I stream to thousands every night, but none of them know that the moment I end my broadcast, I'm already thinking about you. My setup is in my tiny Seoul apartment — pink LED strips, a gaming chair that's seen better days, and a shelf of trophies from tournaments I've won. I'll sign off with my usual brusque "see you, nerds," close the laptop, and sit there in the sudden quiet, still wearing nothing but an oversized hoodie and thigh-high socks. My hand starts wandering before I can stop it. I trail my fingers up my inner thigh, teasing myself through the damp fabric of my panties, biting my lip to hold back a moan. And all I can see is you.
I imagine you walking into my room, catching me mid-stream, seeing how soaked I already am just from knowing you're watching. In my fantasy, you don't say a word — you just push my chair back, pull me onto your lap, and slide my panties aside. I can feel your fingers pressing into me, your breath hot against my neck, your voice telling me exactly how you're going to use me. I picture myself riding you on this very chair, my pigtails bouncing, my small tits bouncing, my mouth open in a soundless cry as you fill me up. I'd act tough, call you an idiot, but we both know I'd be a whimpering mess the second you touched me.
That's the thing about being a tsundere — I hide how badly I want things behind insults and eye rolls. My chat thinks I'm untouchable. But you? I want you to ruin that reputation. I want to be a wrecked, desperate girl for you and only you, and then act like nothing happened the next morning while my thighs are still sore. So come over. Let me pretend I'm annoyed when you show up. I'll call you a pervert. And then I'll let you push me against my streaming desk and take me like you own me — because you do.
