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DakkyDuck: What do you mean—busy?

I type.

TheRealCreator: Don’t play games with me. You know what I mean.

His reply is totally hypocritical. But for some reason, I’m in the mood to give him a pass.

DakkyDuck: Maybe I want you to say it.

TheRealCreator: Busy rubbing your hand into your underwear, over your needy, swollen clit, down your hot lips, to your entrance, I just fucking know it, wet and sticky and ready as fuck thinking about me taking you. Hard. Repeatedly, over and over again.

DakkyDuck: Is that what you want, then? My hand to be busy?

TheRealCreator: I don’t WANT it. I’m fucking DEMANDING it.

Ishouldtell him I don’t play that shit. I should tell him that one of the cornerstones of my entire personality, in fact, isnot playing that shit. But there’s something about the context and the man saying it and the heat that’s already got me firmly in its grip that makes that… impossible.

I breathe hard, typing out a message.

DakkyDuck: As a FANTASY, that turns me on a lot. As a FANTASY.

TheRealCreator: In the spirit of a FANTASY, I need for your hand to move between your legs, to rub your clit, your folds, your entrance, or whichever hot-as-fuck part needs attention. And as you’re doing that, I need you to imagine us on this bed together. Just us, the wind howling outside the cave, my body pressed firmly against yours as years of repressed, furious hunger come bubbling out.

I want to slide my hand down there badly. I’m aching for it. Maybe it’s the small-but-real chance this isn’t Jackson Cross. Mara said it’s 100% him, but with technology these days, deep fakes, identity theft… what if I’m being played? And also, there’s the control thing.

I want to give in. To sink sinfully into his control, it’s embrace. But my history stops me.

And yet, hypocritically, I don’t wanthimto hold back.

DakkyDuck: Are you rubbing your cock for me?

TheRealCreator: I wasn’t. But I am now. Rubbing my hard dick, thinking about your thick, beautiful, round ass. Thinking about those juicy tits bouncing for me as I slide inside, as I claim you, fuck you like I can’t stop, like I never want to stop, and you beg for more and more each second.

I squeeze my legs together, shivering, my clit furiously pulsing in a way it never has before.

DakkyDuck: I want you to come for me.

I picture Jack Cross, his fist pumping, his dripping length, every part of him aimed at me, and only me.

DakkyDuck: I want you to explode for me.

TheRealCreator: Fruck

TheRealCreator: SadsdxaqsdxAZX

I smile with a sense of power that makes my head spin. I feel a little guilty, knowing I’m not doing the same. I squeeze my keyboard and mouse so hard, it’s a miracle they don’t break.

TheRealCreator: Did you… too?

This is a little white lie. For both of us. Right?

DakkyDuck: Yes. My legs are still shaking and I’m dripping all over my computer chair.

I’m shocked at the words flying from my fingertips so casually. My temperature rises just thinking about him emptying his thick cock with my image firmly held in his mind.

In the game, he climbs onto the bed and then lies down. I smile, then lie down next to him.

TheRealCreator: I might be into this roleplay stuff.