Page 77 of Hidden Desires

Jack’s installing blackout curtains—heavy, triple-layered, with velcro edges to kill any stray beam of light. He stands on a stepladder, arms raised, muscles flexing under a plain black t-shirt, as he nails down a panel with the same focus he used for putting together rifles. I drag the ring lights around, playing with distance, wattage, and color until every surface is bright but not harsh. Shadows are the enemy, second only to a camera catching my actual face.

We take turns looking through each lens—three angles, all trimmed to cut off the top of Jack’s head and keep my profile obscured. We run a series of test shots: me sitting, me standing, me bending over the edge of the bed with my hair in a tangle. Jack’s new mask is brutal and hot, black leather with silver grommets, and when he puts it on, he transforms: from dad’s best friend to a mythological beast, all sinew and blue eyes flashing through the cut-outs.

I lay out the toys and lingerie on the bed like a surgeon prepping for operation. Dildos—silicone, glass, dual-density—plus a couple of vibrators, a plug or two, and a small glass bowl of lube. Each is wiped down, lined up, and ready. The lingerie is mostly black mesh, straps and cutouts, plus a new bodysuit that makes my boobs look like they’re going to claw their way out.

Jack tests the mics, playing back audio on his phone, and is satisfied only when our voices sound clear. He writes out a checklist (old pilot habits die hard) and we run through it, ticking off: ring light 1, check; battery backup, check; masks and gloves, check; webcam privacy shield, check. We double and triple check that the guest room door is locked, that the window shade is down, that the Amazon Echo is unplugged just in case Alexa has a sideline in blackmail.

The show is scheduled for eight p.m., peak viewership. We do a dry run: I put on a bunny mask that literally has big white ears attached, and then straddle Jack while he clamps his huge hands around my hips and pretends to growl. I try out my new “Bunny” voice—higher, breathier, almost cartoonish. Jack laughs, which breaks character, and I hit him with a pillow.

Thirty minutes to curtain, and the nerves hit, hard.

“I feel like I’m about to walk down a school hallway naked,” I say, pulling at a loose thread on the bodysuit. “Where everyone’s watching.”

Jack comes up behind me, his hands warm on my shoulders. “That’s my favorite dream, sweetheart. I love that one.”

I giggle before slapping his hand lightly.

“Oh my god! You’re so bad!”

My man merely pulls me close against his hard chest, that big body soothing me.

“You’re gonna ace it, sweetheart. We practiced. You’re a natural with a huge audience already. They love you.”

I giggle, turning to face him. “Just don’t call me ‘sweetheart’ on camera, okay? I’m supposed to be Bunny, not your girlfriend.”

He grins, wolfish. “Noted. But I reserve the right to call you my slut.”

My knees actually wobble. “Deal.”

He sits, mask on, in the high-backed armchair we positioned as the “throne.” I stand off to the side, watching the countdown on the site’s admin page. Three minutes. Two. One.

I click “Go Live.”

It starts a little awkwardly, to be honest. Jack’s foot tangles in a power cord and he nearly sends the lamp flying. I giggle, way too loud, and cover my mouth with both hands. But the first tip comes in before we even get situated, and then the chat window explodes with “YESSSSSS,” “holy shit,” “BUNNY IS BACK” and “who’s the masked dude?”

I introduce us: “Hey everyone, it’s your favorite bunny! And this is my new friend, Wolf.” Jack leans into camera range, letting them see the intensity of his blue eyes, and the chat goes wild.

I giggle.

“I’m so glad you like my new playmate. So what do you want to see us do first?”

A request pops up on the screen: “Plug play, baby girl.” Oh, that’s an easy one, so I nod. I grab a pink plug, coat it in lube slowly, getting it slick and shiny while maintaining sizzling eye contact with the camera. Then, I turn my ass to the lens, coy yet deliberate. The tips double. Jack grabs the toy, his big hands visible, and at first, the plug slips a bit between his fingers because it’s so lubed up. But he takes it firmly in hand, and the chat loves it. “Wolf has huge hands” scrolls across the screen in all caps. “Fuck yeah.” Wow, all that just from Jack holding a plug.

The nerves go away. It’s like muscle memory. I play to the chat, moaning, teasing, looking back over my shoulder just enough to let my hair fall into my eyes. Jack feeds off it, smile gleaming from below the mask. He slips the tiny plug into my pussy and I let out a real moan, my head tipping back.

“Mmm, that feels so good, Daddy Wolf,” I cry out. “Mmm!”

“Yeah, you like it,” he rasps, his thrusts getting bolder, voice dropping lower. He narrates a little—”Open wider, Bunny,” or “Take it, slut,”—and every time he says something, I jolt with pleasure. Meanwhile, the tips are rolling in, faster than I’ve ever seen before.

But we’re going to do more than a tiny bit of pussy play. Jack slips the plug out of my cunt and then pushes it into my ass in one quick motion. I gasp as the chat goes wild.

“Fuck her in both holes,” the audience types. “Do it, do it.”

Jack obliges. He pulls me into his lap so that I’m facing him, before slowly inserting a huge dildo into my cunt.

“Mmm!” I squeal. “Daddy Wolf, what are you doing?”

“You’re a slut for double penetration,” he rasps. “Now fuck yourself with the dildo while I fuck your ass.”