Maybe she’d learn something about herself.
It was probably just going to give her second-hand embarrassment.
So she might as well investigate anyway.
Rey huffs, taking a hand out of her underwear to type in Kylo Ren audio erotica; google, of course, takes her right to it. A sleek grey and white website designed by someone who knew their way around a computer, a polished logo of a pair of headphones pasted the top. The ads are actually rather tasteful: instead of hot singles in her area, he’s advertising the same companies she hears about in her podcasts, like mattresses or at-home hair color. The content itself is written blog-style; the posts chronologically ordered. Then there’s the sidebar: all the audios are organized into tagged categories, and Rey’s face turns a brighter shade of red with each one.
Ass Play, Asphyxiation, Age Play, Blowjob, Bareback, Cunniligus, Daddy Kink, Double Penetration—
Rey only makes it that far before looking around the room and apologizing to any ghosts who might be present: how many posts did this guy have? She’s starting to see why he makes so much money; apparently he’s been producing an entire library’s worth of content. The tags lower down the list make her squirm: orgasm denial, spanking, submissive instructions-
She swallows. Again, the cursor hovers. If that’s what she thinks it means—and it must be, because what else would be under a tag like that?
Her previous lovers had been at various levels of interest whenever she brought this up: that perhaps she didn’t want to make decisions for once. Be told what to do so she could be good. To be overpowered in a way that made her feel cared for. Precious.
Maybe you should go to therapy, one guy had said. I don’t want to hurt you.
And it wasn’t about that—but she had never found the words to explain, and it was easier to let it lie. Rey gagged at the idea of going on a legitimate kink hookup site; between popular usernames like sexslave29 and MASTERDADDY4U, and the violent messages, that didn’t feel right either. She had come to the conclusion there was a reason trashy paperbacks existed; for the female fantasy. The experience of unfulfillment was universal.
But she could live it out through this stranger. Hell—he was offering to be a conduit.
Rey takes a nervous lap around her apartment before settling back in bed, primly sipping a glass of water. She’s not sure why she’s so nervous; perhaps because this feels more personal than porn. Like she’s really investing herself in one other human being; something she was notoriously terrible at.
Something new catches her eye on the screen: right above his Patreon links, there’s a section that says First Time? She swallows the last of her water, tearing her eyes away from the neatly categorized tags and clicking on this new page. She expects it to be a little biography about the...author? Speaker? Whatever you want to call someone who reads erotica—but it’s not.
Welcome to my most popular recording: Hold The Moan. This is a thirty-two minute audio that culminates in a nice little orgasm for the listener—but be warned, if you’re new here, it’s probably a bit more drawn out than you’re used to. Try your best to make it to the end! It references a vibrator but can be modified for hands in case you don’t have one lying around. I encourage you to get comfortable as possible before beginning. Enjoy!
The play button mocks her, a silent but humiliating triangle. The comment section below bubbles with delight: women with randomly generated usernames thanking him for his work, complete with emoticons and sometimes inarticulate keysmashing.
Rey triple checks that her Bluetooth is off—she’s read more than one Reddit post about people accidentally connecting to a neighbors smart tv—plugging in her headphones and letting her head hit the pillow, sliding the laptop off her stomach to the mattress. She’s too nervous to close her eyes—restless limbs suddenly aware of every ache.
Hello, sweetheart.
Rey’s eyes snap open: the audio quality is so good for a moment she was sure this man—Kylo—was in the room. It’s crisp, amplified, like she can hear every shuffle behind the mic.
Are you lying down? On your back, I think, would be best. Just relax. Thighs spread a little, for me, hm?
Her stomach does that familiar flip; his voice is as deep as bourbon, somehow honeyed, like he’s on the edge of a chuckle. She can almost imagine what he looks like with a voice like that; tall, dark hair. Soft mouth. Crinkled eyes. Huge hands—she can’t emphasize that enough. Almost like—
Suspiciously like IT Ben.
