Page 33 of Beautiful Small Things

Tinydancer: So fucking wet.

DaddyMac: Put two fingers inside your pussy.

DaddyMac: Are you doing it?

Tinydancer: Yes

DaddyMac: Does it feel good?

Tinydancer: Sooooo gooood

DaddyMac: Now stop.

Tinydancer: I can’t.

DaddyMac: Stop, or I go away.

Tinydancer: I hate you.

DaddyMac: Good. Now put your fingers in your mouth and suck on them.

Tinydancer: Tastes so good.

DaddyMac: I want those fingers in my mouth.

DaddyMac: I’m going to go film myself in the shower. I’m going to think about you, coming on my tongue and my cock. I’m going to think about filling that pussy with my cum.

Tinydancer: Yes

DaddyMac: I’ll send it to your inbox. You can unlock it for $75.

If I had known who I was talking to back then, I would have stopped it. Well, I would have tried to stop it. I had no business talking to the younger sister of my best friend’s girlfriend. I had known her from a little girl. James was sweet, and she had grown into a beautiful young woman. I knew she had a crush on me in her teens. It was cute and harmless. She would stumble around me and forget her words. She’d pick fights and take shots at me whenever possible. I enjoyed the dynamic.

Then, there was that strange interaction six months ago when I found her naked in the bathroom. I’m still unsure what that was about, only that she was embarrassed and upset. And adorable. Watching her facade slip and accepting my help showed me that she’d grown up. Seeing her naked also showed me that she’d grown up, but I refused to look at her like that. I couldn’t.

But the person on the other end of the chat was someone else entirely. A sexual, confident woman, who I became enamored with. I thought about her constantly. I had molded a vision of her in my mind. It was the one I came thinking about. I wanted to see her. I begged to see her. She was hesitant. But eventually, she agreed to send me a picture.

My phone chimed with the alert that I had received a message. I almost broke my fucking neck, getting out of my study group to look at it. I remember running into the bathroom and locking myself into a stall. Opening up the picture, I saw the body of a beautiful woman lying on a bed.

Shapely, strong legs leading to perfectly rounded hips. She has one hand covering her center, so I could barely make out the dark hair of what I knew was the most magical pussy in the universe. My eyes gazed over her pierced belly button before skimming up to her round, perky breasts. My mouth began to water, thinking about one of those dusky nipples in my mouth. Long hair fanned out behind her, and the picture stopped at her neck.

All of the blood had gone to my dick, so I wasn’t thinking clearly at first. Then, I remembered seeing that piercing before. My eyes quickly shifted back, and I studied it with interest. It was beautiful and unique, and that’s why I noticed it the first time I saw it.

The light green jewel at the center of her belly button led to a green dragonfly gem with three smaller gems dangling from it.

“No fucking way!” I shouted as I almost dropped my phone in the toilet. This could not be happening. I saw that same jewelry when I found James crying in the bathroom with a bleeding head and battered tit. I didn’t register it as sexy at the time because I went into ‘doctor mode’ to help her. But it must’ve stuck in my mind somehow. And here it was again.

James is the girl I’d been masturbating to and for, for several weeks. My head was spinning as I computed panicked underage girl math. She had to be eighteen or nineteen, right? She couldn’t be seventeen. No, she’s older than that. She lives in an apartment by the campus. That’s still not great, but it’s not illegal.

Next came rapid-fire questions I couldn’t possibly know the answer to. Did she know it was me? How did she find this account? Why would she do this? Has she told her sister? Do I need to move to Greenland to avoid getting my ass beat by Callan?

I rushed out of the bathroom and told my study group I wasn’t feeling well before gathering my things and driving home like a lunatic. I couldn’t stop thinking about the things we had said to one another. The things I said I wanted to do to her.

This was so bad. I could just delete the account and move on like nothing ever happened. That would’ve been the smart thing to do. But I’m Marcus Sinclair, and I usually don’t always choose the smart thing. Case in point right here.

So, when I got home, I sat at my computer and messaged Tinydancer. Tinydancer. I might be the stupidest man alive. She may as well have signed it with her full name and social security number.

DaddyMac: I want to meet you.