Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PREFACE

“You should have introduced her to Epstein before he got whacked in prison.”

Avaro chuckles, and I stop swirling the ice in my glass, slamming my empty glass down too forcefully to appear relaxed. The glass on my coffee table threatens to shatter, and the ice cubes clink together, trembling as if they have every reason to be scared.

I shoot my partner a dark look, silently telling him to shut up if he still values our good relationship.

And if he weren’t my best friend, I probably would have punched him in the face for daring to say something like that.

What she has between her legs is absolutely nobody’s business in this industry, except mine.

Avaro hides his laughter in his glass, swallowing the last drop of his liquor. He stares at his ice cubes, running his tongue over his teeth, trying to suppress the annoying smile threatening to twist his lips.

“Relax! I sent Aaron Kohl to handle that whole situation, remember ?” His question isn’t really a question; I know it perfectly well. “Still, that pussy must be made of gold to make you cross the Atlantic and leave the Nether behind.”

He, too, abandons his empty glass on the table, and I sigh, letting myself fall back into the chair. I fix my gaze on the clock above the artificial fireplace in my penthouse and rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, realizing how late it is.

“I’m not abandoning it.” I remind him why I called him here tonight. “You’ll take care of it in my absence, like you always have.”

Avaro chuckles again, but there’s no amusement in his voice this time.

His laugh is dry, mocking, and accusatory.

He runs a tattooed hand through his long hair to push it back before tugging at it nervously.

“The other times were for damn good reasons, Olsen!”

True.

The tension inside me makes a muscle in my jaw twitch. I don’t particularly like having my decisions questioned. Whether they’re rash or calculated, I always have my reasons. And Avaro knows that.

“Just think of it as me taking a sudden vacation.”

I get up from my chair and stand on my feet to leave my office and head to my quarters.

I don’t need to tell him this conversation is over.

He knows the way out.

***

“It’s a prime property in the Cambridge countryside. You’re going to love it !” The real estate agent gushes from the seat next to me.

I distractedly observe the surroundings through the car window as we leave a paved road and enter a forest path, access to which is restricted by a wrought iron gate.

Dense vegetation lines the dirt road as we drive deeper toward the manor I’ve requested to visit.

The forest is quickly replaced by a mowed and well-maintained garden. The car circles a functioning fountain that serves as a roundabout before stopping in front of the grand building from another century.

I turn to the real estate agent, my face stern.

“That’s for me to decide, Miss Fletcher.”

The agent freezes. Her eyes lock on me, like a deer caught in headlights in the middle of the night. I leave her in her mild shock and step out of the car after Christian opens the door for me.

I sweep my gaze over the exterior architecture of the manor and its dizzying grandeur, shoving my hands into the pockets of my dark suit pants.

Distractedly, I hear the agent get out of the car and timidly close the door. She discreetly clears her throat, ready to begin the tour of this English architectural gem.

“I present to you Gracewoods Manor.” She announces, lifting her eyes toward the grand building.

She is as impressed as I pretend not to be ; staying silent for a few seconds before turning to me.

Her face barely rises above the car’s roof.

“It was designed in the 19th century by the famous architect Belmount, in the traditional English style known at the time.”

I give her a joyless smile.

I have no fucking idea who that guy is.

Hurriedly, the real estate agent steps toward the entrance and climbs the few steps of the porch, silently inviting me to follow her to start the tour.

I cast one last satisfied look at the deep forest surrounding us.

Far from everything…

I walk around the car to join her.

As usual, my men stay close to the car until my return.

“Belmount always had an incredible sense of grandeur.” She continues, inserting the key into the front door’s lock. “He was generous in proportion, in every project he undertook.”

I pretend to listen to her babble about this architect, and I can’t help but think that if Belmount were still alive, she wouldn’t hesitate for a second to spread her legs for him.

A click sounds as she unlocks the door, then she pushes it open, inviting me inside.

I stop in the vestibule and let my eyes wander over the living room in front of us, which opens onto a fully equipped kitchen, with three exposures over the backyard pool.

The space is vast, with minimalist decor; an eight-seater gray fabric sectional dominates the center of the room. It’s positioned on a brown shag rug and backs onto a two-story glass window. It faces a second, shorter gray sofa, separated by a large rustic wooden coffee table, almost as big as the tree trunk it was fashioned from. The interior has absolutely nothing to do with the old architecture of the building. LED lights dot the ceiling and line the corners of the walls. And when I look up, I have a view of the mezzanine on the second floor, supported by a glass railing.

The decor, the furniture, and the materials have been modernized and updated with warm tones, ranging from gray to brown.

It feels like I never left Seattle.

“The entire property has been carefully renovated. It’s over 3,000 square meters spread across three floors.”

I walk through the space, listening as the agent details the features of the building: oak wood materials, underfloor heating, integrated air conditioning, water supply via a private well, smart lighting and audio systems…

Like a well-rehearsed play, as if she’s been practicing her little presentation for days, she grabs her phone to give me a demonstration. With a single click, a piece of classical music rises in the living room, and, I believe, throughout the manor.

“And even in the middle of the forest, you’ll have high-speed internet.” She waves her phone slightly to show me the screen, and I recognize the interface of a music streaming app.

My eyes narrow with interest.

But I refrain from commenting and silently invite her to continue the tour.

“The bedrooms are upstairs, but the best part, Mr. Olsen, is that all the leisure facilities are in the basement.” She assures me. “If you’ll follow me…”

The staircase we take to the basement is a continuation of the glass railing on the mezzanine of the second floor.

The main room is a game room, with a pool table in the center. A grand piano sits in one corner, not far from a fully equipped and furnished bar area, lit by LED lights. The room opens directly to the outside via a set of stone steps.

This basement also features a home theater, a gym, followed by a neon-lit sauna and steam room, directly connected to a fully tiled bathroom. In its center, a jacuzzi is embedded in the floor, set in a dimly lit atmosphere.

“The entire level offers soft, adjustable ambient lighting for added comfort and intimacy.”

She smiles at me, more charmed by the manor than I am.

It’s true, the manor is perfect. The setting is idyllic. The interior is luxuriously tempting.

But…

“May I see the cellar, Miss Fletcher?”

Her pleased smile widens, delighted that I want to see more of the property.

“Of course! Follow me.”

I follow her toward the second set of stairs on this floor. But instead of going up, the real estate agent shows me an elevator, built into the wall, under the steps. She inserts some kind of magnetic key into a reader that opens the elevator doors for us.

This type of system is nothing like the elevators in public spaces.

We enter the LED-lit cabin, and Fletcher presses the button for -2. There’s no button for the first floor. The elevator is only available from the ground floor down to the basements.

A discreet smile stretches my lips.

When the cabin doors open, we’re greeted by a completely empty, concrete space, in stark contrast to the decor of the upper floors. Our steps echo.

The atmosphere is austere, like a bunker…

“The elevator was installed by the previous owners. The cellar was only used to store a collection of wine bottles.”

My gaze lands on the dusty imprint of an old shelving unit left on a wall. The circular marks from where bottles once rested against the cold surface are perfectly visible.

At the other end of the cellar, a dusty sink is bolted to the wall.

A water supply…

“Dr. Olsen, may I ask you a personal question…?”

I observe the cellar for a few more seconds, lost in dark thoughts, before pulling myself from my contemplation and turning to the agent.

She seems to interpret my interest as permission.

“Why leave the United States for England?”

It’s the kind of question a scientific journalist might have asked me. Why leave the country that’s made my family’s fortune for generations? Why would Seattle’s most renowned doctor decide to move to a secluded manor in the middle of the English countryside?

To get a change of scenery, to do humanitarian work in disadvantaged English neighborhoods...

“For a girl friend.”

Chapter Text

LUCY

I groan as I stretch my sore muscles and watch my black coffee drip into the cup. The last drop falls, I grab my mug, and light a cigarette after sitting down at the table.

I exhale a swirl of gray smoke, and my eyes are naturally drawn to the pile of “Urgent” mail stacking up in the corner, growing larger by the day.

It brings me down, like a dark cloud suddenly formed over my head, ready to pour rain until the end of the day.

I sigh into my cup as I bring it to my lips, feeling the weight in my chest, and force myself to look away.

It’s early, and it’s still dark when I head to Royal Papworth Hospital. I already dread the puddles of vomit and the smears of shit on the walls waiting for me to clean.

I puff as I pedal along the sidewalk, heading to the hospital parking lot. Dense steam escapes from my frozen lips, and I can barely feel my face or the tips of my fingers wrapped around the handlebars.

But I don’t take long to get there.

I sigh in relief as the warmth of the lobby hits my face when I walk through the reception, heading to the staff locker room.

In front of my locker, Meryl scrolls through her phone, a cup of coffee in hand. She lifts her head from the screen when she hears me enter, and smiles when she recognizes me. I smile back and close the door behind me.

“You don’t look so good,” she notes, feigning a pout.

I let out an amused breath through my nose as I shuffle to my locker. She moves aside to give me space.

“Let’s just say… the night was short,” I sigh, unlocking my locker.

Meryl catches the hint and winces.

In the entire department, Meryl is the only one who knows about my nighttime activities. She’s the one I really like talking to. The other nurses aren’t as friendly as they seem. The doctors are even worse; they barely notice us. As for the care assistants, they’re always at war with the rest of the staff.

“So... how did it go?” she asks hesitantly.

I raise an eyebrow as I remove my things.

“I mean... your guys, they don’t get too handsy? Or disrespectful?”

I smile, plugging my headphones into my phone and hanging them around my neck.

“It’s fine. There are a few pushy ones, but not as bad as you’d think,” I chuckle.

Meryl nods, looking thoughtful.

Even though she respects my life choices, she’s not a fan of how I expose myself online.

She often avoids the topic—and so do I. Or she brings it up rarely, like today.

She’s only a few years older than me, but sometimes I feel like she worries about me, like a mother or an older sister would.

“I like it!” I add. “That’s the most important thing, right?”

Meryl snaps out of her daze and smiles, rolling her eyes before taking a sip of her coffee. She’s still in her work uniform.

I frown.

“Are you finished?” I ask.

She shakes her head, mouth full, and then swallows.

“No, I’m on a little break. I finish in…” she glances at her phone screen, then looks back up, smiling. “Two hours!”

I laugh softly at her enthusiasm and put on my janitor’s coat.

“I’ll take a nap until noon, and if you’re up for it, we could grab lunch in town?” she suggests.

I finish buttoning my coat and nod.

“Yeah, that’d be cool.”

“Great, see you later! Good luck…”

She winks at me as I leave the locker room to get to work.

***

The sun rises slowly as I finish disinfecting the surgical instruments.

It’s almost eight o’clock; the night shift doctors are leaving the hospital, exhausted, replaced by the day team. I never run into the day staff because I leave around the same time.

I gather my things before heading to my bike and pedaling to Haddon Library. Since it’s already open, I use the main entrance, which is for the public.

Miss Patel is already at her post at the reception desk. I adjust my bag on my shoulder and smile as I pass by her.

“Good morning, Martha.”

As usual, she doesn’t reply. Glasses perched on the end of her nose, the grumpy old woman stands still at her desk, frowning and stern, engrossed in an old book whose cover doesn’t look appealing at all.

I press my lips together and head to my station in the children’s section to drop off my things under the desk. A cart of returns is already waiting for me. I take the time to turn on my computer and log in before grabbing the cart to return all the books to their proper places.

I disappear between the shelves and put away a Stephen King novel for the hundredth time this month.

***

It’s just after noon when I leave the library to meet Meryl at Browns, our usual restaurant.

I’ve barely had time to hop on my bike when my phone vibrates in my pocket:

Meryl: “I’m here!”

I quickly type out my message, my fingers already frozen.

Lucy: “On my way”

I’ll be there in three minutes.

I pocket my phone in my hoodie and pedal down Trumpington Street. I pass the pharmacy on the corner and already spot the restaurant front halfway down the block. It mimics the entrance of a modest Greco-Roman temple, with six pillars framing a terrace packed with people.

I abandon my bike at a rack before stepping into the restaurant.

I scan the room, its décor simple and chic, looking for Meryl. She waves to catch my attention, and I find her at the back of the restaurant, on a black faux-leather booth near the window.

She’s already ordered our favorite drinks.

“So, how was your nap?” I tease as I sit down in front of my cherry soda.

Meryl widens her eyes, taking a sip of her Espresso Martini.

“I almost thought I’d never fall asleep,” she sighs.

I smile at her sympathetically.

She looks exhausted. I almost feel guilty for accepting her invitation instead of insisting she rest.

I sip from my drink, the bubbles fizzing in my mouth, the artificial cherry flavor tingling on my taste buds.

“You worked all night. You should’ve stayed home to rest.”

She rolls her eyes, lifting her glass to her lips.

“Don’t be silly,” she mumbles before taking a gulp.

“Are you working again tonight?”

She lowers her glass, eyes fixed on the brown liquid, and runs a hand through her blonde hair, sighing.

She nods. Then her eyes meet mine.

“Meryl!” I gently scold.

“But you too, you know,” she replies, raising an eyebrow.

She’s teasing me, but I know she disapproves of what I do.

I let out a soft laugh but say nothing. Because even though I love what I do, and she knows it, it still feels awkward to talk about it.

It’s easier with strangers because their opinions don’t matter.

“You do themed nights, right?”

I had briefly mentioned my “schedule.” Each night of the week, I offer something different. But I hadn’t gone into much detail.

I open my mouth, then close it, hesitating. I avoid her gaze, focusing on my drink, fingers around the base of my glass, and just nod.

Suddenly, her hand gently lands on mine.

“It’s okay, don’t be embarrassed. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks—I knew what sex was before you were born, okay?”

She manages to make me smile, and I purse my lips to keep from laughing out loud.

She’s exaggerating; she’s not that old.

“On Monday nights, I do cosplay.”

Meryl tilts her head, raising an eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate while playing with her straw.

I quickly glance around, making sure no one seems to be paying attention to our table.

“I dress up as a character or a pop culture figure, and I sexualize it. The guys love it,” I conclude.

Meryl nods, surprisingly interested in what I’m telling her, despite the subject.

“And tonight, what are you going to dress up as?”

I shrug, thinking for a few seconds.

“That’s the thing, I don’t know yet…”

I’m interrupted as a waiter approaches our table.

We didn’t even bother to open the menu. We always order the same dish every time we come here.

“Ladies, are you ready to order?” the waiter asks, all smiles, a notepad and pen in hand.

Meryl straightens in her chair, ready to order.

“I’ll have the salmon fillet.”

The waiter quickly notes down her order before turning to me.

“I’ll have the steak and fries.”

The classic.

He jots it down and looks up.

“Will that be all?”

“That’ll be fine, thanks.”

We watch him walk away for a few seconds before Meryl turns to me, her chin resting in her palm.

“Why don’t you honor your country?”

It takes me a moment to catch up with the conversation and realize she’s talking about my cosplay for tonight.

I frown.

“You want me to dress up as the Queen of England?” I grimace.

Meryl grimaces along with me before bursting into laughter. I quickly join in.

Gross.

“No, sacrilege! I mean... England has lots of famous personalities—besides the royal family,” she clarifies. “The Beatles, David Bowie… Harry Potter!” she lists, lowering her fingers one by one.

I nod as various cosplay ideas flash through my mind. I could go topless with a red and blue lightning bolt painted on half my face. Or wear a suit without a shirt, just like my rockstar idol. Or even wear a ridiculously short Gryffindor skirt.

***

It’s with a sense of relief that I pedal my way home. It’s six o’clock; the library closed just a few minutes ago, and night has already fallen. It’s been a long and boring day at work. Libraries are generally dead, especially in winter, in Cambridge. But even more so nowadays. People don’t really read anymore. They borrow even less. Only a few brave souls, who still carry the old books in their hearts, muster the strength to face the new chill of autumn to traditionally borrow from the good old downtown librarian. They are the ones who brighten my days, and they can be counted on one hand. The upside is that, like Martha, I can choose any book that comes my way and spend the day devouring it without interruption.

I carelessly lock my bike to the rails along the sidewalk around the house and rattle my teeth while trying to unlock my mailbox. I smile when I see the huge package I’ve been waiting for all week. I kick the door to my house shut, my fingers trembling and frozen around the cardboard, and I toss my things aside before rushing into my room. I prepare my lingerie, accessories, and cosplay for tonight, before warming my frozen bones and aching skin under the shower.

Like every evening, my show starts at seven.

And I don’t like to keep them waiting.

Chapter Text

GAGE 

The familiar sound of a notification emanates from my phone in my pocket, momentarily pulling my attention away from my emails : “@WatchedCrystal has started a Live! Join her now...”

The same alert appears at the top of my computer screen.

I sit up in my chair, click on the notification, and am quickly redirected to the LoveLive website to watch her show.

A loading circle appears in the center of a black rectangle against a pastel pink background. On the side of the page, the chat is already buzzing with activity.

I glance at the title of the Live:“Meet a Slytherin Student”

A smirk curls the corner of my lips.

Then, my gaze falls on the number of viewers in the Live: 4289, 5306, 5947...

It’s only been a few seconds, but they’re all jumping on that notification, their cocks already throbbing, standing tall.

I get it, fuck.

Who wouldn’t want to drop everything just for the pleasure of watching her?

The loading circle disappears, and a soft ambient tune plays from the black screen.

Then suddenly, she appears, dressed in a kind of black cloak with a green lining and a striped tie of the same color around her neck. It hangs loosely between her heavy breasts, supported by a black lace bra.

It’s hard to see more; her cloak hides most of her curves.

But she is still as beautiful as ever. Always and inevitably more beautiful than the last time. Each time, a little more.

Her long black waves fall over her shoulders and frame her doll-like face. Dark makeup highlights her green eyes, and her cheeks and the tip of her nose are dusted with pink. Her full, plump lips gleam with a glossy finish, making them appear even juicier.

I leave my seat, laptop in hand, to place it on the coffee table in my office and pour myself a glass of alcohol before the show starts. I take a sip before collapsing onto the black leather sofa.

I see only her.

And tonight, it’s just her and me.

Kneeling on her bed, she smiles at her viewers, holding a kind of magic wand between her fingers to complete her costume.

“Good evening, guys!” She greets us with a timid little voice, waving her hands in front of the camera.

I shiver at the sound of her voice, eager to hear her soft moans in the minutes to come...

