Ten: Spread Open For Me
1896 Words
Dmitry
Good grief.
That’s the only thing I feel. Not anger. Maybe a flicker of jealousy. But mostly a low, almost embarrassing sense of pity for Gianna’s little poster boyfriend.
The boy looks like he might piss himself just from standing in front of me. Not like last night, when he’s bold enough to try and take Gianna home.
I take the liberty of looking him up. Kevin Stuart Greyheart. Old money, newer arrogance. Rich, pretty, and constantly paraded around as one of the city’s most eligible bachelors.
Still doesn’t come close to me.
“Cat got your tongue?” I say.
My voice stays level, polite enough to pass, but there’s no effort to make it friendly.
Kevin drags his gaze over me, slow and obvious, sizing me up like a vegan stuck in a steakhouse.
Then he laughs.
Actually laughs.
It sounds rehearsed, the kind you hear at dinners you don’t care about but have to survive. And for someone who lives in front of cameras he should be better at pretending it’s real.
“You know,” he says, breath hitching once before he gets it under control, “when Gia told me she dated you, I expected… I don’t know. Maturity.” He smiles, thin and calculated. “But after the little act you pull? This is going to be so f*****g easy.”
I watch him for a beat.
There’s something sketchy about him. Something slippery in between, like he’s already planning three moves ahead and none of them are clean.
I don’t like it one bit.
“i***t,” I murmur, more to myself than him. “A really big one.”
Kevin straightens. “What was that?”
I step closer. Not enough to touch him. Just enough to steal the air he’s using.
“Nothing important,” I say calmly. “Just realizing how little you understand what you’re standing in.”
His mouth opens, then shuts again.
“I’ll be leaving,” he says after a beat. “Tell my girlfriend I said bye.”
I stay where I am, watching him walk away.
My hands curl at my sides.
Dammit, Gianna. You couldn’t have picked someone simpler to dig into?
Just had to be a senator’s son.
I turn back toward the house, already done with the whole bullshit for one day, when my phone buzzes in my palm.
I almost ignore it but catch a glimpse of the GirlGoneWild logo on the side.
Kittenxo is live.
I stop dead in my tracks, f**k.
What is she f*****g thinking?
An unpleasant feeling runs down my spine. If her live today is anything like the pictures she posts, I’m screwed.
I run up the stairs, nearly tumbling over myself but managing to get to my bedroom safely.
I open the door, cross the room faster than even the flash, straight to the wardrobe, shoving my clothes aside until I find the panel.
My fingers fish for the button, and then feel the same familiar button I’ve grown accustomed to for years.
Bingo.
Ironically, I created this room for her.
There’s no time to think about that now.
I sit down on the couch, pulling my phone out and clicking right on the notification.
And right on the screen, my kitten is being naughty in just a f*****g thong bikini set, it seems.
Fuck.
I can’t let other men look at her, see her like this. She’s f*****g mine.
---
I stay on the couch, eyes glued on the screen, waiting patiently for her reaction.
The sound of tips chiming through the phone makes my teeth grin. She’s actually ignoring me despite my threat to report her f*****g account.
Five seconds later, the red LIVE dot vanishes after a quick goodbye.
My good girl.
I don’t wait a beat, I rush back to her private message box.
Me: Good girl. I knew you'd choose wisely.
Me: Now for the real offer.
Me: 100k every night, I’ll cash app it right now but on one condition.
Me: You’ll do no more streams, or take any other clients.
I grind my teeth after the text, waiting patiently for her response.
Me: Just us two, you’ll do exactly what I say for an hour and I’ll pay extra for extended time.
The idea of her being that way with another man makes me sick to the stomach. Mine. All mine.
Me: I want you Kitten to be my personal slut, if you say yes I’ll take care of all your needs.
I mean, that’s the reason I work my butt off daily in Toronto. It doesn’t matter if I do it directly or indirectly.
Me: But if you reject, I’ll report your account and you lose every single thing.
I would, I would f*****g do it in seconds.
Me: Your move, Kitten.
The text bubble dances across the screen and then disappears again.
I glance over at the time, an hour and thirty minutes before it’s dinner time.
The bubble comes back up and a text follows.
Kittenxo: why?
Is she shitting me right now? Why?
Because f**k Gianna, you’re the only woman I ever f*****g think about.
The only one I’ve ever wanted.
Me: I like you.
True.
Kittenxo: you don’t even know me.
I smile at her text, imagining her little pout on her lip. Must be cute.
Me: will you accept or not?
Kittenxo: not like I have a choice.
Me: good kitten.
Me: Call me.
