Buy My Soul: A Sixty Days Novel

by West, Jade

  I told them over and over, my rambling voice sounding nothing but slutty as my body took every bit of the pounding he was giving me from behind.

  “Dirty girl,” he snarled. “You know what you’re asking for?”

  I tried to shake my head. I had no idea what I was asking for besides his cock inside me.

  It turns out that was exactly what I was asking for, only I hadn’t envisaged the route in mind he was proposing.

  “You can tell the viewers how desperate you are for my cock in your tight little asshole,” he said, and my tight little asshole clenched tighter at the thought.

  He laughed when he pulled back enough to spread my ass cheeks and take a look. Clenching made no difference. His fingers thrust past my efforts with little struggle, slamming right inside and circling hard enough that I burned up bright with the need to use the bathroom.

  My whimpers didn’t make any difference. My protests were trapped in my throat as he pressed his dick alongside his fingers and shunted them in with hungry grunts that made my head spin.

  “Good fucking girl,” he hissed when he was buried in deep. “Good fucking girl for taking your fill.”

  How my pride swelled.

  I couldn’t hold back a fresh smile as I struggled to cope with his thrusts. They hurt like sin but I couldn’t stop beaming. Couldn’t stop wanting more kind filthy words from his evil mouth.

  “Thank you,” I spluttered. “Thank you, master.”

  His teeth nipped at my shoulders as he claimed my ass with fury. My teeth gritted hard as I groaned, trying my best to meet his thrusts with bucks of my hips through the pain.

  And then, just when I was adjusting to the stretch, he pulled out.

  I didn’t have the chance to move in response. He flipped me in a heartbeat, positioning himself over my face with his dick in his hand in nothing short of a fluid motion.

  “Suck me,” he said. “Fucking suck me. Take my fucking seed.”

  I couldn’t.

  I really couldn’t. Not after where he’d been.

  My eyes were wild at the thought as he pushed his dick towards my lips, and I tried to shake my head but failed.

  He had too good a grip of me.

  “Suck me,” he grunted, and his hand was moving faster up and down his shaft.

  I let out a groan as he pressed his cock against my mouth, and he didn’t lose the moment, thrusting right the way to the back of my throat until I retched and spluttered.

  The thought was disgusting. My stomach churned hard. It should’ve been enough to make me reconsider my feelings for this dark god and what the hell he was going to do in sixty days to a girl like me.

  But it didn’t.

  Even as I retched and gagged and struggled to take him, I couldn’t hold back the want for more.

  He was going to give me his cum. I could feel it. Hell, I was so proud to have earned it.

  “Lucky girl,” he said as the first wave of his salty seed filled my mouth.

  I felt it. I tasted it. I wanted it.

  I did feel like a lucky girl as he pulsed and groaned and filled me up with more.

  “Show me,” he said as he stopped spurting and pulled his cock free.

  I opened my mouth wide, but my efforts were clearly not good enough. I didn’t dare to swallow as he hooked his fingers in the corners of my lips and opened me up all the wider.

  “Show the viewers,” he grunted and tipped my face to the nearest camera. “Say fucking ahhhh,” he said, and I had to. I really had to.

  His cum bubbled against my tongue as I let out the stupid sound, my lips uncomfortably wide as I gave the viewers every scrap of attention I could manage.

  Filthy.

  I felt absolutely, disgustingly filthy.

  “Swallow,” he said, and I did. I swallowed him down and opened my mouth back up for the cameras without even being instructed.

  A good girl. I really was trying to be the best dirty girl I could manage. I guess that’s why the monster gave me his mouth all over again.

  His lips were hot. His tongue was fierce. Fierce and deep. Hunting mine all over again and coming out on top.

  And once again, all over again, I felt so much more in his kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Brandon

  It was a fucking wreck. A disaster of both common sense and willpower.

  “Be sure to tune in for day three,” I grunted to the audience as I retreated from the siren of a girl on the floor and headed to cut the live feed.

