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I moaned as I pushed two fingers inside myself, arching my back like I was having the best time. Should have grabbed the lube, not nearly wet enough for it.
‘Then I’d stuff my cock into that ass and fill it up with cum. I bet you’d cry.’
‘I would Master, it hurts so bad being fucked there.’
‘But you deserve it for being such a little whore, spreading your legs for anyone who will open their wallet.’
It stung a bit, because it was true. I loved my job, and I didn’t feel ashamed about it most of the time. But when guys looked down on me for it, it still hit a spot inside that I couldn’t quite shut off completely.
I watched the clock as I put on a fake performance, mewling and moaning in all the right places as his tiny dick reddened in his furious death grip. He was taking longer than I’d bargained for. More money, but he wasn’t nearly as fun as some others. Should have waited for the foot guy. He just let me read or knit with my feet close to the camera as he wanked. The easiest nights ever. Or the hot old guy with the deep southern accent from the US. He wasn’t much to look at, but his voice was growly and low and it made me tingle.
‘Bend over for me, slut, I’m going to fucking cum.’
At last.
I bent over on the bed, spreading wide while fingering myself slowly.
‘Come for me,’ he said as he let out a whimper.
‘Yes Master, thank you,’ I said as I went into an over the top cry of pleasure, tensing around my fingers rhythmically in case he was watching close enough to suspect it was fake. ‘You’re cock feels so gooooood.’
I sat up as my laptop dinged, letting me know he’d ended the chat.
Not even a good night. Arsehole.
I closed the computer and tidied away my lingerie, tipping it into my laundry basket before grabbing a cute nightie covered in paw prints that I wouldn’t be seen dead in on camera, and tugging it over my head.
Finally, after tidying up, removing my makeup and brushing my teeth, I climbed into my bed, grabbed my vibrator and finished the job that was sorely left lacking.
I didn’t imagine the stained tee guy. In my head I was with a tattooed freak who pinned me to the bed by my throat and whispered dirty, degrading things into my ear. I came hard, crying out into my pillow as my fictional man called me names which I’d never dared utter out loud.
If only he wasn’t imaginary.
I cleaned off the toy before tossing it back in my drawer and sighing.
Maybe tomorrow would bring a little more excitement to my chat room.
Unlikely.
Hopefully, the foot guy would at least be back so I could finish my scarf.
CHAPTER TWO
LOGAN
‘Just get it done.’
My leather desk chair creaked as I leaned back, watching the door slam behind my men as they left to finish the deal.
How had my father done it all?
He’d had a wife and six kids as well as running the McGowan syndicate, and he’d done it seamlessly. Or so it had always seemed in my eyes.
I was never supposed to be the one to take over. That had befallen me through my eldest brother’s death, and while not unheard of for a second kid to end up in the hot seat, I still didn’t feel ready for it.
Lately, beneath the stress of my siblings getting themselves in scrape after scrape as they tumbled into relationships and securing my father’s business after his death, I was feeling every one of my thirty-eight years weighing down on me. Making it to eighty would be a fucking miracle if my body felt broken already.
Getting up at five every morning to workout before anyone else was up was taking its toll. I’d have to start napping, for god’s sake.
