by Jade West
My dick was stretched to bursting in my pants, my balls pulsing with the need to spurt my load all over her tear-streaked cheeks.
Only it wasn’t her tear-streaked cheeks I had in my mind.
Soon enough it would be my sad little beauty from the beach spread before me. Soon it would be her tears I’d be tasting. Her cunt I’d be pounding. Her pretty little nipples stretched to their limits.
My mouth watered as I recalled her needy whimpers. My fingers clenched tighter around the dildo I was slamming into my current slut’s slit, and I wanted more. Wanted deeper. Wanted to inflict enough pain to last a fucking lifetime.
Annabel didn’t sense it coming. Her cry was feral as I forced two thick fingers inside her along with the dildo, thighs straining against the assault but getting nowhere.
“Dirty little sluts take it all,” I hissed, but she wasn’t listening.
She was lost to me. Lost to everything but the stretch and the hurt and the blissful fucking punishment.
There was a smile on my face as I wriggled my fingers deep. There was venom in my voice as I demanded a thank you from her gag-stretched mouth,
When she retched out a garbled thank you, sir through the tears, I knew her days of impudence were coming to an end.
I’m sure she hated me when I slipped my free hand underneath and found her sorry little clit standing proud for me. I made sure to give her a sharp pinch and tug before blessing her with the perfect rhythm to counter the misery.
“Good little sluts come for their master,” I told her, and she whimpered afresh.
Her body took what she was given. Her hips rocked against my touch.
“Come for me or I’ll make your clit sting for a week,” I said, and she slammed her forehead against the mattress like that could save her.
The stretch in her pussy must have hurt like a bastard as she picked up the pace of her movements against mine. I played her well, ensuring just the right contact as her raspy breaths betrayed her.
My cock was desperate to join my fingers and appreciate her rawness first hand, but I didn’t make a move.
It wasn’t her sweet little snatch I wanted to destroy.
It wasn’t her pained gurgles I wanted to hear as I slammed to the balls and took my fill.
When Annabel came for me it was glorious, but it wasn’t enough.
When her voice broke along with her restraint it wasn’t the music my ears were craving.
Once she was done, I let her out of her binds with nothing more than a thumb stroke on her soft, wet cheek. I put the cameras back to standby and presented her with a fresh cold glass of water on the bedside table.
And then I left.
She was already sobbing into the pillow when I closed the door behind me, but I didn’t care for shit.
Eric was grinning like a prize-winning schoolboy as I stepped back into the office. He tried to high five me on the host of fresh bids pinging through on screen, but I stepped aside and dismissed him with a sigh.
“They’re crazy for her!” he told me, but I didn’t care shit for that, either.
Her cardigan was still draped over the back of my chair. It still smelled of her when I lifted a cuff to my face.
Perfect, It smelled fucking perfect.
The printout was still on Eric’s desk. I found it easily under a wad of random admin photocopies.
He was staring with a raised eyebrow as I handed Paige’s application across his desk to Lance, my head snoop.
“She’s my next purchase,” I told him. “I want everything you can find on her. Every. Fucking. Thing. I even want to know her fucking shoe size.”
The guy was a man of few words. He gave me nothing but a grunt in the affirmation.
“She has a sister,” I added. “Find out everything you can about her, too.”
Eric was still staring dumb when I headed back to my own workstation.
“What the hell is so special about this goddamn girl?” he asked.
The prick had absolutely no idea.
And that suited me just fine.
Chapter Fifteen
Paige
Carolyn must have been one of the early gossip receivers. My evening sighting was the start of a fast-growing tsunami ripping through the masses that afternoon.
I could feel the chatter following me, snaking through the bystanders as I tried to make an average path through my day. Paige Emmerson, whoring herself on the beach for cash last night. Paige Emmerson, desperate little slut, so disgusting. Sex for cash, oh my God. Dirty bitch.
They weren’t all that far off the mark, but it still hurt like hell to see the sneers and laughter closing in.
I kept my smile bright. My shoulders proud. My focus honed on what I was going to get from selling out to filth for sixty days.
Phoebe would be safe.
No more drugs. No more crack head boyfriend beating her to a pulp whenever she smiled at him wrong.
I felt a wave of relief when a text pinged through on my way back to my dorm room after classes. I figured it would be her responding to my earlier message at last, itching for more detail on my I can help promise. But it wasn’t.
It was still strange to see Carolyn’s number fresh in my contact list as I called up the text. It was stranger still to see a genuine message from someone who seemed to give two actual shits about me.
I’ve been thinking, Carolyn’s words told me. Please, please meet my sister before you go through with the sixty days. I really want you to hear about it first-hand before you’re all in. It would mean a lot. I won’t be able to sleep easy if you don’t.
My heart jammed a little at the thought of meeting her beautiful sister with her luscious hair and her luscious curves. Maybe she’d fill me in enough to realise I’d never be enough for a man like the beach stranger and his seedy clients. Maybe she’d fill me in enough to make me realise I’d be incapable of making the full cash payout and I’d be better off selling a kidney online.
