by A. R. Torre
Stars. My fascination continues, not hampered by time. Ever since I scraped off the old paint and freed my window, I have snuck an almost daily look at them, the rare nights off a continued attempt to prove to myself my level of control. Sometimes just a glance, sometimes a stare, sometimes I sit on the open sill and take my dear sweet time, watching them until my vision blurs, and I stumble over to bed. It is as if seeing them reassures me that I have a choice. I have freedom, I just choose to celebrate it inside my apartment. I interrupt my star worship and lean against Jeremy’s shoulder, loving the fit of my body under his arm, his other hand coming around to fully wrap me. I close my eyes, smiling when I feel his lips, warm on my forehead, his hand brushing back the hair to bare the skin for his kiss.
“Thank you,” I murmur against his shirt, “for bringing me here.” I look up, into his eyes, the close proximity letting me see the thick eyelashes that frame his green eyes.
He shifts, his hands moving lower until they are around my waist and he lifts, surprising me, my hands gripping his shoulders, my legs moving as he drags me atop his lap. I shift, repositioning my legs until I am straddling him, my knees against the blanket, his hands soft on my waist, his face looking up into mine. “I love you,” he whispers. He pulls at my coat, lifts his mouth to mine, but I stop him, place a hand on his chest and look into his eyes.
Vulnerable. They look vulnerable. He loves me. I forget, for a moment, to breathe. It is here, the moment I have fought, hoped against while secretly desired. I am loved. Me: dirty, rotten me. The man hasn’t even had me, our touches restricted to heavy petting and third base, our dates mostly centered on food or bringing me items I have been deprived of. “You don’t know me enough to love me.” I grip his jacket, pin him into place with my eyes, make sure that he hears the words I hate to say. “The things that I think of, the things that I have done… I am not worthy of being loved by you.”
“We don’t choose who we love, Deanna. You are beautiful to me. Perfect to me. Despite what you struggle with. Your struggle…” His eyes leave me for a moment, searching for words; then they come back to me, wisps of smoke leaving his mouth in the chilled night air. “Your struggle is part of what makes you beautiful. You don’t see what I see. You don’t see the good person that I know that you are.” He runs a hand up my back, tugs firmly on my hair. “Don’t argue with me. I know how I feel. I just wanted you to know. I’ve been holding it in too long. I love you.”
He tries to pull me to him, to kiss me, but I stop him again, my hand firmer this time as words spill out that I have no business saying. “I love you too.” I make sure that he sees me, understands me, the second time the words coming out softer. “I love you.”
It is a horrible thing to say, this is a terrible moment for the future of our relationship, for the future of my rules and control and safeguards. But his mouth tugs into a grin, the widest I’ve ever seen it, and I don’t fight it when his hands cradle my head and pull me to his mouth. Behind me, the fireworks begin their display, the shake of the ground fitting the moment when our lips meet.
I kiss him and push aside the howl of my conscience. In this moment, I don’t want to think about the future and what disasters it may hold. I kiss him and celebrate the rush of love and passion and elation. I am a girl in love with a boy and—at eight on a Wednesday night—am getting kissed underneath fireworks. Hello normal, I am Deanna. Nice to make your acquaintance.
In that moment, in that kiss, I choose to believe anything is possible. I choose to forget all of the horrible things that “anything” can include.
CHAPTER 35
House Arrest Countdown: 1 Month
TONIGHT IS THE night, the time to reintroduce the idea of a face-to-face meeting. Marcus can’t wait any longer, his impatience won’t allow for that. He smooths his hair down, forgetting for a brief moment that she can’t see him. He’ll use the fucking please word that she has such attachment to. Will mask his anger during the chat. Charm her. He has the ability, just hasn’t used it the last two years of imprisonment. Then at the end, when she is smiling and hearts and flowers are filling the space between them, he’ll bring up meeting in person. Will offer more money. Ten grand if need be. But she needs to say yes. He’s already decided that she will be his reward. For two years without pussy. For two years of imprisonment he didn’t deserve. Breaking her will be empowering, will give him his cojones back. He’ll probably have to kill her. Dirty his hands in a way he has never done. In this return to glory, it’s important to him that she knows it is him—he needs to have her break with his name on her lips. That will be the best part of it all, her fall from superiority. Her transition into her rightful place of subservience.
