Stroke of Midnight (Cinderella 1)
“On your knees.”
Her eyes widen, fear glinting in them.
“Not for a blowjob, dirty girl,” I chide. “But because I quite like seeing you obey me.”
I expect her to argue or negotiate, but the dutiful thing listens to my command, dropping to her knees on the soft fuzzy dark-gray rug. She crosses her arms over her chest, scowling at me.
“Give me your phone,” I instruct as I sit down in front of her, stretching my legs out in front of me on either side of her.
“Why?”
“Because I want to photograph you.” I arch a brow. “How many times did you watch our movie from last night?”
“None, you pig,” she snaps, her cheeks burning bright red.
“I jerked off this morning imagining you watching it.” I lean forward, toying with a strand of her silky hair. “Your fingers got so sticky when you touched yourself.”
Her nostrils flare with anger. “Picture is going to cost you. Videos are more.”
“Name your price.”
She chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “This is more than a selfie so it should cost more. Two hundred for each picture. For videos, it’ll depend.”
“What if I want a video of you fulfilling my fantasy? Of you fingering your tight, young, barely-touched cunt?”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “You can’t afford that.”
“Try me,” I say, leaning forward until I’m close to her face. “If I want something badly enough, I’ll pay for it.”
“I thought you said . . .” She trails off and frowns. “The sex stuff was free.”
I chuckle. “You want to play with your pussy for free? Then, by all means, have at it.”
“No, asshole,” she grumbles. “That it wasn’t something on the table to negotiate with.”
“Sucking my dick and fucking you are free. All the rest has a price.”
“My hands aren’t clean.” She lifts her chin in a regal, bitchy way. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“You can use my thigh.”
She parts her pink pillow lips, and her hazel eyes dart back and forth, testing my seriousness. I don’t joke when I’m negotiating.
“In my jeans?”
“Take them off.”
She frowns, indecision warring on her face. “How much are we talking here?”
“How much do you want?”
“Ten thousand and my jeans stay on,” she mumbles.
“And how much to get them off?”
She swallows hard and wrings her hands together. “Twenty?”
“You sound unsure . . .”
“Would you pay twenty for that?”
“Offer it, and I’ll take it or leave it.” I smirk at her, enjoying the flash of anger in her eyes. “Go on. Make me an offer, little girl.”
“Twenty thousand to, um, ride your leg for five minutes without my jeans on. No pictures either. And, you can’t touch me.”
“What if I ask nicely?” I grin at her. “Does that earn me a hand on your tit?”
“No touching, freak. That’s the deal.”
“Take your pants off. I accept your deal.”
Panic flashes in her eyes. It’s cute to see the minnow swimming with sharks like she belongs. She rises to her feet, her hand trembling slightly as she unbuttons the top button on her jeans. I keep my stare on her hand as she unzips them slowly. She kicks off her sandals, her bare feet sinking into the plush rug.
“No touching,” she reminds me. “You’ll owe a thousand dollars if you accidentally do it.”
“A deal’s a deal.”
This settles her, because she shimmies her jeans down her wide hips. This girl has one of those timeless hourglass figures the celebrity pinups used to have. Small, trim waist. A flare of her hips. Nice, thick enough thighs that taper down. And her tits are just the perfect size. A handful of reality, something I’m not at all used to coming from a world where money can buy anything, even the perfect body.
She pushes her jeans down and kicks them away. I drink in her perfect figure, settling at the tiny scrap of black satin panties. With awkward, jerky movements, she makes her way toward me. I remain still with my hands on the sofa cushions beside me. She holds onto my shoulder as she straddles my thigh.
“This is going to be difficult,” she complains.
“I’m sure you’ll make it work.” I smile at her. “Just ask if you need any assistance.”
She flips me off, making me laugh, before settling herself on my thigh near my knee. “Time it,” she snaps. “I’m not playing.”
I pull my phone out of my shirt pocket since she never offered hers and then set the timer for five minutes, sitting it down next to me. She lets out a ragged sigh. Patiently, I wait for her to get started.
“Your pussy isn’t going to rub itself,” I remind her.
She huffs, clutching onto my other shoulder as she clumsily attempts to rub herself against my thigh.
“Eyes on me, remember?”
Hazel eyes lock on mine. At first, she’s annoyed and frustrated. But the longer she’s forced to stare at me, the more fluid her movements get. Her breathing quickens, and her hold on my shoulders tightens. Every so often, she accidentally brushes up against my hard dick with her thigh, causing her to flame crimson.