Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

Inexperienced, but determined to give my all. A girl with an open mind, and a need to serve.

Serve. It was a strange word.

I was used to serving. I’d done my all for those around me since I was old enough to tidy the kitchen and put clothes in the washing machine.

This serve felt different though. Dark and dangerous and something else.

It was a horrible, strange little ache, hurting deep. And underneath that was an excitement. A weird relief at the crazy prospect of relinquishing control of everything for two straight months.

Yes, it may be painful. Yes, it may be beyond my worst nightmares.

But I’d be free.

Free in the most perversely bizarre way imaginable. No decisions. No boundaries. No concerns other than doing what I was being made to do.

I forced that disturbing thrill from my mind. If I was lucky enough to land the ultimate pay day for this kind of craziness, I’d be sure to book myself into therapy along with Phoebe’s serious rehabilitation just as soon as I was done.

There was space for a profile picture. I barely had any photos of myself on my phone. Nothing worthy anyway.

I should maybe have made the effort to plaster my face with makeup and look my absolute best, but I was certain they’d find me far from it when they had me performing to their messed up whims.

I took the easiest option, right then and there, barely composing myself before I held the phone directly above and snapped a selfie. My hair was fanned out on the pillow, my skin pale in the flash and my eyes wide and nervous.

I looked really damn nervous.

Neck long and sloping to bony shoulders. Cheekbones pronounced and lips tight closed.

Sad.

I looked sad, too.

But it would have to do.

Maybe this was my common sense edging me to unconscious failure, but I uploaded the picture as my profile image and clicked again to private message the crazy dark stranger.

I saw your profile.

I’m willing to be as dark and dirty as it takes, I promise.

Please try me.

Yours, Paige.

Was that enough? I doubted it, but what else was there to say?

I didn’t want to gush with a load of absolute bullshit about experiences I knew nothing about. I may have been many things, including desperate, but a fake I was not and never would be.

Honesty. That’s what I valued in myself above all else. Honesty and the true desire to give my all to the road in front of me, whatever dark twists and turns it may take.

No. Those few lines were all I could give. They’d have to be enough.

Hopefully.

Enough to give me a chance.

It took me five full minutes before I was brave enough to click send. A tick came up as the message left my screen. Delivered.

My heart was a racing train in my chest, a sickness churning in my belly at the thought I’d really put it out there on the line.

It rose up in my throat when the ping of a reply sounded less than ten minutes later.Chapter SixBrandonI was the one who picked up the ping of a private message that night. Eric was out with some of the guys, knocking back whisky after whisky at one of the bars on the front, no doubt.

Whimpering Annabel was in darkness upstairs, and I was reviewing footage of our latest session, balls tightening instinctively despite the immovable apathy of my mind. Her asshole was a delicious little mouth, clenching tight around my fingers only to strain raw as I spread them wide – her gaping pink tunnel full of promise and sure to draw healthy bids from very deep pockets.

The message pinged through on the profile I’d given Rebecca Lane on the beach that first night we met. She’d bummed a cigarette from me on the shoreline, skirt riding high on shapely legs as she’d tottered along the sand in my direction.

She’d told me she was out of both cigarettes and money, a shrug reeking of desperation at odds with the drunken smile across her face.

I’d asked her what she’d do for an unlimited cigarette supply as I’d handed one over.

Her drunken smile had spread all the wider, and she looked beautiful.

Whatever you like, she’d said with a giggle.

And she’d meant it.

I told her to touch her toes and lift her skirt. I told her if she pulled her knickers to the side long enough to flash me a glimpse of her sweet little pussy in the moonlight, I’d give her the rest of the packet from my pocket.

When she kept her eyes on mine over her shoulder all the while she did it, I knew she was a dirty little winner.

Since dropping her back on the beach front on day sixty, that particular profile had seen more action than any of my social media recruitment profiles had ever seen. The girl had a big mouth. I’d used it plenty in our time together, and it was apparent she was using it plenty herself for entirely different purposes in the aftermath.