For some reason the whole thing just doesn’t seem as fun if I can’t share it…
I sinkonto the sofa and scroll through the texts again, heat touching my cheeks as I lift my gaze to glance around my suite. Yeah, there have definitely been a few unorthodox experiments over the past few days. But they’re not elaborate set-pieces that I put any thought or planning into; it just happens. One second I’m behaving like a completely normal person and then suddenly I’m fucking a jar of peanut butter.
I let out a low groan, rubbing the heel of my palm over the front of my jeans as I’m hit with the memory of what came after—lazing around naked on this very sofa with my dick still all messy while I used my fingers to scoop cummy peanut butter from the jar.
“Jesus Christ,Damon,you’re so fucking gross,” I bemoan, scrubbing a hand over my face.
But I guess creepy and gross is what does it for me these days…
Fucking hell.Maybe Jazz is right. Maybe it is the taboo element of all this that has me so hooked. I guess it makes sense in a way; I’ve always gotten a bit of a thrill from pushing boundaries and breaking rules. But it was always normal stuff. Harmless stuff. Like having sex with Valerie in our high schoolart teacher’s office—and about a hundred other inappropriate places over the years; or running naked across the campus with the rest of the freshmen football recruits; or helpingAva pull a spectacular prank on her rival soccer team…
It was definitely never anything likethis.
I glance around the room again and this time my eyes land on my tablet sitting on the breakfast bar. I frown in consideration as I shift my gaze between the breakfast bar and the bed; with how the suite’s laid out a camera set on the counter should be able to get a full view of the bed. And if I use my tablet I could just press record and let the video run. No doubt it’ll pick up something in the next hour or two…
I doubt this set-up is what Jazz had in mind but unless he’s prepared to give me some more thorough instructions it’s the best I have.
Aboutan hourlater I’m sitting up in bed scrolling through random shit on my phone and starting to question the wisdom of my plan. I never go to bed this early and it feels fucking weird to just be sitting here.
I’m debating whether to re-locate to the sofa and try watching some porn for inspiration when my phone buzzes with Jazz’s reply to my earlier text.
Jazz Grimsay
Let’s just say if a video of you doing creepy, messed-up shit happens to appear on my phone I’m not going to delete it
But that’s your call. This is for your benefit, not mine
And, just like that, I’m filled with the same giddy excitement I felt earlier when I sent the other video. There’s just something so thrillingly reckless about Jazz of all people seeing me like that; knowing he’s going to torment me for my behavior—either with taunts and mockery or by deliberately withholding his reaction.
My cheeksflare with mild embarrassment at the visceral reaction because, seriously, I need to get a grip… I tip my head back against the headboard and let out a steadying breath before sending my reply.
Me
He says like he doesn’t know what my call will be
So seeing as how you ARE going to benefit maybe you could pick something from that no doubt lengthy list of depraved and debauched shit you want to see me do?
Jazz Grimsay
“Endless” is probably more accurate. But this is YOUR thing dirty boy—consider it an opportunity to take ownership like we talked about last night
I let out a groan of frustration.
Me
But it’s not like I plan this shit! It just happens—one second I’m completely normal and the next I’m behaving like a filthy, depraved whore. I can’t do it on cue
Jazz Grimsay
You must get your inspiration from somewhere
I considerthis for a moment before sighing my acknowledgement of his point. Fantasies. I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me earlier but myunorthodoxbehavior is a physical extension of the filthy fantasies I’ve been having lately, most of which stem from either the text message exchanges I can’t seem to stop reading or my in-person interactions with Jazz.
Me
You, obviously. No one else could inspire this kind of depravity
Jazz Grimsay
