Own My Soul (Sixty Days 3)

“Feel like a classy little slut now, do you?” he asked, and his voice was thick with a sneer.

I didn’t respond, just twisted again to get another view. “I address the camera like I’m addressing people one on one?” I asked for confirmation and didn’t even offer the sir tag.

“Yes,” he said. “You act like you’re addressing our individual clients one by one. Make them believe. Satin little slip or not.”

I smoothed down the slip he was talking about, shrugging off the fact it was barely covering my crotch in length. I’d cross my legs in front of the camera if I could. Act like a girl on a standard mission to speak to people demurely and seriously as I could – even if I was telling them I wanted their pain and pleasure in whichever form they were willing to dish out to me.

I went to the dressing table side of the clothes rail and picked up a hairbrush from the counter.

“Please?” I asked, holding back the sir all over again.

Mr Sin managed a token nod. “Whatever the hell you think you need, little slut. If a hairbrush gets you the client buy-in, then use a hairbrush.”

I didn’t need any further permission. That hairbrush was through from my roots to tips with a flurry enough to sound out loud in the room. It felt great.

I felt vaguely human, staring intently at myself as I brought more class to my appearance. I hid my bruises as well as I could under the satin, smoothing both fabric and hair to cover any discrepancies in skin condition. I practiced smiling. Practiced looking honest and open and ready for the cameras. After all, I needed to make this work.

For Phoebe. Always for Phoebe.

“You’re ready?” he pushed, and I managed a nod, even as my throat and mouth dried up at the thought.

“Ready to do my best,” I told him.

“One shot,” he said, like he hadn’t pushed the point home with a huge amount of force already. “You have to make the clients believe you want them if you want the pay day.”

“Ready to do my best,” I repeated, and my eyes met his as I stepped closer.

I should have dropped them. Dropped to my knees. Honoured him as the high end sir who wants it all from me. But I didn’t. I didn’t do anything but keep on pacing forward.

He grabbed my upper arm as I reached close enough, squeezing tight as he guided me through the shadowy corridor outside of the dressing room. He thrust me through an open doorway into a whole new room to the right, and I recognised the dungeon in an instant.

It was the one I’d seen so intensely from the adjoining room. The one I’d seen Rebecca take her abuse and punishment in for a live audience.

“Act comfortable in this space,” Mr Sin grunted before shoving me over at the raised bed in the centre. I climbed up without any reservation, positioning myself neatly with my legs crossed. I looked for potential camera lights on the wall opposite and I found some. Not nearly as vivid as the ones I performed in front of at Brandon’s, but vivid enough to recognise. “You’ll see the red flash to green. Twenty seconds before you start talking,” Mr Sin finished.

I nodded and said a yes, sir on autopilot, but my brain was already whirring, already spinning, already rushing through the ideas of how best to tell my fake story of how much I wanted a load of strangers.

The problem was that I’d never been a good liar. Never wanted to be a good liar.

Which meant only one thing. I’d need to convince myself I wouldn’t be lying. That I really was wanting the people I was speaking to. Wanted them with me. On me. Inside me. Pushing me. Hurting me.

Owning me.

I wouldn’t be lying about what I wanted. I’d just be lying about who I wanted it with.

I’d have to record the broadcast aimed at the gorgeous man I’d left behind, even if he was doing nothing more than laughing at me. Even if he’d betrayed my want for him enough to make me look like an utter idiot for the rest of my entire life. Even if he really thought I was nothing. A pathetic little slut needing money.

I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on my task.

Mr Sin left the room without another word, shutting me in the dungeon alone with my own breath sounding loud.

I needed to believe this. I needed to be speaking to the one person in the world I really wanted to be speaking with, even if he didn’t want me.

I straightened my back, getting in position and shuffling a little closer to the edge of the mattress so my legs hung nicely, crossed at the knee. I tried to soak up the feeling of satin against my skin, taming my wispy hair behind my ears as my eyes found the nearest red flashing blink of a camera light on the wall.