It takes three hours of attempts to get her into a private chat, but finally she is on his screen, lit up in crisp high-definition, gorgeous on the new, bigger laptop he had ordered in.
“Hey.”
He can tell by the slight hesitation that she recognizes his name, despite the weeks that have passed since he last had her. Weeks that he spent with other camgirls, discovering the same thing, time after time, blonde after brunette after redhead: they weren’t her, they didn’t have it. There is something about her that calls to him, a mystery behind the smile that he wants to reach out and bring to the surface. He isn’t the only one. The men all fight for her like pigs at feeding time, anxious to throw their money at the tiny girl with the big smile.
He types. Behaves.
She smiles. Performs. Undresses. Dances on camera for him when he asks nicely. Spreads her legs and lets her hand dance across the lips of her cunt. Moans and closes her eyes when she touches the place he’s been waiting for. She skillfully takes him up the hill of arousal, his cock stretching and hardening. Unbending in his hand, it sticks straight up, the speed of his hand slowed only by his desire to prolong the experience.
When he is close, he has her kneel. Imagines his belt tight around her neck, his yank on it bringing her on and off of his shaft. At a moment when he is close, too close, needing a moment to cool off, he drops his hands to the keyboard and makes his move.
freebird71: I’d like to meet you in person. Please.
Her smile doesn’t stop, just shakes from side to side in a “no” motion.
He tries her favorite word a second time, his teeth already gritting as he types the painful six-letter word.
freebird71: Please.
Another shake of the brunette head.
He hesitates before continuing, his hand above the numbers, unsure of a starting bid, her unwillingness to cooperate annoying. Finally, his fingers move.
freebird71: $5000. I’ll pay for travel or come to you.
“I already told you no.” She leans back, resting the weight on her hands and feet, coming off her knees, her legs opening slowly, teasingly, the light catching and illuminating the pink place between her legs fully. His cock stands at attention between his arms as he types.
freebird71: $7500. No kink. Just a few hours.
She says nothing but sighs. Sighs. As if she is exasperated. His hands tighten, cramping, as he waits above the keys, then types a final bid.
freebird71: $10k. That’s it.
She leans forward, and his interest piques. A blur of skin as she moves, then is gone, the screen black.
------JessReilly19 HAS ENDED THE CHAT. RETURN TO FREE CHAT?
He roars, a push of emotions coming from a very dark place and moving out, his inability to do anything but sit in his house infuriating. He jabs at the mouse, preparing to rip apart the screen, then he sees her window reopen in the free chat.
She is back. His hand stops its movement as he leans forward, stares in incredulity at her thumbnail, the arch of her naked body across the screen. Her nerve was incredible, the blatant disregard of respect. And the effect on his body was immediate, his cock coming back to life, the return empowering.
He quickly clicks the mouse and reopens a private chat with JessReilly19.
CHAPTER 36
>
GOD, THIS GUY doesn’t quit. Maybe the END CHAT message wasn’t clear enough. I paste a smile on my face and hiss through my teeth.
freebird71: did you end our chat?
“I’m not a prostitute. If you can’t respect that, then I’m not interested in chatting.”
freebird71: you just virtually fucked me and then screwed me over by leaving me hanging. now get on your knees and suck my dick.
My smile is genuine now, it lives in incredulity and power. Forget my desire to take human life; even pushing that character trait aside, this guy obviously has no idea who he is fucking with. This site, with the exception of its horrible commission rates, is all about us: the talent. They don’t listen to the customers, don’t care if this guy drops a thousand dollars a day on the site. We, the camgirls, have the power. We can block a bad client with one click of the mouse, can ban him from the site with one phone call. No questions asked, no explanations needed. Cams.com last year made over a million dollars from me, money that buys me all the power over clients I could ever want. This man thinks he can order me around? Cop an attitude? I’ve been too nice already. Time to let my inner bitch reign.