I do love seeing you like this. Can you close your eyes? Sink into it; you had a long day, baby.
The light from her lamp flickers: Rey considers that she could just stare at the ceiling. Kylo wouldn’t know. He’s indifferent—
Close them. It’s alright.
She scowls, shutting them.
That’s good, and Rey can hear the smile in his voice; pleased with her. Put your hands on your belly. Don’t intertwine them or anything. Just relax. Feel how soft you are?
And—she sort of does, even if it’s silly. He can’t know that she’s soft, that she just showered, exfoliated, and applied her coconut body butter. But it’s true.
That’s good. My good girl.
Rey gulps.
We’re going to go slow, alright? You can do that for me? She’s compelled to nod, but stops herself at the last second. The audio is too clear; she keeps forgetting she’s alone.
Use your fingertips. Long, soft touches up and down your pretty waist. Use your nails if you want, as long as you’re gentle. You’re too sweet—we have to warm you up.
Her fingertips are warm against her own skin: oddly, she’s more aware of her tight nipples in the cold air, and emptiness between her legs without even getting close. Normally when masturbating she’d go straight to her clit, quick circles designed to get herself off and then go to bed. She’s never really denied herself, experienced true neediness; sex was about getting to orgasm whatever way possible.
Alright-why don’t you cup your pretty little tits for me, hmm? Squeeze them.
She could be imagining it, but it sounds like his voice has gotten huskier: she wonders if he gets off on doing these sessions. Should she listen for the slap of his fist around his cock? Little hitched breaths and gritted teeth?
I didn’t say you could touch your nipples.
Her eyes snap open; her thumbs had moved automatically to relieve some of the pressure there, smoothing over pebbled skin. Immediately she lifts her thumbs, breath catching—
Little circles; with just your index finger. Not that fast—only around the center. Don’t get too close to that sweet little bud; if you do, just fold your hands back over your belly.
Rey peeks through her eyelashes to see her nipple spring up, quickened to her own attentions. She’s never really thought of them as an erogenous zone; boring compared to what was between her legs, really.
Now all she wants is to touch them. Soothe over them. She had never realized how delicate her own skin was—how something so simple has always been within reach. It’s kind of…empowering. To know that she can pleasure herself like this.
Good girl.
She tries unsuccessfully to suppress a shiver.
I bet that little cunt is already wet.
Rey grits her teeth: the way he says that filthy word is so hard and unforgiving, mirroring the way her body tenses up.
The voice laughs.
Furious indignation curdles her blood. How dare this asshole assume something about a woman he doesn’t even know—and then have the audacity to laugh about it?
(And she is. Wet. She can feel a smudge of it on the sheets.)
The thing is, he murmurs; she sees that face again, the one conjured from that time the billing department server went down and Ben rose from the depths of the basement to run new wiring through her team’s cubicles—Ben, running a finger across his lips as he considered various ports on her laptop—only now he was a fantasy, perhaps regarding her with an air of amusement in the armchair across the room while she lies naked. He could be the one leading her through this.
The thing is, he continues, we’ve barely even begun. And look at you—so ready. Those little whimpers, your toes already curling. You must want this so badly.
Rey bites her tongue. She hadn’t noticed before, but there’s a soothing musical note being played in the background, pressing out the silence. Like he’s romancing her—putting effort into in a way few men have.
We’ll get there. Together.
Okay, so maybe she’s starting to understand why this is so popular. But false intimacy? How is it—
Tug at those pretty tits for me, baby. Pinch your nipples between your thumb and finger. Harder each time. Until you think you can’t take it but you can.
And fuck if she isn’t doing it; squeezing her skin until her nerve endings sting. It’s not brutal—just the edge of something, though. Enough to make her squirm. She can imagine calloused hands, or pearled teeth nipping at her breasts, a mop of dark hair tickling her collarbone—
You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?
It slips out—a tiny thing, barely audible: “-yes,” she hisses in response, realizing that she’s not letting up on her breasts because he hasn’t said so.