It’s been months and months since I’ve missed any of her Lives. I’ve seen every single one of her shows. Every night, I’ve watched her fulfill each of her desires, each of her fantasies, before the eyes of hundreds of men at first, and then thousands. I’ve watched her subscriber count climb, the number of viewers grow.

And yet...

She’s still as flustered at the beginning of each show.

In the chat, an automated message pops up:

💕Crystal’s LoveActions 💕

• Naked-Strip (150 CL)

• Flash Pussy (200 CL)

• Flash Ass (250 CL)

• Suck Finger (25 CL)

• Suck Tits (30 CL)

• Blowjob (700 CL)

• Pinch Tits (45 CL)

• Cuddle Tits (20 CL)

• Slap Tits (100 CL)

• Spank Ass (300 CL)

• Cuddle Pussy (500 CL)

• Cuddle Ass (600 CL)

• 5min Toy’s Control (1000 CL)

• Squirt (5000 CL)

• Private Show (10,000 CL)

Her menu scrolls automatically, as if urging us to consume her.

I watch as she sways gently to the ambient music. She teases with her hips and a little with her shoulders, her eyes fixed on the chat space. Almost in sync with the chimes that echo in the chat, indicators of the tips making her progress toward tonight’s goal. She carefully reads the users’ comments complimenting her and thanks them in a shy little voice, a small smile on her lips.

With pouty lips, she blows kisses to the camera and makes little hearts with her fingers.

She plays idly with her wizard’s wand. Rolls it between her fingers, taps it against her lips, and then bites it softly.

Her shyness slowly melts away.

The wand rolls between her fingers, the tip tapping the swell of her lips before she bites down on it gently.

Another chime rings out : “Stew_Master sent 22 CoinLovers for Cuddle Tits”

My eyes catch the automated message in the chat.

I take another sip of my drink as she smiles at the screen. She thanks him sweetly before obliging.

She drops her wand and brings her hands to the sides of her cloak, slowly pulling them apart without breaking eye contact with the camera. Her fingers glide up and down the edges. She teases her viewers by letting the cloak slip off her shoulders before pulling it back on again.

Enclosed in that black lace bra, her breasts begin to reveal themselves little by little. Months of watching them in every angle, and they still manage to send that electric jolt twisting through my lower body, running the length of my cock.

I swallow hard and sink deeper into the couch. My pulse quickens with anticipation, fully aware that the show has truly begun.

My gaze traces her, and I can make out the beads piercing her nipples through the lace. They spark against the fabric, making them harder.

Slowly, her fingers begin to caress the swell of her breasts, tracing their shape. Her hands weigh them, her palms squeeze them together, causing the tender flesh to spill between her fingers, before she starts teasing their sensitive nipples with the pads of her fingers.

They gradually harden against the lace of her bra, and she smiles at the camera, biting her lip...

My gaze stays locked on the movement of her fingers on her perfect breasts. I feel a heat flare in my balls and spread slowly along my cock. It swells, engorged with blood as my eyes latch onto her silhouette on my screen, extending along my thigh.

It’s so hard it’s almost painful.

The sudden lack of oxygen makes me pant.

I hadn’t realized I’d stopped breathing since she began touching herself.

I take a deep breath, gripping my half-empty glass, and my chest rises, threatening to pop the buttons of my shirt as my lungs fill with air.

I undo my belt and lower my zipper, giving my cock the room it needs to rest against my stomach.

When yet another chime rings out from the chat, instructing her to undress, I down the remainder of my drink in one gulp before placing my empty glass beside my laptop on the coffee table. That’s when she starts her 150 CoinLover number, with Lana Del Rey playing softly in the background.

Her wizarding student’s cape slowly slips from her shoulders, and I gulp as her curves are revealed. Seductively, she plays with the straps of her bra, which soon follows suit. Her breasts bounce slightly as they settle back in their natural position on her chest, now that nothing holds them up anymore.

Her chest is heavy, swollen with excitement and streaked with blue and purple veins that have appeared around her pierced nipples from all the friction.

She’s just... perfect.

Watching her is a mental orgasm. And it lasts, from the first glance to the last rewatch.

She is my obsession.

She became it the moment I laid eyes on her. She entered my mind, took possession of my reason and my cock.

She is my ideal.

Her angular, angelic face could be immortalized on a painting. Her glacial green gaze is lazy – like a feline – mesmerizing, fierce. They silently command you to give her everything, and spending on her excites me. Every curve of her body is meticulously drawn, to perfection.

I’ve seen all kinds of bodies during my medical studies; tall, short, young, old, fat, thin... But hers... I would’ve prolonged a consultation just for the pleasure of examining it deeper and longer.

She would’ve loved it.

She loves being watched.

Full of insolence; she pleases and she knows it.

If only she knew that somewhere, she’s admired wherever there’s a pair of eyes. She’s here, in every room of my properties; she’s on every wall, and I dread the day there will no longer be enough space for her.

Then I’ll have to think bigger, because I’ll never get tired of displaying her.

She obsesses me – fascinates me – in every word that comes out of her pretty little mouth, every sound, every gesture... And I wait for the day when I can finally feast on the softness of her skin, the scent of her perfume, the taste of her mucous membranes, and everything there is to taste.

I don’t know how it happened, I can’t explain it. But when I first saw her on that website, I thought I had fallen for her. And just for what she made me feel in that moment, I knew I had to have her.

At any cost.

Never before, until today, had a woman obsessed me like this. None of these girls had ever managed to capture my attention the way she did.

And that’s the problem: she didn’t do anything to deserve it.

It was enough for her to exist. To be everything I had ever dreamed of in a woman. But she had to live on the other side of the world, thousands of miles away.

And it makes me sick.

Yes...

I’m crazy about her.

Crazy enough not to miss any of her Lives.

Crazy enough to cross the Atlantic and buy a manor that she’ll adore – I’m sure of it.

Crazy enough to send her thousands of dollars every week, without asking for anything in return.

Crazy enough to feel her absence once her Lives end.

Crazy enough to imagine her everywhere my gaze lands.

Crazy enough to cover my walls with her image.

Crazy enough to have turned my office into a true sanctuary at the sacred hour of her Shows... Neither Christian, Abel, nor Judith have permission to interrupt us.

They know this perfectly well.

Half-naked, Crystal sits up on her knees and slides her thumbs under the straps of her thong.

My balls tighten with impatience to the point where my cock twitches on my abs, knowing she’s about to reveal herself, fully nude, any second now.

Teasingly, she pretends to remove the last piece of fabric hiding her intimacy without actually discarding it.

For long seconds, she irritates and teases us; plays with our ravenous hunger and impatience.

She laughs softly, leaning towards the webcam, and reads some impatient and frustrated messages scrolling through the chat.

My eyes linger on the close-up of her perfect breasts, and my cock twitches against my stomach.

She smiles at us with her perfectly aligned white teeth, as if about to share a secret.

“Maybe I could auction off this little thong and send it to one of you, what do you think?

Within seconds, hundreds of enthusiastic messages flood the Live chat.

I smirk as I bring my drink to my lips, sliding my free hand into my suit pants pocket to retrieve my phone.

I’ve never turned down a bid, and I’ve always won the ones I’ve participated in.

She just brought me to my favorite playground without even realizing it.

“Alright, guys! I see this idea seems to please you...

Playfully, the fingers of her right hand trace the valley between her breasts, sliding down to her belly, ready to tease the edge of her thong, poised to dive inside at any moment.

I wet my lips with my tongue, dry from the alcohol.

I open the LoveLive app and go to her profile. At the bottom of the page, a “Tip Crystal” button appears. I click on it, and a window asking me to enter my tip amount pops up in the middle of the page.

I wait patiently for her to give the go-ahead for the auction to begin.

“The bidding starts at 100 CoinLovers! And may the best man win.

No… May the richest man win, precious Crystal.

Her fingers slip into her little thong, and the bids start rolling in, one after the other.

Dozens of usernames flash across the screen, accompanied by the amount of their bid, quickly replaced by the next tipper.

The bids rapidly reach 5,000 CoinLovers, and I watch her touch herself as the donations increase, skillfully pushing her goal bar upward. She encourages her viewers to give more by soaking her thong in her juices, her taste, her scent, for the future winner.

I wouldn’t miss out on this for anything in the world. And there’s no way anyone but me will own the slightest piece of her.

I finish my second drink and set the glass down on the coffee table, glancing quickly at the current bid amounts: 6,200… 6,250… 6,255…

Slowly, the donations dwindle and start to stagnate, barely surpassing 6,000 CoinLovers, with some reluctance.

“Doesn’t anyone want to win it for 6,500? she asks, breathless, her fingers still busy between her thighs.

When no further bids appear on the screen, I enter my donation amount into the designated field and select “Anonymous Lover.”

“An Anonymous Lover has given 10,000 CoinLovers.”

My donation appears on the screen, and satisfaction washes over me as I see her freeze, her hand still in her thong, which I can tell is thoroughly soaked.

She pulls it out, approaching the screen and slipping her fingers, wet with her juices, into her mouth, sucking them while staring into the camera.

They leave her lips with a loud, provocative “pop.”

“I think we have a winner...”

Without further ceremony, Crystal stands and discards her thong. Her pubic area comes into view, perfectly shaven. Her moist, glistening lips shine between her thighs, and the muscles of my body tense with desire and excitement.

I tuck my phone back into my pocket before grabbing my cock with my full hand to relieve the pressure.

She doesn’t hesitate to show the back of her thong to the webcam, where a damp spot already glistens.

“And I need a bath.”

The camera shakes as she grabs it to move, taking us along with her.

The image darkens as she leaves the light of her room. She seems to walk down a hallway, heading to another room, then turns the lights on.

The lighting is warm, giving off a cozy ambiance.

She places her laptop on a stand, and the camera stops trembling.

She steps back until her naked body is perfectly in the frame. Her hands glide over her curves as she slowly spins, showing herself from every angle.

She bends over the bathtub to turn on the faucets.

Fully aware she’s presenting her bare ass and wet pussy to the camera, she sways her hips teasingly.

“DD_69 has given 400 CoinLovers for Spank Ass”

Crystal turns towards the camera when she hears the chime of a tip in the chat.

“Alright, DD_69. Let’s do three spanks…”

She smiles and reaches behind herself, bringing her palm down hard on one cheek. It reddens immediately from the impact, leaving the imprint of her hand.

She does it again, grimacing, a mix of pain and pleasure.

I twitch with each of her moans and grip my cock tighter in my fist.

She spanks herself a third time.

Then a fourth, to thank him for tipping more than required for that LoveAction.

Her ass on fire, she leans over the tub to drop in a bath bomb.

Steam is already rising from the ceramic base.

She sways gently to the music playing from her computer, her eyes never leaving the scrolling messages in the chat.

She smiles at the compliments and performs the LoveActions without hesitation.

When the tub is full enough, she slowly slides into the water. She sighs in relief as the steam rises around her, bringing a small amount of water to her chest in the hollow of her palms.

“I could fake drowning and call for help...” she muses, lazily paddling her hands through the water. “They’d find me naked... and I’d let them fuck me without resistance.”

“Gorgyyy_666 has given 100 CL: Connect your toy and let us take over, baby.”

She laughs softly at his message.

And I smirk, hearing her crystalline laughter.

“You guys are too cute... But I have to go now.”

At her words, I glance at the time displayed on my computer screen.

Crystal has been Live for an hour already.

She waves goodbye and blows several kisses towards the camera.

Messages of frustration, encouragement, and farewell flood the chat, but she doesn’t bother reading them. She leans over her laptop, and the screen goes black.

“@WatchedCrystal’s live has ended...”

The ambient music, the sound of her voice, and the chat’s chimes all disappear. Silence fills my office; heavy, deafening.

A sense of abandonment and loneliness hits me hard. It’s like I’m empty inside again.

I run a tired hand over my face before tucking my cock back into my pants. I lean over my laptop and navigate back to her profile to select another tip amount.

I don’t forget to select the “Anonymous Lover” box before confirming my tip.

“You have sent 10,000 CoinLovers to @WatchedCrystal 💕.”

Chapter Text

LUCY

I sit up in my bathtub when I hear the chime of a notification from my laptop.

The bathwater sloshes around in my haste, hitting the sides of the tub, nearly splashing onto the floor. I reach out to my laptop and press a random key to wake it from sleep mode. The page of my LoveLive profile appears, and a notification window pops up in the middle of the screen.

“You just received 10,000 CL.”

I smile at the message.

I was almost expecting it...

As usual, the sender is anonymous. But I’m convinced it’s the same person, time and time again.

It can only be him.

I like to secretly call him “Monsieur 10k,” my secret admirer.

This donation is like his signature. A gift he sends me at the end of each of my Lives, for several months now. It’s his way of saying he was there, that he enjoyed the moment, and that he’s thanking me for it.

Or maybe I’m just imagining things. Maybe he does this for all his favorite Models. Maybe I’m just one among many. But I talked to Lexie about it; she’s one of the top Models on the platform—she taught me everything—and yet, she’s never had regular donations like this. She’s even a little jealous.

Still, I’ve never known his username, never received any message from him, let alone a request for a private Show.

Monsieur gives without asking for anything in return.

His donations are always anonymous.

And I’m sure he won that auction tonight.

Maybe he’s finally decided to contact me.

Not that I haven’t tried: with every donation, I’ve made a habit of taking a nude with the nickname I gave him written in black marker on my body, just to catch his attention.

I jump out of my bath, dripping wet, and dash to my bedroom, holding my chest. I nearly slip several times on the wet floor, leaving puddles in my wake.

I rummage through a pot of markers on my desk and write “Thank you, Monsieur 10k” across my chest, with hearts instead of dots.

I grab my phone and kneel on the bed, framing the shot with my phone’s camera before snapping the picture.

I take several shots until I’m satisfied, and post my favorite one on my LoveLive profile.

I don’t know if Monsieur 10k is subscribed to my profile—even though, with the insane amount he sends me every night, a few dollars a month probably wouldn’t be a big deal for him—but I post the photo publicly, for free, just to be sure he sees my gift. Everyone will have access to it, but this photo wouldn’t have earned me half of what Monsieur 10k gave me anyway.

Satisfied, I grab my pack of cigarettes from my nightstand before heading back to my bathroom, skipping lightly. I slip back into my hot bath, which has cooled slightly since I got out, and light a cigarette.

I close my eyes, taking a drag, and sigh in contentment, a cloud of smoke swirling above my head.

The hot water soothes my aching muscles and my numbed intimate parts. Even my dedication is fading as the warmth of the water dissolves it.

I’m almost dozing off when a video call request pops up on my profile.

I glance at the screen and recognize Lexie’s username.

I sit up again, tossing my cigarette into the toilet behind me, and lean on the edge of the tub, accepting the call with a single click.

After a short loading screen, Lexie suddenly appears. She’s leaning against her bed frame, and I quickly guess she’s sitting on her bedroom floor. She’s wearing a white lace bra, busy applying eye makeup off-camera. She’s probably getting ready to start her Show, just as I finished mine.

Then she turns her head towards me, flashing a wide smile, dimples marking her cheeks.

“Hey, you!” she sings.

“Hey, you!”

I cross my arms on the edge of the tub and rest my chin on them, watching her do her makeup.

Like all Koreans, Lexie wears her makeup in the style of those K-pop stars she’s a fan of. She loves making her eyes look bigger, her lips glossy, and her porcelain skin flawless. Her brown hair is curled and tied with pink bow clips. She looks much younger than her age, giving her a doll-like appearance.

The guys love it.

“I saw the pic you just posted. You’ve got to give me his username. I’ve got a pair of boobs to pay for!” She teases, applying mascara before facing me again. “At this rate, your house will be paid off by the end of the year.”

I smile and roll my eyes.

If only...

“That would be a dream. I’d quit LoveLive and go back to school, can you imagine?” I joke.

Lexie widens her big gray eyes and places a hand between her small breasts, pretending to be heartbroken.

“You’d leave me?”

I bite my lip.

She’s too cute.

I stifle a giggle.

“No, you’re right. I’d quit my job at the hospital and the library and keep selling my photos for some pocket money, if you really want to know,” I confess to her.

Lexie rummages through her makeup bag, pointing a thin finger at me through the camera.

“That’s the Lucy I know!”

She pulls out a lip gloss, applying it to her pouty lips while glancing at the bottom of her screen.

“Hmm, I’ve got to go soon,” she warns, rubbing her lips together to spread the gloss. “But before I go, remind me—what’s your cup size again?”

I chuckle, sitting up in the bath to show her my breasts. She loves them. She’s been obsessed with them since she first saw them—it’s her favorite part of me.

I shake my shoulders lightly to make them jiggle in front of the camera.

The dedication has completely disappeared.

“You mean these?”

Suddenly, she slumps forward with a pouty expression.

“They’re perfect, Lucy…” she grumbles. “I’ve been saving for months to get the same.”

I chuckle, pressing my palms against my nipples, hardened by the cool air.

“I’ll lend you one of my bras. You can show it to your surgeon.”

A smile stretches across her lips, and she stands up, lifting her phone with her.

“You’re the best! I’ve got to go.”

She blows me a kiss through the camera, and I do the same before hanging up and finally relaxing in my bath.

***

I arrive at the hospital slightly late this morning. I rush through the lobby, out of breath from cycling like a madwoman, irritated that I didn’t get a chance to smoke a cigarette before starting my day.

“Lucy!” Meryl calls out to me. “Where have you been? I’ve got something to tell you!”

I didn’t hear her approaching before she pounced on me as I finally reached the locker room door. She looks particularly chipper for someone who just pulled an all-nighter.

“What’s going on?” I ask, opening the locker room.

With her hands on my shoulders, she pushes me inside, bouncing like a teenager. I open my locker, stowing away my things, watching her close the door behind us. Then she turns around, eyes wide and lips pursed to hide a big smile.

“Dr. Olsen—THE Gage Olsen—just arrived in our department!” she confides, bouncing behind me while I quickly change.

I turn to her, frowning, having no idea who he is or why his presence excites her so much.

She notices my confusion and rolls her eyes, exasperated by my ignorance. She throws her arms in the air, slapping her thighs.

“He’s the most renowned businessman, constantly followed by the press. His family has been at the head of the pharmaceutical industry for generations,” she explains. “Every health journal fights to get an interview with him. And today, he’s here, in our hospital! Isn’t that crazy?!”

She sits on the locker room bench, out of breath from delivering a full biography. I raise an eyebrow and can’t help but chuckle as I put on my scrubs.

Crazy for her, maybe.

