Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

Not yet.

I hadn’t ventured near her clit, not even a graze of a finger along her more sensitive petals. Hadn’t given any attention to the sweet pink buds of her nipples, or the tender flesh around them begging for touch. I hadn’t turned her on, not with even the slightest scrap of contact. Hadn’t teased her into enjoying the process at all. But there was method in my madness, and she hadn’t done anything to warrant even a sliver of satisfaction.

You could call me a selfish asshole and you’d be right, but that wasn’t the reason why I was avoiding tempting this girl’s bodily pleasures at this early stage. Annabel Fisher looked like the scared little mouse I’d expected whenever I entered the room, but there was a simmering edge to her that glared out under the pressure. A defiance that raised my hackles and beamed itself through loud and clear to the seedy voyeurs looking on via our decadently expensive pay-per-minute log-ins.

I wanted them to witness me drilling the defiance right out of her, and be picturing the joy at doing it for themselves in a few short weeks’ time. Their pockets would grow all the deeper as her barriers crumbled and crashed into oblivion before their eyes.

“I despise it when people make assumptions,” I told my little pay-day slut. “Ignorance is both mindless and ugly. Do you enjoy waiting your tables on the beachfront?”

“Obviously not,” she hissed, and there was that defiance in her tone again. “Hence I’m here, earning your disgusting money.”

I adjusted my jacket until the tailoring fit snug. “I’m just doing my version of a nine to five at the diner, sweetheart. That’s all you are to me. Don’t flatter yourself by thinking this is anything more.”

Her laugh was bitter, endorphins from the slap and finger fest doing little to float her happy. “People don’t usually have a hard on right the way through a nine to five at the diner.”

My reply was instant. “They don’t need a hard on through a nine to five at the diner.”

My eyes narrowed on mouthy little Annabel’s, and she must have seen the true fire glaring back at her, because her pouty lips trembled for a moment, enough that it tickled my pulse. She raised herself onto her elbows as I made for the exit.

“How long will you be gone?” she asked, and the nerves in her tone made my dick twitch, just a little.

I gave no reply as I plunged her into darkness and stepped out of the room.

I took the stairs down at an easy pace, turning the corner at the bottom to find Eric smirking the family smirk at the screen in front of him.

“Five bids already,” he commented as I stepped up close.

My eyes scanned the listings. Impressive, but not mind-blowing. The Dubai twins bidding for a long double penetration session in three weeks’ time. Standard.

Our elderly oil baron patron with his sadistic entourage bidding on a single tail-whipping session in seven days.

Two newer members missing the finer point of the exercise and bidding purely on sex with the exact same cash value. Clearly a collaborated effort.

Their fantasies were seriously lacking, and so were their fund values.

And the last entry – the corrupt politician from southern Europe, who’d be using the general populous’ money to fund his disgustingly inflated anal fisting bid.

I couldn’t stand that prick. It wasn’t the brutal anal stretching that I was opposed to, or even his lack of social morals. It was more than that. It was him. The slippery insincerity in his handshake. The sly manner in which he bent even his own pre-agreed rules of conduct.

I’d intervened in no less than four of his scenes already, and he was on his final warning.

Maybe this one would be it.

I clicked accept, then slapped Eric on the back.

“Good enough for day two.”

“Just the one click?” he asked as I lit up a cigarette. I stared at him, eye to eye as I took my first decent drag.

“How many would you have clicked, brother of mine?”

His shrug conveyed that his conviction was lacking. Small mercies.

“All of them? The Dubai offer is good, right? And the flogger?” He gestured to the screen. “And the new guys. Surely you want to get them invested?”

One of these days I would communicate with a slap across that pretty-boy face of his. Praise be that I was the first born, the intelligence genes were certainly allocated in my favour.

“Sex? You really want to approve sex for five measly grand? What the fuck does that even mean?”

Another shrug. It made me clench my teeth.

I’d loosened them enough to take another decent drag on my cigarette before he’d ventured an answer.

“A taster? Maybe they like it more… straight?”

My laugh was low. “Straight? You think two corrupt billionaires browsing the dark web for vastly overpriced little English fuck-dolls want it straight? Please tell me you’re not serious.”