Buy My Soul: A Sixty Days Novel

by West, Jade

  I hated the thought of being an idiot fucking sailor, strung along by the siren’s call.

  I’d never be an idiot fucking sailor, strung along by the siren’s call. Once had been more than enough for this lifetime already.

  I watched her take a piss with my arms folded, eyes unapologetic as they ate up her nudity. Her cheeks flushed as she resisted the pull of my gaze, the tinkle of the stream in the toilet bowl clearly being held steady as she did her best to appear in control. I knew her asshole would be hurting along with her bruises. I knew her tits would be more than tender to the touch as her nipples tightened to the cooler air. Still, she didn’t show it. She didn’t show a thing as she finished up and reached for the toilet roll. She wiped as demurely as she could, but I saw enough. I saw that pretty little cunt still puffy from yesterday’s action. I saw the tension in her sweetly bruised thighs as she prepared to raise to standing.

  She washed her hands. Towelled them dry thoroughly. Padded her way back through to the bedroom with a lowered gaze.

  “When do we begin again, sir?” she asked.

  “This evening,” I told her, and she nodded.

  “And until then, sir?”

  I wondered what she’d have done by choice in the interim hours. I wondered if she was a TV watching girl with an interest in some stupid comedy channel or another. If she was a reader with her nose always buried in some flouncy poetry books from the library. If she was a crossword girl. A walking on the beach kind of girl. A volunteering around campus and raising money for endangered species kind of girl.

  Like I should give two fucking shits what a girl like her enjoyed doing.

  “Until then you’ll rest that slutty little body of yours and prepare for the next performance,” I said.

  She nodded again. “Ok, sir, thank you.”

  If she was bored at the prospect of relaxing through a daytime with nothing to occupy her, she didn’t show it. She settled back on the bed with a calmness that shouldn’t have been there, letting out a soft sigh with a smile on her face.

  I felt the pull to join her with a calmness that most definitely shouldn’t have fucking been there to match.

  It disgusted me. Everything about the calmness in my want for this sad little whore disgusted me.

  I ditched it. Kicked it to the kerb with every scrap of will in my deviant fucking mind. Told my filthy soul to get a fucking grip and forget she was anything more than a piece of pussy meat for the selling.

  That’s what I needed to do.

  Sell the pussy meat.

  The calmness had gone by the time I’d locked the bedroom up with her inside it and made my way back downstairs to business.

  It had well and truly fucking vanquished when my common sense came back hard enough for me to approve the list of waiting client bids one click after another. Every single fucking one of them.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Paige

  I knew the evening was going to be a tough one. I also knew that resting my body in the interim was essential.

  That’s what I did. Hours of rest in that rich, plush bed. Hours of rest alone with my brain churning over life, the world and everything.

  Brandon Grant’s words were still hurting me. His humour at my take on love and life was still cutting me deep. Maybe he was right. Maybe my optimism about family and the waves of love from one person to another were nothing short of me being a stupid idiot in a cruel world.

  Maybe he was right about my sister too. Maybe he was right that she didn’t give a shit about me beyond what I could do to help her in her own horrible life.

  But no. I remembered us as young girls huddled together in my old grimy bed, whispering stories to distract us from our drunken dad downstairs as he turned the place upside down looking for bits of cash he needed for his drink habit.

  If I could have said to my sister way back then that she’d be joining him on the addiction front just as soon as she was old enough, she’d have burst into tears in horror, and so would I.

  Just as I’d done so many times since.

  Just as I could do so easily now.

  I held back the tears and stared at the window as the winter day turned into a winter evening and the sun dropped below the skyline. I took deep breaths and focused as much as possible on the comfort of my battered body, grateful for a few hours of rest. It didn’t stop my mind dancing. From Phoebe and our past together to her new predicament and praying she was doing ok out there. From my childhood hopes for a better life and what this huge sixty-day pay out could offer both me and her for the coming years. From all of that, to him. To Brandon Grant and the way my sad, sorry body was craving his with every scrap of nerves in me.

  From the pang of hurt at the clash of his outlook with mine, to the way my heart craved his sordid magnetism with a strength I’d never known. Not ever.

  Not with the idiot guy who’d tempted me into his arms on my childhood street just to take whatever he could from me. Not with the college assholes on the beach who’d given in to my slutty display just a few short nights before. Not even good guy Jake, who’d taken me aside at university and offered me a way out through the fortune of his family business. No, it was all about the beautiful monster whose body had sent mine into a frenzy during every single minute of our time together.

  It felt like years since I’d first met Mr Filthy Gorgeous under the pier and dropped to my knees to do his bidding. I could barely remember the routine of my university life without him being a factor in it, smiling at my surface level friends and going about my lectures like I was one of them, living the mundane and striving for good grades with nothing more on my plate than the assignments due. Well, that and Phoebe. Always Phoebe.

  It also felt like years since I’d met Carolyn Lane and formed my first genuine friendship in this place. It felt like ages since I knew Rebecca Lane had abandoned her apartment and taken off somewhere. I wondered if Carolyn was struggling with her sister’s welfare as much as I was struggling with Phoebe’s. If we were linked somewhere in the ether, both of us fighting for the safety of the siblings we loved so much.