I’m not one for health magazines, let alone scientific articles. So, the presence of this pill-pushing businessman in the hospital doesn’t faze me in the slightest—famous or not. He’s just another mortal. And even if his tomb will likely be nicer than mine, we’ll both end up in the same place: hell.

Meryl groans in frustration at my total indifference and jumps up from the bench.

“That’s only because you haven’t seen him,” she claps her hands together. “I swear, once you lay eyes on him, you won’t be so indifferent…”

She wiggles her eyebrows, her gaze full of innuendo. I let out an amused breath and can’t help but smile as I shut my locker after grabbing my headphones.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, curious, as I head toward the door.

I plug my headphones into my phone and drape them around my neck as I leave the locker room, Meryl trailing behind.

“It means, in addition to being the smartest and richest man in the world, he’s also the hottest!”

Then she suddenly pops in front of me, walking backward, pointing her finger at me as if to warn me.

“He’s an asshole. She corrects herself. But he’s a living god.”

I burst out laughing, careful not to laugh too loudly so as not to wake the sleeping patients.

Meryl follows me to the supply room.

“When you’re rich, handsome, and smart, I guess you can afford to be a jerk,” I say as I insert the key into the supply room door.

“I’d go for a jerk like him every day,” she says in a dreamy voice.

I chuckle.

“Is he here?”

“No. They called us to the conference room when the ER calmed down, to introduce him. But he left earlier this morning,” she sighs. “You just missed him.”

I glance at her.

“And... does he have someone?”

Meryl shakes her head, leaning against the doorframe as she watches me pull out my cleaning cart.

“Olsen isn’t seeing anyone,” she snickers. “But don’t count on me to set you up. It’s always the most gorgeous women who end up with the hottest guys.”

She straightens up and looks me straight in the eye.

“If I were your age and had your chest, I’d go for it too.”

I giggle and roll my eyes.

“You’re terrible, Meryl. Go home and get some sleep.”

Suddenly, her emergency phone rings—a sharp tone that keeps you on alert. She pulls it out of her pocket, glances at the small screen, and sighs.

“Not yet, I have to go back,” she explains before looking up at me. “I promise, next time you won’t miss him.”

I raise an eyebrow and smirk, realizing she’s talking about her rich and handsome doctor.

I put on my headphones as I watch her run down the hall and pull my cart to start working.

***

Two and a half hours later, I am sitting at my post in the Youth section of the library. This morning, we are hosting a class from an elementary school just a stone’s throw from Haddon Library. Educational outings for elementary school children are often organized on Tuesdays. It’s not uncommon to see entire classes roaming the streets of Cambridge, occupying public spaces, parks, and museums throughout the day.

Fortunately, the teachers will handle the animation for their class themselves. I’m relieved to know I won’t have to leave my desk to play the cop.

I sigh for the third time in less than an hour of work as I grab the tenth book from the arrivals box. Like an automaton, I record all the book’s information in the database, label it with the author’s name, and place it on top of the pile of the previous ones. Every now and then, I glance over at the classes scattered among the Youth shelves, just to be safe. My gaze sweeps the space and falls on a man, his face hidden beneath a cap, holding a Stephen King book.

I frown.

It’s way too gloomy at this time of year to want to shield yourself from the sun.

I shake my head.

It doesn’t matter.

I grab another book from the box and get back to work.

Several seconds pass, and I can’t help but lift my head in his direction, suspicious. For some reason I can’t explain, his build feels familiar...

My eyes linger on his silhouette long enough for our gazes to almost meet, but he quickly turns away from me. He pretends to analyze the selection of books in front of him before leaving and disappearing between the shelves.

At that moment, my phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling me out of my contemplation. I quickly pull it out, almost relieved that a new distraction is pulling me away from this job.

It’s a message from Lexie :

“My suitcase is ready for tomorrow, and the car is loaded ;)”

I bite my lip as I send her a heart emoji. Her message is enough to bring a smile back to my face.

It’s been a while since we’ve done a Live together. I can’t wait.

Tired of sitting and typing the same things on a dusty keyboard, I put my phone away and get up, grabbing the pile of books I’ve already registered that are waiting to find their place on our shelves. I take these few steps to get my blood circulating in my numb butt.

I wander between the shelves, sorting the books by theme and alphabetically by author’s name. I catch myself looking for the man in the cap between two Sci-Fi books.

I place the last book from my pile, convinced he has definitely disappeared, when hands suddenly grab me around the waist.

My heart leaps violently in my chest, and I whirl around with a start, a hand pressed against my lips to keep from screaming amidst the whispers.

Gray eyes lock onto mine, playful, and it takes me a few seconds to regain my composure and recognize the angelic face that has been hiding under that cap all this time.

“Danny, damn it!” I whisper, pressing a trembling hand to my chest.

The beating of my heart is rapid under my palm, but I relax. I give a vengeful shove to the brim of his cap, pushing it down over his head to hide his mocking expression.

Idiot.

He chuckles softly as he removes his cap and runs a hand over his blonde buzz cut before putting it back on. His hands glide around my waist to pull my body closer to his, and I cross my arms over my chest to maintain some distance between us, refusing to give in to his advances after the scare he just gave me. My gesture lifts my breasts against my torso, provocative.

His eyes roam over my chest, and he licks his dry lips. I can feign indifference, but I can’t ignore the contractions in my vagina, nor the dampness in my panties as I feel his burning gaze on me. The same look he gives me when he takes me in missionary until I break the slats, or when I ride his cock in the middle of the night for another round.

“Come on, baby, I'm kidding.” He pleads, burying his face in my neck.

I let him, not annoyed enough to refuse a bit of attention. His wet lips kiss my warm skin, and I’m sure he can feel my pulse still racing against his mouth from the fear.

“Did you miss me?”

His whisper sends pleasant shivers down my spine that I pretend to ignore. I roll my eyes, feigning indifference, yet aware he can’t see my face where his is located.

I sigh in exasperation.

No. In pleasure.

“Not at all,” I lie.

Of course, I missed you.

His mouth sucks on the skin of my neck, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning. I know I’ll have a nasty hickey as soon as he pulls away. So, I gently push him away to keep him from marking me like he loves to do.

It’s not pretty.

He allows it after a final lick and grabs my jaw to force me to look at him. His gaze falls on my pouting lips.

“You missed me,” he murmurs against my mouth before kissing me.

His words make me melt in an instant, and my little grudge disappears with a snap of my fingers. I smile against him and respond to his kiss, uncrossing my arms to wrap them around his neck. His arms close around my back possessively, and he takes the opportunity to press my body against his. My breasts crush against him, rubbing against the hardness of his chest. I let out a soft whine in his mouth as I feel his erection pressing against my lower belly.

I pull away, breathless and gasping for air, scanning the aisle for any prying eyes while Dan kisses his way along my jaw. But nothing to report.

“Aren’t you on duty?”

He nibbles at the angle of my jaw before lifting his head. His hands slip under my sweater to settle at the small of my back as he replies:

“No, sweetheart, I’m off.” His thumbs draw little circles on my hips. “Are you free tonight?”

Dan presses his tight zipper against my belly with a smile on his lips, silently making it clear what kind of evening he was planning for me. I bite my lip as I feel my pussy contract even more. I feel it open, taking in all its juices, as if ready to welcome him.

I’m almost disappointed to have to touch myself in front of thousands of people for a packet of cash tonight.

I shake my head.

“Not tonight, Danny, I have a Cam scheduled...”

He growls in frustration before crashing his mouth against mine.

“I’m tired of jerking off to your Lives... knowing you’re within reach... and ready for me...” he mumbles against my lips, the words interrupted by his kisses.

I moan into his mouth, knowing he’s absolutely right.

Why settle for fingers and fake silicone dicks when a real cock is just waiting to fill me up somewhere...

I pull away from his lips, breathless, and run my palm against the bulge straining against his zipper. I bite my lip to keep from moaning as I feel him so hard in my hand. His eyes are sleepy, and his pupils are dilated as I start to squeeze him gently between my fingers.

A glance around the Sci-Fi section is enough for me to check one last time that we are indeed alone, and then I drop to my knees at his feet.

“Let me take care of this, then...”

He takes a deep breath, and I kiss his cock through his jeans before lowering the zipper of his fly.

***

“You know how hard I work every night, guys.” I say, standing facing the camera, in a tiny sports bra and shorty. “So tonight, we’re going to do some little muscle stretching sessions...”

I stretch my limbs half-heartedly, more for show than any real effort. I cross my fingers and raise my arms exaggeratedly high, so that my bra threatens at any moment to release my breasts.

And it doesn’t take much.

When I feel my bra about to give and let one breast free, I lower my arms with a laugh.

I smile as I see them protesting in the chat. Some cover me in CoinLovers to encourage me to stay longer, but I pretend not to pay attention and turn away.

Playing with their anticipation and desire excites me.

Having the power.

The choice.

Feigning submission and obedience to lead them by the nose.

Responding to their every request for my own interest.

That’s what I love.

I tell the camera, lowering myself to stretch my legs this time. I try to reach my toes with my fingertips, but once again, this futile training exercise is just an excuse to present my ass in this tiny shorty.

It’s so small that I can feel it wedging between my cheeks and molding my swollen pussy, filled with blood from the excitement.

I’m not wearing any panties.

The friction of the cotton fabric against my intimate lips excites me and keeps me aroused from the start of the show.

I bite my lip, feeling myself getting a little wet, and sigh as I stretch harder to provoke another rub of the fabric against my lips.

The growing excitement in the pit of my stomach begins to bring forth depraved ideas in the corner of my mind.

Obscene memories flash before my eyes, and slowly, my thoughts sway between Dan and my secret admirator.

I glance over my shoulder toward the chat, wondering if both are present among the live viewers.

“Slut_Dog sent 70 CoinLovers: Do squats!!”

I stop stretching my legs and straighten up, remaining with my back to the camera.

“Squats?!” I exclaim, feigning impressiveness. “You want to wear me out already, I swear.”

I grumble a bit—for show—but comply. I position myself back in front of the webcam, without bothering to adjust my shorty snug between my legs or my bra that threatens to reveal one of my nipples, and I start the countdown for a little series of squats:

“One...”

I lower myself slowly until my legs and hips form a right angle. Then I stand back up and start again.

“Two...”

With each movement, my mini shorty provokes my crotch a little more. I feel my juices spreading gradually between my folds. I wouldn’t be surprised to find the fabric completely soaked if I ran my hand over it...

I continue my squats, occasionally glancing over my shoulder at the camera feed. The muscles in my ass and thighs roll under my skin with each of my movements.

The fabric teases my clitoris, and this stupid muscle training session becomes a real pleasure session.

I straighten up, completely aroused, and slide a trembling hand between my thighs.

No need to take off my shorty to realize how ready I am. The evidence of my excitement has completely soaked the fabric—and now, the tips of my fingers.

My body is in turmoil, and I drop to my knees to pull out my toy box, hidden under my bed. I rummage inside and pull out one of my phallic sex toys, unusually large.

I return to place myself in front of the webcam and show my viewers this silicone monster.

“Thirty centimeters of penetrable length and six and a half centimeters in diameter.” I say, running my tongue over my lips. “What do you think about this for tonight?”

On the camera feed, I realize I may have bitten off more than I can chew. Yet I know I can truly take this monstrosity inside my little body.

I weigh it in front of the webcam; it’s so big that it’s heavy.

It took me several months of stretching and flexibility exercises to be able to keep it inside me, and hundreds of pounds spent on bottles of lubricant.

It was the first time I saw Lexie try “fisting,” and that’s when I wanted to be involved. The very idea of inserting objects longer and thicker than the previous ones excited me.

I’ve come to realize: ever since I took this job as a cam girl a few months ago, after my father’s death, I’ve discovered a sexuality I never suspected.

Completely insatiable. Submissive to my own libido.

With one hand, I grasp my sex toy around the head, and with the other, I hold it by the suction cup. I bring the tip to my lips and extend my tongue to lick around it. It’s too big to fit completely in my mouth. So, I settle for kissing it gently, just like I kissed Danny’s cock at the library earlier today.

His musky taste comes back to me, and I moan as I feel my sex contract.

CoinLovers rain down in the chat, progressively filling my goal bar for tonight: 5,000 CoinLovers.

The equivalent of $500.

Satisfied, I adhere the suction cup of my sex toy to the floor of my room. The silicone is rigid enough to keep it relatively upright as I position myself above it and start another set of squats.

With each bend, the tip bumps against my pussy, and I close my eyes in satisfaction. I can’t help but balance for a few seconds above it, rubbing against the tip and prolonging the pleasure.

I glance over my shoulder and see myself bouncing gently on this monstrous cock in the camera feed.

I place one hand between my thighs and moan when my fingers encounter the sticky fabric of my shorty.

A ping from the chat catches my attention:

“Dandy sent 150 CoinLovers: Strip, baby.”

I smile, recognizing Danny’s username, and I straighten up on my legs. I approach the webcam:

“Anything you want, Sweetheart...”

I tease him gently by calling him the nickname he sometimes gives me, and I grab the edges of my mini shorty. I turn around again, my ass facing the camera, and slowly lower it, peeling the fabric from my lips. I close my eyes to enjoy this brief caress while revealing my pulsing orifices to the camera. I let the shorty drop down my legs and spread my cheeks. My sensitive holes open before my viewers, and I shiver as I feel the ambient air licking my crotch.

I turn around and read the increasingly depraved comments flashing in the chat.

Some ask me to sit on their faces. Others want me to pee in their mouths.

My bra soon joins my shorty, and I’m now completely naked before thousands of spectators.

My breasts are swollen from excitement, and I have to massage them to relieve the pressure of being locked in this tiny bra.

“MasterAyman sent 100 CoinLovers for Pinch tits.”

“Skill_Roxxor sent 55 CoinLovers for Suck tits.”

“BigKong sent 25 CoinLovers for Cuddles Tits.”

“Slow down!” I laugh at their haste to see me take action.

I comply with MasterAyman’s request and pinch my nipples between my fingers. The burn sends an electric current straight between my thighs. I roll them between my thumb and index finger, prolonging the pleasure, and gently tug on my piercings. I bite my lip at the pain, then bring one of my nipples to my mouth to soothe the burn.

I close my eyes and moan, my mouth full, as the warmth of my tongue envelops my sensitive nipple.

I release it after a few laps of my tongue and move on to the second.

Another ping draws my attention, and I lift my head to read the message:

“RussianPredator sent 2000 CoinLovers for Dildo in Ass.”

Oh, my Russian Predator, you didn’t need to tell me twice...

My ass itches and pulses with impatience under a rain of pings emanating from the chat.

It’s as if nothing else exists around me. I’m paid to take pleasure, no longer to satisfy thousands of horny men.

The CoinLovers are nothing more than dollars, and the viewers are nothing more than numbers.

Except for one.

It’s only for him that I truly touch myself.

He’s always on my mind when I turn on my camera and when I turn it off. And it’s him I imagine when the orgasm seizes me, always wondering if what he sees pleases him. If I should do more, or if he’s had enough.

It’s Monsieur I think of when I do it.

Chapter Text

GAGE

Knocks at the door gently pull me out of my sleep. My neck is slightly stiff, and I grimace as I slowly lift my head from what I believe is the backrest of a couch. I struggle to open my eyes and run a weary hand at the back of my neck, gently cracking it by tilting my head from side to side.

My eyes take a while to adjust to the darkness. Sunlight barely filters through the opaque curtains, casting a soft light in my apartment.

I take a deep breath.

More knocks resonate, reminding me of my state. I sit up from the couch, tucking myself back into my pants. I don’t bother putting on my shirt and head toward the door.

I open it, squinting, still drowsy, and place an arm on the doorframe to block the view inside and prevent Judith from sneaking a glance. That old woman would faint if she knew the mess inside.

I lower my head toward her.

“ I apologize for disturbing you, sir. There are men asking for you outside.”

I bring my thumb and index finger to my eyelids and press them to force my eyes to adjust to the daylight.

“ Who is it?” I grunt in a deep voice, still hoarse from sleep.

“ They are here to install the ventilation system. You had an appointment...”

I rub a weary hand across my face and retrieve my phone from my pants pocket. I glance at the home screen:

Nine thirty-eight...

“ Please have them wait in the basement, and offer them a drink, Judith.”

I don’t wait for her response and close the door before heading to my adjacent bathroom.

About fifteen minutes later, I’m showered and dressed. I make my way down to the basement, finishing buckling my watch on my wrist and smoothing the creases in my black shirt.

Loud laughter escapes from the game room as I reach the last step. I can easily imagine them bothering Judith over a cup of coffee, or whatever they might have asked her.

I enter the game room and find two men sitting at my bar. Each has a glass filled with a small amount of amber liquid, dressed in gray work jumpsuits. Judith stands behind the counter, taking their order. All three look up at me when they hear me enter.

“ Good morning, gentlemen.”

They jump off their barstools, one after the other, and rush to shake my hand. Firm and confident grips.

“ Very nice place,” one of them compliments me.

I simply smile back without adding anything, because it’s probably a luxury he’ll never afford.

“ Sorry for my delay,” I begin. “ The basement is just downstairs. Follow me.”

The two men exchange glances before following me out of the game room.

I pull the magnetic card from my pocket and insert it into the reader near the elevator doors, under the stairwell.

One of them — the one who seems to love this mansion — whistles in admiration.

The elevator lights come on, and the doors open. I invite them to enter first before stepping into the cabin myself.

“ It’s... original,” the other one interjects, crossing his arms over his chest. “ Can’t we access the basement via stairs?”

“ No,” I reply, burying my hands in my pockets after pressing the -2 button. “ The previous owner designed the mansion this way.”

“ He might have had knee problems,” his colleague jokes.

I see his counterpart give him a light elbow jab in the mirror’s reflection. The doors open, revealing the empty, concrete basement of the mansion.

They step out after me and explore the space, observing the walls and mapping out a mental layout of the basement.

“ You want to install a ventilation system in the basement, right?”

I silently nod and watch them work, waiting for their assessment.

The jokester pulls out a small notebook and a pencil, beginning to draw lines dictated by his colleague. The latter turns to me.

“ What’s the size of the basement?” he asks.

I pull a hand from my pocket and scratch my brow with my fingernail, trying to remember the plans of the mansion provided by the real estate agency, lost in one of my desk drawers.

“ About the same size as the game room and the living room just above.”

The ventilation expert nods and looks up at the ceiling.

