She struggled to chew.
“You want to be an obedient little ragdoll? I’ll treat you like a fucking ragdoll.”
I forced more of the meal into her mouth and my fingers along with it. She retched and dribbled, coughing pasta out onto the plate underneath her.
“I’m going to hurt you for the viewers tonight, sweetheart. They’re going to see you broken.”
Her hands dithered in the air, and she spluttered. I tipped water into her mouth as she spluttered some more, already waiting with more pasta as she managed a gulp and a swallow.
I fed her in minutes. My fingers were caked with spit and pasta sauce. Her face was a mess of pasta sauce and stale cum.
Even then, she was fucking beautiful.
Her elfin hair was soft in my grip, her eyes wide and willing.
It took everything I had to take a breath and grunt at her to suck my fingers clean without forcing my cock in along with them.
It rook resolve I wasn’t aware I needed to resign myself to putting this show on the air and giving my clients what they wanted.
“Say thank you for your dinner,” I told her, and she closed her eyes with my fingers still in her tight little mouth.
“Thannn you, sir.”
I pinched her lips as I withdrew, and her puffy cheeks were a glorious fucking picture.
My voice was a whisper this time, right against her sweet little earlobe.
“I’m going to fucking enjoy this,” I said.Chapter ElevenPaigeHis coldness stirred me deep, but it felt far away.
Still, I was transfixed by him. The beautiful monster in the room.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him as he headed for the wall of electronics, even though I knew it was forbidden. I couldn’t take my eyes from the glory of his suited frame.
He was simmering. Brooding with silent rage. All at me. All for me.
But there was more.
I could feel it. Inside him. Pulsing.
Want.
Desire.
Lust.
Brandon Grant wanted me. I knew he wanted me.
I wondered how a girl like me could excite a man like him. A man who’d seen as much as him. Done as much as him.
I wondered how I could feel the excitement rippling through him, unspoken. How I could feel more than the truth in his whispered promises. More than the words he was choosing to share to a wide-eyed little wannabe whore like me.
I could feel his body with mine, even without contact. Feel every step he took across the room to the webcam controls, every movement of his hands as he busied himself with devices.
This time around was different. The green lights of the cameras did more than stay lit and unblinking. I felt the focus. Felt the pull. Felt the life.
“They’re really on this time, aren’t they?” I said.
He turned sharply. “Three minutes,” he told me. “Three minutes and you’ll be live. Last time was a trial run. Call me generous with the initiation process.” I could barely breathe as he headed back in my direction. The mattress dipped under his knees as he climbed up.
The richness of his cologne was gorgeous as he thumbed a glob of pasta sauce from my chin and pushed it into my mouth.
And the richness of his dark smile was even more gorgeous as he tipped my face to his. “My generosity is limited, sweetheart. The real games begin here.”
I managed a nod. A yes, sir.
He all but tossed the dinner tray as he positioned himself tight to my side. The contrast was huge, him towering tall as I sank to a heap on my ass.
He was everything my senses needed to flutter and tighten.
Nervous.
I was so nervous.
I didn’t let it stop me.
I moved into the stance he’d instructed the night previous. I spread my knees for him, my eyes feasting on the knot of his tie to avoid the magnetism of his face. I offered him my tits, still sore from the previous rounds of punishment. I was still bruised, still hurting, but that didn’t matter.
I wanted more.
Despite my fear, I wanted more.
I did my best to steady my breathing as his fingers took my hair, but failed miserably.
I was a mess. A wreck. A ruin. A pit of fear and shame and need.
His hands were gods to me. I moved to their whim as they directed me. I turned. Slowly. My bare back pressed to his suited chest at his command, and I shivered. His fingers slipped around to raise my chin to the camera on the nearest bedpost.
“You look at them. You always look at them.”
I managed a nod.
My skin felt wretched, soiled with grime and sweat. My tits were ready through the pain, nipples hard and begging as his palms swept down from my throat. They jolted as he caught them with his fingers, but he didn’t linger. My belly lurched as he swept lower, but he didn’t touch between my legs. Instead he took my wrists and raised them, hooking them back over his shoulders to cross behind his neck. I had to stretch to hold the stance, rising up on my knees.