  I wiped my eyes and pulled my knees to my chest as the full strength of that question hit me hard. I didn’t want Carolyn and Rebecca Lane to be struggling with the same kind of battle I was having with Phoebe. I had no choice. I had to push it aside, powerless to do anything but hold strong for what lay ahead for me that night.

  I could’ve pulled myself from under the covers and checked out my bruises in the bathroom under full lighting, but I didn’t. My instructions had been clear. Prepare for the evening. Prepare for the pain and the performance and do my best for whatever filth was coming.

  I flinched as the bedroom lock sounded and the door swung inwards, heart pounding at the thought it could be him again, coming to claim me.

  It wasn’t.

  It was a man I’d never seen before, suited from head to toe in dark colours as they tipped their head and landed another food tray on the bed alongside me. I thanked him, then paused. Did I add a sir? I didn’t know whether I should call everyone sir or whether it was for the main man only. As it turns out, I didn’t have long to think about it. He turned away and retreated with nothing more than a grunt, locking the door behind him as he left.

  I flicked the bedside lamp on and tucked right into my meal and glass of water. Potato and vegetables with a tasty fillet of chicken, far better and fulfilling than anything in my usual meal plan. My stomach appreciated it, even on top of the big full English breakfast earlier. I let out a quiet belch and felt my cheeks flame in case someone was watching.

  I then figured I’d have considerably more personal embarrassments looming over the coming weeks. Feeling Brandon Grant’s eyes on me during my bathroom encounters was a burn right to the core, and I knew what was coming would be far worse than that.

  Insanely worse than that. Insanely worse than anything I should ever consider doing in a million years.

  It was another string of thought
I had to push aside as I finished up my dinner and placed the tray on top of the breakfast one on the dresser. I knew then that the evening really was drawing in and my rest time was running low.

  I was sitting up in bed in the lamplight, ready and willing and as prepared as I could be when the bedroom lock sounded a second time. This time my heart kept on pounding. This time it really was the beautiful monster who stepped over the threshold and came into the room.

  His eyes flicked straight from me to the empty dinner tray, and his smile was enough that my stomach flipped.

  “Good girl,” he said. “I was hoping you’d eat up your food.”

  “It was nice, sir,” I replied. “Thank you.”

  I hadn’t noticed the bag in his hand until he drew close enough to drop it on the bed with me. It was leather, thick and dark as he unzipped the top and pulled out a flurry of lace and satin. Stockings. Knickers. A small babydoll slip with a panel of lace instead of a bra. There was no bra. Not that he pulled out and handed over.

  “Your evening attire,” he told me. “Get dressed and ready.”

  He didn’t pause while I checked out the items. He was straight into the bathroom and the shower sounded out loud just a few seconds later.

  It took all of my resistance not to poke my head around the door frame and sneak a glance at him in there. I climbed out of bed and busied myself heeding his instructions. My fingers were shaking when I pulled up the tiny scrap of lace that was nothing more than a thong between my ass cheeks. The stockings were hold ups that felt tight against my thigh bruises. One of them was visible over the top, a mottle of green and violet over the black lace. I wondered if the viewers would like it like that. If they’d enjoy seeing the marks on my skin as much as they enjoyed seeing me get more of them.

  The babydoll fit snugly, even on my skinny frame. It hid barely anything of my breasts. My nipples were poking through the fabric like bullets, clear from a mile away I was certain.

  I was still adjusting myself in the outfit when Mr Gorgeous stepped back into the room with a low slung towel around his hips. His hair was wet and slick to his scalp, the stubble of his jaw still prominent.

  I couldn’t stop staring as he opened his wardrobe with his back to me. His spine was a glorious dip of a river through banks of muscle. The bottom of his back was a stunning curve into his solid ass, clear enough even under his towel.

  He pulled out a white shirt this time and slipped into it easily. He buttoned up, then dropped the towel and pulled up tight black underwear under a smart pair of suit trousers. I knew he would look amazing before he turned to face me, but I didn’t appreciate quite how amazing until his eyes met with mine and ploughed deep.

  I knew then that I’d happily take whatever he’d dish out to me that night. I’d take anything from him.

  His power was bristling as he took a step toward me and let out a breath.

  “The clients are going to appreciate you this evening, sweetheart,” he said and closed the distance.

  All I wanted was him. His body pressed to mine. His lips pressing firm. His mouth claiming. Hands claiming. All of him claiming all of me right there and then.

  He didn’t do anything bar straighten the strap of the babydoll on my shoulder. I held my breath as he looked me up and down from a closer angle, wishing I was a vixen like Rebecca Lane in that moment, with her curves and bouncing waves of hair and smirk of a confident smile.

  But no. I was only me.

  “A good choice of outfit, yes?” he asked, and I found myself nodding.

  “Great, sir, yes. Thank you.”

  I was so conscious of my nipples straining in the fabric. So conscious of my fluttering clit between my legs, still sore from our last contact.

