kennedydaphne900

She’s a nobody, a struggling wubnovel writer pouring her heart into stories no one reads. Until him. Her first and only fan.

He comments on every chapter, sending long, heartfelt messages about how her words move him, how her characters speak to his soul, how she, through her writing, has become his entire world.

At first, it feels like validation. But then, it becomes more. Their connection evolves into a private and electric bond, fueled by her seductive prose and his growing obsession. Through late-night messages and steamy exchanges hidden in the comments of her chapters, the writer begins to craft her stories not for an audience, but for him alone.

He wants her. Needs her. Fantasizes about her constantly. But the cruel twist? She isn’t real. Or rather, not in the way he wants. She exists only as the idea she’s created, an unreachable goddess of words and fantasies.

As his obsession deepens, and her own loneliness drives her closer to him, they enter a dangerous game of desire and denial. She toys with him, weaving herself into his mind, his life, his dreams, but always remaining just out of reach. She knows he will never stop wanting her, but the truth is, he can never truly have her.

Loving my reader: An Authors Obsession A Readers Desire.

"Hello reader, are you online?" she sent the text.

His reply was swift and eager. "I'm always online for you, your highness."

She smiled mischievously. "I have a treat for you, reader. Wanna write chapter 2 together?"

His response came instantly, full of anticipation. "Holy Jesus, yes! It took you literally seven days, and I'm craving."

"I am here to satisfy your craving, reader."

He took a deep, steadying breath, already imagining the possibilities. "Hit me with your best shot."

"Chapter 2: A Good Morning Pussy."

You lay there in the soft haze of sleep, your chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.

Your hair was a ruffled, sexy mess from the wild fucking we had last night.

I couldn't believe it. I'd followed my almost-stranger classmate home after fucking him in a parking lot like a desperate, wanton woman.

And yet, I was about to break that record.

I was perched on the couch opposite your bed, completely naked except for your white button-down shirt draped over my body.

My fingers trailed over my lips as I stared at you, sprawled so casually in the sheets.

I liked the way your lips felt on mine.

My fingers wandered lower, skimming my throat, brushing over my still-sensitive tits.

I liked the way your mouth worshipped them.

Lower still, across the flat of my belly.

I liked the way your hands owned me, held me, ruined me.

You were so fucking good last night.

But damn, you looked even better right now.

Would it be bad if I rode your cock while you slept?

The thought sent heat shooting straight to my core.

I trailed my fingers lower, teasing over my already slick folds, and I realized something, I couldn't wait for you to wake up.

I didn't want to disturb you either.

So instead, I reached into my purse, the one thing I was lucky enough not to leave behind in the grocery store last night.

My hand closed around my favorite purple vibrator, sleek and perfect.

I always kept it for moments like this, but I wished so badly it was you, your skin, your heat.

I settled back, spreading my legs just enough, my gaze locked on your sleeping face.

The vibrator buzzed softly as I pressed it against my clit, teasing the sensitive nub until a shiver shot through me.

The ache, the tension, the overwhelming craving for you built with every movement.

I slipped the vibrator deep inside me, its hum filling my pussy, and thrust it in and out with deliberate slowness.

A soft, breathy "Uhh…" escaped my throat before I could stop it.

It wasn't just the sensation, it was the thought of you.

Of you waking up to see me like this, dripping and needy, my pussy clenching around anything to mimic the feeling of your cock.

I was lost in the pleasure, my body trembling as the vibrations hit every sensitive spot inside me, filling the morning air with my soft, desperate moans.

Those green, lazy, morning eyes, half-lidded but full of intrigue.

My breath hitched, cheeks flushing a deep red as I realized what you were looking at, my legs spread wide, my cunt dripping wet, the vibrator buried deep inside me.

I froze, mortified, about to stammer out an apology.

Lazy, sexy, and entirely predatory, like the devil himself had risen to claim me.

And before I could gather my wits, you casually pulled the sheets off your body, revealing the glorious sight of your Calvin Klein boxers, snug around the most tantalizing morning bulge I'd ever seen.

Your voice, deep and rich with sleep, hit me like a drug.

"Come sit that wet, pretty pussy on me, darling."

The writer pleasures her reader