“ We could place a vent here,” he explains, pointing to the top of the wall facing us. “ And dig a duct leading outside the house, at the level of the stone stairs that go down to the game room.”

The jokester takes notes, sketches diagrams, and writes down various measurements.

The idea of placing a vent at ground level outside the house makes me grimace slightly.

I cross my arms over my chest and feel the fabric of my shirt tugging at my back and around my shoulders.

“ Can’t the vent be placed inside, in the game room?”

The expert purses his lips, not favoring the suggestion.

“ The floor above is already a basement,” he explains to me. “ The air couldn’t be properly renewed and could deteriorate... It’s not ideal, especially if you plan to store goods. It would require major work to run the duct through the house’s foundations.”

I smirk and nod my head.

“ And in case of a downpour or heavy rain?” I worry.

“ There’s no risk, all installations are equipped with anti-flood systems and rodent-proof grilles.”

I nod in agreement.

“ Very well.” I glance at my watch and quickly evaluate how much time these observations have taken us. “ When can you start?”

The expert shrugs nonchalantly, seeming to quickly recall his schedule.

“ As early as next week.”

I nod my head.

At that moment, an alert from my phone in my pocket catches my attention.

I frown.

It’s early for a LoveLive notification...

I escort the gentlemen to the exit after arranging another appointment to begin the work and pull out my phone as I head to my desk.

I just received an email.

It’s Avaro.

I know it must be important enough for me to sit at my desk and open my computer to check my email.

“ From: Avaro DASS

Good thing you’re in England, Olsen.

A lab is going public in London. I’m sending you the address of the headquarters; I’ve made an appointment.

You know what to do.”

I click on the address and land on the website of the lab in question; NaturePharm.

Brand new to the market, it promotes a production of more natural medications, directly extracted from medicinal plants.

I smirk as I read the slogan: “Healing differently.”

That’s the kind of nonsense that attracts people.

In an artificial world, what better than to want to profit off those who think they can still stand out and consume naturally?

Capitalism has destroyed everything. It’s all about money. Offering more natural medications is just a big joke when you know that the most organic tomato on the market is itself genetically modified.

NaturePharm is just another lab that won’t last long, and Big Pharma will never allow this kind of advancement to thrive.

I’ll seize it before those big labs get their hands on it.

This one will end up like all the others; it will work for Olsen Industries and once again help me climb the list of the 10 richest men in the world in the next Forbes.

***

After a few minutes of driving from the airport, we arrive in front of the NaturePharm Headquarters, on the outskirts of London. The place is practically deserted. Only two men in white coats are chatting in the cold and grayness of this Thursday morning on the half-full parking lot of the lab.

I lock my phone after checking my emails and stalking Crystal’s social media. I put it back into the inner pocket of my black trench coat as Christian parks in front of the NaturePharm Headquarters entrance.

“Thanks, Christian.”

I get out of the SUV and slam the door behind me, fastening the button of my suit jacket. I take a moment to study the building’s architecture and the surrounding landscape.

The NaturePharm Headquarters is a sort of remodeled and recently renovated warehouse, lost in the London countryside, amidst carelessly paved roads and dry, barren fields stretching as far as the eye can see.

It’s perfect.

I hear the SUV doors slam behind me as Christian and Abel get out as well. I don’t wait for them as I head toward the Headquarters entrance, my men following closely behind.

One hand smoothing my tie, the other buried in the pocket of my coat, my fingertips brushing the handle of my Beretta, I pass through the automatic doors and approach the reception desk.

A young redheaded woman, lightly made-up, dressed in a long-sleeved emerald green dress that perfectly hugs her curves, stands behind the counter. She’s focused on stamping several documents in quick succession before signing them. She doesn’t notice my presence until my shadow covers her entirely. Her head lifts, and her green eyes lock on mine, slightly surprised. Freckles sprinkle her round, plump cheeks, which soon begin to flush.

I’m well aware of the effect my imposing figure and good looks have on the female population. And once, I would have fulfilled even her most unspeakable desires. But women haven’t been my focus for quite some time.

Not when one of them monopolizes my thoughts. Not when I know my ideal exists, somewhere, and all I have to do is get my hands on her.

Not after Crystal...

“Hello, welcome to the NaturePharm research lab,” she greets, standing up straight. “How can I help you?”

Her honeyed voice pulls me from my thoughts, momentarily banishing my Precious from my mind. She’ll rush back in soon enough.

The redhead has completely abandoned the documents she was meticulously stamping with the lab’s logo.

“I have an appointment with the director.”

“Yes.” She quickly takes her seat and starts typing on her computer. Only the clicks of her mouse break the sacred silence of the hall. “What’s your name, please?”

“Dr. Olsen; Gage Olsen.”

After typing a few more keys on her keyboard, the redhead picks up a corded phone on the corner of her counter.

“I’ll inform him you’ve arrived,” She says, pressing a button on the base.

After a few seconds, the redhead announces, “Mr. Lewis? Your nine o’clock appointment, Dr. Olsen, has arrived.”

Silence.

“Very well. I’ll send him up,” She says, hanging up before looking back at me. “It’s on the top floor.”

I nod and make my way toward the elevators, Christian and Abel following closely, always a step behind. We step into the cabin, and it’s only natural that my men position themselves behind me.

The ride up is silent. I watch the floor numbers tick by, and when we reach the top, the cabin stops, and the doors open to a hall even quieter than the one below.

The floor smells new, freshly painted. The ground is covered in navy blue carpeting, and a vending machine for cold drinks greets us. The decor is impersonal; dull. No paintings adorn the walls, no green plants brighten the space. A corridor, wider than it is long, stretches to our left and ends at two large, dark wooden doors. A few black folding chairs are lined up against the walls, serving as a waiting area.

I step out of the elevator and head down the corridor toward the heavy wooden doors. It doesn’t take a genius to realize this is where the Director’s office is hidden.

I already like it here.

The sound of my footsteps is muffled by the carpet, and I briefly enjoy wiping the soles of my dress shoes on the soft ground. I’m just about to reach the large doors when they swing open in front of me, as if he’s been expecting me all along, ready for my arrival at any second.

Or maybe he just heard the elevator.

Marc Lewis stands straight at the entrance to his office, dressed in a well-fitted gray suit, smiling, one hand on the door handle. He’s a mature man, both muscular and fleshy, with a fairly advanced bald spot. I was expecting someone younger, freshly graduated and ambitious, eager to break into the business world and start their own company. But instead, I’m facing a man in the prime of his life.

When I reach him, I tower over him by more than a head, my body completely overshadowing his. I abandon my Beretta at the bottom of my pocket to shake his outstretched hand.

“Dr. Olsen,” He greets me. “We haven’t met yet.”

No. We haven’t. But he might regret that soon.

His grip is strong, enthusiastic. I doubt it will be that firm in a few minutes.

“Not all labs are created equal.”

It wasn’t an insult; Lewis surely knows that. Some labs have more to offer than others; it all depends on demand.

The pharmaceutical industry is small; we always end up crossing paths, whether at a charity gala, a coveted event, or a roundtable gathering the entire scientific community, from the smallest lab to the largest corporation. Generally, the newcomers don’t last long. And that’s why I’m here. Lewis just doesn’t know it yet.

“‘That’s true. But I hope to become your biggest competitor, Doctor,” He jokes.

I let go of his hand and casually stuff my hands into my pockets. My fingers tingle as they brush my Beretta, and I give him a joyless smile.

He’s joking, right?

“Please, take a seat.”

He gestures toward his desk, inviting me to sit. I follow him inside, and my eyes scan the space. This office is just as impersonal as the rest of the building. There’s no warmth or personal touch. His black mahogany desk is massive and dominates the space. His laptop is open, and a pile of documents sits in one corner, waiting to be reviewed. Behind him, piss-yellow fields stretch beyond the large windows, as far as the eye can see, giving the illusion of being alone in the world. The gray, cloudy sky is the only source of light in this monotonous office, making it even more bland.

I glance briefly to our right; a small sitting area has been set up with gray linen armchairs and sofas. My eyes immediately spot the collection of brown liquor bottles displayed on a black wooden console.

Lewis walks behind his desk to sit, and I unbutton my suit jacket, pulling one of the two chairs in front of him to sit as well. The door to his office slams shut behind me, and he suddenly raises his head. His smile falters, momentarily disoriented, his gaze lost behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know he’s just now realizing the presence of my bodyguards, stationed by the entrance, standing like two rigid pillars, as usual. I watch Lewis recover from his brief surprise, smoothing his suit jacket before clasping his hands together on his desk.

“So, what can I do for you?”

I lean back against the chair’s almost-too-small backrest, crossing my left ankle over my right knee. One of my hands encircles my ankle, while the other rests on the armrest.

“I’m here to buy your lab, Lewis. Name your price.”

He raises his eyebrows; it lasts only a split second, then he exhales an amused breath, as if I’d just told him a joke. My smile slowly fades, and I remain silently still, waiting for his response, watching him nervously rearrange a few pens.

“I can’t do that,” He finally replies.

“I’m not giving you a choice, Lewis. You know perfectly well that small labs don’t stand a chance in today’s market,” I remind him, drumming my fingers on the armrest. “And if I don’t buy your lab, Big Pharma will.”

It’s better for him—and for me—that I be the one to take over his lab.

He shakes his head, his face tight, jaw clenched.

“My lab is doing fine. I offer new products, a new mode of consumption that interests people.”

“And that’s exactly why they won’t hesitate to get their hands on it.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?” he spits, now more hostile, realizing the reason for my visit.

I hear my men shift behind me.

If he thought I was here to propose some kind of partnership, he’s sorely mistaken. I don’t partner with anyone but myself, and certainly not with small labs like his. Those, I simply acquire. As for the others, I surpass them.

“I’ll pay whatever it takes. I can’t say the same for the Giants who will try their luck.”

Big Pharma will pay him peanuts. And he won’t be able to do anything about it, because no one can. They want a monopoly on the pharmaceutical industry; full control, total dominance over all labs, and they’re powerful enough to make anyone bend.

But I can get ahead of them. Labs eventually turn to Olsen Industries because I offer a fair price, and directors prefer to capitulate with the certainty of coming out rich, rather than broke and penniless. Lewis might think his lab stands a chance against the Giants. But he’s wrong. He’s just as powerless as anyone else.

I don’t need Lewis’s name; I just want his lab and his employees.

“Make your life easier, Lewis.”

“And what are you going to do with it?” He retorts with a hint of bitterness, his brow furrowed.

Does he really want to know? His eyes are fixed on me, a little too wide, like those of a man about to have a heart attack.

I sigh, lowering my ankle to rest my foot on the ground and straighten up on both legs. He raises his head toward me, his gaze dark and full of apprehension as he sees me standing in front of his desk.

By now, my figure appears completely threatening, given the circumstances.

“Listen.” I say, fastening the button of my suit jacket. “You don’t seem to have stepped into this world knowingly. This industry is a mafia, and anyone who enters it to compete pays the price. This ‘green company’ idea is nonsense. When they buy you out – and they will, no matter what you say – your lab will end up like the others, exclusively managing their productions. No more medicinal plants or sustainable, eco-friendly productions. You’ll be manufacturing synthetic molecules and ineffective vaccines for profit, and you won’t be able to do a thing about it.”

Lewis furrows his brows, more than irritated. His jaw muscles tense as he grits his teeth in anger. His eyes shoot daggers at me, despite the trace of worry on his face. Suddenly, he moves his hands away from his face and stands up abruptly, threateningly.

“Isn’t that exactly what you’re planning to do? Wipe clean the image and goals I’ve given this lab?” He hisses.

Behind me, I hear my men react. There’s no need to turn around to understand that they’ve silently warned the lab director I covet; he stiffens and takes a slight step back.

I raise a hand behind me and gesture for them to stand down, without turning around.

“Your intentions are noble, but they have no place in this world.”

Ensuring sustainable health for the population is putting a wrench in the pharmaceutical industry’s gears. And under no circumstances will people’s health ever come before profit. There’s a reason why big corporations fund questionable agricultural production methods. We make people sick with everything they consume and breathe, then we sell them the cure for all their ailments.

Create the problem, to sell the solution.

That’s how it works. And the pharmaceutical giants won’t hesitate to take you out of the game.

“You can’t do anything about it, Lewis. Your lab will be bought at a good price, and you’ll walk away richer than you are today. You know, as well as I do, that BigPharma will only give you crumbs.”

Lewis shakes his head, almost defeated; burdened.

“What makes you think BigPharma won’t try to take this lab away from you as well?” He challenges me.

A slow smile pulls at one corner of my mouth, and I push the sides of my coat back to bury my hands in my suit pants pockets.

“My family’s name is one of the many others at the head of the pharmaceutical industry for generations. I’ve simply… emancipated myself.” I say, pulling a hand from my pocket to wave it dismissively, as if swatting away an imaginary fly.

I don’t delve into the exact nature of my activities since my emancipation. But I remain untouchable, in their eyes.

“You won’t get a single square meter of this lab, Olsen, and I won’t accept a single cent from you. I’ve invested too much of my time and money into this to abandon it into the hands of just anyone and start from scratch.”

My smile fades, and my hands clench into fists in my pockets. It’s my turn to grit my teeth in frustration.

“This stubbornness will only bring you trouble in this jungle. I warn him in a low voice. Choose the easy way and accept.”

Lewis shakes his head and sits back down in his office chair, placing his hands flat on the mahogany surface.

“For billions, I’d give you the same answer.” He clasps his hands together again, completely closed off to further discussion. “Get out of my office. Now.”

He’s proud, determined, and ambitious. Maybe a little too much. I respect those qualities. But they won’t save his life…

I open one side of my coat to pull out a business card that I always keep in my inner pocket, with all my contact information. I grasp it between my index and middle fingers.

“Think it over, Lewis. I can’t guarantee the next times will be as courteous.”

My Beretta feels heavier in my coat pocket.

I place the business card on his desk and push it toward him with my fingertips, tapping on the surface, never breaking eye contact.

Then, I turn on my heels.

Chapter Text

LUCY

Exhausted and with legs like jelly, we finally reach my front door.

Lexie arrived early this morning from London, and I had told my colleagues that a cold had confined me to bed, just so I could welcome her properly and spend the day with her.

Martha didn’t care, as usual. As for Meryl, she wished me a fun day and told me to have a good time for her. Nothing gets past her, yet she won’t make a fuss about it, and that’s exactly why I adore her.

With our arms full of bags, we get out of the car and drop everything in my bedroom. Lexie doesn’t hesitate to collapse onto my bed, her batteries completely drained, letting her shoes fall at the foot of the bed. With her face buried in my pillows, she sighs, just on the verge of dozing off.

“I need a nap,” she mumbles into my covers.

I get it. She drove a little over an hour from London to get here, and I immediately dragged her downtown to raid lingerie and accessory shops as soon as she arrived.

As if we needed more...

I chuckle softly as I rummage through our shopping bags and pull out a red lace set, already starting to get ready. Our live show starts in less than three hours.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I tell her. “But make sure you’re awake when I get back.”

I turn to her, feigning a serious look. She giggles, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Yes, Mistress.”

She playfully swats my butt, and I pretend to give her a stern look over my shoulder. She collapses back into my sheets, and I leave the room to head to the bathroom.

After a quick shower and putting on my usual smoky eye makeup, I return to my room, where sensual background music with piano notes and soft percussion fills the air.

Lexie has already slipped into her outfit—a white lingerie set consisting of a sheer lace bralette and a transparent thong that reveals almost everything about her petite figure.

She’s done her usual makeup, added glitter to her skin, and is now fixing her hair in front of my vanity mirror. She sees me approach in the reflection, swaying gently to the rhythm of the music.

I feel her eyes on me as I pass behind her. My towel is so short it threatens to reveal everything.

But it’s not like she’s never seen, touched, or tasted my intimate parts before...

As I drop my towel to put on my thong, I turn to catch her in the act; she’s openly staring at my half-naked body and isn’t even trying to hide it.

When I put on my matching balconette bra, the underwires push my breasts up, making them spill out of the cups for her enjoyment.

My shows with Lexie are the ones that earn me the most. Watching two women together is a common fantasy for many men. It draws a crowd.

But these are also the nights when I feel a bit more apprehensive than usual. I know men all too well to understand what they’re capable of when gathered in numbers. The more aroused they get, the more vile their requests become, ranging from the sneaky to the painful.

Together, surrounded by their peers, they feel invincible and think their actions will go unpunished.

Although we don’t judge anyone’s fantasies here—like an unofficial rule of LoveLive as a sex worker—I’m not ashamed to say no, and I don’t hesitate to do so. It has happened before. I remain in control of myself, and no CoinLovers will ever come before my health or Lexie’s. I give them the chance to offer us something more enjoyable, and the most persistent ones are immediately banned.

Luckily, Lexie’s presence makes me less nervous. I won’t be alone if something goes wrong, and that reassures me.

I glance at my alarm clock on my bedside table.

6:30 PM.

We’re ready, and we have about thirty minutes before the live show starts.

I grab my phone and take a few photos of our lingerie. I scroll through until I find the one that flatters us the most and post it on my social media to tease our audience.

“See you tonight with @LexyLynnOff 💕”

I immediately get a notification : “@LexyLynnOff liked your photo.”

I smile and glance over at her. I read her lips as she mouths, “Too sexy!”

I giggle and check the first few comments under my post while she rummages through the bags for our accessories. She pulls out a bunny ear headband for herself and a wolf ear headband for me.

I adjust my still-wet waves before placing the furry ears on my head. Then Lexie hands me a butt plug with a white pom-pom at the end, like a bunny tail.

In her other hand, she holds another plug with a long, fluffy gray wolf tail.

I take the plug she’s handing me, and she turns around, presenting her petite bottom to me.

“Will you put it in for me?”

I smile and put the plug in my mouth to moisten it before dropping to my knees behind her. She arches her back slightly and bends forward to make it easier for me. I part her cheeks to reveal her little hole through the string of her thong.

I remove the plug from my mouth, now fully lubricated, and move the string aside before pressing my mouth to her little hole. I give it a lick and tease it with small, back-and-forth motions of my tongue before spitting on it to make it slippery and ready for the plug.

Lexie sighs softly under my oral caresses and arches her back more as I press the metal plug against her entrance.

I push it in, and she moans softly as it slides inside.

Now, a cute little bunny tail is nestled between her cheeks, completing her bunny look.