I chuckle, rising to my bare feet on the mattress, zooming and changing the camera angle via remote so that it is looking up at me, the image on the screen one of control and power. “Don’t fuck with me, freebird. You have grossly misjudged your position of power in this dynamic. I don’t work for you. You pay me, you beg me, for my time. And that, my friend, is now over. Fuck you and your limp dick. You get on your knees and suck it yourself.” I hop off the bed, off camera, and reach for the mouse. Leisurely slide it over to the “BLOCK” button and pause for a moment. Watch the screen to see if this guy has a response. Then I click the mouse, and separate our lives forever.
------freebird71 HAS BEEN BLOCKED FROM YOUR ACCOUNT. RETURN TO FREE CHAT?
------YES/NO
I ignore the question, stepping around the bed, and head to the kitchen. Pick up my phone and call my model rep, his voice connecting quickly.
“Hey, Deanna.”
“Hey, Jeff. I got a guy I need you to ban.”
“Let me log in.” Clicks on keys. “Okay, what’s his username?”
“Freebird71.”
More clicks. “Sitewide ban? Want it on our affiliate sites too?”
“Everywhere. Burn his ass.”
A low whistle. “Remind me to not piss you off.”
I grin. “Don’t I always?”
He laughs. “All right, hon. Done. I blocked his e-mail, phone number, credit card, as well as his IP address. He’s covered.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m sure I’ll bring it up the next time you chew my ass out.”
I hang up with a smile, tossing the phone down and move back to the bed where the message remains on the screen.
------freebird71 HAS BEEN BLOCKED FROM YOUR ACCOUNT. RETURN TO FREE CHAT?
------YES/NO
I update my spreadsheet, add today’s date and the word “BLOCKED” next to his username. Then I e-mail Mike one short sentence.
I’ve blocked Marcus Renza AKA freebird71. Please put him on one-strike access on my website.
I learned the first year, early on, about the crazies. It’s best to cut all access from them. The camsite’s blocking handles 90 percent of them, but sometimes they continue to seek me out. Go to my private site. Try to schedule appointments there. Mike polices that arena. I’ll let blacklisted members watch my feed, subscribe. Pay up and jack off to the hours of content I upload daily. But they take it any further than that? Click on the “Email Me” link? Or the “Schedule Time with Jess”? Gone. See ya. Straight to the Blacklist of the Blacklist. And I never hear from them again.
I click on the “YES” button and smile, returning to free chat, the room filling up with names, messages of greeting populating in the white box. And my night continues.
CHAPTER 37
THAT BITCH DID something. She made her big dramatic speech, the one that took Marcus’s cock to a whole new level of flaccidity, then clicked something. Something that ended their chat. He waited for her to return, waited for her face to pop back up among the other girls, but she didn’t appear. Ten minutes later, his computer wouldn’t even bring up the site. A message, one that said FUCK YOU in three short sentences, is the only thing that came up when he refreshed the screen:
YOUR PROFILE HAS BEEN REMOVED FROM THIS SITE. ANY OUTSTANDING CHARGES WILL BE MADE TO THE CREDIT CARD ON FILE. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATRONAGE.
He gets on the phone and calls the customer service line, a phone call that takes thirty minutes to initiate, seeing that he can’t pull up the company’s website. The rep he gets is American, the first surprise he encounters. The second is in how he is treated. As if he is in the wrong. As if there is nothing they will do, as if he is a criminal and kicked out of their stupid, exclusive club. He asks for a supervisor and is refused. According to the Midwestern idiot, he is no longer a customer of Cams.com and therefore isn’t afforded the basic decencies a normal client receives.
He hangs up.
Tries again to visit the website. Blocked.
Tries to remember the girl’s name. Jess something. Riley.
An Internet search of “Jess Riley camgirl” brings up a hundred thousand results. The first ten sites he clicks on won’t open, a similar message stating his inability to access the site. Bullshit.