  She didn’t move and I couldn’t blame her. Her delicate body must have been searing raw after the beating I’d given her, both inside and out. Her breaths were ragged as her eyes followed my every move, but she made no sound. No whimpers or protestations when the live camera lights dulled to red. Not even a murmur of pain as she moved slowly onto her side as I approached and dropped to my knees beside her.

  “Good show,” I told her, as though it was just another day at the office.

  Her eyes were so wide. So eager. Still brimming with her selfless enthusiasm from earlier.

  “Thank you, sir,” she whispered, and I hated it. I hated how her title for me had retreated to basic instructions in the aftermath.

  I imagine that’s why the words burst forth from my mouth before I could stop them.

  “So it’s sir again now?”

  Her eyes didn’t falter in their eagerness. “I thought sir was what I was supposed to call you…”

  “I did say that, yes.”

  I hated how it felt as though she was looking right inside me. She held back for long seconds as I stared down at her, my hands surprisingly useless to know what the fuck they should be doing.

  “Master felt right back then…” she said. “You are my master in this place, right? Is master ok?”

  In this place. That’s when I felt a whole fresh fucking pang in my gut. In every fucking place. That’s what I wanted. I wanted to be her master in every fucking place this world had to offer. In every fucking breath she took. In every movement her sweet little body made in this lifetime.

  I wanted the girl to be mine.

  Utterly mine.

  Not some Polish oil baron’s, or some aristocrat’s with an inheritance the size of a small country.

  Not some cunt of a royal’s, or some tech guru’s from the far east.

  And sure as fuck not Drake’s.

  “Master is indeed ok,” I told her and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Good. I really wanted to be good for you. I really wanted to give a good show.”

  “Can you sit up?” I asked, but my arms were already reaching out for her, easing underneath to lift her slowly to sitting.

  She grimaced all the while I moved her, her body no doubt reeling from the beating she’d taken now her brain was falling back into itself. It took just a few seconds before the come down hit hard and she started with the shivers. Her teeth were chattering while she tried to maintain a subservient smile, and I felt like an utter cunt for pushing her so hard on only day two.

  I never felt like an utter cunt for pushing anyone on any fucking day. This was a first. Another fucking first.

  “We’ll get you warm,” I told her. “You’ll feel better when hot water loosens you up.”

  She nodded. “Please, sir, master… whatever.” The innocence in her tiny shrug made me smile.

  A genuine smile.

  How I hated the feel of it on my face. Exposed. As exposed as the girl below me.

  “Whatever will do just fine for the moment,” I muttered, and got to my feet as carefully as possible while pulling her with me.

  Her legs wouldn’t hold her when I attempted to let her stand. Tiptoes pained too hard. Muscles too weak from the strain. She didn’t need to tell me, I knew it. I felt it. In her flinches, in her eyes, in her shudders.

  Lifting her into my arms felt horribly natural. And the wrap of her arms around my shoulders for stability was horribly enjoyable on my part.

  Sh
e weighed virtually nothing in my arms. Carrying her across the landing and into my personal suite was easy. Nice, even.

  I dropped her gently onto the toilet seat in the bathroom and tugged her stockings clean off before I started the bath running. I scoured the products on the shelf, pleased to find some kind of luxurious bath foam amongst the bottles. I dumped a generous amount under the flow and checked the temperature. Hot, but not too hot.

  “Did I really do ok?” she asked, and I heard her teeth still chattering.

  “Yes, you really did,” I answered. “I’m sure the viewers enjoyed the performance.”

  There was an additional vulnerability to her in this comedown headspace. I could feel it. Feel the heightened innocence in light of her filthy submission. It allowed the words to flow easily from her side of the bathroom, her voice much lighter than I would have anticipated, running free and unbarred.