Lexie stands up, her cheeks flushed, and faces me.

“Turn around.”

I obey, understanding that she wants to insert my plug herself, and I get on all fours on the bed, presenting my backside to her.

She gives me the same treatment: her hand parts one of my cheeks and the string of my thong before placing her mouth on me.

A shiver runs down my spine as her warm tongue lubricates me. The tip of her tongue circles my little hole, coaxing it to open, before pressing the plug’s tip against my entrance and pushing it inside.

I close my eyes as it fills me, and I let out a satisfied sigh when it settles in place.

The wolf tail dangles behind me, tickling the backs of my thighs. I playfully shake my hips to make it sway.

Lexie laughs behind me, and then I feel her lips against one of my cheeks. She kisses it before giving it a light slap.

I giggle and collapse onto the sheets. We still have about fifteen minutes to kill before the show starts, so I take a moment to look at her.

Her pink nipples are already peeking through the transparent fabric of her bralette from the friction. Then my gaze falls on her entirely shaven sex, her little lips visible and pressed against the transparent fabric of her white thong. I can even make out a bit of her reddened clit between them.

Every time I look at her, I can’t help but think about all the pleasure we give each other when we’re together. I always think about her mouth between my thighs, her taste on my tongue, or her fingers on me.

I squeeze my thighs together as I feel myself getting wet. I don’t need to look in a mirror to know that my cheeks are flushed with excitement; I can feel the blood boiling under my skin, spreading warmth throughout my body—especially between my legs.

“Maybe after the live show, we could have a little fun, just the two of us?” I suggest, my tone full of innuendo.

I had never been aroused by watching a woman before I started doing cam shows. My thing is dicks—the ones that hit deep and fill me up. But when Lexie and I started sleeping together for the lives, I discovered a different kind of body to love. I loved feeling her against me, tasting another pussy besides my own, and enjoying another kind of caress.

She’s the one who taught me how to do it.

I love having sex with a woman—it’s just sex—but I don’t think I could love them the way I love a man, emotionally.

And when there’s no dick around, we make do just fine.

“Eat a pizza?” she suggests, raising an eyebrow as if she didn’t catch my innuendo.

I giggle as I spread my legs, and her eyes are immediately drawn to my crotch, where I’m sure there’s already a little dark stain soaking the fabric of my thong.

She shrugs without taking her eyes off my wet thong.

“Sex and pizza works for me!”

I laugh and glance at my alarm clock.

“Ready?”

It’s showtime...

“Ready.”

***

Lexie drops me off at the emergency room in less than ten minutes and helps me out of the car after parking over two spaces instead of one.

She accompanies me to the reception desk, and I pray not to run into Meryl. I hadn’t thought about it during the drive, too focused on the discomfort in my vagina, but running into Meryl in my current situation would be far too embarrassing—for both her and me.

So far, I’ve managed to keep my personal life separate from my nightlife. But it seems the reality of my job as a sex worker has caught up with me. I’ve always been very cautious, putting my sexual health before anyone else’s pleasure, but I messed up this time...

Damn it! What was I thinking, agreeing to put an apple in my vagina !

I had clearly noticed that Lexie wasn’t sure about this idea, but I foolishly went along with it, thinking that if my fist could fit, then an apple would be a piece of cake. But as soon as I tightened around it, it was like the muscles in my vagina froze. There was no way to relax them and let the fruit slide out of my opening. My walls were completely clenched around it, and thousands of people were witnessing the end of my career.

We head towards the reception desk to check me in. And just as I thought I might avoid Meryl for the night, I see her emerging from a hallway into the lobby.

“Damn it,” I mutter, trying to look away so she won’t notice me.

“What’s going on?” Lexie asks, concerned.

It’s too late. My eyes meet Meryl’s before I can even attempt to escape. Her eyes widen in surprise as she walks toward me, and I give her a tight smile.

When she reaches us, she smiles at me. Her gaze shifts between me and Lexie, and she frowns, tucking her briefcase under her arm.

“Lucy? What are you doing here?”

Her eyes scan me, as if to make sure I’m okay. If her pupils could shoot X-rays, she would have already seen the problem...

I sigh as shame washes over me. She’ll never see me the same way again, that’s for sure...

“Work accident...” I mumble.

She crosses her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow, clearly not understanding where I’m going with this. She looks at me again and glances at my crotch, and then it’s as if a lightbulb goes off in her head.

She suddenly looks very worried.

“What happened?”

“She became quadriplegic in the pussy.”

I roll my eyes in exasperation and turn to Lexie. She hasn’t stopped repeating that nonsense in the car. I can’t believe she said that to Meryl!

My playmate gives me a stern look, silently telling me that my situation is too serious for me to be embarrassed. I cross my arms and sigh, not daring to meet Meryl’s eyes.

“Meryl, I adore you, but there’s no way you’re taking care of me.”

“It’s going to be fine,” she reassures me. “Follow me, I’ll take you to gynecology.”

I dare to look up at her and feel relieved to see no trace of judgment in her eyes. They’re warm and full of understanding. My shoulders relax all of a sudden; I hadn’t realized how tense I was. I let out a shaky breath and nod.

Lexie gives me a gentle squeeze on the arm before leaving me in Meryl’s hands and sitting down in a waiting room chair. Meryl gestures to the receptionist behind the counter.

“I’ve got this.”

I follow her silently to the second floor, to the gynecological, obstetric, and maternity consultations. Unlike the busy ground floor, the hallways here are quiet. Except for a few cries coming from some delivery rooms, everything is rather calm and intimate.

The walls on this floor are painted pastel pink. It’s like being inside a vagina; I’m almost certain it’s on purpose. The walls are plastered with posters about contraception, screenings, and maternity care.

Meryl leads me into a consultation room with a gynecological exam table in the center. Here too, the walls are pink. The lighting is dim, creating a soothing atmosphere meant to help you relax.

“So, tell me what’s going on?”

I sigh, looking nervously around the room, anywhere but in her direction.

“I’ve... got an apple stuck in my vagina,” I confess under my breath.

Silence stretches between us for three heartbeats before Meryl finally says something.

“The only gynecologist and midwife on duty tonight are handling a delivery,” she informs me. “I won’t take you as my patient if that’s what you want, but I can try to find someone to help you...”

I nod, crossing my arms over my chest, standing in the middle of the room. I shift on my feet, trying to ignore the weight that’s bothering me between my thighs. The apple’s diameter is starting to really pull, and it’s becoming uncomfortable.

Meryl could handle this. But I would quit my job at the hospital on the spot and cut ties with her, just so I wouldn’t have to look her in the eye every morning knowing what she’d seen.

She grabs the door handle and is about to close it, leaving me to wait alone in the room.

“I’ll be right back.”

The door clicks shut behind her, and I hear her footsteps fading down the hallway.

Chapter Text

GAGE

It’s been a little over ten minutes that I’ve been mindlessly scrolling through Crystal’s social media. She hasn’t posted anything since her Live abruptly cut off, and not knowing how she’s doing frustrates me to the point where I can’t focus on work.

I can only hope she wasn’t stupid enough to not call for help.

Shame can lead people to make bad decisions...

Knowing she’s in danger makes me sick.

Not being able to personally take care of her makes me sick.

Nothing and no one can ever distract me from my work the way she does.

Sometimes, I hate her for what she’s doing to me. She forces me to work harder and longer.

And for what?

The money inevitably ends up in her bank account.

I run a nervous hand over my face, exhaling deeply to try and shake off the heavy knot forming in my stomach.

The pain in my crotch has lessened; anger has long replaced the excitement.

I keep glancing at my phone, waiting for a notification, some news.

But nothing.

She hasn’t posted anything since the abrupt end of her Live, and I can’t stop thinking about all the complications her situation might cause.

Not much, if she deals with it tonight. But at worst, she’ll have to go into surgery. That would mean several weeks of abstinence. Total rest. No Live. No trace of her for a long time...

Fuck.

For a moment, I stop myself from picking up the phone to call every hospital in Cambridge to find out which one she’s in.

But then I remember I don’t even know who to ask for.

A camgirl named Crystal who needs to have an apple removed from her vagina?

They’d think I was some psychotic, obsessed fan. They’d call the cops and throw me in jail—or, with a bit of luck, in a psychiatric ward.

I angrily shut my laptop and prepare to get up, trying to walk off this inexplicable worry gnawing at me, but my work phone starts beeping, interrupting me.

I snatch up the receiver and press it to my ear.

“We need you on the 2nd floor, in the gynecology consultation.”

I frown, almost annoyed.

What the hell?

What would I be doing in gynecology?

I’m about to snap at the nurse but stop myself, biting my tongue. Maybe keeping my hands and mind busy will help me think of something else.

I sigh as I stand up.

“I’m on my way.”

I hang up, stuff the phone in my pocket, and grab my white coat from the hanger by the office door.

I slip it over my black shirt as I head toward the elevators and ride down to the second floor.

When the doors open, I make my way to the reception desk. A nurse is filling out some paperwork and looks up as she hears me approach. I tower over her by several heads; she nearly strains her neck to lift her chin and meet my gaze.

Her eyes hold no warmth or kindness for me.

It’s only been a few days since I took the position of temporary director at this hospital, and she already seems to hate me.

I would have gladly let her keep it. I have much better things to do than serve as a stand-in. But the position had just opened up when I arrived, and when the management learned about it, they didn’t hesitate for a second to snag me for it.

What could be more profitable than having the prestigious Dr. Olsen running the hospital?

Students would flock here for internships to become my apprentices. People would line up to get treated for even the tiniest ailment. And the funding would flow in.

It’s all about money.

It’s always about money.

I cross my arms over my chest, one hand gripping my bulging bicep, the other on my tricep.

“What’s going on... ”I glance at the name embroidered on her nurse uniform. “Bennet.”

She nearly rolls her eyes when she hears me say her name and holds out the clipboard she was filling out just seconds ago. I don’t bother looking down at it, much less grabbing it. But she keeps holding it out.

“I hope you took a few medical courses during your pharmacy studies, Doctor, because we could use the extra hands. A young woman needs immediate attention in gynecological consultation.” She gestures with her head toward a closed office at the end of the hall. “Everything’s written on her chart.”

I give a quick look at the chart attached to the clipboard, and my expression darkens.

I shake my head and lean closer to her.

“I’m not a gynecologist.” I say, glancing around the floor. “Where are the midwives and obstetricians on duty?”

At that moment, a woman starts screaming from one of the delivery rooms.

Bennet shoots me a joyless, slightly ironic smile.

“There are only two of them on duty, and they’re handling a difficult delivery.” She sighs. “It won’t be complicated ; a nurse could handle it without a problem. You should be able to manage.”

A muscle in my jaw twitches as I grit my teeth, annoyed.

Does she think I’m an idiot?

The idea that I might sit back in my top-floor office while everyone else busts their asses seems to piss her off.

I can almost hear her biting her tongue to avoid saying something she’ll regret.

The look she gives me is anything but friendly, though I can see a hint of fascination in her gaze.

Finally, she sighs and sets the clipboard back on the reception desk, placing her hands on her hips.

“Look, this hospital is understaffed, so I hope you’ll be a better director for this place and prioritize our patients’ health over cutting costs on energy bills and wages.”

I smirk at her thinly veiled warning and uncross my arms, shoving my hands into my suit pants pockets.

“I’ll personally send you a satisfaction survey…” I say sarcastically. “Can’t you take care of it yourself, Bennet?”

Her eyes briefly flicker over my broad shoulders before returning to my face.

She crosses her arms over her chest.

“The patient is part of my social circle. She’s uncomfortable with the idea of me handling her case, so I don’t have permission to take care of her.”

I see.

At that moment, the delivery room door swings open, drawing our attention. The screams are much louder now that there’s nothing to muffle them.

An obstetrician steps out of the room, followed by a midwife, both looking concerned.

“Get an operating room ready; we’re going to have to perform an emergency C-section.”

The midwife nods quickly and runs down the hallway while the obstetrician heads back into the delivery room.

Bennet’s face hardens, and she shakes her head in frustration. Her tongue presses against the inside of her cheek, as if holding back, irritated that no one’s available to care for her patient. She uncrosses her arms and angrily grabs the abandoned clipboard from the reception desk.

“Fine. I’ll remove the apple myself.” She mutters under her breath as she heads toward the consultation room.

It takes me a second for her words to sink in and for my body to freeze. My blood runs cold as I glance toward the gynecology consultation room. I catch up to her and snatch the clipboard from her hands, quickly scanning the information written down.

The name, the address, the phone number, the email, and then... the reason for the consultation.

My heart pounds in my chest. It echoes in my ears, drowning out the screams of pain coming from the delivery room.

“I’ll handle it. Just deal with the woman screaming her lungs out.” I say, gesturing toward the woman in the delivery room, as I head quickly toward the consultation office.

And I silently pray this isn’t a cruel coincidence.

Her name echoes in my head as I stand there. In front of the gynecological consultation room.

Lucy.

It feels like I’m discovering her for the second time. Like observing another part of her; an identity she kept carefully hidden, depriving us of it.

My hand tightens around the handle; I hesitate to enter.

I fixate on her patient file in my hands and reread every one of her personal details written in black ink.

I swallow hard.

My eyes nervously scan the empty hallway around me, and I let go of the door handle to retrieve my cell phone from my pocket and scan the document into my cloud.

I have never been so terrified—euphoric—about discovering what lies behind a door.

My pulse races through my veins and pounds in my ears like a countdown.

Breathing heavily, I lower the handle.

“Lucy Reyes?”

My voice is unusually rough. Almost guttural. Her name rumbles up from the depths of my gut, causing the small silhouette I glimpse at the back of the room to gently tense.

My gaze locks onto hers, red and teary.

My legs threaten to buckle, and I’m unable to move, paralyzed.

She stares at me like a deer caught in the headlights of a car in the middle of the night.

I didn’t imagine her this small. It’s like she stopped growing shortly after getting her first period, forever keeping her middle-school size.

Seeing her before me is like a punch to the gut. My lower abdomen twists, momentarily knocking the air from my lungs.

It’s like receiving your first Ferrari, finally hitting the billion-dollar mark, or the peak of a powerful orgasm. The kind that paralyzes your muscles, makes your body tremble, clouds your brain, deprives you of hearing and sight, making you pant until your lungs burn. The kind that makes you feel like you’re dying.

In short, she was unimaginable.

“Yes...” She nods in a barely audible whisper.

Her voice is warm and raspy from crying. It pulls me out of my trance, and I clench my teeth to stop from groaning, it feels so good to hear her clearly, and not through the speakers of my computer.

She’s just as beautiful in person as she is behind her camera.

Her black hair ripples around her pretty doll-like face, cascading down her back.

I quickly scan her figure.

Even wrapped up in a large black hoodie and gray jogging pants, I catch myself imagining what underwear she might be wearing.

A red lace thong.

Or simple black cotton panties.

Nothing at all…

My Adam’s apple bobs as I swallow, forcing myself to look away, aware of how my scrutinizing gaze is weighing on her. I shove my free hand into my suit pocket, fiddling with my phone to keep myself busy while I scan the room quickly. I focus on the desk to my right and carelessly toss the folder onto it, clearing my throat. I gesture toward one of the two chairs facing the desk and invite her to sit.

“Please, sit down.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her inch forward hesitantly before coming to a halt.

I raise my eyes to her, curious about what’s holding her back. She’s avoiding my gaze, looking uncomfortable.

“I can’t.”

I recall the reason for her visit, and my eyes instinctively drop between her legs, where the drawstrings of her jogging pants dangle limply.

“It’s pretty embarrassing...” She nervously chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before crossing her arms again. “I’ve got... a piece of fruit stuck in my... vagina.”

Her voice is slow and hesitant, slightly broken.

She still avoids my gaze, staring instead at her Ugg boots. There’s nothing interesting about her fuzzy slippers, but anything’s better than meeting my eyes while confessing her blunder.

She’s adorable.

She reminds me of a young teenager. Maybe because, at nineteen, she’s not quite an adult yet.

The woman in front of me is nothing like the one who puts on a show every night on my computer screen. She’s no longer as confident, self-assured, and seductive.

She’s shy, withdrawn.

I can’t tell if it’s my presence that intimidates her or if it’s the situation that embarrasses her. But Lucy is nothing like the person I expected to meet.

Reality strikes me.

I know Crystal, but I know absolutely nothing about... Lucy.

I know how she fucks; not how she makes love.

I know how she bites; not how she kisses.

Having her under my skin yet knowing nothing about her stirs a deep sense of frustration within me—a job half-done, making me crave to know her in every detail, down to the last fingernail.

I grit my teeth as I watch her shuffle her feet in embarrassment, squeezing her thighs together in discomfort, as if something itched.

“Take off your clothes and lie down on the examination table.” I order gently. “Let’s take a look.”

I force myself to adopt a reassuring tone, lowering my natural authority that I usually reserve for colleagues and employees.

I remove my coat and watch, carelessly placing them on the desk atop the folder.

I can feel her eyes on me as I roll up the sleeves of my shirt past my elbows.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye.

She remains motionless for a few seconds, dazed, before finally springing into action. She uncrosses her arms, heading toward the examination table, kicking off her Uggs before grasping the waistband of her jogging pants.

I watch her discreetly as I walk toward the cabinets at the other end of the room—where she stood just a few moments ago.

Her scent lingers in the air. A warm, sweet smell, like caramel candy. A pastry fresh out of the oven.

Subtly, I close my eyes and take a deep breath to fill my lungs with it. I open my eyes again, swallowing hard.

She’s about to pull down her jogging pants, to reveal everything to me, but she freezes suddenly and turns toward me.

“I-I didn’t have time to clean up before coming here.” She warns me.

Her pussy must still be wet, full of her juices.

I stifle a smile, still clouded by her intoxicating scent.

“It doesn’t matter.” I reassure her in a guttural voice.

I open the cabinets and pull out a box of blue nitrile disposable gloves, a bottle of sterile lubricant, and some tissues.

I place everything on a stainless steel cart, listening as she discards her jogging pants. The fabric falls to the floor with a muffled sound of crumpled cloth.

I glance at her briefly as she lays her jogging pants on a chair near the examination table, her bare butt visible.

No underwear.

I quickly look away.

I have to resist letting my gaze wander down her bare legs and give her space to settle in.

I push the cart over to the examination chair, pulling up a stool to sit right between her thighs.

She sits in the chair, knees drawn up, patiently waiting for the next instruction.