How are they? Sensitive? I hope so—I like you like this. It’s sweet, how you squirm. But you can stop now. Hands back to your belly. Little circles; don’t stop moving. What should I do next with you?
Her nails trace red lines down her ribs, to her abdomen. The muscles there feel brand new, tentative. Her cunt is aching, and if this is the only stimulation she’s going to get, she’ll savor it.
Put your palm flat, fingers pointing down, right between your hips, and press down.
She sighs; the warmth of her entire hand is glorious in the cool night air.
Ben from IT. Now those are hands.
Feel that? It’s where I’d fill you up. To the brim. Until you’re leaking with it. Stuffed. See how empty you are?
Positioned like this, her fingers brush through the tuft of hair just above her clit. Straining, perhaps she could reach it—cheat a little. Her fingers creep forward of their own accord, moving the air over her body
I know, I know. That poor little clit. It’s probably aching to be caressed. Can you feel it?
Her breath halts, hanging on to his every word.
Not yet, baby. You can wait just a little longer for me.
She takes her frustration out with a well-placed kick to her duvet. Rey can feel every individual nerve ending in her cunt screaming to be touched; every molecule of air touching energized with desire. The mere breeze from the AC is nearly unbearable, like a ghost hovering above her body.
And if it wasn’t? If it was a man—one big enough to give her what she needed. Warm and strong and intent on making her feel safe, turning her into a puddle of boneless limbs.
A man with broad hands, who might catch her should she stumble. Kinda like—
One hand on your breast. The other-cup between your legs. Lightly. Don’t squeeze, or slip a finger inside. You haven’t earned that yet. Just...lay your hand over your cunt. Think about what you want—what you’re going to give me.
She nearly sobs with relief; rocking her hips up to meet the pressure of her palm where it soothes over her labia. She can feel the sticky sweet mess when her middle finger glides over her slit; there’s a rush of heat to her face as she realizes she’s debauched. Ruined. For a voice.
Slap it. Your cunt.
Rey pauses—
Do it.
She does, without questioning further: not very hard, but enough to bring everything into sharpness, like turning up the contrast on a photo.
Good girl.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Her hand hovers, nervous.
I want you to look at your vibrator. Where is it? Next to you on the bed? Take a good long peek.
Hers is baby pink and silicone smooth. The little red light at the bottom indicating it was charged blinks back at her where it’s settled on her other pillow.
Think about the last time you used it. The last time you made yourself come.
It had been—god, a few days ago? Alone in her apartment, blankets up to her chin, ready for bed. Just something to help her sleep. But it had been good and easy and legitimate—it takes her a moment to realize she’s jealous of herself. Inexplicably. The way she’d just gotten off, nothing but the promise of rest in her head. How easy it had been to slip over the edge.
Did it feel good? I bet you were a little mess; shuddering legs while you enjoyed your orgasm. Fucking yourself with that vibrator. As deep as you could, trying to chase after that feeling. I bet you moaned, maybe tried to muffle it with a hand so nobody caught you enjoying yourself. Is that it?
He’s breathing heavier, she can tell. Imagines his shoulders twitching with effort. Ben lounging in her armchair, ordering her to show him how she fucked herself.
Put a finger in your mouth, suck it, and slap your pussy again.
Rey shuts her eyes; parting her lips to jam her pointer finger between her teeth and sucking like it’s candy. If it was Ben’s fingers—god, they’d be thick, working into her mouth, coated with drool. Unrelenting.
She slaps herself—again, not very hard, but it’s enough that she actually moans. It’s good, when the sting wears off. Bright and sensitive.
Don’t touch your clit—but you can touch your hole. See if it’s wet enough to have earned that vibrator.
She nearly skids a thumb over the bud, but decides not to at the last second: this is research, after all, so she should play by the rules. Instead, she nestles a free fingertip just between her slit, drawing out enough slick that it makes a thin, wet string of her own juices when she pulls her hand away.
