Jay laughed. That wasn’t his real name. That was the thing about this business. Nobody used their real names. Day was almost positive Jay was some kind of attorney given that he was always in a fancy office when they talked and there were rows of hardback law books behind him. Like most of Day’s clients, Jay was married, most likely to a woman who didn’t understand him. That was always their excuse. It sucked for their wives, but Day had to make a living, so he tried to put all of that aside. That was what they paid him for. His time and his attention.
Day was a liar, too. On the internet, he was Danny from Florida who was just camming to make it through college. Total bullshit. Day hadn’t even made it past the seventh grade, and his shitty LA apartment probably cost three times as much as a shitty Florida apartment. But it was still better than where he started, so if he had to smile and bat his lashes and convince some balding fifty-something-year-old guy with a paunch hanging over his belt that he was the only guy Day truly cared about, then that’s what he’d do. He’d made Sarah a promise. Even if this had never been what she’d had in mind.
“I would never disappear on you, beautiful. I’ve just been working on a really big case.”
Jay lived in Los Angeles, just like Day, but he certainly would never tell him that.
“That’s what you all say, and then poof, you disappear. But that’s alright, another’s always waiting in the wings to take your place.” Day crossed his legs, leaning back for Jay to get a good look at his white silk corset set, complete with lace panties and thigh highs. He crossed his legs, running his nails over the top of the hose, teasing a finger under the elastic.
“Damn, you look so sexy. Model it for me.”
Jay had a fetish for lingerie, one Dayton was happy to indulge since he knew for a fact he looked damn good in satin and lace. Besides, Jay had sent Day a lot of money to buy this outfit. Not that Day had spent it all on this bit of frippery. It paid to live in the fashion district.
Day stood, stepping away from the camera so Jay could see the effort he’d put in for their call. He had on sparkly silver ankle boots and enough makeup on to make a drag queen jealous. He put his hands on his hips and sashayed across his room like he was walking the Paris runways, making sure Jay got a good look at the thong underwear that highlighted the perfect curves of his ass.
When he made it back to the computer screen, Jay had slouched down in his chair, his computer no longer on the desk but balanced on his knees so Day could see that Jay was most definitely enjoying all of his efforts. “Oh. Looks like somebody’s liking what he sees.”
Jay had his dick in hand, but he wasn’t furiously working it like some of Day’s cam clients did. Jay paid for the boyfriend experience—or rather, the Daddy experience. He wanted Day all to himself three times a week, and he was willing to shell out Day’s monthly allowance to get it. For what Jay paid, Day would call him St. Francis of Assissi if that’s what got him off. What the fuck did Day care? He was just a performer.
Some part of Day did wish he could have a real Daddy, not a guy who handed out money just to hear Day call him by the honorific, but a real Daddy. One who cared about Day. One who didn’t care about his flaws and was kind and encouraging when he needed it but was stern and punishing when warranted.
Los Angeles had a huge kink culture, but with Day’s disability, he wasn’t really sub material. He’d tried a few times to search for a Daddy, but all he’d found were posers who just wanted an excuse to take out their aggression on another person, and Day didn’t have a humiliation kink. He spent enough of his life feeling humiliated, he didn’t need to hear it from a person who was supposed to love and care for him as much as they were supposed to train and discipline him.
“Get on the bed, baby.”
Day did as he was told, trying his best to keep his head in the game and not let his mind wander. “How do you want me, Sir?”
“You know what I want.”
Day sighed inwardly. For somebody who claimed his wife wasn’t kinky enough, Jay’s requests were always the same. Day turned away from the camera, popping up on his knees, canting his hips back, head and shoulders to the mattress.
“Open your legs. Wider. Fuck yeah, that’s it.” Day’s eyes caught on a chip in his silver polish. Fuck, he really needed a manicure. “You like that, baby?”
Day rolled his eyes, grateful the camera couldn’t see his face. “Mmm, yes, Daddy.”
Day waited for Jay to tell him to lower his panties and start jerking off, but instead, he made a startled noise, a sort of half cry-half shout that had Day spinning around. Even from the strange angle of Jay’s laptop, Day could see crimson blooming from the older man’s collar, overwhelming the snowy starched white fabric faster than Day could even comprehend what was happening.
Jay made a horrific gurgling sound, and then his laptop tumbled backwards. Day sat frozen on the edge of the bed, hand to his mouth for a solid minute. Hands trembling, he crept closer to his monitor.
“Jay?” he whispered. There was no response. Day felt like his whole body was electrified, a metallic taste coating his tongue. “Jay?” he tried again, his voice one step above his last attempt.
A shadow swept across the camera’s lens, and then a figure stood above, peering down at the laptop. It felt like he was looking directly into Day’s soul. Day wanted to disconnect before the man saw him, but it was already too late. Day sat in a well-lit room. He was probably visible from Mars, unlike the man shrouded in darkness, with only Jay’s amber desk lamp for light. Before Day could think to do anything, a booted heel came towards his face, causing Day to yelp and jump away even though he wasn’t the victim of the man’s assault. Jay’s laptop was.
Day sat there at his desk for far longer than he should, but his limbs felt like they were encased in cement. Jay was dead. Somebody had killed him. Right? Nobody could survive that kind of blood loss. Had the killer seen Day? Did it matter? Day hadn’t really seen him. But did the killer know that? Could he find Day if he wanted to? Day bounced on his heels. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Report a murder of somebody named Jay in Los Angeles? What if that wasn’t even his real name?
“Fuck! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Day picked up his cell phone and dialed 911, his teeth gnawing through the polish on his already chipped thumbnail. “911. What’s your emergency?”
“I think I just saw a man get murdered.”
There was a pause. “You think…you saw a man get murdered?” the woman asked, her tone edging on boredom.
“Yeah. I was on a video call with a…friend, and I think somebody slit his throat.”
“What’s this friend's name?”
“Uh, Jay.”