“Lift your legs.” I ask, tapping the stirrups on either side of the chair for her to place her feet in.

She complies without hesitation.

I take two gloves from the box, avoiding the urge to glance between her thighs.

Not until I’m absolutely sure I can keep my gaze purely professional and stop my cock from threatening to burst through the buttons.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how it happened?” she questions me, amused.

I lift the gloves to my mouth, locking eyes with her hazel ones, and blow inside them to open them up. The fingers suddenly inflate with air, making her laugh.

Her contagious laughter forces a smile out of me, and I momentarily get lost in her caramel eyes with green reflections. It’s like walking through a forest in early autumn.

“How did it happen?” I ask, as I slip on the first glove.

She bites her lips and avoids my gaze, closing and opening her thighs. She remains silent as I put on the second glove, as if hesitant to answer, despite inviting me to ask the question.

“Do I have to tell you?”

I understand she’s pretending to be reluctant to share what happened, just to make it clear how embarrassing the explanation is.

If only she knew I was right there, watching her stuff that apple inside just a few minutes ago.

“I wanted to fulfill a guy’s fantasy,” she finally admits.

I remain impassive, pretending I didn’t already know. I grit my teeth to stop myself from offering my opinion. That’s not my role. So, I cross my arms over my chest, my muscles bulging, straining my shirt at the back and arms, and I listen.

“Why?”

She bites her lip and briefly looks away. I catch her glancing at me. She takes a small breath.

“It’s my job. I’m a sex worker.”

I can’t control my gaze as it drops between her thighs. I feel my cock twitch and my balls tighten at the sight of her delicate pussy. Her small lips unfold like petals beneath her hooded clit. A thin layer of moisture glistens on her pink lips, pooling at the base of her folds, flooding the entrance to her vagina, reaching down to the creases of her anus.

Fuck me.

She’s even more beautiful in real life.

Lewd images flood my mind, flashing before my eyes: sometimes it’s her tongue slipping between her lips, sometimes it’s my cock.

I grit my teeth and force myself to banish the images as I feel my tip heat up. I’m surprised I haven’t hardened the second I laid eyes on her. But it won’t take long.

Maybe I still don’t realize she’s really here, in front of me. Flesh and blood, breathing the same air as me.

I can’t understand why anyone would ask her to do these things, risking hurting her. And I can’t understand how she’d be foolish enough to accept.

I lower my head, thinking it must be more than just wanting to make a quick buck.

“You shouldn’t put yourself in danger to please a man,” I advise her, my tone unintentionally harsh.

Especially not for them.

Especially not when it’s not only for me.

Her face suddenly closes off, her features growing more worried as she glances between her thighs.

She props herself up on her elbows.

“Is it serious?”

The shadow of a smile threatens to stretch across my face at her innocent question. But I dismiss it before it takes over.

I don’t feel like smiling.

Not when she’s afraid.

“No. You’re made to give birth to a little person weighing three kilos; it’s just an apple,” I reassure her softly.

The worry fades from her face, and she rolls her eyes playfully, relaxing back into the chair.

“That’s not very nice, reducing me to a baby factory.”

“No. I’m sure you’re much more than that…”

She smiles gently, her hazel eyes locked on mine, darting from one eye to the other.

And just like that, my cock twitches.

Enough talking.

I avert my gaze and uncross my arms, grabbing the bottle of lubricant. I pump a small amount onto my index and middle fingers, rubbing it between my thumb to spread the gel on my fingers.

I move between her thighs, kicking the stool across the floor, my lubricated fingers hovering, ready to proceed with the examination.

“I’m going to insert two fingers and see what we can do,” I warn her, seeking her consent.

She nods, clasping her hands on her stomach, watching me work.

I take a discreet breath and force myself to focus on a fixed point on her inner thigh as I insert my fingers.

I take advantage of not needing my eyes, only my fingers, so as not to fuel more fantasies.

And just by feeling the entrance to her vagina, I understand the problem.

Her walls are abnormally hard and tight.

I feel her tense and her pelvis pull back as my fingers push deeper. Her sex is contracted, like a cramp that prevents the walls from relaxing enough to let the apple out.

I remove my fingers, and her body visibly relaxes in the chair.

“It’s an involuntary muscle contraction that’s preventing its removal,” I explain to her. “I can give you a muscle relaxant injection or a rectal exam. It should come out on its own.”

She licks her dry lips, thinking for a few seconds about what I just said.

Then, she looks up at me, her eyes questioning.

“The injection of the muscle-whatever... is it a shot?”

I nod.

“Yes, it’s an injectable solution.”

“I’d rather take a finger up the ass.”

She says it with determination, sure of herself.

I exhale a soft laugh despite myself and nod, reaching for the bottle of lubricant to squeeze out another dollop onto my fingers.

I lock eyes with her as I rub my fingers together again, spreading the gel, preparing to insert a finger into her anus.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods again, and I press the tip of my index finger against her rim.

All lewd thoughts vanish now that the only thing that matters is relieving her.

With a professional mindset, I push against the folds, and my finger slips into her anus without difficulty, up to the second knuckle. Immediately, the contraction shifts, and her rectal walls contract around my finger.

The next second, her pussy lips part, allowing the apple to slide out. A slight trickle of urine accompanies it as the fruit ejects and falls into my hand, shiny and coated in her juices.

I pull my finger out of her ass, breathing heavily.

“Oh fuck, thank you!” she moans, relieved of a weight.

My cock responds to her moan, and I resist the urge to adjust my zipper.

Birthing an apple isn’t supposed to be sexy, but with all the women I’ve fucked in my life, not one has ever done something as erotic as pissing into my hand.

She doesn’t seem to realize it.

I grip the apple between my fingers and stop myself from bringing it to my nose, just because the voice in my head wonders what it smells like.

I roll it onto the tray beside the glove box and the bottle of lubricant. Then, I grab a few tissues and hand them to her to clean herself up while I remove my gloves.

I toss them into the small bin attached to the cart, then detach it and offer it to her so she can throw away the used tissues, full of her secretions.

I get up from my stool, feeling the urgent need to distance myself from her before I lose control.

Her cry of relief still rings in my ears, and the image of her pussy is burned into my retina.

She enthusiastically removes her feet from the stirrups and lowers her legs. I let her get dressed while I clean up the instruments and occupy my mind to control my erection.

“You can see Meryl at reception to sign the discharge papers,” I tell her in a gravelly voice as I close the cabinet.

She nods, finishing slipping on her Uggs, then stands up with a satisfied look that’s impossible to remove from her face now.

And for the first time in my life, I’m grateful to my father for forcing me down the same path as him and making me pursue the same medical studies.

Just because it allows me to stand here today, in front of her, taking care of her.

Originally, it was only supposed to be about taking over the family business; the Olsen labs. Being at the head of a pharmaceutical industry, providing medication, was the future my father had planned for me.

Before I chose my own path and started making poison.

Olsen Industries became the cancer of the pharmaceutical industry the moment it chose to do business with the common people.

I barely listen when she thanks me again before walking away. I watch her head for the exit.

But I don’t want her to leave.

I want her to stay, to keep talking to me, to tell me everything I already know and what I don’t yet.

I want her to stay because I have no idea when I’ll see her again.

That same feeling of abandonment that crushes me at the end of each of her Lives overwhelms me again as she closes the door behind her.

Silence fills the office, deafening.

I scan the room as if searching for a memory of her presence; a scent, a piece of fabric, a strand of hair... And my eyes fall on the still-glossy apple on the stainless steel tray.

Breathing heavily, I move closer to grab it.

My heart pounds in my chest, echoing in my head, drowning out all the surrounding noises.

Her slickness covers my fingers and the palm of my hand. I toy with the smooth surface of the apple, rubbing my thumb against the texture of her juices.

Then, without thinking, I bring it to my mouth and bite into it deeply.

Chapter Text

LUCY

The elevator doors open, and I let an old lady in a wheelchair pass before spotting Meryl in the large hospital lobby, near the reception desk. She’s with Lexie, both of them waiting for my consultation to finish.

I quicken my pace to join them, feeling much lighter and less awkward in my movements now that I no longer have that irritating apple stuck between my legs.

Meryl wasn’t lying about him: Doctor Olsen.

He’s the most handsome and sexy man I’ve ever seen in person. And he reeked of money from miles away.

From his accent, it’s clear he’s not from around here.

I tend to avoid Americans, but for him, I might make an exception.

Not even an apple stuck in my vagina could make me ignore the specimen I had before my eyes.

Several times, I had to silently remind myself to focus; my eyes didn’t want to leave him, and it was becoming indecent… he was just so pleasing to look at.

Tall and massive.

The muscles in his arms and chest stretched the dark fabric of his shirt without him needing to flex at all. You’d expect the seams to burst at the slightest shoulder movement or breath, but it fit him perfectly, hugging his body.

Being in the same room as him felt like becoming one of those little fish that find refuge under a shark’s fin.

Worse, having him between my thighs was both as pleasant as it was intimidating.

I kept stealing discreet glances at the inside of his thighs, just out of curiosity.

They were so muscular that they stretched the fabric of his pants, molding his crotch.

He didn’t seem aroused, despite my pussy practically hanging right under his nose. But his pants fit him well enough that it was clear he was well-endowed.

I’m sure it must be just as impressive even when he’s not excited...

In fact, he remained professional, and only looked between my thighs when necessary.

The rest of the time, his gaze was fixed on mine, never looking away.

Meryl might have exaggerated when she called him a jerk. I expected him to be the asshole she described—cold, disrespectful, and unnecessarily mean. But he turned out to be the sweetest, kindest, and most attentive man I’ve ever met.

Not that I expected healthcare professionals to judge me after what happened, but almost.

I trot over to my friends with a good impression of Doctor Olsen.

Lexie is the first to see me approach. Meryl turns around, her arms crossed over her chest, as she notices my friend’s gaze shift in my direction. Her lips immediately curl into a seductive smile when she sees me coming. She looks me over from head to toe, as if to assess my condition.

“Everything went well?” Lexie asks.

I nod, a small smile on my lips, pulling the sleeves of my sweatshirt before burying my hands in the kangaroo pocket.

“Let’s go eat that pizza!” She cheers, slapping the counter with the flat of her hand.

She turns to the receptionist to ask for a discharge form.

Meryl takes the opportunity to move closer to me, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“So?”

“He’s as hot as you said.” I purr. “And rich, that’s obvious.”

Meryl snickers mockingly, uncrossing her arms to place her hands on her hips. She tilts her head to the side.

“You’re going to love working with him.”

Her tone is sarcastic. She doesn’t believe a word of what she’s promising me. It’s clear she hates him, and I don’t see why.

I shake my head.

“You’re exaggerating. He’s not the jerk you described. In fact, he was adorably respectful. And gentle. And understanding. And kind...”

Meryl’s eyes widen as I describe him my way. Her arms drop to her sides. She stares at me, stunned. I burst out laughing at her incredulous expression.

What an actress!

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?” She shakes her head and crosses her arms again. “No way.”

“Lucy?”

I turn to Lexie, who hands me the discharge form to fill out.

’I’ll leave you two. Take care.” Meryl hugs me goodbye and waves to Lexie before turning to me once more. “We’ll talk about it later.”

I smile as I watch her walk away and join Lexie at the counter. I grab a pen from its holder to write down all my information and sign the discharge form.

“Can you hand me my wallet?”

Lexie rummages through her handbag and hands me my pink rectangular pouch.

“How much do I owe you?” I ask the receptionist, pulling my credit card from its case.

“Just a moment, please.”

I nod.

The receptionist makes me wait while she searches for my file on her computer. Then she turns to me, all smiles.

“The fees have already been covered. I’ll take your form now.” She says, taking it from me.

I frown and look at Lexie, as confused as I am.

“Are you sure?” I ask her.

“Maybe you mixed up the files with another patient?” Lexie adds.

The receptionist frowns and shakes her head, turning her computer screen towards us.

“This is definitely your file.”

We both lean over the counter to check.

It is indeed my file, with all my details and the fees fully paid.

I reluctantly put my card back in my wallet, still puzzled. I glance uncertainly at Lexie, who just shrugs, looking as confused as I am.

“Have a nice evening.” The receptionist bids us goodbye.

I smile at her, and Lexie wishes her the same.

We head for the exit, and the automatic doors open as we pass through. The cold winter air hits us full force.

“Maybe hospital employees get social benefits? Like free coverage…” Lexie wonders.

I shrug again, not very convinced by her theory. I hurry to Lexie’s car to warm up quickly inside.

Suddenly, my phone vibrates in the pocket of my joggers. I reluctantly pull my hands out of my sweatshirt to grab it. The screen lights up when I tap it, displaying a notification from LoveLive.

“You have received 10,000 CL.”

***

It’s almost midnight when Lexie parks in front of the house. Holding a pizza box on my lap, I wait in my seat while Lexie circles her car to open my door and help me out.

“Are you going to resume the Live?” She asks as she unloads her things in the hallway.

I kick the door shut behind me and head to the kitchen to place the pizza box on the island.

I’m really not in the mood to get back to work tonight. I’m exhausted, and I think what happened is a sign that my pussy needs a break.

She deserves more than all the CoinLovers in the world.

“No.” I sigh. “I’m going to make a post on social media to explain what happened, and then maybe we can watch a movie?”

I lift the lid of the pizza box to feel the warm steam rising from the crust. I savor the smell of hot, cheesy bread and tomato sauce, using the steam to warm my cold nose.

Behind me, I hear Lexie approaching quietly. She sits on a high chair to be at the same level as the kitchen island, and reaches into the box to grab a slice.

“Yeah, and you know what?” She tilts her head back to catch the string of cheese hanging from the tip of her pizza slice with her tongue. “Maybe this will finally get him to react.”

I frown, pulling out my phone. The image of Doctor Olsen appears in my mind, but I highly doubt she’s referring to him.

“Who?”

“Mister 10.000 !” She clarifies, her mouth full. “He never sends a single message or requests a private show.”

My eyebrows relax as I realize she’s not talking about Doctor Olsen. But I only half-listen, more focused on typing out my apology posts for social media.

“He wants to keep his anonymity, that’s all.” I say, shrugging, my eyes fixed on my phone screen.

Almost immediately after posting, my phone vibrates in my hands. My screen is flooded with messages and supportive comments wishing me well and a speedy recovery.

It turns into a race to see who can be the most adoring among my followers.

Watching them bend over backward to send me messages filled with phony sweet words makes me roll my eyes.

They can be such kiss-asses sometimes.

I lock my phone and shove it deep into the pocket of my joggers as I serve myself a generous slice of pizza.

Lexie swallows her bite before speaking again:

“There are a thousand ways to keep your anonymity. He could hide his face or stick a Post-it on his webcam, like everyone else.”

I smile.

She’s right. But to tease her, I decide to defend him a little more:

“Or maybe there’s no Mister 10,000.” I conclude, not the least bit convinced.

Lexie rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, sure.” She quickly chews before swallowing. “And all your viewers just coincidentally agreed to send you $1,000 each at the end of your lives?”

I smile and chew my pizza slowly, listening to her talk.

“Mister 10,000 exists, and he’s shady, if you ask me!”

With nothing to respond, I just nod and pull up a high chair to sit next to her.

“So, what was that about a hot doctor?” She asks in a teasing tone.

I raise my eyebrows.

I thought Meryl and I were pretty distant after we had that little conversation about Dr. Olsen. Lexie seems to have ears everywhere—especially where guys are being talked about.

But it’s not like I planned on keeping it a secret, anyway.

“The hospital has a new director, and it turns out he’s super loaded, famous, and handsome like a god!”

Lexie raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to elaborate.

“He’s the one who removed the apple.”

Lexie’s eyes widen with excitement. She wipes the corner of her lips with her thumb to remove the remaining grease and tomato sauce.

“Do you have a picture?” she asks. “If he’s famous, there must be photos of him online.”

I snap my fingers and point at her with a nod.

She’s right.

I hadn’t thought of that before. But now that his name is stuck in my memory, I can play stalker and track him down on the internet.

I pull my phone out of my pocket for the umpteenth time, shoving the last bite of my pizza crust into my mouth and wiping my greasy fingers on my joggers.

I open a web browser and tap on my phone’s keyboard to enter his name into the search bar:

“Dr. Olsen”

The search starts, and the page takes a while to load and refresh. Then, after a few seconds, a bunch of biographical and media links pop up on the Google results page.

A series of photographs of Dr. Olsen appears at the top. Pictures taken for magazines, screenshots from interviews, portraits, family photos...

It feels like I’ve struck gold. He’s just as handsome in real life as he is when caught by the paparazzi.

Lexie hops off her stool and leans over my shoulder to get a better view of my phone screen. I tilt it slightly toward her, keeping my eyes fixed on the doctor’s gorgeous face; his square jaw, straight nose, dark and piercing eyes, and athletic build.

She whistles in admiration, scrolling through the photos with her finger.

“So, this guy saw your pussy?”

It’s a rhetorical question. She wants me to tell her more about the consultation.

“He even touched it,” I tease, nudging her with my shoulder.“And I got his finger in my ass.”

Her finger freezes on the screen, and she turns to me, her face twisted in confusion.

“The apple was in your pussy. Why did he put a finger in your ass?” she asks, genuinely perplexed.

“He said it would relax my vagina.” I shrug. “It worked.”

The confusion on her face quickly shifts to a teasing smile.

“And how was it?”

I don’t answer right away. I take a moment to think about it, getting lost in the memory.

Honestly, I didn’t really focus on the feeling of his finger when he inserted it. I was just so relieved to feel my vagina relax and the apple slip out of me at that moment. He pulled it out right away, and I was fine.

“I didn’t really notice,” I admit.

Lexie keeps scrolling through the photos in silence, completely mesmerized by the doctor’s physique. She stops on a picture of him in a swimsuit, standing on a yacht, and straightens up.

“Do you think he knows any good plastic surgeons for my boobs?” she asks, pressing her hands against her small breasts, squeezing them between her fingers. “You should set up a meeting to ask him, you know, boss-to-employee...”

She gives me an encouraging wink, and I burst out laughing, shaking my head. I continue scrolling through the Google page links without really paying attention to them.

More photos of him scattered all over the page flash by, and I have to resist the urge to stop and look at each one longer.

I don’t know what I’m trying to prove or to whom.

Lexie wouldn’t judge me if I allowed myself a few stops at certain photos, like she was just doing a second ago. But there’s so much information about this Dr. Olsen that a kind of giddy excitement twists in the pit of my stomach at the thought of reading all of it and learning more. And I feel an urgency to put an end to it.