On the other hand, maybe she’d be able to tell me about him.
His likes, his dislikes. His requirements. The things that make a man like him smile a real smile.
The things that make a man like him come.
How he looks under his suit.
How his dick feels slamming hard.
His name.
My fingers trembled as I stopped in the dorm hallway before the final climb up to my room, choosing to back into an alcove for some calm to reply to her text rather than racing on upstairs. My typed-out words stared back at me with such greediness, though I meant them with anything but.
Please, yes. I’d love to meet her. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.
I hovered until the reply came back, pushing myself further into the alcove when a pair of lower floor residents came on by.
Tomorrow night? Rebecca will show you her donut bar for the win. She claims you’ll never enjoy a college donut the same after a pier one.
The thought made me smile, my response was instant.
Tomorrow sounds great. Time?
More footsteps sounded on their way through the corridor. My vantage point offered me enough insight to hold me firm in position. The blonde flash of hair and trademark giggle was enough to make my pulse race. My dorm mate, Pippa, was laughing with her – our – friend Emma. Call it instinct, but I knew in a flash the bitchy cackle was directed at me. Maybe sixth sense, maybe experience. Maybe paranoia.
I was right, of course. Her words weren’t even hushed in a public environment.
“I’d have never thought for one single second she’d be taking money to get her tits out. I mean, who’d have thought? She’s little miss prissy! Always seeming so… nice.”
“So boring,” Emma said. “Let’s be honest, she’s nice, sure. But nice and boring go hand in hand with girls like Paige. She’s just so…”
“Bland,” Pippa finished. “Bland and boring and too sweet to be actual company. Still can’t believe she’s a whore.”
; Emma’s laugh in the affirmative made my throat tighten. “You’re sure it was really her and was really for whore shit? I mean, we don’t know for definite the cash was for slutting it up, right?”
Pippa laughed right back. “It was her. Definitely. Simone Bailey saw her from the window and swore down on it. And of course it’s for slutting it up. Where else is Miss Boring going to get that kind of cash from on a school night?” She dug in her bag for her dorm keys. “We all know what’s going down around these parts right now. I guess Rebecca Lane is just one of many. Miss Prissy Emmerson is just jumping on the slutty bandwagon.”
My heart died. Dead.
Months of being so careful with such pathetic cardboard friendships had been all for nothing. Wrecked in one sad little rumour.
The rumour in itself was lopsided at best. It was so sad, really. My so-called friends cared about nothing more than my social destruction, and that pained worse than their bitching.
Simone Bailey can’t have been looking that hard when she stared through her window. Cash and bared tits had made it onto her gossip list, sure, but what about the rest?
What about the tears? My frantic bandy legs carrying me home? The desperate breathing?
What about the horror that must have been plastered over my face as I charged back to my room?
I hitched back yet more tears as the girls headed upstairs, determined that they weren’t worth the upset. Not now, not ever.
The ping of Carolyn’s next message was a welcome buzz in my palm.
Seven p.m. at the pier?
My yes reply was easy. My ascent upstairs after my dorm mates was anything but.
I dreaded the cold silence. The loaded zing of unspoken gossip.
It was every bit as bad as I feared when I opened the main dorm block doorway and stepped inside.
Pippa and Emma were in the kitchenette, their backs to me and frozen while judgy Holly met my eyes over their shoulders and narrowed hers. Judgy didn’t come close to the disgust I felt from her. She was nothing like the friendly girl elbowing me in lectures and talking through psychology studies just a few days previous.
I’d have respected the three of them asking me outright what the hell was going on the night before, but they didn’t. Holly’s eyes led to the other girls turning, and they stared out at me like I was the most unexpected visitor on the planet, even though I lived two doorways down the hall.
“Paige!” Pippa grinned like an idiot. “How’s your day been? We just got home!”
And that’s when my cardboard facade came to an end.
I had no words, not for spiteful little gossips like them. I had no desire to spill my soul to a trio of nasty girls who’d written me off as a piece of shit before asking me a single question.
My jaw was higher than my soul felt when I walked right on past and opened my bedroom door. The natural slam as I tugged it closed behind me was seemingly more than enough to discourage them knocking.
I stayed there. Staring at the ceiling. Thinking about my sister. Thinking about Rebecca Lane and the stories she’d share over donuts on the pier.
Thinking about him. The most handsome guy under the sun, even if he was the most sadistic freak this side of forever.
Thinking about how good his fingers had felt inside me, even if the truth of my own filth made my stomach turn.
And there was more. Lurking underneath. Truth on top of truth, granted by snide rumours and ugly friendships come to light.
Relief.
There was so much relief to be found through their nasty chatter.
It flowed through every part of me. Relief and acceptance of every fucked-up thing sixty days could bring and more.
My plastic fake life here on campus was worth nothing. My shallow bonds with these people were worth nothing.
Saving my fate here was also worth nothing.
And neither was pretending a minute longer.
For the first time in my whole life I slipped my fingers between my legs and didn’t hate myself for my own wetness. For the first time in forever I let my fantasies run wild and didn’t feel the need to wash my mind with bleach at the same time.
