Buy My Soul (Sixty Days 2)

I was throwing myself in deep, bigging up the engagement with my client base without a care for fucking Drake and his threatening messages. Business partner or not, the bastard was dead to me. Nothing to me. I’d confront him. Deal with him. Deal with his bigoted idiocy and lack of respect.

I wasn’t the scrap of a man he’d pulled from the sidelines and forced into the darkness of my potential. My gratitude had peaked and waned, frustrated into nothingness by his disregard for how far I’d come.

Loggerheads be fucked. There would be no solution. No handshakes.

We were done.

He was done. He just didn’t fucking know it yet.

My schedule for Paige was ambitious as I entered the sessions into my desktop calendar. I pushed girls to their limits and beyond, but I always maintained a level of realism to their quota of online performances. This time I held nothing back. I didn’t want to hold anything back. I wanted all of her and more. Everything she was capable of delivering. Everything she wasn’t.

Everything I’d take with greedy, lust-fuelled hands to leave her a broken heap, only to repeat the exercise the next day over, and over and fucking over.

She’d earn her dues and so much more. I’d bask in the glory of my instinct, because I knew she’d be the one to surpass all others.

I sent out a wave of notifications to my clients, listing the upcoming events with a priority tag I reserved for the most intense experiences.

Through the flurry of my fingers on the keyboard, I paused for a break when the afternoon turned into the darkening hue of the evening. I took a stroll around the manor gardens in the half light and enjoyed a cigarette, staring up at the grand brickwork of the buildings. Staring up in the direction of the webcam room and wondering what glorious state of filth the pretty little creature was basking in.

I wondered if she was still fighting off the hunger and avoiding her scrap of breakfast. If she was feeling anywhere near broken. If she was in tears. Rocking. Cursing my name and her sign up to this shit storm.

I wondered if she’d enjoyed the taste of my cum across her pouty little lips. If deep down she was craving more. Fighting the urge to rub that sweet little clit until her body burst free and came at the thought of what I’d be doing to her.

As my dick swelled in my pants, I wondered if I should be enjoying the thought nearly as much as I was enjoying it.

But there was something else amidst the thrill. Amidst the rage of casting aside my regular programming to rescue her from her naive sisterly heroics.

And that’s when it hit me again. That same deviant pang of something more. Something sickly and disgusting.

It was concern.

Concern for that same pretty little creature I was itching to destroy in my hands.

Concern for her battles for her sister. Concerned for her fractured little soul fighting for goodness in the darkness.

Concern for the patchy efforts at life she’d attempted to string together for the sake of a university education.

That sickly deviant pang was enough to surpass the pulse of my dick. I hated myself even as I moved into action, cursing under my breath as I pulled my phone from my pocket and cast my cigarette butt aside. Her college website was easy to find, and so was the email address of the main university reception.

My typed words came considerably harder, but they came. Fuck, how they came.

I told them about a family emergency. About how I was poor Paige Emmerson dashing back across country to my waiting family. How I couldn’t possibly attend the coming weeks on campus and needed materials sent via email if they could please bid me a leave of absence.

I gave apologies. Promised the sincerity of my efforts to keep up with course materials and assignments.

I signed it off with a Paige and a non-descript email address that would forward directly to mine.

And then I cursed again. Concern be fucking damned.

I’d turned a corner by the time I was done with another cigarette and safely back at my desk with a gritted jaw. My hands were aching to make her pay for my own ridiculous sensitivity, and so they would.

Tonight would be the night my sensibilities came back.

The night the webcam world felt the wonder of the dirty little slut who was yet to know herself.

The night my brother began to realise the error of his ways with his idiot bet.

The night Drake realised I was the pivotal force in this lucrative operation and the one he should be bowing down to.

I was ready to go long before the allotted time slot. My mind was focused and set, determined to make this a debut performance our clients would applaud me for, Annabelle Fisher forgotten in a heartbeat.