He didn't really know how to reply to a sext message, so he went with the classiest move he could think of: an elephant emoji.
The one with the big ol' trunk sticking straight out. She could interpret it however she liked... but in his mind, the message was clear—trunk up, and ready for action.
Chad was the type to toss out curt, one-word replies, while the more romantic types would copy and paste poems they found on Google and say, "Look how romantic and emotional and caring I am by sending you this poem I just found."
Others might drop a snippet of song lyrics or, on dating apps like Tinder, play the eGirl game, flaunting their "sensitive" side with borrowed words.
It was quite sus—just as he was thinking about taking his waifu pillow into the shower, he got invited to join.
Had he accidentally voiced his perverted thoughts out loud? Was the phone listening, using that information to trick him somehow?
It was like when you searched for women's panties and stockings on Amazon and, out of nowhere, every website you visited got flooded with ads trying to sell you stockings—because they tracked what you typed.
Was this one of those creepy situations?
Chad had one rule he always swore by: follow wherever his dick pointed.
And right now, it was aiming straight ahead, like a compass, guiding him where he needed to go.
And right then, when he had a tiny, tiny hesitation about going to an unknown location, another picture of his waifu got sent to his phone.
He looked at it, and this one? Oh, this one was next level. Her face looked sharper than ever—smooth, tight, flawless—and the seductive little smirk she wore made his heart skip.
The angle was kind of weird, though. Her face looked less stretched than before, but like she'd taken the selfie while lying on something soft. The lighting was warm, almost like it was taken under a blanket or something, and there was this strange shadow curving along the bottom edge.
Glancing back at the other pictures his waifu sent him, her face appeared much more plump in the other one.
Flicking back and forth between the two pictures, he couldn't help but think it looked like one of those weight-loss programme before-and-after shots—like when a girl shows off the fat she'd lost around her face and whatnot.
Chad didn't fat-shame people.
He didn't care about a few extra pounds on a girl. If his waifu gained a little weight, well, that might just mean more curves in all the right places. A fuller figure? More to appreciate. Win-win.
His dick perked up again, practically wagging.
But then—he noticed something off.
Something in both photos that made his buzz waver ever so slightly.
Was that... a massive zit?
Dead centre on her face? A huge, proud, perky red zit?
How the hell did I miss that?
The zit was basically taking up twenty percent of the photo...
He scrolled back to the first picture.
"Jeez..." he muttered.
Yep! A big, angry-looking zit—right on the side of her nose.
Then he looked at the other picture…
Somehow even bigger. Or maybe just... bolder.
He squinted, trying to convince himself it wasn't that bad.
Okay, so in this shot it had migrated to the bottom of her cheek.
If I squint hard enough, he thought, maybe it's a Marilyn Monroe mole. You know, iconic and sexy...
Chad didn't zit-shame people.
He'd read somewhere online that a good facial could clear up zits, and as that thought crossed his mind, he felt his dick twitch and perk up. He grinned to himself and thought, "Oh yeah, I've definitely got enough in the tank to give my waifu the ultimate full-face treatment…"
He heard his phone beep again but hesitated to check the new sexts, read the messages, or look at the new photos—just in case he spotted something else weird about his waifu's pictures. Like a stray nose hair, a missing eyelash, or maybe even three eyes or something.
He made it to the address finally and looks outside at the house. It's a grand, well-maintained estate with pristine white walls, tall windows, and a perfectly manicured lawn. The polished oak door and classical columns added an air of luxury and elegance.
This was a classy, impeccably maintained house, he thought, his eyes scanning the surroundings for a basement or any dark, secluded areas. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off here.
What if this is some kind of sick setup—like a hidden sex dungeon tucked away in the basement, where they could lock me in and make me part of their twisted game?
The curiosity was eating at him. How was his waifu sending him these sext messages? Wasn't his waifu pillow back at his place? Was there another one at this address? The thought of getting intimate with a waifu pillow that belonged to another guy was pretty damn unappealing, especially with dried cum all over it and whatever else might be on it.
But in the photos, she looked like a real woman—her smile, her body, everything about her seemed human. Yet, deep down, he knew she wasn't real. She was just a digital anime character. This was messed up... and risky... but his erection was way too big to turn back now, he thought, giving a frustrated sigh.
Should he just ring the doorbell?
He couldn't resist waiting any longer, he went for the bell.
His hand drifted downward, almost of its own accord, fingers brushing against the coarse fabric of his trousers before finding his bellend. He gave it a quick, furtive tug, the illicit thrill sending a shiver up his spine. A fleeting rush of self-satisfaction surged through him, warm and defiant, as if he'd stolen a moment of forbidden pleasure in the quiet tension of the moment.
Then, with a steadying breath, he pressed the doorbell. The chime echoed, unfurling a soft, almost melodic tune: "Sisters Are Doin' It for Themselves."
What an unusual choice of ringtone, he thought, the sound reverberating in his mind, making his heart race. He was too anxious to dance to it right now—his entire body tense with anticipation. And then, just as his nerves were reaching their peak, the door creaked open...