Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

I could hear her in there. Shouting. Wailing. Moaning blue murder about me and everything I stood for.

I should have gone in there and delivered another round of punishment purely for the satisfaction.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I went to bed and stared at the starry night afresh through the window. I thought about her. Out there, not so far away. Thought of her thinking about me and what was to come.

I wondered if she was scared. Excited. As needy for me as my cock was needy for her.

I tossed myself off long and hard while thinking about sweet little Paige’s tight little cunt around my fist. Her whimpers in my ear as I took my fill. The tears down her cheeks as I made her suffer. Made her hurt. Made her beg for mercy.

And then I slept the best sleep I’d had in months.Chapter SeventeenPaigeI woke early, thinking of him. Thinking of all the crazy things he’d be doing to me when I was under his control. At his service.

Scared and wanting, all at once. Desperate for more, desperate for the end. Desperate for him.

Then, as the morning sun lit up my curtains, I thought of my sister.

I checked my phone to find no new messages. I called her number and it went straight to voicemail. I left one. A worried plea for her to call me as soon as she could. Begging her to take care of herself and reach out as soon as possible.

My heart was in my throat when I hung up. I fought back a wave of sickness as I stepped out into the communal hallway on my way to the shower, praying my dorm mates wouldn’t be gathered waiting with the same judgy eyes as the night before.

They weren’t. Not yet.

I got ready as quick as I could, opting for a dressed down jeans and cardigan combination with my hair swept up into a bun. I wanted to be invisible. A nobody on campus. A faceless girl who was nothing to talk about, nothing to gossip about or laugh about or whisper about and condemn as a piece of shit slut for all time.

As per usual in my life, what I wanted and what I got were two entirely different things.

The whispers were everywhere I turned, following me even closer through campus that morning than the day before. Giggles chased me around my lectures, judgy eyes waiting at every turn. I hated every second, nerves flaring in my stomach every time I caught sight of someone staring. It was often. Everywhere I looked. Every time I took a breath there was a hushed insult waiting to steal it.

The urge to bail and run away from the whole sorry lot of it was intense. With a potential payout looming loud and large on the not so distant horizon, my options would be opening up nicely.

But I didn’t bail and run.

Not purely because life would be unanchored at best without the structure of university life around me, but because I’d never been one to walk away from challenging times. It wouldn’t be me to turn tail and run. Not ever.

I’d hold myself together. Hold my resolve firm. Keep up with my studies as much as possible around the sixty-day experience and the hopeful payday.

I only wished the sixty days would come right there and then.

I checked his shadowy profile before my afternoon lecture, fingers trembling with the need to message and beg Mr Filthy Gorgeous to bring the date of my incarceration forward. I had the blank message called up on screen, cursor flashing ready, my back against the library wall as I struggled to find the words. Please. Please let’s do this soon. Now. I’ll give anything.

I was contemplating sending it until the bulk of someone tall appeared to my left and sent my fingers tumbling for the back button. Message unsent.

The bulk of the figure was big. My eyes scoped up slowly, from his torn-knee jeans up to his college sports team sweatshirt. I knew it was him before I saw his face. My skin was prickling like crazy, heart racing wild as his eyes ploughed into mine.

Jake.

The good guy from the beach. If good guy was in any way a term for it.

I could still feel his hands on my tits. The way his fingers gripped at me and flicked my nipples over and over.

His brown hair was styled in a floppier fringe than it had been that night on the sand. He ran those same fingers through it as I watched, his smile nervous. More than nervous. Edgy as all hell and brimming with the need to say so much.

I could read it in him. Unspoken but blatant.

I didn’t want to hear a word of it.

“Hey,” he said, and I shoved my phone in my bag and out of sight.