by Jade West
“Maybe they’re just finding their feet.”
“They can find them elsewhere for five fucking grand.”
“I guess they’re trying their luck.”
He had that right.
I returned to the screen and clicked on the side bar for a sub menu. The suspend button was a joy to press on their user accounts. I could imagine their faces on the other side as the notification sounded through.
Offensive. Their paltry cash gesture was nothing more than offensive.
“What was that?!” Eric asked, clicking around in the aftermath of my flash decision.
He’d signed these two up a month back, his first two client handshakes. Just as I feared, he’d either missed vital aspects of the introduction guidelines, or they’d taken him for an easy player.
“Wait,” I told him, leaning calmly against the worktop and enjoying the nicotine rush a damn sight better than I’d enjoyed pinking Annabel’s perky ass cheeks.
It took less than a minute for the pings to pop up on screen from the two user accounts. Again, the action was simultaneous from both of them.
A fifty grand account reinstatement bid from both profiles.
I was smiling as I clicked accept, intuition validated.
“Send over an additional copy of our contract with a compulsory I understand button. They need the refresher. Maybe put in a call for a guideline conversation, also. Bad legwork, brother. They should be considerably more familiar with our processes before going live on our network. Five grand is a pitiful offer, if they go anywhere near it again I’ll be booting them out on a permanent basis.”
I watched his crestfallen expression as he took hold of the keyboard. Poor kid. I almost felt sorry for him.
“Feeling a pressing desire to challenge me about any of the remaining bids?” I prompted.
I was relieved when he shook his head.
At least he was learning something.
Chapter Five
Paige
The profile picture was mostly in darkness. A guy in a suit. No real defining features, just shadow and stubble and a look that screamed money. Even though it was a vague enough picture that I’d never be able to pick the man out of a line up, the butterflies swarmed fast and deep.
My nerves had jangled loud enough that I’d worried Carolyn would hear them as she’d relocated to my side at the dinner table and passed her handset across for better viewing. I’m sure my eyes were saucers as they’d fixed on the guy’s shady image and the brief text listing to the side.
Dark pleasures. No limits.
High stakes, higher rewards.
Private message with a description of how dark and dirty you’re willing to be for your ultimate pay day.
“This is him,” she’d explained in a hushed whisper. “Well, one of them. Whoever they are. My sister met him on the beach one Saturday night after the clubs kicked out.”
I was still wondering how meeting some random guy on the beach in the early hours of the morning would lead to signing up to sexual torture for sixty days straight, but Carolyn didn’t seem to have many answers to my questions.
Ten hours later and I was in my bed with the lamp on low at my side, staring at the same profile on the backwater social media site like it was a winning lottery ticket ready to cash in.
It shouldn’t be.
Carolyn really had needed an ear in the chaos. She was on the edge of sibling concern, which I could well relate to. Her sister was living the high life in the aftermath, but the full extent of her experiences were beyond even the worst of the rumours circulating round campus. Carolyn had told me plenty enough to make me edgy as all hell, wondering with a fractured resolve whether I could stand to deliver what these men, monsters, would want from me.
One thing was sure, I’d have to try.
I called up my sister’s earlier text to refresh my determination.
Help, Paige, please. I need money. Whatever you can spare. Please. I need you.
Nothing. That’s what I could spare.
My loan was maxed out with weeks still to go of term time. I had no way of paying back any side loans I took out on her behalf, leading me into nothing but certain financial despair just to fix her up with a temporary solution.
My thumb hovered for a long moment over Phoebe’s message before pressing the back key. Dirty guy’s profile was right there waiting, the private message button beaming bright for me to click on.
I took a breath as I clicked, holding it tight in my lungs as my phone browser jammed then refreshed slowly. A profile of my own. I needed a profile of my own to message his. Shit.
I made up the first thing that came to my mind.
NervousbutReady
I keyed in my actual birth date, and gave my actual name and email to the admin panel. My profile text was a blank box begging for words, but I had none. The backspace was used so many times I lost count as I began to type then changed my mind. I had no idea what to say on a profile which may ultimately lead to a sixty-day mission of filth for money.
Inexperienced, but determined to give my all. A girl with an open mind, and a need to serve.
Serve. It was a strange word.
I was used to serving. I’d done my all for those around me since I was old enough to tidy the kitchen and put clothes in the washing machine.
This serve felt different though. Dark and dangerous and something else.
It was a horrible, strange little ache, hurting deep. And underneath that was an excitement. A weird relief at the crazy prospect of relinquishing control of everything for two straight months.
Yes, it may be painful. Yes, it may be beyond my worst nightmares.
But I’d be free.
Free in the most perversely bizarre way imaginable. No decisions. No boundaries. No concerns other than doing what I was being made to do.
I forced that disturbing thrill from my mind. If I was lucky enough to land the ultimate pay day for this kind of craziness, I’d be sure to book myself into therapy along with Phoebe’s serious rehabilitation just as soon as I was done.