  “I’m glad,” she told me. “I forgot… at points… I mean almost forgot… forgot it was a show… forgot I was there for the viewers…” Her pause was intoxicating. I couldn’t hold back from spinning to face her. “I was just hoping I was good enough… I wanted to be good enough…”

  I should have pushed her to elaborate. To explain more about her motivations for forgetting she was there for the viewing public. Insisted that she confirm she was as caught up in me as I’d become caught up in her. That it was me she was determined to be good enough for. But I couldn’t.

  I just couldn’t.

  My steel walls of dissociation wouldn’t let me. Wouldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t take the chance of what crazy mutterings would deliver themselves back across the bathroom in return.

  Instead I returned my attention to the filling bath, checking the temperature again as the bubbles rose higher.

  “How is the pain?” I asked once the water was at a sufficient depth.

  “Ok…” she lied, then reconsidered. “Well, I’ll survive but it hurts. Everything hurts.”

  “It’ll hurt a touch more before it eases a little,” I told her, before closing the distance and scooping her back up for a second time.

  She was statue still as I lowered her into the water. She made a few whimpers but nothing more as the bubbles ate her up, settling back against the tub with her eyes closed tight.

  I watched.

  I watched her breaths. The prettiness of her slightly parted lips and the pit of her eyebrows. The fan of her elfin brown hair against the white porcelain behind her.

  She was so small. So fragile. So hurt.

  So fucking beautiful.

  It felt like a lifetime since I’d thought of any woman as beautiful.

  Cute. Sexy. Slutty.

  Pretty.

  Whorish.

  Filthy.

  All of them had their place, but not there. Not in that bathroom with that broken little creature so exposed in her pain.

  I knelt down beside her and smoothed some of the hair back from her forehead. “The water will work some magic,” I said, and her smile was ridiculously grateful considering I’d been the one to hurt her so fucking bad.

  “Thank you,” she said and there was that pause again. “Thank you, master.”

  I could have kissed her all over again. Mashed my mouth to hers and claimed her without restraint. I could have kissed every broken part of her with a broken part of me I hadn’t faced in years.

  I did nothing, just watched.

  She was still, her breaths easing slowly. Her eyes fluttered before opening fully, blinking once, twice before her gaze landed right on mine.

  “Sorry, master,” she said, but didn’t look away. “I know I’m not supposed to… stare… to look at you…”

  “I think I can forgive a few little misdemeanours after that performance,” I replied, and hated the way I smiled.

  I didn’t hate the way she smiled back.

  “It’s getting easier… in the water…” she said. “The heat is good… nice…”

  “Bed will be nice too,” I told her. “The morning not so much, but it’ll be an easy day for you.”

  “Will you be there? In bed, I mean. Tonight…”

  I should have said no. I should have said I had work to be getting on with. That she was lucky to have the comfort of such a luxurious resting place given the contract she’d signed her name to.

  I said nothing and she didn’t push for an answer, just looked down at her knees rising up from the bubbles.

  “It’ll get so much worse than tonight, won’t it?” she asked. “That was just a taster, wasn’t it?”

  Under normal circumstances I’d have been brutally honest. Forthcoming with the horror of the details. Of the way the beatings would get more severe as the days turned to weeks. How I’d stretch her to her limits in every one of her orifices. How I’d use and abuse her and leave her as a dirty little slut who hung on my every word and whim without control of their own actions.

  And then on further to how I’d let the rest of the world’s filth in for their turn.

  Their seedy fucking turns on top of an ocean of previous punishment.

  “Don’t worry about anything but recovering from day two,” I told her, and she took a breath.

  “You’ll make sure I’m ok at the end, won’t you? I’ll be ok to take care of my sister when I’m done with the sixty days? You promise?”

  I never made positive promises. Mine were always promises of payback or comeuppance, uttered in hostile circumstances with gritted teeth.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been asked for such an honest assurance in such intimate circumstances.

