Page 6 of Taken Online

Ash.luv:Like this?

I made sure to send him a picture. My shirt was lifted, and he could see the mess on my chest and mouth.

Kaleb:Friday. 8 p.m.

Ash.luv:Yes, sir.

Like clockwork, baby.

Men like Kaleb needed to feel in charge. And I always loved giving them the illusion of it. But at the end of the day, they came because I let them.

Pathetic horny losers. Every last one.

Chapter Two

BLAKE

“It’sjustsometimesIfeel like I can’t fuck her. Like, I respect her too much…” the man bumbles on. “And I don’t mean to upset her with all the porn.”

I sigh. Classic case of the Madonna-Whore Complex. Likely tied to societal conditioning around being a heteronormative male. But you can’t just spell it out for men like this. They have to arrive at the realization themselves, find it in the light themselves, that’s what makes it stick. Otherwise, they get defensive, stop coming, and end up even more addicted to porn.

“So, do you wish to date the women in the pornographic content you consume?” I ask, writing in my little black notebook.

Sweet chocolate turtles

More of my old T-shirts

Another necklace, maybe a choker.

I glance at the list of things I can’t wait to buy my little minx, pretending I’m actually taking notes on this man’s very evident issue.

“Hell no!” he chuckles.

I keep my face neutral.

“I mean, it’s just—ya know? Not the type of woman you bring back to your mother.”

I study his features. “But the type you’d risk your marriage over, right?”

He bristles at the suggestion. Immediately indignant at the idea that this might be his fault. That the blame could lie solely in his hands, not on the faceless women he watches.

Like my little Asher.

I decide to throw him a lifeline.

“Desire and love are different. I understand.”

He exhales sharply, grateful that I appear to be on his side.

“Yes! I love my wife, but sometimes I wanna see some… some—”

“Some hot online crush?” I interject.

I know the feeling. Nothing quite makes my day like watching Ash lick his own release off his fingers. Dirty boy.MyDirty Boy.

“Yes! I don’t love them, just think it’s hot,” he says, relieved, like he’s finally found a way to justify it to himself. A loophole that absolves him of consequences.

“Why not ask your wife to do some of the things you love to see?” I return to my notebook.

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