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What about asking if you’re excited about your date?
Just typing this makes me want to go into a full-on frenzy.
I’m just deciding what to wear,she says, dodging the question.
Why don’t you show me?
My dick stiffens despite everything. Tension makes my shaft hard, seed rushing to my tip.
My outfits? Why? Are you a fashion expert?
No, but I can tell you which one to wear.
Based on what?
Based on what I don’t want Vito to see.
I click send. It’s like the thrumming heat in my dick is making it easier to be reckless. Everything is spinning out of control, so why can’t I just let myself go just a little?
Why do you care what he sees?
Because I’m insane, Mia. I’m completely deranged, and I’ve decided your hourglass curves belong to me.
I send a laughing emoji with it. It looks like it doesn’t fit next to the message, which is honest. It takes some of the weird sting out of it, maybe.
I’m crazy, too. A painter, hello? So maybe you’re in good company. Hourglass curves? What does that even mean?
You’re like a pinup model,I tell her, sitting back on the bed, reaching down. I can’t stop myself. I start rubbing the outside ofmy pants, thinking of Mia, of my dick, dripping with precome, stroking across her soaked tight slit, the moaning sounds she’d make as I glided into her, all the way, disappearing into her. Fuck. I’m stroking faster. I get my dick out and spread precome up and down.
I’ve never been called a model before.
It’s because society’s fucked,I tell her, struggling to type one-handed.You’re what beauty really is. Your curves. Those narrow hips with your thick legs and perfect tits.
I’m getting too excited, making it too heated, but I can’t help it. I go back to the photo, staring at her smirk and her cleavage. I imagine her on her back with the same smile as I pump into her inexperienced slit, hammer her so her body makes wet noises and her cream drenches down my dick.
I slow down, waiting for another message. She’s not going to send me one.
Oh,hell. Then she does. She’s wearing a short red dress, no leggings, no tights, no underwear if my savage imagination is correct. She’s leaning slightly forward, showing her legs but hiding her sweet slit and ass. Her legs look so full, so thick, so perfect.
What about this one?she texts.
I can’t respond. I’m pumping my hand up and down my dick as I imagine walking up behind her, reaching out and claiming one of her big tits as I bring my dick up her thigh from behind. I’d find her wet, tight heat and glide in, keeping the dress on, fucking her slowly at first. Then she’d moan, hungry for more, and I’d claim her perfect body.
I’m pumping fast now. I can hear the precome slickly gliding against my cock and hand. I wish it were her pussy, her juicy hole, taking every inch. I’d fuck her so that her ass bounced against me, showing her curviness.
The come burns up my shaft as I stare at her legs, captivated by them. I imagine exploding my seed deep into her body, but I couldn’t do that. I’d have to explode over her ass or get her on her knees and drench her tits with my release.
We can’t have kids. We can’t bring more pain into the world—more evil.
I sit up, gasping, my abs covered in come.
Dante?
After cleaning up in the en suite, I reply,You can’t wear that. You need something that covers you up more.
Some women might be offended that a stranger is telling them how to dress.
But you’re not, Mia,I type, smirking, somehow knowing I’m right.Are you?
