Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
I was on the laptop in lingerie, as usual. Today’s appointment had just logged on. He wasn’t anything special, not like some of the others who tried to project an air of mystery or charm. This one was just average. Beige. The kind of man you’d pass on the street and forget instantly. He called himself “Braveheart’ in the chat, which felt ironic given how timid his actual keystrokes felt. He wasn’t a high roller, but consistent. Enough to make the time worthwhile. He didn’t want much in terms of conversation, and the pictures he requested were merely a precursor, an hors d’oeuvre to the real meal.
What he truly craved, what he paid for, were the words. Not just any words, but those specific phrases, strung together just so, meticulously crafted and delivered with a precise cadence. The ones that unlocked something in him, a sort of mental key turning in a lock. “Get worse, loser.” I’d type them out because I didn’t need to see his face to know what was happening on his end. The slight delays in his replies,
This gooner wasn’t anything special
the occasional typo, the way his messages would sometimes trail off into a string of ellipses before he’d abruptly re-engage. It was a familiar rhythm, a predictable arc to his gratification. He wasn’t special or out of the ordinary, just another gooner. A loser. The usual baitor-boi looking for a thrill and perhaps, if he’s lucky, a glimpse of my porn tits.
He wasn’t looking for a connection, just a specific, solitary escape from whatever his real life actually looks like. I was merely the architect of that. There was no judgment, no real emotion involved on my part. I’m a professional provider of tailored fantasy, delivering the exact linguistic triggers that would send him spiraling into his desired state. This is my job. And this loser wasn’t the first.
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
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