Buffering, Breathing, Begging

Chip thought he was the best player in that basement. He was wrong. Casey's kill is cleaner, faster, and watching her do it makes his c**k hard against his denim before he can pretend otherwise. She pins his wrists and rides him in the tournament chair like it's the final boss and she's already won.

The dynamic doesn't stay fixed — that's the point. Server rooms where the temperature gauge hits sixty and the heat is coming off them, not the hardware. A metal rack where she commands him to stay and he does. A couch where the tank top tears and the springs sound like they're about to give. Every time one of them scores, the other takes it personally and flips the board.