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  I could only care about coming out the other end.

  That’s what I told myself, anyway.

  I pulled my fingers from my pussy and closed my legs tight, but didn’t clench my thighs. I didn’t want to feel it there, the filthy need at odds with every scrap of coherent thought I could manage.

  I didn’t want to trigger my clit any harder than he’d triggered it already. I didn’t want to push my fingers inside my pussy just to feel where he’d been, even though the call was a shadow, looming deep. I didn’t want to taste his cum on my drying lips, even though my tongue kept betraying me and darting for a taste.

  And most importantly, I didn’t want him to come back.

  That’s what I told myself.

  But that’s where my stupid reasoning fell down, even to me.

  Even in the horror, I knew it was a lie.

  And that’s when I knew it, for certain. Beyond all else. Beyond everything.

  I’d deliver.

  I’d deliver everything he could ever want from me.

  I’d get through sixty days and walk out of the other side having earned every penny he’d promised me for my tarnished soul. He could take it all. Without fight. Without the illusion of dignity or fire or self-control.

  I had nothing in my body and soul that he couldn’t take from me. Nothing I wouldn’t give him willingly. Nothing that wouldn’t be laid out bare and open on a platter for him to eat his fill and lap up the seconds.

  I may not be a Rebecca Lane, with her perfect glossy mane of hair and her perfect curves for the camera, but I’d be so much more than her. Give so much more than her.

  Only it wouldn’t be for Brandon Grant and his sordid empire.

  It would be for Phoebe.

  All for Phoebe.

  And maybe a sliver. Just a tiny, fragile little sliver, would be for me.

  I didn’t have any grip of the time that had passed by when the door handle to the prison room eventually turned again. My heart picked up a little, but I didn’t flinch. Not this time.

  I was as still as a statue as an unknown figure entered the room with a tray in their hands and placed it on the floor by the side of the doorway. I looked at the delivery, and not at them, stomach rumbling at the sight of bread and water.

  But I didn’t move.

  I forced my eyes back up at the ceiling as I felt the stranger’s eyes on me, and made no move to cover up my modesty. My breaths were as even as I could make them. Legs spread easily enough on the mattress that I was open for being taken without so much as a scrap of fight.

  My nipples were hard. Hands resting on my stomach with my fingers splayed wide.

  They stood still in the doorframe. Watching.

  Waiting.

  I gave them nothing and everything all at once.

  They took nothing.

  And neither did I as the door closed behind them.

  I left the bread and water untouched.

  Chapter Ten

  Brandon

  I resisted every urge. Every pulse of my dick as I pictured her upstairs with my cum smeared over her pretty face. Every zip of a thrill up my spine as I imagined pushing past her limits and feeling the broken core of her.

  I resisted everything.

  The webcam feed to her room stayed muted and minimised. My screen was filled with technicalities. Messages and bidder profiles and the now Annabelle-empty schedule calendar I needed to update with a world of Paige.

  I threw myself into business like she was nothing. Just another sixty-day girl. Just another filthy pay day begging for exploitation.

  The world turned, and I turned with it, buried deep in my regular schedule without giving two living shits for anything other than the ocean of cash due to land in my bank account. Even my idiot brother toed the line as the day drew on. He stopped shooting suspicious glances in my direction. Gave up telling me that she hadn’t eaten her pathetic scrap of a breakfast or sipped the paltry glass of water I’d sent up for her.

  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.

  I showered before I sent the countdown notification to the client base, being sure to pick out a pristine suit with weighty cufflinks for my reappearance in her room. I opted for black. Black shirt. Black tie. Black jacket. Shoes polished to a mirror shine. A graze of dark stubble on my jaw.

  I checked myself in the mirror before I deemed myself ready, making sure I was every bit as preened as she was soiled. The contrast would speak volumes. To the webcam viewers. To the onlookers.

  To her.

  She was the one I was priming myself for.

  Her reaction would be everything.

  Her needy subservience would be everything.

  I sent one of my team out for a finest takeout meal from an Italian restaurant on the beachfront. A delicacy of pasta in an opulent sauce, paired with a roasted vegetable starter.

  I presented it to perfection, gleaming cutlery, classic white porcelain. A fresh pitcher of mineral water brimming with ice. I carried it upstairs with my heart thudding, ensuring I’d allowed enough time for her to eat her fill before the showing, but when I swung the door open and filled the room with light, she barely glanced in my direction.

  She was on her back, legs spread and knees lolling against the mattress. Her expression was one of resignation. Calm and jaded all at once.

  I wasn’t expecting it. Not so soon. Wasn’t expecting the way she kept her eyes from me, glancing at my shoes for a heartbeat before returning her gaze to the ceiling.

  I toed the pitiful breakfast tray aside as I made my way across the room, placing the platter down on the bed beside her and standing tall and silent.

  My eyes roved over her nakedness. Her shallow breathing. The grime still on her skin from the day earlier. Her fingers stiffened at her sides, and I knew then, from the tiny gesture, that she’d touched herself in my absence.

  Her face was beautiful but dirty. I had no doubt my cum was still dry on her pretty mouth.

  “Good girls eat their breakfast,” I told her. “Good girls earn their dinner too.”

  “I wasn’t hungry, sir,” she lied.

  “Nor thirsty?”

  She shook her head. Another lie.

  A terrible lie.

  One I’d make her pay for.

  “Sixty days of obedience include taking care of your basic human needs,” I said. “You’ll eat what you’re given. Whatever you’re given.” I smirked, even though her eyes weren’t on me to notice. “Believe me, sweetheart, some meals will be more appetising than others. Some will be in your stomach only a short while before you retch your guts up all over yourself.”