He slams the laptop shut, swinging an arm out and taking his lamp off of the edge. A satisfying crash of breakage, the room instantly dark. He breathes hard in the empty office, his pants still unzipped, his fury mounting in the quiet hush of scorn.
This is not over.
Around his naked ankle, the red blink of his monitor flashes an incessant pattern—one that screams through the dark room—its beacon never as infuriating as in that moment of lost control.
This is not over. He’ll have her if it is the last thing he ever does.
CHAPTER 38
2:24:03 p.m. TUESDAY
HackOffMyBigCock: hey babe
HackOffMyBigCock you around?
2:59:11 p.m. TUESDAY
JessReilly19 I am now. What’s up?
HackOffMyBigCock just wanted to give you a heads up about Jeremy
3:01:59 p.m. TUESDAY
JessReilly19 who?
HackOffMyBigCock you know who
JessReilly19 what’s the heads up?
HackOffMyBigCock todays his birthday
JessReilly19 wow. Talk about some advance notice. Thanks for nothing.
HackOffMyBigCock I’m sure you’ll figure something out.
JessReilly19 I still have no idea who you’re talking about.
HackOffMyBigCock whatever. I’ve got to go. Hot date.
JessReilly19 at 3 in the afternoon? Don’t forget to pay him.
HackOffMyBigCock you need to work on your insults
JessReilly19 I’m rusty. Too busy being sweet and adorable.
HackOffMyBigCock you’re not that sweet
JessReilly19 Mike
HackOffMyBigCock what
JessReilly19 stay the fuck out of my business. Seriously. It’s creepy and way out of line.
HackOffMyBigCock would you have rather not known about his birthday?
3:04:03 p.m. TUESDAY
JessReilly19 I don’t even know a Jeremy.
HackOffMyBigCock you’re welcome
JessReilly19 bye
HackOffMyBigCock we’re still good right?
JessReilly19 I don’t have much of a choice. My friend list is pretty short.
HackOffMyBigCock I’ll take that as a yes
---JessReilly19 HAS LEFT THE CHAT---
CHAPTER 39
House Arrest Countdown: 3 Weeks
MARCUS’S FIRST ATTEMPT at a non-cyber prostitute was a disaster. The woman had smelled of cop the minute she walked in the door, the attitude wrong, the questions staged. He’d feigned confusion and sent her on her way, his anger m
ounting. That’s what he got for calling a fucking yellow pages ad, like he was the dregs of society. He should be feasting on high-class pussy, drowning every night in champagne and breasts, their hands crawling over his body, their subservience only increased by his fists.
So… the first attempt a cop, the second woman this piece of trash. He eyes her on the bed, her legs spread, scars running up the left side of her thigh, her right eye faint yellow from a healing bruise, the afternoon sun streaming through the window, amplifying her imperfections.
He strokes his cock, nudges her legs wider, and stares at her. Wills his cock to respond. No response from it. He isn’t surprised. His cock isn’t stupid. How can he expect a response brought from this woman? He’s never stooped to this level before, with the exception of his prison time. And now… for her to be his return to sex? No. He’d made a mistake in even trying. Especially when the only thing on his cock’s mind is the brunette with the cocky eyes that flash with darkness.
He stops, tucks his cock back into his pants. Counts out three bills and tosses them on the bed.
“Get out.”
Reilly. Not Riley. That had been the Internet girl’s last name. He walks into his office, shuts the door, and starts up his computer. He feels a calm wash over him as he finds her personal website and his screen fills with her image.
CHAPTER 40
FOR JEREMY, TODAY has sucked. Thunderstorms all day, the kind where the sky throws up and dumps every bitchy emotion it has all over your body. The kind where puddles form everywhere, deeper than they appear to be, every fifth one he steps in causing his foot to sink ankle-deep in dirty water. His socks have molded to his feet, the wet squish in every step reminding him of how cold it is, this storm bringing with it a blast of frigid air. He didn’t grab his jacket this morning; he’s stuck using the light windbreaker that stays in his work truck. So he is cold, miserable, and wet when he drops off his final delivery, smiles at the housewife, takes back his pen, and jumps back into the truck.