  “My sister needs me…” she continued. “I know I’m not allowed to talk about her, and I’m not asking anything for her… I just need to know…”

  “You’ll be ok at the end,” I told her. “Your feet will be back on the sandy beach with an ocean of cash to set you up for the next few years.”

  She nodded. “Thanks. Then I don’t care if tonight was just a taster. I’ll take it.”

  “But not tonight,” I remarked, and held out a hand for hers.

  I pulled her up and out of the bath with little strain, being careful as I draped a towel around her shoulders. I gestured to the basin and she brushed her teeth with steadier legs, taking a decent swig of water before turning off the tap and returning her attention to me.

  I despised myself for stripping off my clothes as she finished up towelling and slipped into bed. I despised myself for brushing my own teeth and washing myself clean in the freshly vacated bathroom without even checking my mobile for fresh bidders.

  I despised myself even more for the way my heart pounded as I slipped naked into bed beside her and flicked out the lights with the moon shining bright through the window.

  But not nearly as much as I despised the way I welcomed the press of her body to mine with open arms.

  “Goodnight, master,” she whispered, before dropping off to sleep in a flash.

  And for the first time in years, so did I.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Brandon

  I woke with a start, disoriented in a way I was unfamiliar with. Disorientation hadn’t been an associate of mine in adult life. My eyes blinked and flashed into the light. The sun was surprisingly high in the sky through the window for a winter morning, my body strangely warm from the press of the girl at my side.

  I’d been sleeping deep.

  Too fucking deep.

  So fucking deep that it had taken some hellish kind of disturbance to pull me back to my senses.

  The bruised Miss Emmerson jolted awake at the next round of pounding on the bedroom door, pressing closer to my side at the test of the door handle.

  Locked. It was locked. I may have lost my damn mind in most of my actions last night, but locking the door had made it into my activities as standard seemingly.

  “Bran!” the voice boomed from the other side, and I hissed out a curse as I pulled myself free from the limbs of the siren and got to my feet. “Bran! Ar
e you in there? Jesus Christ!”

  I threw myself into the first clothes I could lay my hands on, smoothing my hair down with pathetic strokes of my palms and shrugging on a jacket before crossing the room to the door.

  “I’ll be back,” I told the beauty staring out from the bed covers. Her nod was barely visible as I unlocked the door and stepped out onto the landing before my idiot brother could come bursting in.

  His eyes were virtually rabid, wild as I shunted him back along the landing and closed the door behind me.

  “What the fuck?” I challenged. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

  “Me out of my fucking mind?! What about you out of yours?!” he countered. “You’re going bastard crazy this week!”

  His words slammed hard. For once the dumbass had a fucking point.

  I straightened my jacket to some kind of order. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this ridiculous pissing alarm clock?”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “Alarm clock? It’s gone midday. Midday, Bran. When’s the last time you were snoozing through the afternoon?”

  My tone darkened. “I said, to what do I owe the pleasure of you hammering on my door like a man fucking possessed?”

  “Your phone,” he said. “Have you taken a look at it this morning?”

  “Clearly fucking not if the result is worth you disturbing my peace for, jackass,” I snapped, and fastened my shirt cuffs in some semblance of respectability.

  “Fuck sake. The bids,” he carried on. “They’re going wild, Bran. Drake’s been on my case, said he’s fired you a whole whirlwind of messages on the encrypted portal. Wanted me to take action instead of you, but I told him it was your call. Told him I hadn’t the admin power to click to accept, nor to pissing send the scheduling forms out to the successful bidders.”

  “More bids? Last night’s?” I asked like a fool, and he shoved his mobile handset in my direction.

  There was a fresh roll of my gut as I observed the latest trail of client bids appearing in list form. There was a string of them, longer than I’d have considered at even the height of my bravado with the Paige Emmerson predictions. Clients I hadn’t thought of in months. Years in some cases. Bids with highest priority selected on their payment portal logins. Men wanting confirmations, wanting schedule forms, wanting their bids fired back with the tick boxes highlighted in full.