Dear Daddy, Please Spank Me - Chara Croft Page 0,21

Sure, jerking off with his sexilicious voice in my ear had been hot as fuck, and on a post-come endorphin high, setting up an actual hookup had seemed like a stellar fucking idea, but now I had to wonder if I really had been catfished. I mean, come on, a twenty-one-year-old living all on his own in a cute little house with Christmas lights already up and lawn ornaments everywhere, in a cul de sac that looked like it had been made of apple pie and pigtails or some shit? I felt like I was on the set of a sitcom, not about to go have some dirty-ass sex.

My cock started to chub up at that thought. That stupidly smiling profile pic of Andy’s still looked wholesome as fuck—I may or may not have double-checked it a time or three since that weird-ass phone call the other night—but having him go all dictatorial and whatnot with that Daddy role play shit had showed me his true colors.

The boy definitely had a dirty side, and right up until I got here, I’d been one hundred percent down with the idea of letting him unleash it on my ass. Actually, I’d been hoping he’d unleash it in my ass, since I definitely needed to be fucked. But back to that hot spanking talk he’d gotten me off with, I mean, yeah, it was hot to hear, and I for sure hadn’t minded the occasional swat during sex in the past, but I’d never been into anything hardcore and wasn’t sure I could deal if he actually wanted to paddle me like a naughty school boy or whatever.

“Shit,” I muttered, adjusting myself.

Okay, so clearly a certain part of me thought I could deal just fine, but the whole reason I hadn’t been into hooking up on Cuffd in the first place was because I wasn’t down with the idea of sex that involved actual pain. No shame for kinky freaks who got off on it, but me? Hard pass.

That wasn’t what was freaking me out though. It wasn’t even those slightly fucked-up stalker-ish moments we’d had on the phone before things had gotten hot, since Nichol and I had done a little digging and confirmed that yep, one Andrew P. Archer had graduated four years after us, had been a skinny little geek with that same ridiculous smile in his school photos, and didn’t seem like a threat.

I grinned, then scrubbed a hand over my face to get rid of that shit.

He’d been really fucking into me back then, though, hadn’t he? Not, like, in the creeptastic way most "Daddies" from my channel were, but like… that milk thing. Pretty sure no one but Nichol even knew about my aversion to that nasty shit. Well, Nichol and now Andy. And for some reason, the fact that he’d noticed—the whole way he'd sounded when he’d talked about “knowing who I was” back in high school, which had pretty fucking obviously been code for the boy having crushed on me hard—made me not want to burst his bubble about who I actually was... and how fucked up was it that I even cared if he figured out I wasn’t actually all that?

“Fuuuuuucccckkkkkk,” I muttered, letting my head fall back against the headrest. Overthinking much? I was only here for another hit of that ball-stroking bass voice that sounded too damn deep to be coming from a body like his, to hopefully find out that he knew how to wield his cock and then let him demonstrate that skill in my ass, and then to GTFO as soon as I blew my load.

It was a hookup, not a fucking marriage proposal, and it mattered exactly jack if along the way Andy realized I wasn’t whatever he’d built me up to be in his head and decided he wanted nothing more to do with a fuck up like me, because this whole thing was just going to be one and done and then move the fuck on.

Pep talk delivered. Sense restored. Time to go get some.

I turned off the ignition and double checked my face in the rearview mirror, then put the rest of the weird feelings that the idea of going into his picture-perfect little house and meeting his ugly cat and maybe getting him to smile at me IRL the way he had in that photo on lockdown, and got out of the damn car before I could slide back into overthinkersville. I’d eaten nothing