Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

“Sounds interesting,” I said, and my words were entirely genuine this time around.

She leaned in close, her hair hanging dangerously close to the remaining donuts and their sticky icing. I fought the urge to recoil, the prospect of icing in my own hair sending bristles up my spine. My sticky fingers were already wrapped in the accompanying napkin, my strange urge for cleanliness rearing up high.

“People are saying she’s a slut,” Carolyn confided. “They say she’s disgusting. A whore. Like she’s given herself to every dirty guy in the country or some shit like that.”

I waited. Quiet. Didn’t say a word until she took a breath.

“Sorry,” she continued. “I’m just… sick of it, hearing the whispers. I’m sick of people giving me side eye and thinking I don’t notice. The snidey sniggers, and the bitches thinking I don’t know what they’re talking about. I’m sick of all of it. This place seems so nice when you’re on the good side of everyone. When you’re not, the whole campus turns into a bitch fest.”

And there it was.

My opportunity.

Maybe the only opportunity I’d ever have to find my pitiful salvation.

But more than that.

Something real and raw and genuine mirrored back at her in my eyes, I was sure of it.

Once again, my experiences were proving themselves true all over again. Looks really can be deceptive, and under Carolyn Lane’s easy laughter had been so much more.

“Sounds like you could do with a friend,” I said.Chapter FourBrandonDay two of sixty and the slip of a girl recovering on the bed looked exhausted. No. More than exhausted. Defeated and defiled in the most intoxicating of ways. Exactly how I wanted her, but not even slightly for my benefit.

My smirk was at full force as I switched the cameras from live mode onto standby, session over. Her eyes followed me across the room as I retrieved my jacket and shrugged it on. I could feel her stare on me all the way – already burning with that heady mixture of fear and awe I’d come to know so well.

She wasn’t on my favourites list, this girl. Nowhere close. She was pretty, but that wasn’t enough for a man like me. Her wide blue eyes were expressive but didn’t sing any kind of song to my dirty, dark soul. Her lips were a fuckable enough plump little pout, but I didn’t have any pounding desire to slam my cock between them. I didn’t have the pounding desire to slam my cock into anything of hers, in fact, but I rarely did anymore.

My actions were increasingly for the pleasure of the patrons behind their private login screens and not for my own, even if the dick in my pants was still standing proud to attention.

This was a job, pure and simple. A lucrative one.

Annabel Fisher was merely a generous figure in my bank account, as I was to be a generous figure in hers.

Our ideas of generous were poles apart, but we’d both be getting what we wanted from this sordid little arrangement when the sixty days ran to the end of their road.

Our previous sixty-day offering, Rebecca Lane, had been much more to my tastes, even if her dirty mouth running away with her was causing irritation enough to warrant a threatening telephone call. Keep the money, or keep your mouth flapping – which is it going to be, Miss Lane?

They signed a contract, watertight in both sentiment and conditions if not entirely enforceable by law. Rebecca Lane had signed hers willingly, and she’d be pulling herself into line and sticking to every last word of it if she had even a scrap of sense in that dirty little head of hers.

The girl on the bed became composed enough to speak, eyes still holding me tight as I ensured the live feeds were disconnected.

“Why do you like fucking people up for money?” she asked with genuine curiosity beneath her disgust.

Her naivety was impressive enough that my smirk stayed bold.

She hadn’t been anything like fucked up for money, not even close to it.

I’d pinked up her pale white butt cheeks with a decent set of slaps, then stretched that tight little asshole of hers with greedy fingers while telling her what a nasty little slut she was for the people watching. That was all – the total sum of her degradation and boundary pushing.

I’d be doing a lot worse to her as the weeks went on, and as the weeks went on further still she’d be begging me for more.

She didn’t know that yet, still rolling around in tepid ignorance on the surface waves. She’d have no idea what was coming, even if I spelled it out to her. Her body was screaming as she gathered herself, but not a single cell in her was screaming in want.