There was space for a profile picture. I barely had any photos of myself on my phone. Nothing worthy anyway.
I should maybe have made the effort to plaster my face with makeup and look my absolute best, but I was certain they’d find me far from it when they had me performing to their messed up whims.
I took the easiest option, right then and there, barely composing myself before I held the phone directly above and snapped a selfie. My hair was fanned out on the pillow, my skin pale in the flash and my eyes wide and nervous.
I looked really damn nervous.
Neck long and sloping to bony shoulders. Cheekbones pronounced and lips tight closed.
Sad.
I looked sad, too.
But it would have to do.
Maybe this was my common sense edging me to unconscious failure, but I uploaded the picture as my profile image and clicked again to private message the crazy dark stranger.
I saw your profile.
I’m willing to be as dark and dirty as it takes, I promise.
Please try me.
Yours, Paige.
Was that enough? I doubted it, but what else was there to say?
I didn’t want to gush with a load of absolute bullshit about experiences I knew nothing about. I may have been many things, including desperate, but a fake I was not and never would be.
Honesty. That’s what I valued in myself above all else. Honesty and the true desire to give my all to the road in front of me, whatever dark twists and turns it may take.
No. Those few lines were all I could give. They’d have to be enough.
Hopefully.
Enough to give me a chance.
It took me five full minutes before I was brave enough to click send. A tick came up as the message left my screen. Delivered.
My heart was a racing train in my chest, a sickness churning in my belly at the thought I’d really put it out there on
the line.
It rose up in my throat when the ping of a reply sounded less than ten minutes later.
Chapter Six
Brandon
I was the one who picked up the ping of a private message that night. Eric was out with some of the guys, knocking back whisky after whisky at one of the bars on the front, no doubt.
Whimpering Annabel was in darkness upstairs, and I was reviewing footage of our latest session, balls tightening instinctively despite the immovable apathy of my mind. Her asshole was a delicious little mouth, clenching tight around my fingers only to strain raw as I spread them wide – her gaping pink tunnel full of promise and sure to draw healthy bids from very deep pockets.
The message pinged through on the profile I’d given Rebecca Lane on the beach that first night we met. She’d bummed a cigarette from me on the shoreline, skirt riding high on shapely legs as she’d tottered along the sand in my direction.
She’d told me she was out of both cigarettes and money, a shrug reeking of desperation at odds with the drunken smile across her face.
I’d asked her what she’d do for an unlimited cigarette supply as I’d handed one over.
Her drunken smile had spread all the wider, and she looked beautiful.
Whatever you like, she’d said with a giggle.
And she’d meant it.
I told her to touch her toes and lift her skirt. I told her if she pulled her knickers to the side long enough to flash me a glimpse of her sweet little pussy in the moonlight, I’d give her the rest of the packet from my pocket.
When she kept her eyes on mine over her shoulder all the while she did it, I knew she was a dirty little winner.
Since dropping her back on the beach front on day sixty, that particular profile had seen more action than any of my social media recruitment profiles had ever seen. The girl had a big mouth. I’d used it plenty in our time together, and it was apparent she was using it plenty herself for entirely different purposes in the aftermath.
I was barely interested in the ping that sounded, assuming it was another sad little wannabe slut bleating on about her conquests, but the message that greeted me was anything but. A few lines of text, with barely a hint as to the full potential of the sender, but I felt it. A strange shiver of excitement ran up my spine as I clicked to expand her profile picture.
The girl was in bed, sprawled on top of sweet floral bedcovers, her mid brown hair a messy halo on her pillow. Her eyes were wide and honest, sparkling with inexperience that made my mouth water.
She was pretty. Very pretty. But it was more than that.
She was vulnerable. Open. World weary with a sad desperation beaming through her candid selfie.
Paige. Somehow I knew that was her actual name. Not a Honey, or a Chantelle, or a Little Miss Sex Kitten.
Paige.
It suited her.
I saw your profile.
I’m willing to be as dark and dirty as it takes, I promise.
Please try me.
Yours, Paige.
What a delightful promise.
I wondered what her voice was like. I imagined quietly well spoken. Delicate, like the rest of her.
I wondered then what her whimpers would sound like as I punished her for the crowds. How electric her screams would be as I pushed her to the limits.
And beyond.
So far beyond.
Yours, Paige.
She would be.
Mine and so many other men’s, but again my instincts surprised me.
Mine.
I don’t know why the prospect was so thrilling. She was just a shy looking girl staring up at a camera, promising a world of filth with no real understanding of what that filth would entail. I liked to leave at least two full days before responding to any message with the link to the application form, but I’d copied it to a reply message before I’d even sparked up a cigarette.
Please expand, I typed and pressed send. I lit up as soon as the tick showed sent, and then I waited.
