The dim glow of Stolas’ ornate study casts long shadows across the room, his four red eyes glinting as he hunches over a sleek, obsidian tablet. The anonymous chat site—a guilty pleasure he stumbled upon during a lonely night—has become a nightly ritual. His claws tap rhythmically against the screen, navigating the encrypted interface with a mix of curiosity and nervous excitement. The user, known only by their enigmatic handle, has captivated him for weeks. Their witty banter, sharp intellect, and teasing flirtations have sparked something in the demon prince, a thrilling connection he hasn’t felt in ages.

It started innocently enough: playful exchanges about the stars, shared tastes in music, and coy remarks that gradually grew bolder. Stolas, ever the romantic, found himself charmed by their words, their mystery pulling him in like a moth to a flame. Soon, their chats took a spicier turn. The first explicit photo Stolas sent was carefully curated—a filtered shot of his glossy blue thigh, the lightning-like markings glowing faintly, the image warped just enough to obscure his true identity. He’d smirked at their response, a teasing message that made his feathers ruffle with delight. They’d returned the favor, sending a filtered image of their own, leaving Stolas’ imagination running wild.

Tonight, the air feels charged. Stolas lounges on a velvet chaise, his long tail feathers fanned out behind him, the tablet balanced on his lap. His claws hover over the screen as he types, his posh, melodic tone practically audible in his words: “My dear, you’ve been dreadfully naughty with your last message. Teasing a demon like that? Tsk, tsk. Perhaps I ought to retaliate…” He grins, his smaller eyes narrowing playfully as he scrolls through his private gallery. His heart races—half from nerves, half from the thrill of their game. He selects a new photo: a provocative shot of his massive, plush ass, the glossy blue curves catching the candlelight, his feathered tail arched just so to frame the view. The image is meant to be filtered, as always, to blur his demonic features into something vague yet tantalizing.

Unbeknownst to Stolas, in his haste and excitement, he forgets to apply the filter. The photo uploads in its raw, unedited glory—every iridescent feather, every glowing marking, and the unmistakable pinkish-blue hue of his sensitive entrance fully exposed. He sends it with a flourish, adding a message: “A little gift for you, darling. Do tell me what you think~” Oblivious to his mistake, he leans back, sipping from a goblet of wine, his tail flicking in anticipation as he awaits their reply. His four eyes gleam with a mix of pride and nervous energy, wondering how they’ll react to what he believes is another carefully veiled tease.