So, I don’t let us keep snooping any longer and lock my phone screen.

“Shall we watch that movie?” I suggest.

***

Lexie ended up falling asleep before the movie was over. There are only about thirty minutes left, but it’s already very late.

I sit up in my bed to grab my laptop from the foot of the bed and close it, placing it on my nightstand.

With the movie abandoned, my room is suddenly engulfed in darkness and silence, only interrupted by Lexie’s deep, steady breathing.

My alarm clock shows it’s past midnight, but surprisingly, I’m not sleepy.

Since Lexie is asleep, I take the opportunity to grab my phone from under my pillow and start another search on Dr. Olsen.

That same euphoric feeling from earlier settles in the pit of my stomach again, and I can’t help but smile with excitement while waiting for the webpage to load.

I don’t feel as ashamed now that Lexie is no longer over my shoulder, witnessing my voyeurism.

Just like before, the same photos of him appear at the top of the page.

I bite my lip as I take the time to look at them, longer this time.

I find him really handsome and scandalously sexy in all those suits and formal wear.

I momentarily abandon the photos and turn my attention to the accompanying internet links, including a Wiklopedi page.

Wiklopedi

https:// uk.Wiklopedi ; wiklo ; Gage_Olsen

“Gage Olsen, born on November 18, 1992 (31 years old) in New York (USA), is a businessman, holding a PhD in ...”

I scroll through the Google search results and come across article headlines that outline his private life,

his rise in the business world, and other clickbait titles from tabloids about a certain Olsen Industries :

TheWorld.

https:// com.theworld

« In just about ten years, Olsen Industrie has conquered the pharmaceutical and research market.

An investigation into this new giant leading the pharmaceutical industry.

How did Olsen Industries surpass the biggest labs that make up Big Pharma? »

MediaBusiness

https:// uk.Mediabusiness ; society

«Olsen Industries: An investigation has been opened into this American giant of the pharmaceutical industry.»

AmericaNews

https:// com.americanews

« Doubtful practices within Olsen Industries.»

Echosactu

https:// com.echoactu ; business

«Investigation into Olsen Industries : undisclosed adverse side effect. »

LandRadio

https:// uk.landradio ; interview_podcasts

«Gage Olsen stated : « Health is a market, and the pharmaceutical industry is a mafia (...) a corrupt system… »;

while Olsen Industries is accused of creating a poison to sell the remedy. »

WSB

https:// uk.wsb ; justice

« Olsen Industries fined $500 million for failing to warn the public about its drug Metaxedine.

The lab’s stock rises; « A laughable conviction, a thriving market», according to shareholders. »

I quickly get swept away in this ocean of information, and my fingers keep scrolling further down the Google page. I scroll through the links without clicking on any of them, eager to grab the next juicy piece of info about him.

Between money and drug production, my new boss seems to be involved in some pretty shady business.

And while the health world seems to be undergoing a real upheaval, that’s not really what interests me. So I decide to start a new search, avoiding “doctor” this time: « Gage Olsen »

As soon as I type his full name, a series of more interesting searches pop up in the search bar:

« Gage Olsen wife

Gage Olsen marriage

Gage Olsen interview

Gage Olsen nude...»

Nude?!

My eyebrows raise involuntarily, and I pinch my lips tightly to keep from snickering and risk waking Lexie. I settle for smiling and click on the last suggestion.

The Google page refreshes and takes a few seconds to load.

Then brand new photos appear at the top of the page. Gone are the suits and dark outfits; almost all the photos show my new boss shirtless, on vacation, in the company of women, or completely nude with just a black rectangle between his thighs for censorship.

I recognize a photo that Lexie glanced at a little earlier in the evening; he’s in swim trunks on that same yacht where censored nude shots were taken of him.

I quickly scroll through the photos looking for an uncensored image but find none.

I return to the results page and focus on the links to various articles :

PeopleMagz

https:// www.peoplemagz

Gage Olsen, 31, shirtless and in boxers, looks sexier than ever.

« Last summer, the American businessman already had us mesmerized, showcasing his glistening, muscular body and chiseled abs on Instagram (@gageolsen) from his gym.

Proof that hard work pays off ! ...»

Near

https:// uk.nearblog ; people

Uncensored photos of Gage Olsen on his yacht!

« Snapped in the Mediterranean Sea, not far from the Italian coast, the photos show him exposing himself in the company of his conquest...»

I click on this second enticing link and quickly scan the entire article, searching for the infamous uncensored photos. But I’m soon stopped by a pop-up :

SUBSCRIBE

« Subscribe to the magazine to continue reading the article. »

I roll my eyes, a bit annoyed, and go back to the previous page to click on other interesting articles.

I’ve lost count of the number of articles I’ve seen about him, and I don’t think I’ll ever tire of it. I have the feeling that each one might bring new and unique information.

Then a new headline catches my eye, and I can’t help but click the link to read the full article :

HER & HIM

magazin

Does Gage Olsen have a huge one ?

« Seen on of the 10 richest men in the world’s virility, voted the sexiest man of the year for the third consecutive time, and who continues to make us fantasize!

This summer, the 31-year-old doctor and businessman gave us quite a show as he strolled in the nude at the front of his yacht with his latest conquest.

The photos went viral, partly thanks to internet users who were impressed by the size of his sex.

Thank you, Gage, for this unforgettable moment!!

The uncensored shots resurfaced when one of his exes mentioned his XXL package on an American TV show, stating :

« You always fear running into a guy who can’t satisfy you because he’s small, but with Gage, it was beyond all my expectations. I

n fact, it wasn’t just pleasurable; it was painful...»

Who would have thought that having such a big one could be such a burden?

Some internet users even took the liberty to identify him on X (formerly Twitter) and joke about it :

“@GageOlsen, or the only doctor who sends you to the hospital instead of getting you out.”

Even if our dear handsome Gage could cause a tear with just one thrust...

we still remain big fans of this brooding beauty who hasn’t bothered to comment on the controversy.

So, would you be ready to take a chance ? »

Chapter Text

GAGE

I slam the door shut after getting out of the SUV, buttoning my suit jacket as I walk toward the Varsity Hotel for a business meeting, Abel close behind.

In the distance, I hear the car starting again and Christian driving off, but I know he’ll be back in a few minutes, finding a discreet spot beside Abel, covering my back.

Never too far away in the paparazzi shots, they’re wrongly assumed to be my bodyguards. But they’re much more than that; they are my eyes and ears.

My henchmen.

A guarantee.

The guarantee that if I happen to be too busy to carry out my threats, they’ll ensure the job gets done, right on time.

I walk through the Varsity’s lobby, heading to the rooftop terraces that offer a stunning view of the city of Cambridge.

The sound of my leather shoes echoes on the polished wooden decking that winds between glass tables and garden sofas.

I step off the deck and silently cross the artificial grass toward my meeting, who’s patiently waiting for my arrival, his head bowed over a half-empty glass, his demeanor defeated.

I unbutton my jacket as I sit down across from him. One ankle rests on my knee, my arms on the armrests. He suddenly looks up, surprised and stern—resolute.

He doesn’t bother to greet me. He grabs his glass and downs the rest of the amber liquid in one gulp.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his thick neck as he swallows, slamming the glass down on the table.

The heavy silence between us is filled by the hum of high-society chatter around us, and the electric tension between us contrasts with the laid-back attitude of the residents of this luxury hotel.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a waiter approaching to take my order.

I wave him off without a glance, focused on Lewis’s face. He retreats without another word.

My meeting partner runs a weary hand over his bald head, and I glance over the rooftops of the city, reflecting the early afternoon sun.

The weather is pleasant for November.

“You’ve won, Olsen...”

“And you made the right choice.”

He chuckles, and I take off my sunglasses to look him in the eye.

He flinches.

If I weren’t in such a good mood, I’d have made him swallow that mocking laugh. But it happens that I’m feeling lenient since I left the hospital this morning...

“I warned you, Lewis, and I gave you a choice.”

He grimaces.

“Choosing between the plague and cholera, I don’t call that a choice,” he spits.

I hook my sunglasses onto my shirt collar and place my heel back on the artificial grass. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, fingers intertwined.

“How much did they offer you to buy out your lab?’

He sighs.

“One million… Far less than I’ve invested in this project.”

I nod, satisfied.

“I’m offering you 500 million.”

Lewis’s shoulders tense, and he sits up abruptly in his chair, hands gripping his knees.

But he doesn’t look as pleasantly surprised as I would have expected. Still, it’s more than a good deal, for both of us.

The average value of a laboratory is estimated at 2 billion dollars. NaturePharm is young enough for me to afford to buy it for such a meager sum.

“You must think I’m a fool, Olsen? You may be one of the richest men on this planet, but I was in the business world when you were still in diapers.”

Is that so?

It takes all my willpower not to let a smirk slip and to remain stone-faced, risking losing him for good.

But if he were such a great businessman as he claims to be, he’d surely also be one of the richest men in the world by now.

If that were the case, he would’ve accepted my offer the moment I stepped into his office, in the middle of nowhere in the Cambridge countryside. But maybe that’s why he’s not; because he doesn’t know how to seize good deals...

“I’m asking for a minimum of 1.5 billion dollars for this lab,” he demands, leaning toward me. “My price will be yours, remember?”

Of course.

And I remember other words exchanged as well.

‘You lost that privilege the moment you rejected my offer, Lewis. You remember that...’

It’s not a question.

And judging by his pale face, he remembers my promise perfectly.

Next time won’t be as courteous...

“I’ll let you choose one last time: one million, or 500 million.”

***

In the end, Lewis reluctantly accepted.

I left him to his last drink after setting yet another meeting to sign the transfer contracts.

I joined my men at the exit of the rooftop terrace, satisfied to have won yet another negotiation.

I grabbed my phone and quickly sent an email to my secretary to start preparing the contracts, then slid into the back of the SUV after Abel opened the door for me.

As the car started, I opened my cloud and hastily scrolled through the multitude of documents, looking for the scan of her file.

The address listed wasn’t far from the hospital—about a ten-minute drive.

I informed Christian of our next destination:

“Head to Red Cross.”

“Yes, sir.”

It took us about fifteen minutes to reach the Red Cross district from the north of Cambridge. I watched the houses pass by through the tinted windows, counting the street numbers, and asked Christian to slow down as we approached her property.

The neighborhood was modest, mostly populated by large families, judging by the number of minivans parked along the sidewalks and the playgrounds crowding the gardens.

For a moment, I doubted the accuracy of the information in her medical file, wondering if she had listed an old address.

But when I spotted her street number on a plaque, a rush of excitement hit me, and I ordered Christian to stop. He parked the SUV behind a minivan from a neighboring house, giving me an ideal view of the front yard of her property.

Her gate and front door were wide open, and a suitcase sat on the porch. A car was parked in front of her gate, its trunk open, ready to be loaded.

I frowned.

Suddenly, voices rose from inside the house; laughter and snippets of conversation.

They grew clearer as they neared the front door.

“Did you forget anything?”

A woman stepped out onto the porch, arms loaded with a travel bag and several shopping bags.

I recognized her by her slender figure in jeans and a wool sweater, and then by her features as she approached the gate.

It was Lexy Lynn.

A CamGirl who often joined Crystal on her live shows.

She hurried to the car parked in front of the property and tossed all her bags into the back seat.

Movement at the front door pulled my eyes away from Lexy, and a sudden wave of heat surged through my lower body.

There was only one person who could make me feel like this every time my eyes landed on her.

Crystal.

Lucy.

She was wearing the same sweatshirt as last night, her feet snug in Uggs.

Her spectacular legs were bare, and I could see the goosebumps from the biting cold. I only noticed a pair of pajama shorts when her sweatshirt lifted slightly as she raised a cigarette to her lips.

She didn’t appear to be wearing makeup. It was the first time I’d seen her without her usual sultry eyeliner and red lips.

I discovered a natural beauty, one more intimate, the kind I dreamed of waking up to every morning.

With my heart pounding, I watched as she grabbed the handle of the suitcase left abandoned on the porch and dragged it toward the car where Lexy was busy.

I hadn’t realized how tense I was until my shoulders relaxed when I understood she wasn’t going anywhere, just seeing her friend off.

Together, they loaded the suitcase into the trunk and slammed it shut.

Lucy took the cigarette from her mouth and turned to hug Lexy.

Her back was to me, and I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on the length of her legs and the curve of her barely covered hips.

My jaw clenched as I glanced at my men in the front of the car.

“Look away. Or I’ll gladly make sure you never see anything again,” I spat through my teeth.

Surprised by my outburst, my men tore their eyes away from the sight and stared at the car’s interior.

I exhaled heavily and returned my attention to them as Lexy closed the car door after getting into the driver’s seat.

The car started and drove off, disappearing around the corner at the end of the street.

Lucy didn’t go back inside right away. She sat on her porch step, finishing her cigarette.

She scanned the neighborhood as she was being watched herself.

Many times, her curious gaze drifted toward my tinted SUV.

When she crushed the end of her cigarette on the stone step, she looked up one last time, her eyes meeting mine though she couldn’t see me. Yet I flinched.

She stood up, tossing her cigarette butt into an empty flower pot, and disappeared inside, closing the door behind her, taking with her the warmth that had been burning inside me.

And that emptiness returned once again...

It had torn me apart for too long for me to let it take over again...

“Gracewood.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter Text

LUCY

The ringing of my phone gently pulls me out of sleep. I struggle to open my eyes, sure that I haven’t slept enough, and grope around under the pillows for my phone.

I glance quickly at the home screen, which reads eight in the morning, and sigh when I see Aunt Kate’s name.

It’s way too early…

I answer, still half asleep.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetie. Did you sleep well?”

I grimace at her overly cheerful voice for such an early hour on a Saturday.

“Not enough…” I mumble, not sure if she even heard me.

“I just wanted to check in! It’s been a while since you stopped by, and Holly misses you. Holly, say hi!”

I turn over in bed, trying to suppress a groan of pain, my muscles sore and my joints stiff.

“Lucy, are you coming to the house today?”

My little cousin’s soft voice comes through the phone, and I can’t help the tired smile that tugs at the corner of my lips.

“I don’t know, Holly. I’m exhausted, you know?” I sigh.

Aunt Kate knows absolutely nothing about my nocturnal activities. She’s my father’s sister—the only family I have left, along with her husband and little Holly. The last thing I want is to disappoint them. Or worse, make them ashamed.

They know I’m juggling several jobs to pay off the cursed loan the bank gave my father, which he left me after his death, and that this lifestyle can be draining.

But I’ve put my life on hold for this house. I dropped out of school when my dad died, just to keep it. I lost touch with my university friends, too busy working odd jobs to really enjoy life with them.

So, abandoning the only family I have left was never an option either. I’ve gotten into the habit of staying at their place for a few days each month since then. It was also a way for Kate to keep an eye on me for a while. To her, I’m still a reckless kid, barely out of high school and already facing the harsh reality of adulthood.

She worries, I know, but she’ll never admit it; it would annoy me. Still, I love spending time with Holly. And hearing her disappointed pout from here makes my heart ache with guilt.

“What if you came to stay over at my place tonight?” I suggest instead.

I hear her pleading with her mom to let her stay, on the other end of the line.

I chuckle.

“You don’t mind?” Aunt Kate asks. “She’s really been looking forward to seeing you.”

“No, of course not.”

“We’ll be there in an hour.”

After hanging up, I jump out of bed and spend the next hour tidying up the house to make it a bit more presentable.

I toss all my sex toys, accessories, and revealing underwear into a suitcase and shove it to the back of a closet, making sure Holly won’t accidentally find them.

Like any little girl her age, she’s a nosy little pest who touches everything. I leave my makeup and collection of high heels out, though; she loves playing with those.

About an hour later, the doorbell rings. I quickly pull on a sweater before going to open the door; I can already hear Holly’s muffled voice on the other side, begging her mom to let her stay longer.

I smirk and undo the latch.

As soon as the door opens, Holly throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

“Tell mom to let me stay longer, please, please, please!” she whines, tilting her head back.

Aunt Kate walks in, arms full of Holly’s coat and backpack with all her things.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, Holly, no negotiating. You’ve got school on Monday, you know.”

I give my aunt a grateful look, though not for what she thinks.

I stream Live on Sunday nights, and I can’t exactly lock Holly in a room while I do my thing, avoiding traumatizing her for the rest of her life.

I close the door behind them and follow them into the living room, listening to their playful bickering.

Kate helps Holly take off her shoes and drops her stuff on the couch.

“Lucy could take me to school!” Holly suggests.

“Sure,” her mom laughs. “And why not make her your mom while you’re at it?”

Holly shrugs.

“Well, yeah.”

I cross my arms over my chest, smirking. Aunt Kate looks exasperated and doesn’t bother arguing anymore. She turns to me.

“You’re sure this doesn’t bother you?”

“She’s sure!” Holly interrupts impatiently.

I ignore her and nod.

“Yeah. A bit of company will do me good.”

A different kind of company. Something other than men. A sex-free evening.

But I keep that to myself.

Aunt Kate glances sadly around the living room, her gaze landing on the urn containing my father’s ashes, sitting on a shelf in the bookcase. She purses her lips.

I look away, knowing what she’s thinking and what she’s about to say. Again.

I watch Holly swinging her legs off the couch, twirling her doll by the hair.

“If you need—”

“Anything at all, you’re there. I know,” I finish for her.

Aunt Kate sighs.

“Honestly, Lucy, I don’t understand why you’re forcing yourself to deal with the responsibility of this house. You could come live with us, go back to school, hang out with your friends like you used to.”

She’s been telling me the same thing for months, ever since Dad died, and for months I’ve refused to be a burden to anyone.

There’s no way I’m giving up the house I grew up in, where my father’s memory still lingers, where I can sometimes even catch a hint of his scent... His debt feels like he’s still here, like he has one last thing to take care of.

It’s ridiculous, the ideas we cling to, just to keep the dead alive.

I don’t say anything, but my throat tightens, and my eyes fill with tears.

It’s been months since I last cried over his death. Every night spent talking to all those men was just another distraction to keep me from weeping in the silence of the house.

I miss hearing him get ready for work every morning. I miss cooking for him. I even miss the silly funny videos he used to send me from the internet…

She knows how I feel about her offer—we’ve talked about it a thousand times—and I refuse to reopen that conversation.

