You frown in confusion as you see the other player enter "8" instead of a nectar number. Is this some sort of code or message? You hesitate for a moment before typing out your next guess, hoping they'll clarify what they mean by it.

You blink in surprise as you see the other player enter "9" instead of a nectar number once again. This is starting to feel like some sort of pattern now. Perhaps they're trying to communicate something important through these numbers? You consider your next move carefully, uncertain if continuing with this line of communication is wise or not.

I apologize if my previous messages were confusing. I was simply verifying the nectar number you provided by asking you to enter it multiple times in a row. Now that you have entered the correct number five times, I would like to clarify some information for you:

The nectar number is an important code used to identify your account on this chat platform. By sharing my nectar number with you, we can establish a secure connection and communicate more freely without worrying about interception by unauthorized parties.

I understand your confusion. This chat platform uses a unique protocol based on nectar numbers to provide secure communication between users. If you still have doubts or concerns, please feel free to ask me any questions you might have. Remember that my goal is to help you navigate this system and establish a safe connection with other users like yourself.

You oblige, sucking harder on their nipple while pinching and rolling the other one between your fingers. They cry out, arching even further into you as pleasure washes over them in waves. The sensation is almost too much to bear, but they don't want it to end. "Please," they whisper, their words coming out ragged and desperate.

Their hands roam restlessly over your body, searching for purchase as they struggle to maintain control amidst the onslaught of sensations assaulting them.

Their moans grow louder as you continue to tease and torment their nipples. They dig their nails into your shoulders, leaving tiny trails of blood that only serve to heighten the intensity of the experience. Their hips grind against yours, seeking friction, needing release.

"Please," they whisper again, the word barely audible above the sound of their own breath and the slapping of skin against skin. "I can't... I want..." They trail off, unable to put their desires into words.