I wanted him.
I wanted him to hurt me.
I wanted him to push me past every limit I could possibly imagine and leave me a smiling wreck at the end with a crazy bank balance and a sister who’d carry on living.
I wanted it all, and I wanted it now.
Sixty days couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Sixteen
Brandon
I’d always been a night owl. There was something about the quiet time of the early hours that allowed my thoughts to stretch and unfurl. The back porch was sweeping in its countryside opulence, all for me. The world slipped by, the sky black and starry, untouched by city streetlight pollution. It was undeniably beautiful here in its sobriety. The stillness ate my breaths and soaked up the exhale of my cigarette smoke.
And yet elsewhere the seedy cogs of the underworld kept on turning.
Lance should have been more than enough of a resource when it came to digging up the dirt on my latest prospect. The guy was used to honing in on our potential toys, scraping out the very depths of their girly closets for juicy gems of insight. He was more than adequately skilled at presenting me with a wealth of information I could use for my benefit. Secrets, weaknesses, flaws and desires. Past mistakes. Errors of previous judgements begging to be triggered to life. So, quite why I’d chosen to contact deeper-reaching acquaintances on my list was still a mystery to me. I had them at my fingertips the world over – corrupt data professionals positioned in every telecoms agency worth shit, as well as hackers capable of infiltrating every local agency and data centre I could wish them to.
On this occasion, I did wish them to.
I’d already paid handsomely for the soon-coming insight on sweet little Paige and her nebulous sister. I was waiting avidly for the extracted files from her mobile phone and social media profiles, as well as the full rundown on her university records. This level of snooping was above and beyond what was needed on top of Lance’s efforts and I was well aware of it. There was no reason to be hunting down such intel on a girl who’d be nothing to me once her sixty days were served. I’d be long gone, contracts signed, sealed and delivered, never to see the girl again.
Yet I was on edge. Strangely excited. Curiosity piqued.
Since I had no justification for this heightened interest, I told nobody about my extra vigilance. Not Eric, not Lance, and certainly not any of our other shadowy associates. Besides my obvious struggle to explain my motives, it was quite simply none of their fucking business.
I was about to head back inside when my phone buzzed in my pocket. For a ridiculous moment I hoped it was her, Paige, pinging through on the profile she’d reached out through before. I’d kicked my foolish enthusiasm into check before pulling up the notification, and just as well, because the message that greeted me was a world away from the gem of filthy innocence I’d enjoyed on the beach.
The girl whose picture popped up was hidden under at least an inch thick of makeup. Her duck pout was slavered with bright pink gloss, her hair tousled and bleach burnt, cascading down over her bared cleavage in a way that left nothing to the imagination.
I’m a girl who knows what a man wants. I’m worth every penny you’ll spend and more, trust me. I can swallow dick right the way down, and my ass likes it rough. I can do everything Rebecca did and more.
I rued the day I’d taken on that little Lane bitch and her big mouth.
Calling up Rebecca Lane’s mobile number was a pleasure long overdue. My tolerance for her big mouth was well past its limits, and the threats were bristling loud in my throat before I pressed to connect the call, caring nothing for the antisocial hours or the fact I was reaching out on a regular phone number without encryption.
The girl would have to be crazy to push her luck any further. She’d have to be crazier still to come back with threats of her o
wn.
The line rang three times before the tone dropped dead. No ringing out, no transfer to voicemail. Nothing but the definite call cancelled tone that comes with someone swiping no on the accept screen.
Rebecca Lane really was fucking crazy.
My jaw was gritted tight when I hit the redial button.
This time she cancelled before the second ring and my fury got the better of me.
My fingers were deft on the keypad, making light work of the text.
You are both brave and stupid to cancel my call, Miss Lane. We need to talk. Make time or I’ll make it for you.
I made sure the message was delivered successfully before I opted to call it a night and turn my phone right off, fuck the applications and messages and every other fucking thing. I shoved the deadened handset back in my pocket. If the girl had any sense whatsoever, she’d have messages waiting for me when I brought it to life in the morning.
I met Eric in the hallway on my way back inside, holding up a hand to counter his enthusiasm when I saw him waving his own phone. Damn these useless applications.
“No,” I said. “Not even close. Fake. Slutty. Pointless.”
His brows knitted. “No, not that one. Fresh bid,” he said. “Mr Strangulation Fetish wants you to fuck her ass on private webcam in twenty minutes while she screams his name on repeat.”
My enthusiasm didn’t even blip from a flatline. Sleep was beckoning with considerably more appeal than spearing Annabel Fisher’s tight little asshole for a small-dicked Polish tech baron.
“How much does he want it?” I asked, and Eric smiled.
“Twenty-five. Thirty-five if you choke her while she’s screaming. Forty-five if you choke her til she blacks out.”
“Fucking hell,” I hissed, well aware of my own ingratitude at a decent offer for getting balls deep in pretty asshole.
Eric’s head tipped, smile still bright. “Don’t tell me you’re done with that little beauty. I’d fuck her ass for free.”
