Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I click in the instant chat box, hands shaking slightly.
CravingMore: Yes, Sir. I want that. It’s exactly what I want but haven’t been able to find.
FulfillingDominance: How does it make you feel?
I stare at the screen for a moment, unsure how to answer. No Dom has ever asked me how something they said makes me feel. It’s…unnerving yet welcome.
A thrill of panic shoots through me when another message comes through, making me fear I took too long and he’s not going to be interested, but I breathe out a sigh of relief when I read the message.
FulfillingDominance: Take your time, boy.
I sit up in bed a little more, holding the laptop on my thighs, thinking about what he said. I know what I feel, but I’m struggling to put it into words. It’s a little like he’s already seeing me naked, looking at parts of me no one has bothered trying to see before.
CravingMore: Well, there’s the obvious, Sir, and it made my dick hard. I backspace because that’s not the truth and I want to be completely truthful with him. It made me start to get hard, my cock plumped up some. I’m not fully erect, but I could get there pretty easily. I feel wobbly…not on the outside, but on the inside. In my thoughts. But that’s a good thing. I’m hopeful too, hopeful that this will be what I’m looking for, that this will work out, that I’ll be who you need too, and that in giving you those things, it will give me what I need as well. I pause, close my eyes, and try to relax while focusing on the words FulfillingDominance had said to me. And I feel seen…which I didn’t realize until right now. Does that make sense?
Nerves attack all my senses as I hit Send and wait.
FulfillingDominance: Good boy. Thank you for being so honest. What you said does make sense. We all want to be seen, to find people who know those secret parts of us and who share those parts of us as well. You made me proud. I like very much what you had to say. I want you to focus on that when you go to bed tonight. Focus on the fact that you were a good boy and made me happy. Are you free tomorrow evening to meet online and speak again? How about at eight o’clock?
Satisfaction makes my skin prickle, makes my pulse dance erratically. I made him proud, and that’s already the best feeling. It’s comforting, soothing a near constant ache inside me.
I have to go to a barbecue at my parents’ house tomorrow, so speaking to Sir will probably be exactly what I need. Why is it so hard to be around loving parents who would do anything for me? I don’t know why I struggle with it as much as I do because I know how lucky I truly am. Still, it’s hard and always leaves me feeling raw.
CravingMore: Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I appreciate what you said, and I’ll meet you online tomorrow night at eight.
FulfillingDominance: And?
And what? I run through what he said again before the answer comes to me.
CravingMore: And I’ll focus on what you said. I’ll think about the fact that I made you proud.
FulfillingDominance: Good boy. Sleep well.
CravingMore: You too.
I go to bed with a smile on my face and sleep better than I have in years.
CHAPTER TWO
Marshall
It’s Saturday morning, and John and I meet up to play pickleball.
I’ve only been back in North Carolina for a few months, but enjoying this game twice a month is something we’ve already fallen into the habit of doing. I’d been playing in San Francisco, where I’d moved for college and had stayed after I’d graduated, and John had been playing out here.
Despite the distance over the years, we’ve stayed close friends. He is and always will be my family, and I’m the same for him. We’ve gone on vacations and spent holidays together. John, Callie, and JT had come to the Bay Area on several occasions, and I’d shown them around. We’d also taken trips down to LA and Disneyland and the Hollywood Walk of Fame. It’s nice to be close to them again, and I’ll always be thankful that despite how different we are, nothing will ever come between John and me.
“You ready, old man?” he calls from the other side of the net. It’s the start of our third game, each of us having won one.
“You call me that as if you’re not seven weeks older than me,” I toss back.
“Lies!” John teases, then serves the ball. It comes flying over, and I have to run to get to it and swat it back. We volley it back and forth before John misses, and I throw my hands up in the air.