God, he chuckles—it’s infuriating— you're nearly dripping. Must be desperate.
Put it in your mouth, now. Lick it up, messy girl.
She’s not really a stranger to this—more that she’s tasted herself on her partners. But nobody’s ever…done it so directly. She peers at her hand in the dim light of her bedroom before sticking out her tongue.
It’s the same taste, but far more distilled. Bodily. The salty underflavor makes her tastebuds burst, quickly dimming into her own flavor.
Interesting.
Listen carefully. Don’t move yet. I’m going to tell you what to do, and you’ll do it exactly as I say, understand?
Her inside clench with delight—he’s not even in the room and yet—
When I say, you’re going to reach down and give me one little circle against your clit.
She’s breathing so loudly , why is she breathing so loudly?
And then you’re going to put your hands right back up and squeeze those tits.
Fuck.
Okay—she can do that. It’s fine. Just one touch, and then...wait. A little longer. Easy.
She won’t die.
Slowly now; you can go. To your ribs...to your belly...that’s good. Slow. Not yet. Do you feel it?
If it was Ben here, she’d be all feral and snappy with her response. Maybe duh with a roll of her eyes or of course not, I’m not even touching myself yet. Just to see what he’d do. But he’s not, so she’s left with an oddly bereft feeling of loneliness.
Nice circles at the top of your thighs.
Her hips shift a little; with the right strain of her back muscles, she can feel something pulling her arousal deeper, stretching it out. It’s languid, to be so turned on without any direct stimulation.
Now. Go ahead. One circle.
It’s glorious.
She enjoys it thoroughly—it’s like her body is new, somehow. She takes her time with it, if she’s only getting one, and it’s all for the better; she appreciates the soft skin and the subtle buildup of sparks in her abdomen.
Back up, come on. Show me you’re a good girl.
She whines when her finger lifts, drawing a quick line back up to her chest. Rey puffs up a breath of air before shivering as her fingers pinch at her own skin, needing something to do.
The vibrator. I want you to grab it and turn it on—the lowest setting please. Don’t do anything with it yet, just listen to the hum.
Rey scowls; the lowest setting is dull and slow. Too weak to get her off.
Usually . Tonight might be different, though. She glances at her pink companion with renewed interest. The switch is easy enough to navigate, and then the silence of the empty room is cut through with the aforementioned mechanical hum.
Kiss it for me. Like you would my cock.
Jesus Christ—he’d really just said that, for thousands of people on the internet. Wrote it, recorded it, posted it.
And now she’s going to do it.
—you’re going to wrap a hand around your own throat while you do it.
She swallows, taking her last few gulps of air before doing exactly that: closing her eyes and feeling ridiculous and so, so right. Squeezing her own neck and pressing an open mouthed kiss to her own vibrator, the same one that’s made her shake and squirm and come.
Her tongue skims the silicone, waiting for more.
You’re going to put it between your legs now—not touching. Just set it on the bed between your thighs. And I want you to feel the way it vibrates on the sheets, so, so close to that needy cunt.
And he’s right—it hurts to see her fucking mattress get more action than she does; the subtle vibrations quiver the sheets, making her hyper aware of her spread legs. She squirms a little, squeaking when the tip of her vibrator brushes her skin. It makes her ache.
You’ve lasted so long, baby.
“Yes,” she whispers, brows knitting.
You’ve been so good.
“ I’m a g-good girl,” she nods, hips still tense.
Pick up your toy. Turn it a little higher—I want you to moan for me.
“Yesss,” she hisses reaching down to snatch the device. She clicks until she hits the setting that gives her the most comfortable orgasm, a tried and true.
We’re just going to do short, little taps, alright? Ten of them. I’ll count for you, so you don’t have to worry that pretty head of yours.
She spreads herself open for access to the softest parts of her; she’s nearly soaked at this point, the skin slippery underneath her fingers. Rey grips the vibrator so hard she’s afraid it’s going to snap.