Kittenxo is calling you via private room.
The prompt appears: Would you like to give camera access?
No.
Would you like to give microphone access?
No.
I haven’t particularly thought this through, but I don’t care a bit.
When I request this room, I just want to watch her, make her squirm until she forgets her own f*****g name.
A moment later, her face fills the screen again. She’s still in the same outfit as before, her mask covering a part of her face perfectly.
“Hello tamer,” she says in that slow, flirty drawl she saves for the camera. A cherry-red lollipop rests between her lips, the stick tilting as she speaks.
“Oh… so you plan on being silent after all the trouble you went through, huh? That’s fine. Just use the chat box. I’ll have you talking eventually. And maybe even more.”
She carries the phone, moving through her room, showing mostly her face and her rather sweaty breasts.
Which is rather confusing, because last I check the A.C. in her room works just fine.
The it hits me, my kitten likes playing with water.
For several long seconds, I simply stare at the way her lips wrap around the candy, at the perfect smoothness of her skin under the light, at the slight sheen on her collarbone. She looks better than any fantasy I’ve ever allowed myself.
“Why don’t you start by telling me your name?”
My fingers move fast.
Kittentamer.
Her eyes scan the message. A slow smile spreads around the lollipop. She pulls it out with a soft pop and licks the tip once before speaking.
“So we’re sticking to the alias, I like that. It does suit you though, very bossy. Okay, kittentamer… it’s a quiet night and you’re here with me. Are you drinking anything?”
Me: A glass of whiskey.
She laughs, low and teasing. “Classy. I like it.” She crawls onto the bed and sets the phone in its holder, freeing her hands. The new angle is perfect: her body stretches out against white pillows and the dark wooden headboard.
My throat watches her as she moves carefully along the bed, damn. I’ve pictured her exactly like this every f*****g night.
“Kittentamer, this little bikini strap is getting uncomfortable now. Do you want me to go off camera or change right here?” She tilts her head, the lollipop back between her lips, winking in a playful challenge.
A question pops into my head, how often does she do private conversations like this?
I shake my head, drowning those thoughts off. I can’t do this. I can’t let this jealousy mar my plan.
Me: Stay.
She reads it. Her smile turns wicked. “Good choice.”
The camera swivels a little as she shifts, letting me watch her move across the bed. She gives an intentional arch of her back, the thin strings of the bikini bottom pulling tight against her skin.
I lean forward in the dark room, eyes locked, ready to burst right into the screen.
“I hope you’re still with me,” she says, turning to rummage in the drawer while keeping the lollipop in her mouth. “I can’t read messages from over here.”
She peels the tiny bikini top off slowly, letting it drop to the side. My gaze traces the soft curve of her stomach, the full swell of her breasts, the way the light catches on her skin.
I stare at the screen, my heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to break free.
Those breasts, full and perfect, n*****s tight and begging for my mouth. I can almost feel the weight of them in my hands, the way they’d spill over my fingers if she were really here.
The thought alone sends a jolt straight to my c**k, making it throb painfully against the zipper of my jeans.
Are they hard like that because of me? Because she enjoys the idea of being my slut? The idea makes my throat tight. Yeah, it turns her on. I can tell. And f**k, it wrecks me just as bad.
Then she turns, casually, giving me that view of that round firm ass of hers, swaying just enough as she bends over the wardrobe.
My d**k jerks hard again, like it’s about to jump right out of my pants, straining so bad I have to shift in my chair and press my palm against it to ease the ache.
Gianna. f*****g Gianna.
Teasing me like this through a screen, making me hard as a teenager losing his mind over a crush. I’m too old for this s**t, but here I am, breathing rough, hand hovering like I could reach through the glass and grab her.
Feel that ass grind slow and filthy until neither of us can think straight.
I’m so f****d. And I don’t even care.
She turns back to me, her breasts bouncing as she moves, holding up two silky pajama sets, both lacy and barely there. “Blue or red?”
I gulp hard, she’s naked staring at me to pick her PJs and all I want to say is… f**k it.
Me: Neither.
She leans in to read it, eyes widening for a second before that smirk returns. The lollipop clicks against her teeth.
“Oh. You want me to stay like this?” She turns slowly, showing off her perfectly naked body, hidden slightly by the long wig.
Me: yes
She steps closer to the camera, still sucking lightly on the candy. “Oh…” Her voice drops quieter, almost a whisper. “...it gets chilly though.”
Me: I know
Me: Now, spread your legs open for me, kitten.
“Okay, kittentamer. If you want more, you’re going to have to give me something first. Show me you’re serious.”
- Writer