The video of Annabel’s spread asshole remained on pause, all interest lost to me as I wondered about the girl on the other end of my message. The form was web based, giving me dual editing rights I’d never yet taken advantage of. I clicked the link myself and watched as the page refreshed on screen. I could see her cursor before me, nervously clicking back and forth on the text boxes.
Answer honestly, the instructions demanded. Confidentiality assured. Honesty is the only policy in any potential arrangement.
I willed the words to appear before my eyes, my balls tightening further as my cock sprung hard in my pants. Question one was blatant and demanding.
What financial reward would you require in exchange for sixty days of absolute servitude?
The cursor clicked and held on the answer box. And then the words appeared.
Whatever is on offer. I’m a student on limited income, with needs. For my sister.
I’m willing to do whatever it takes for financial security, for her as well as me.
A pause.
I’ve heard your terms are generous. I’d give everything I could for those kind of rewards, I promise.
Promises. The girl was full of them.
I watched with interest as the references to her sister were deleted.
I’m a student on limited income, with needs. I’ve heard your terms are generous. I’d give everything I could for those kind of rewards, I promise.
Succinct. The final answer was succinct.
I liked that – the silent depths looming dark and deep below her surface words.
Question two made me smile at the screen.
What is the dirtiest exploit you’ve ever indulged in?
There was such a pause as her cursor flashed in the empty box. I finished up my cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray, moving my palm to the bulge in my pants as my dick pulsed hard.
I haven’t done much, but I’m a quick learner. A guy made me suck him deep enough that it made me sick over him, and then he made me keep on going.
Another pause.
It was outside. On the pavement. Not far from a street lamp.
I’m sure the neighbours were watching through the window opposite.
I could imagine it. Imagine her.
It was barely an exploit – a drunken deep throat on a residential street somewhere after dark. It didn’t matter.
It would be exploit enough with her doing it. A sweet little blossom, so desperate in her selflessness for her sister.
Next question. What would you do for the ultimate pay day?
She took no time to answer this one.
Anything. Just so long as I can walk away when the contract time is finished.
I stopped palming my dick. It was the conviction in the speed. The simplicity in the words.
She was serious.
Deadly serious.
I didn’t wait to see if she uploaded any photos to the form. I didn’t even wait to see if she revised any answers, or revealed any more of herself in her amendments. My attention was already on the messaging screen, typing out a message which defied my most ingrained methods of engagement.
Sunnydale beach. Under the pier. Tomorrow at 10pm.
We’ll talk.
Come alone.
I was cursing myself under my breath the very second the sent tick showed, but I couldn’t hold back the smirk when the response pinged back mere seconds later.
I’ll be there.
Chapter Seven
Paige
I’d never needed a friend as much as I needed one right then. My dorm mates wouldn’t cut it, not even close, and my sister was probably in some drug-induced coma somewhere with her piece of shit boyfriend. Carolyn was the closest thing I had, even at this early stage of connection, but it would be way too soon for this kind of reveal.
So I sucked it up, took a deep breath and waited for my heartrate to calm. It took an age. Long enough that I’d read the meet-up request through a thousand times over,
and still I couldn’t believe the words staring out at me.
Sunnydale beach. Under the pier. Tomorrow at 10pm.
I knew Sunnydale pretty well after a few months here, usually in the daytime with the bustle of holidaymakers and ice cream stalls at full force, but still. I’d been there at night a few times after a few drinks, huddled in my old tatty coat to marvel the moon as the wind swept across the sand. I could picture the pier so clearly – its mass of huge wooden struts and iron railings casting such awesome shadows in the moonlight.
We’ll talk.
Come alone.
I guess it was the come alone bit that gave me most of the fizzing nerves. It sounded so serious. So ominous.
It was also so unnecessary. I’d never take someone to that beach with me. I was always walking my road alone, but I guess that was from practice as much as preference. Most girls around here dragged a friend into the toilet cubicle for a pee with them on a night out, but most girls had a friend close enough to drag into a toilet cubicle with them for a pee on a night out.
I’d never been anything like that comfortable with another human being.
When my heart had stilled some way towards normal, I put my phone on standby and crawled under the bedsheets. Sleep didn’t find me, brain swimming with the possibility of being bundled into a van and stolen away for a life of slavery somewhere. But no. Carolyn Lane’s sister was fine. Maybe not fine inside her mind and out of view, but she was walking, talking and spending her huge sum of dirty cash quite happily.
Maybe they’d have different plans for me, these men. More brutality for lower rewards. Maybe they wouldn’t give me the same courtesy of advance options before they manhandled me away for sixty days of filth.
That’s where my brain eventually stayed. Sixty days of filth. Sins of the flesh every moment of the day and night.
I couldn’t stop wondering what Mr Shadowy-profile looked like under better lighting. I wondered if he’d be the one dishing out the pain by his own hand. And the pleasure. Carolyn told me that there’d been pleasure for her sister too, even at the very worst.