One—
The sound that rips out of her at the first touch is feral. Her clit is so swollen and sensitive that the vibrator nearly slides out of her hands.
Off.
Rey throws her head back against the pillow and nearly screams into the night; her hips jerk up but she dutifully keeps the vibrator away. Because—she’s a good girl. For him.
Two.
She slams the buzzing tip back to her skin, nervous to miss a single moment of the pleasure he’s decided to give her; she adjusts a little, trying to find that perfect spot and pressure—
Off.
Christ, this was harder than she thought it would be; she can feel all her blood down south throbbing with the quick staccato of her heart.
Three through nine are easier; and personally, if you asked; she was imagining lounging in bed with Ben from IT, one of his hands wrapped around her thighs, the bulk of him forcing her to spread her legs. Thinks about how he’d coax her through it, studying her whimpers and moans, trying to find the best position, intent on making her cum as hard as possible. Like she was a piece of art meant to by studied, savored. That thought—edges her closer than ever before.
Ten.
Tears gather at the corner of her eyes. It’s over, it’s all over now, she missed her chance—
Hold it down.
The surprise is palpable—her Ben Solo daydream is interrupted when her eyes fly open, trying to see if she was hearing things—
Harder, sweet thing. You’re going to make yourself come for me.
“ Fuck,” she squeaks; her insides clench. He’s going to let her orgasm, isn’t he? She did everything he asked, and now she’s so close and it’s barely even been two minutes of actually using her vibe. Rey is going to get dizzy if she contemplates this for too long; that the article was right. He could make her come without even touching her.
I bet that feels so good on that little clit. Are you close? Hold still. I want you to keep the vibrator on until you come. And then keep going until you’re all spent up, alright? Until you want to beg to take it off. Because that’s how I’d have you; the brink of pleasure, baby. I want you ruined for me.
“ I’m gonna—“
You’re going to come. I promise.
She’s panting and squirming and shaking and suddenly all of it is culminating into the slow drop, the star-bright of everything between her thighs; Rey seizes up and traps the vibrator with her clenched legs until it’s too much, and then she pushes through it while he murmurs sweet things into her ear. Gasping for air, she dimly realizes it’s the hardest she’s come in...quite awhile, actually.
Good girl.
On Monday morning she catches the elevator up with Finn; they’re in a crowd but she probably won’t see him much today, and it’s easy enough to disguise what she’s really talking about, so she chances it.
She quietly clears her throat and turns to him, the ding of the humming lift finally moving. “That...thing we talked about? Last Thursday?”
He glances up from a game of candy crush, mouth quirked. “—Did you?”
She nods, grinning and wiggling her eyebrows playfully. “I stand corrected. It was like nothing else.”
“Very humble of you, peanut.”
“It’s wild. After the first I had to do a few more. To make sure.”
“Of course.”
“And…” she blows air out of her mouth, throwing her head back. “It was incredible. I’ve never—in my life—“
Rey realizes that someone is making choking noises behind her.
She turns to find Ben, completely red in the face—from the tips of his ears down to the first button of his shirt.
It would be endearing if he didn’t look like he was having a heart attack.
“Ben,” she turns, reaching out, touching his shoulder as he doubles over. “Ben—are you alright? Do you need water?” She gets no response from the brute, so she turns over her shoulder to the rest of the crowd. “Can someone stop the lift, please?”
Ben shakes his head, patting his chest wearily, still holding in an obvious cough.
“Ben—can you speak? Oh god; say something—“
“I’m—I’m fine, Rey ,” he manages reluctantly, only slightly wheezing; he still refuses to meet her eyes.
“Oh,” she says softly, hands dropping from his chest.
Oh .
Oh dear.
And as Ben shoves a few accountants out of the way to get off at the fifteenth floor, Rey is left with the realization that she knows that voice. Intimately.
After all, she just spent two straight days letting him make her come.