  If there was a wave of apprehension in her she didn’t show it. Her face was unmoved.

  It riled me surprisingly deep.

  “Manners, slut,” I said. “You’ll speak when spoken to.”

  “Sorry, sir,” she responded, but she wasn’t sorry.

  She wasn’t anything.

  The meal must have been hard to ignore, but she was making a good job of it.

  “You’ll eat this,” I told her. “You’ll eat and be grateful, otherwise I’ll be feeding you on offal three times a day from here on in.”

  Her eyes met mine and held for a moment. I wanted a spark of life. A spark of fight.

  A spark of fuck you, sonofabitch and the promise to put up her fists as I pushed her body to the limits.

  Yet again, there was nothing.

  She rolled onto her side and took a fork in her dainty fingers, stabbing at a piece of pasta and chewing it down as though it was nothing more than a microwave ready meal. She took a decent glug of iced water and forked up some more.

  And then she thanked me.

  It was dull. Meaningless.

  Subservient in the least satisfying way.

  “What is this?” I asked. “What’s with your dutiful spinelessness this evening?”

  She swallowed before she answered.

  “I’m doing what I’m told, sir. I’ll do whatever I’m told. Give you whatever you ask of me.”

  I tipped my head as I watched her eat, weighing up my options, and that’s when I saw it. It was over in the briefest of flashes. One tiny glance up at me as her thighs squeezed together.

  Despite everything, her body wanted what was coming. Wanted me.

  And despite everything, mine wanted hers right back. Wanted her without the cameras. Wanted her performance all for me. Her boundaries breaking purely for me.

  My sensibilities wilted. I hated how they wilted.

  I hated how I cared so much for this sorry little creature and hated the magic of her spellbinding complexity all the more.

  I ripped the cutlery from her hands and threw it to the floor, plunging my fingers into the bowl of pasta and taking a handful of her hair as she gasped. I tipped her neck until her jaw opened naturally, ploughing the food into her mouth with enough force that her cheeks bulged for me.

  “You have no idea what it means to give whatever I ask of you. You’re nothing but a body at my command, and you’ll suffer for it. Believe me, you’ll suffer for it.”

  She struggled to chew.

  “You want to be an obedient little ragdoll? I’ll treat you like a fucking ragdoll.”

  I forced more of the meal into her mouth and my fingers along with it. She retched and dribbled, coughing pasta out onto the plate underneath her.

  “I’m going to hurt you for the viewers tonight, sweetheart. They’re going to see you broken.”

  Her hands dithered in the air, and she spluttered. I tipped water into her mouth as she spluttered some more, already waiting with more pasta as she managed a gulp and a swallow.

  I fed her in minutes. My fingers were caked with spit and pasta sauce. Her face was a mess of pasta sauce and stale cum.

  Even then, she was fucking beautiful.

  Her elfin hair was soft in my grip, her eyes wide and willing.

  It took everything I had to take a breath and grunt at her to suck my fingers clean without forcing my cock in along with them.

  It rook resolve I wasn’t aware I needed to resign myself to putting this show on the air and giving my clients what they wanted.

  “Say thank you for your dinner,” I told her, and she closed her eyes with my fingers still in her tight little mouth.

  “Thannn you, sir.”

  I pinched her lips as I withdrew, and her puffy cheeks were a glorious fucking picture.

  My voice was a whisper this time, right against her sweet little earlobe.

  “I’m going to fucking enjoy this,” I said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Paige

  His coldness stirred me deep, but it felt far away.

  Still, I was transfixed by him. The beautiful monster in the room.

  I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him as he headed for the wall of electronics, even though I knew it was forbidden. I couldn’t take my eyes from the glory of his suited frame.

  He was simmering. Brooding with silent rage. All at me. All for me.

  But there was more.

  I could feel it. Inside him. Pulsing.

  Want.

  Desire.

  Lust.

  Brandon Grant wanted me. I knew he wanted me.

  I wondered how a girl like me could excite a man like him. A man who’d seen as much as him. Done as much as him.

&n
bsp; I wondered how I could feel the excitement rippling through him, unspoken. How I could feel more than the truth in his whispered promises. More than the words he was choosing to share to a wide-eyed little wannabe whore like me.

  I could feel his body with mine, even without contact. Feel every step he took across the room to the webcam controls, every movement of his hands as he busied himself with devices.

  This time around was different. The green lights of the cameras did more than stay lit and unblinking. I felt the focus. Felt the pull. Felt the life.

  “They’re really on this time, aren’t they?” I said.

  He turned sharply. “Three minutes,” he told me. “Three minutes and you’ll be live. Last time was a trial run. Call me generous with the initiation process.” I could barely breathe as he headed back in my direction. The mattress dipped under his knees as he climbed up.

  The richness of his cologne was gorgeous as he thumbed a glob of pasta sauce from my chin and pushed it into my mouth.

  And the richness of his dark smile was even more gorgeous as he tipped my face to his. “My generosity is limited, sweetheart. The real games begin here.”

  I managed a nod. A yes, sir.

  He all but tossed the dinner tray as he positioned himself tight to my side. The contrast was huge, him towering tall as I sank to a heap on my ass.

  He was everything my senses needed to flutter and tighten.

  Nervous.

  I was so nervous.

  I didn’t let it stop me.

  I moved into the stance he’d instructed the night previous. I spread my knees for him, my eyes feasting on the knot of his tie to avoid the magnetism of his face. I offered him my tits, still sore from the previous rounds of punishment. I was still bruised, still hurting, but that didn’t matter.

  I wanted more.

  Despite my fear, I wanted more.

  I did my best to steady my breathing as his fingers took my hair, but failed miserably.

  I was a mess. A wreck. A ruin. A pit of fear and shame and need.