Page 122 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
She’s your fucking sister.
You’re picturing her in nonconsensual situations.
You’re such a fucking creep.
Rubbing my hands over my face, I cringe because they smell like me, like the soap I wash my cock in daily, and still never feel clean from.
What the fuck?
Non-con isn’t what I want from her. I want every rapist on earth to just drop fucking dead without an explanation.
But consent isn’t something I’ll get.
Ever.
Glancing down at my phone, I read her message because she’ll get impatient again soon.
Dollancie:
Okay, no judgment. But if I were Jane and I wanted to please, not tease, I’d do this hypothetically, like if I were her, because I’m an angel who rarely sins.
Lucky:
Is this where you trade me in for someone else on MateMatch?
My reply, unlike my thoughts, speaks of innocence.
Dollancie:
No, hahaa!
The only reason I trust you to play is because of all you are. That and I’ve been drinking, and I never ever drink.
Lucky:
I can’t comment on someone’s need for alcohol.
So, we’ll focus on the other part of your message.
What am I exactly?
I send the text one-handed, the other hand back around my cock, tugging to the point of pain. Because I deserve pain.
The sick feeling is still present, too, but I ignore it, biting down on my lip until it bleeds and the blood leaks into my mouth.
It tastes dirty.
I feel dirty.
I feel my eyes fill with tears, and that’s harder to ignore, but my hand keeps moving, though the pace slows.
Dollancie:
You’re the equivalent of a plot-led book with smut. Not just all smut. You’re funny, and you genuinely make my day better. So, hypothetically, if I were Jane…
Her message cuts off there, torturing me, and fuck, I deserve it for being an awful fucking person who wants my little sis choking on my cock before I slam it inside her.
I shake my head, not even really wanting that. Because if anyone ever touched me there, even Dollie, I’d probably die.