I’ll finish paying for this house, no matter what she says, because it’s mine, and it’s all I have left of my father.

Chapter Text

GAGE

She’s like a drug you succumb to after the first injection.

She excites me, makes me addicted to her presence, reducing me to the state of a wild animal, desperate to find something to sink its teeth into to make up for the absence of the precious thing she embodies.

Lucy.

She brings out a darkness in me, lurking beneath the surface, one I didn’t even know existed. Dangerous.

She turns me into a hunter, a predator stalking her wherever she goes, wherever she is. A dark side of me that wants to make her mine, to the point of breaking taboos, crossing lines I may regret.

But I’ll do it if it means having her completely. I’ll break every rule if it means she’ll be mine.

The very thought of breaking her down to rebuild her in my image emerges in my mind like a poison I should fight against. But it consumes me, making me more determined than I already am.

I know I’m about to do something wrong. Something I shouldn’t. Something that will probably haunt me for the rest of my life.

But she obsesses me.

And I need to have her closer. Closer than just a few blocks away. More alive than just on a computer screen.

I need her presence around me, her voice in my head, her breath on my neck, her skin against mine, her taste on my tongue, her scent in my lungs...

It’s early when I get behind the wheel of my Urus and leave the dark woods of Gracewood to head toward the lit streets of Cambridge.

I gave Christian and Abel the day off, preferring to keep them away from my affairs when it comes to her.

Our interactions have always been secret.

I don’t want to break this dynamic between us, the thrill of anonymity and the unofficial relationship we share.

And that nickname she gives me in front of everyone, though I’m the only one who knows its meaning...

Fuck.

My cock twitches just imagining her calling me “Sir” as I pound into her. It’ll make her scream so loud someone would call the cops, fearing she might die. And I’ll shove my dick down her throat to shut her up.

Every time my nickname is etched on her skin, as a form of gratitude, it’s like she claims me as hers, showing that I belong to her just as much as she belongs to me.

I am, for her, what no one else ever will be.

That’s already a victory, the guarantee that one day she will be mine, and it makes me hard every time.

All I have to do is show myself, tell her who I am; I know she’ll be eating out of my hand, crawling at my feet like I already crawl at hers.

But I’m not ready.

I’m not ready for it to end yet, her and me; our secret.

I’m not ready to introduce her to the world. Not when my life, my relationships, and every single move I make is scrutinized by the press.

What I share with her is something I haven’t felt in a long time—too long.

Intimacy...

She’s the most precious, secret, and intimate thing I have.

They haven’t taken her from me yet.

Her and… the Nether.

I slow down as I enter the Red Cross neighborhood and turn off the engine of my Urus after parking in front of her place.

***

About fifteen minutes after Lucy and a little girl left the house, I step out of my Urus and slip on my trench coat, crossing the street toward her gate.

I traded my suits and shirt for a turtleneck sweater and straight-cut pants to blend in with the modest neighborhood. But even my Urus seems scandalously out of place among all these family Fords and Volkswagens.

I push the gate open and walk up the path to the porch stairs. In front of her door, I inspect the lock for a few seconds, intending to pick it.

“You must be the bailiff.”

I whirl around, surprised, and meet the scrutinizing gaze of an old woman in the neighboring yard. She’s stroking a large white cat cradled in her arms, its tail lazily sweeping the air.

The bailiff ?

I frown.

The old woman shakes her head, her eyes piercing me with accusation, and nods toward the house.

“She’s not here, she went out with the little one! Come back later.”

I shove my hands into my pants pockets and fiddle with my lockpicks, watching her turn and head back toward her property.

“Or never.” She mutters as she shuffles away up her path.

She disappears behind the hedges separating her garden from my Precious’s, and my shoulders relax as I hear her door slam shut.

I scan the street for any overly nosy eyes and, once sure no one’s watching, I focus again on the lock.

I pull out my lockpicks and gently insert them into the lock.

It takes me several long seconds to pick it without damaging it, but the door finally opens.

I cast one last glance around before pushing the door and stepping into her space.

The inside is filled with her scent—warm and sweet. Her perfume saturates the air and invades my lungs with every breath. It’s everywhere around me and intensifies as I quietly move deeper into her home.

The sound of my shoes on the tiled hallway floor is muffled when I step onto the carpet covering her bedroom floor.

A shiver runs through me as I face the room. I’ve seen it countless times on live streams, enough to recognize it anywhere.

The setting of Crystal.

Seeing it through a screen is one thing, but facing it in person, with its textures and smells, is another.

I venture in as excitement twists my gut, until my knee bumps against her king-size bed. The headboard is studded with faux diamonds, and the mattress is covered with a white furry blanket and glittery, satin-like sheets in a soft pink, reflecting the white light from LED strips lining the ceiling’s corners.

My eyes land on the stuffed bear nestled between two pillows, the same pink as the sheets.

I’ve often seen her ride it while masturbating live.

My lower body tightens, and my cock twitches in my pants. I swallow hard and walk around the bed to pick it up. I bury my nose in the bear’s soft belly to smell the fur. I close my eyes, catching the faint scent of her pussy. It’s strong enough to make me think she’s never washed it after rubbing herself against it so many times.

My face burrows into her scent, and I revel in it, inhaling deeply over and over. A rough, uncontrollable sound escapes my throat as I take another breath.

When I can no longer breathe, I straighten up and place the stuffed bear back where it was.

Panting, I scan the room, frowning as I notice an entire section of the left wall hidden behind a black curtain.

I approach it and reach out to push the curtains aside.

I uncover a closet and a set of shelves holding her folded and hung clothes.

The first thing I look for is the underwear drawer.

I open them one by one; I find jewelry, stacks of socks, belts, and finally a pile of her panties.

But none of them resemble what I’ve seen in her live streams. They’re all plain, dull, cotton ones.

I frown, scanning the room again, thinking about where she might hide things.

A little girl will be staying here overnight, judging by what I observed earlier this morning.

Precious wouldn’t have left anything out in the open for that child to discover.

I fix my gaze on the underside of the bed, remembering what’s hidden there...

I close the curtains, hike up my pants, and crouch to look under the bed.

My eyes light up when I recognize the box she opens sometimes during her live streams. It’s where she keeps all her toys and sex accessories.

I reach out and grab the handle to pull it out.

Heart pounding, I pop the clips and lift the lid.

Nothing.

A muscle in my jaw twitches as I clench my teeth in frustration.

I close the box and push it back under the bed, standing up.

My eyes wander to the bench draped in a pink throw beneath her window, to her vanity crowded with beauty products, reflecting my image in the mirror, and to her white and pink rolling desk chair, the same kind Avaro uses for his online gaming sessions.

All of it turns me on like crazy, but I don’t have time. I pull out my phone and send a message to Avaro.

Me: “Find me the best spy cameras on the market. You have 24 hours, Avaro.”

The response is instant:

Avaro: “Consider it done, pretty boy ;)”

I grimace.

After receiving Avaro’s reply, I hurry out of her bedroom and walk briskly down the hallway.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the bathroom, shrouded in darkness.

In my stride, I slap my hand against the doorframe to halt my steps and enter, flipping the switch. The room is bathed in a soft, warm light, and the bubblegum pink walls give the space a cozy, dim atmosphere.

The scent of her cheap body wash and the scented candles arranged around the bathtub pleasantly fill the air, and a few clothes are tossed in a pile on the pink bath mat at the tub’s foot.

I approach, hiking my pants up my thighs, then squat over the pile. I pick up a pair of her panties by the edge with my finger and lift them to my face. I crush the damp fabric between my fingers before bringing it to my nose to take one last inhale of her fresh pussy scent—much more delicious now.

A growl escapes my chest as I feel the tip of my cock twitching in my boxers, and I stand up, stuffing her dirty panties into my pants pocket.

I wish I could linger and lose myself in every part of her life, but they could be on their way back home any minute now.

I switch off the bathroom light and turn to leave, heading for the living room to get out of here, until I pass by a stack of mail resting on the corner of the kitchen island.

I slow my steps and stop.

I hadn’t seen them when I came in, too distracted by her lingering scent and the thought of getting into her bedroom.

Curious and interested in everything about her, I approach and pick up the stack, flipping through the envelopes.

They’re all from the same sender:

Bayl Court.

It’s a bailiff’s office.

That’s what the old woman thought I was when I arrived—a bailiff...

Shit.

I frown and quickly open the latest envelope to read its contents :

Bayl Court Bailiffs

“November 3, 2023, to Lucy Reyes

You are responsible for the recovery of the amount of £6,850 on behalf of LOYD BANK UK.

We invite you to submit your payment as SOON AS POSSIBLE, by check payable to BAYL COURT, or by any other means using your case reference.

If payment is not made to us, we reserve the right to issue a Third-Party Garnishment on your wages directly with your employer.

If these procedures prove unsuccessful, we will proceed with a seizure and sale of your furniture, vehicles, and other movable property...”

I don’t bother finishing the letter. I open the previous ones; the oldest dates back to May 5, 2023. The amount owed was nearly £4,800, and it keeps increasing by about £2,400 every month, until October, when my burning gaze fell upon her, and my donations became regular. Since then, her debts have been cut nearly in half. Yet, she still doesn’t seem to be getting by; they’re taking more from her than she earns from the CamShows.

I’ve been spending thousands of dollars for over two months now, every night.

My gifts are saving her. And yet, it doesn’t seem to be enough.

Precious could have paid off her debts long ago, but only a small portion of my thousands has been used.

Where is the rest of the money going?

I need to check her bank statements and transactions.

I put the letters back in place and rush out of the house, slamming the door behind me.

I rev the engine and set off towards Loyd Bank.

***

It takes me twenty minutes to reach the city center, and I quickly park along the curb on Hubson Street.

Loyd Bank is a large, old building with classical architecture, spanning several floors. The arched entrance is adorned with moldings that stretch all the way up to the dome that towers over most of the surrounding rooftops.

I pull open the heavy wooden doors, and the warm air inside hits my face. I pass by several ATMs embedded in the walls and enter the tiled hall.

The interior of the bank, luxurious, contrasts with the exterior architecture. Chandelier-like fixtures hang from the domed ceiling, and several Greco-Roman-style pillars define the space.

The sound of my dress shoes echoes on the polished tile floor as I approach the reception desk. A receptionist lifts her head when she hears me coming, and her features tighten slightly in surprise as she seems to recognize me.

“Mr. Olsen,” she gasps, standing from her chair.

“I’d like to speak with the director.”

My deep voice rumbles through the resonant hall, causing her to flinch slightly. She stares at me, dazed, like a deer caught in the headlights in the dead of night, before rushing to the phone on the reception desk.

With the press of a single button, she directly contacts the bank director, and I slip one hand into my pocket, watching her work.

I wait, playing with her panties between my fingers.

“Mr. Floyds, Dr. Gage Olsen is here.” She glances at me quickly; her face suddenly flushes before she abruptly averts her gaze. “He would like to speak with you.”

The receptionist nods at the response before hanging up the receiver and straightening up, clearing her throat.

“The director will be with you shortly. Would you like a coffee?”

I squeeze the fabric in my palm one last time before releasing it, pulling my hand from my pocket to follow her down a hallway leading to a private waiting room.

“Gladly.”

***

I finish my black coffee in one gulp as I hear footsteps approaching.

The receptionist, who had kept me company for a few minutes, stands up from her seat and rushes out, leaving the director to take over.

“Mr. Olsen!”

Floyds’ eyes gleam with excitement at the prospect of welcoming one of the richest men in the world to his bank.

What banker wouldn’t be thrilled?

But his excitement will quickly fade when he realizes I’m not here to become one of his clients.

Let’s just say his institution doesn’t offer the ultra-private services I’m after...

I firmly shake the hand he extends to me.

“I’m pleased to welcome you to my establishment,” he says, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “Follow me, we’ll be more comfortable in my office.”

I nod, sliding my hands into my pants pockets.

Floyds is the very caricature of a banker, fitting the image one might imagine—if one lived centuries ago.

I eye the fine-pointed mustache stretching along his lips with mild amusement and quite appreciate the pocket watch peeking out from the pocket of his anthracite pinstripe suit jacket.

“After you.” I gesture with my chin for him to lead the way.

I prefer the Audemars Piguet shining on my wrist.

I follow Floyds to his office, a dark, wood-paneled room with a very somber décor.

This man clearly has an affinity for old things, and I’d bet anything that under his roof, traditions are honored from generation to generation.

In short, this building is a reflection of its leader.

He sits down and gestures for me to do the same, pointing to a chair across from his desk. I adjust my pants over my thighs before sitting, crossing one ankle over my knee.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Olsen?” He grows impatient, clasping his hands in front of him, his elbows resting on his desk.

I tap the armrest of my chair distractedly, locking eyes with him.

“I won’t beat around the bush, Mr. Floyds.” I warn him, and his chin lifts, fully attentive. “I need to review Miss Reyes’ bank statements for the past six months. Lucy Reyes is a client of yours, isn’t she?”

Floyds’ smile slowly fades, and his posture slackens, losing all its enthusiasm, as if all his hopes and dreams went up in smoke at that very moment.

He offers me a tight-lipped smile, just enough to keep up appearances, and turns toward his desktop computer.

“One moment, please.”

With much less enthusiasm, Floyds reaches for his keyboard and taps a few keys, conducting a quick search.

His expression suddenly hardens, and it’s as if I can sense the frustration building in his chest.

Floyds leans back in his chair to face me again.

“Miss Reyes is indeed one of our clients. However, we are not authorized to provide you with her account statements or any other confidential documents without her consent or a legal power of attorney.”

I narrow my eyes.

Of course.

My finger keeps tapping the edge of the armrest as I contemplate the best way to obtain those documents.

Now that Floyds understands his institution is of no interest to me, he feels no obligation to shower me with favors.

But there’s one thing no sensible banker would ever refuse.

My money.

I stop tapping the armrest, lower my ankle, and lean forward, clasping my hands together with my elbows resting on my knees.

I don’t take my eyes off him.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, trying in vain to appear unaffected by the weight of my insistent gaze. I can almost feel him wavering.

“I fully understand that it’s your duty to protect your clients’ private data, but you see, Lucy Reyes has significant debts with your institution,” I remind him in a low voice. “I don’t know how long this has been going on, but Lucy is one of my employees, and I take care of my employees... It’s in your best interest, and your bank’s, Mr. Floyds, to provide me with a copy of her bank statements, and maybe—just maybe—your capital will be somewhat relieved...”

The silence that follows stretches for several seconds between us, full of promises.

I don’t break eye contact, and it’s as if I can see the gears turning in his mind, slowly lighting up.

I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling.

***

With Lucy’s bank statements tucked under my arm, I leave the bank in a hurry. I get into the car and don’t wait until I’m home to go through the documents.

I toss the stack onto the steering wheel and review the debits and credits recorded over the past six months, as well as the current balances.

There’s about £1,200 allocated to repaying a student loan, and a similar amount for a mortgage, which the bank withdraws from her account at the beginning of each month.

She receives a monthly salary of £1,300 from Haddon Library, and £300 from the hospital… About another £1,000 is transferred to her account at the end of every month, starting in July, under the name TRANSFERLVLV.

LoveLive…

The transfer amount increased last month, going from £1,000 to £5,000 when I started making my first payments on the site.

But even that transfer wasn’t enough to cover the accumulated debits from months before.

I frown.

In total, I’ve given her more than $15,000; Precious could have easily cleared all her debts just with her earnings from last month.

Where did the rest of the money go?

Is LoveLive capping the amount of her transfers?

According to the statements, what she earns doesn’t even cover the repayment fees that have piled up since June, now reaching thousands of pounds. And that’s not including extra expenses like bills, insurance, and food.

Precious is drowning in debt and has been struggling to make ends meet for months, and I don’t even know when it all started.

My transfers are saving her and have managed to cut her debt by almost half. But it’s not enough.

A muscle in my jaw twitches as I grit my teeth in frustration.

The situation—hersituation—irritates me. I had no idea about the financial rot hiding behind all the smiles and glitter.

Who could have?

I never wondered what had driven Precious to perform and expose herself online. It’s the kind of question you just don’t ask, that never crosses your mind.

Not ever.

And suddenly, I feel like slapping myself for all those months I got off, never once suspecting the misery she was sinking into.

I run a tense hand over my face and angrily gather the documents before tossing them onto the passenger seat. I quickly rev the engine and head towards Gracewood.

***

It’s past midnight when I pull up in front of her house and cut the engine.

The street is quiet and still. All the windows are shut, the blinds drawn, and the doors locked.

The houses all look the same; but hers is the only one that consumes me.

I step out of the car cautiously, careful not to slam the door. It closes without a sound.

The night feels cold, but no chill reaches me.

I walk up the path and climb the steps to her front porch, heading for the entrance.

I quickly pick the lock, just as I’ve done before.

I enter her bedroom.

The LED lights running along the edges of her ceiling bathe the room in a soft pink glow, acting as a nightlight.

I can clearly make out her silhouette beneath the faux fur and satin-like sheets.

My steps are silent on the carpeted floor as I approach the bed.

I take a moment to admire the contours of her face peeking out from under the blankets. The angle of her jaw. Her little button nose. The way her lashes sweep gracefully across her cheeks...

She should be inmybed, and every night, I should be watching her like this.

With my heart pounding, I carefully lift the covers.

Precious isn’t wearing pajamas. Her body is framed by strings and lace, with her stuffed teddy bear trapped between her thighs, as if she fell asleep during one of her CamShows.

Gently, I place my fingertips on her thigh, savoring the warmth of her skin that I can barely feel.

She doesn’t stir. Her breathing is deep...

But I need to act quickly.

I slide one arm beneath her knees, the other under her back. The teddy bear tumbles onto the mattress as I lift her limp, deeply sleeping body into my arms.

Wasting no time, I quietly leave the house.

Unbothered, still fast asleep, the outdoors doesn’t seem to disturb her.

I take advantage of this and quicken my pace toward the car, carefully laying her down on the back seats.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I close my eyes and rest my head against the headrest. I take a deep breath to calm the adrenaline racing through my veins, making my heart pound.

The sound of a notification, one I would recognize anywhere, pulls me from my drowsy state.

I open my eyes quickly, my neck stiff, and sit up abruptly in my office chair.

The brightness of my computer screen momentarily stings my eyes, and I rub them with my thumb and forefinger for a few seconds to adjust, before reading the notification at the top of the screen:

«@WatchedCrystal has gone live! Join her now...»