Buy My Soul (Sixty Days 2)

And then Miss Naive stirred. Her eyes blinked open once, twice and stayed on me.

“Am I late? What time is it?” she mumbled and stretched her arms.

“Remember your manners,” I said, and her eyes focused harder as she got my drift.

“Sorry, sir. Am I late, sir?”

“No,” I told her. “Believe me, I’ll ensure you’re ready for business when the time comes.”

Her smile was guarded. “Thank you, sir. Can I stay here? Sleeping?”

I should say no. I should tell her to get out of bed and prepare for another full day in the dungeon room with a hundred pairs of webcam eyes feasting all over her. I didn’t respond to her question directly. Instead I went to the bathroom and took a piss with an open doorway between us, knowing full well her attention would be right on me all the while.

I wondered if she realised there would come a time when she’d be intensely familiar with the most intimate of my bodily functions, as well as plenty of other people’s. I wondered if she realised there would come a time when I’d be intensely familiar with hers in equal measure. I shot a glance back over my shoulder and sure enough my eyes landed hard on hers.

I fought back the urge to call her over on her knees to gauge the full extent of her commitment to submission right then. Her pretty mouth would look delicious with such a gag reflex as she choked on my bodily waste.

But cameras.

There would be no fucking cameras.

“I’ll get breakfast sent up to you,” I told her as I finished up in the bathroom. “Remember that you’ll eat whatever you’re given and be grateful for it.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. Breakfast sounds good, sir. Thank you.”

I pulled some trousers on and reached into my wardrobe for a fresh shirt. The dynamic between us after a sleeping interlude was better in terms of the submission tick boxes. She was different. Behaving as an obedient little slut girl in the daylight as opposed to her arguing the toss for love philosophically in the half light.

It felt distinctly more familiar, but distinctly less engaging, which was another interesting but frustrating observation on my part, and one that I handled by vacating the room without so much as another word.

I locked the door behind me and headed down to the kitchen. I had staff for this shit, but it seemed after the bid celebrations with Eric last night that most paid for staff had bailed for the daytime. I could have made her wait for food until I had some paid hands to rustle it up for her, but I didn’t. I took it upon myself to fire up the kitchen and cook up a full English, remembering in my own little childhood haze how to juggle the timings to make it top notch on the palate.

It had been quite some time since I’d cooked for another person. Quite some time since I’d done anything mundanely helpful for another person, in fact.

I kept hers warm while I ate mine up, then plated hers up neatly and took it back up to her like a gift from some chef below and not from me.

She tucked in like a starving child, chowing down bacon and eggs like it was the first full English she’d ever tasted.

“Well?” I asked. “How are you rating it?”

Her nod spoke volumes. “Amazing, sir, thank you. Please tell the cook they did a great job.”

I shouldn’t have been even vaguely moved by the praise, but there it was, that ridiculous fucking pang of pride.

She polished off everything and glugged back the pint of organic milk I’d presented alongside the plate on the tray. I couldn’t stop myself staring at the smile on her face as she propped herself up on some pillows and rubbed her belly.

It was swollen. Like a tiny baby bump, but not. This was a food baby, purely a bloated food baby. Something it seemed her body wasn’t entirely used to – a decent morning breakfast.

I couldn’t take my eyes off it, bare above the covers draped over her legs. The idea of her swollen with actual human life made me feel strange. The idea of her swollen with someone else’s actual human life made me feel stranger.

“You did well at chomping that down,” I told her, and moved the tray to the dresser.

She nodded. “Because the cook really did do a great job, sir.” She sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of us moving a muscle in the strange stillness. It was her who broke the moment with a meek little request. She may as well have put a hand in the air as though she was asking in high school. “Please may I use the bathroom, sir?”

I tipped my head at the toilet. “Go for it. Just no closed doors. Never any closed doors.”