  “I hope you’re prepared for this next show,” he said, and I nodded again.

  “Yes, sir. I hope so, sir.”

  “You’re to be a good girl this evening,” he told me. “You’ll take whatever I give you, no matter how it hurts.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ll be looking right at the cameras, giving the clients a good view of your pain.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, and it sounded far away.

  I flinched as he ran his fingers through my hair and smoothed some behind my ear. “I normally come armed with makeup, but I didn’t feel tonight needed anything more than your pretty face bare and raw.”

  He should be lying. Definitely. There’s no way my face was better bare and raw after I knew the kind of girls he’d been paying for months. Still, his eyes were staring hard, and I couldn’t see any lies staring back at me. Not even a hint of one.

  “You think this is made up enough, sir?” I asked, and gestured to my body.

  I knew his low laugh was coming before it sounded. How I loved the way his lip curled up along with the tone. “I think you’re plenty made up this evening, Miss Emmerson. I have a feeling the clients are going to appreciate our show very much.”

  It was strange to realise how much I hoped so.

  How much I wanted to perform well for the cameras and the seedy world watching on. How much I wanted to take whatever was given with the hunger of someone truly desperate to please their audience.

  Still, that wasn’t it. Not even close.

  It didn’t even come anywhere near close to how much I wanted to perform well for him.

  My master.

  Because that was the dawning truth of it. Not just in words, or signed agreements, or me telling myself over and over that it was really the case from here on in.

  It was more than that. So much more than that.

  I felt it in my body. In my thoughts. In my very soul.

  Brandon Grant, the gorgeous monster in front of me, was most definitely my master.

  “Let’s go,” my master said, and gestured to the door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brandon

  My plan was all thought out. Purposeful in its intent, even if it felt like shit down in the core of me.

  It did feel like shit down in the core of me. If I was totally honest with myself, and holy fuck how I was trying to avoid it, I’d have admitted I wanted nothing in front of the cameras that evening. Most likely nothing in front of the cameras any evening.

  I wanted her.

  I wanted to push her body to its limits for nothing other than my own pleasure, without giving a fuck for any of the asshole cunts looking on with dicks in hand.

  No.

  That wasn’t strictly true. I wanted to push her body to its limits for something more than my own pleasure.

  I wanted to push her body to its limits for her pleasure.

  I wanted to hear her come with the strength of a girl at a loss to her bodily sensations. With the strength of a girl who couldn’t contain herself. Who didn’t want to contain herself. Who wanted my touch with a desire that equalled my own.

  But that wasn’t my plan. Wasn’t even close. It wasn’t the structure I’d been imprinting on my brain all afternoon.

  My intent was well and clear.

  I’d use the girl as the doll I’d signed up to use. I’d use and abuse her for the onlookers, aiming for as many bids as possible to come piling in in addition to those I’d already clicked yes on.

  My head was firm and clear as I opened the bedroom door and gestured her out onto the landing. The room ahead was made up ready for the show, with the array of implements lined up for clear viewing.

  She’d see them soon enough, and know I hadn’t been talking lightly when I instructed her to have a day of rest. She was surprisingly calm as she stepped close to my side and we made our way along the landing up to the webcam room. She didn’t flinch as I opened the second door and guided her inside, stepping in easily, her eyes feasting around the setup like a kid in a very scary sweet shop.

  There were shackles hanging from the ceiling with strong leather cuffs ready for her wrists. There were chains and cuffs snaking across the floor to rest underneath, all prepared to stretch her limbs wide
and render her powerless.

  I didn’t ask her if she was ready, simply took one of the cuffs in my hand and waited for her to join me in position. She didn’t need any further prompting, just stepped on up and offered me her wrist without a hint of questioning. Her breaths were shallow but regular as I buckled her wrist in and took hold of the other. I noticed her legs were shaking as I dropped to my knees and buckled her ankles up tight, but said nothing.

  She’d soon be shaking a damned sight worse.

  I was out of her eyeline when I retreated and began to hoist the shackles. They moved up slowly, taking her arms above her head and stretching them tight and spread. I kept going until she was on tiptoes, limbs taut, then pulled the ankle chains tight until she let out a moan.

  The girl was quite a sight to behold as she struggled for position. Her thighs were spread and straining, her arms taking the bulk of her weight as she struggled for stability.

  There would be no stability for the girl in this space. Not tonight.

  She cried out a little as I moved close behind her and reached my hands around to tug down her babydoll at the front. I hoped she felt strangely exposed under the spotlights. I hoped she felt vulnerable, weak to my will. I hoped her heart was in her throat as she fought back the nerves.

  It took her a while to realise I had backed off entirely. She strained to shoot a glance over her shoulder but barely made it, eyes frantic as they searched for me in the room. I left her another few minutes dangling in the silence before I even muttered a sound.

  “The show isn’t due to start yet,” I told her. “This is your position until then.”

  “But I…” she began. “But I can’t… please, sir…”

  Such a sorry little concern as her body swayed in the chain grip. She’d have significantly worse concerns before she found solid ground again.