Own My Soul (Sixty Days 3)

The rhythm increased. My clit sparked and sparked and begged for more.

My muscles tensed. Nipples strained.

“I so need this…” I said, lost to the sensation. “I so need to be used and taken like the dirty girl I promised to be…”

I wasn’t lying.

His face was real in my vision. My words were all for him.

And so were the tears that rose up along with the climax. Sadness under joy. A crazy combination that had me smiling like a desperate little whore at the cameras as the tears slid down my cheeks.

“Please come…” I managed. “Please come and take me…”

My pleasure reached its peak. A pinnacle of excitement at memories, and hope and sadness all come together.

Only the light was back to red when the climax crested over me.

I was still catching my breath when the intercom sounded loud and crackly through to the room all over again. I was tugging the satin slip back over me in some dumb attempt at modesty when Mr Sin’s voice sounded out.

“Well done,” he said.

Happy.

He sounded happy.

“Safe to say they will have fucking believed you,” he said, with a laugh.

My cheeks burned up. Hard. But that didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

Just as long as Brandon Grant would have believed me too.Chapter TwelveBrandonI couldn’t believe my eyes.

No way.

No fucking way.

My fists were clenched tight on the desk top, wound too tight to even reach for a cigarette. It couldn’t be. It just fucking couldn’t be. Not her. No fucking way.

But it was her.

It was my sweet Paige there on screen, eyes wide and willing.

The link to the webcam broadcast was live for the whole fucking client base. I could see the numbers in the top corner of the screen. It was painful to see the sheer volume of people watching my sweet girl, open mouthed and desperate in some fucked-up fucking dungeon somewhere.

How I fucking hated the piece of shit who’d put her there. I’d hated him plenty much in the past, but not nearly as fucking much as I hated the cunt now with each passing breath.

So this was his way of dealing with my client interaction — to get Paige to speak with the whole sorry lot of them directly. He was a shrewd operator, that was safe to be said. I could well imagine the client base drooling at my delicate little flower’s heartfelt words.

Because they were heartfelt.

Her requests for contact. For touch. For punishment.

Her eyes were full of soul. Her words were real. From the heart.

From the hungry little pussy to match.

She was stunning. Delightful. Humble and horny and enough to drive any fucking asshole out of his mind with want for her, me most of all.

I was split in so many directions at once. Fractured into pieces by the perfect fucking nightmare of watching the girl who’d stolen every scrap of my newfound affection addressing the masses on screen.

Only it didn’t feel like she was speaking to the masses. It felt like she was right here, facing me directly. Like we were in the quiet of my private bedroom, eye to eye, speaking with the kind of hushed truth that had led us into this crazy fucking shit storm in the first place.

She was speaking with truth. There was no doubt about that.

Hell, how I wanted to believe she really was speaking only to me.

I should. I definitely should.

It’s what I felt. What I wanted to feel. What my whole fucking gut was itching for.

But call it the Amelia George effect. The wrench of discomfort was there strong and hard, in the deep rooted fear that the girl really was speaking to the whole fucking client base. That she was the kind of girl swept up in the kind of emotion and abandon that gave no loyalty to individuals.

Maybe she was so caught up in the new location that I was already forgotten. Maybe her mind was well and truly on the cash-rich client base and ensuring their pay outs, and I was already nothing but a memory.

Because that’s the truth of it. Quite often it’s all about the cash. Always about the cash.

It was for Amelia fucking George.

But no.

I couldn’t believe that.

I’d felt more than that. So much fucking more than that.

What had sparked between us was worth so much fucking more than that.

She was worth so much fucking more than that.

And seemingly so many fucking other people felt the same.

I heard the pings sounding loud before sweet Paige had even sunk her fingers between her tight little thighs. I knew what they were without looking. My gut was twisted up with no confirmation needed whatsoever.

Bids.

Bids and questions.

Clients wanting more. Clients believing she was back on the options list. Clients desperate to put their money where their mouths were and get their hands on the onscreen beauty.

I knew in the sorry heartbeat that I’d seen the desperate hint of tears in my beautiful girl’s eyes that no notification of mine was going to keep the client base away from this conquest. Not in a million years. They’d be slavering. Roaring. Pacing. Holding back nothing whatsoever in their quest to have their seedy fucking way with her.