Why do I care whether she’s acting or not, though, if I always intended her to be my toy? I don’t know.
Maybe because now she knows my identity. Yes, that must be it. It’s more important than ever that I don’t fuck her. If I have sex with her in captivity, her father and brothers will never forgive me. I’m already kind of thinking I don’t want to kill them, at least her brothers, so it’s critical I don’t touch her.
At least, those are the excuses I tell myself as I back away.
She stares at me, seeming just as confused as I am.
My cock seems oblivious to it all, pulsing away in my sweatpants. Perhaps it was a bad idea to wear the garment, because it’ll be exceedingly obvious how aroused I am.
Sure enough, when she glances at my crotch her confusion seems to deepen. Her green eyes glaze over as sheer want monetarily takes hold, along with self satisfaction—perhaps over the effect she’s having on me.
I know I have to get out of the room immediately or I might not be able to control myself any longer.
Thankfully I feel the door behind me as I retreat, and I open it to depart. I lock it behind me.
I head back to my room, knowing I’m going to have to masturbate again. When I arrive, I go to my ensuite bathroom and pull up the hidden camera feed on my phone and rip off my pants. While I gaze at her tied to the arms of the chair, I jack off violently. In moments it’s over and I’ve filled the sink with cum. I wash it down the drain and slip my cock back into my underwear. I shift uncomfortably when it remains erect.
I glance at the video feed. I thought I wouldn’t care if Luciano and the others saw me having fun with my toy, but now I don’t want them to know a single thing about it. Any moments I share with Angela are for me, and me alone. I pull up the remote storage folder on my phone and erase all the recordings.
I stare at her live image and feel my cock pulsing all the harder in my pants. If I don’t turn it off, I’ll jack off to her all night. But it’s too easy to simply turn on the phone again. I’ll need to cut off the problem at the source before I become a full-blown pervert. If I’m not one already.
I give Luciano a call, though I could easily walk to his room.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I want you to disconnect the hidden camera in her room,” I reply.
He doesn’t ask why. “Done.”
His room is next to the server room, so in only a few moments the camera feed goes dark on my phone.
“Is everything all right?” Luciano asks.
“Never better,” I lie.
8
Angela
Idon’t understand what the hell just happened.
We were kissing so passionately, as if nothing had changed in the eight years we were apart. Kissing like the world was going to end and that was the last chance we had. I gave in to him completely. To Massimo, my kidnapper, my teenage crush.
And then he backed off, leaving me tied up here with my panties dripping wet. It’s torture. I need release, badly, but I can’t have it. It’s as if he planned all this by design to make me suffer.
I tug at the cable ties binding my wrists to the chair and slide them back and forth. The armrests loop down underneath the seat, so there’s really nowhere I can move them to get free.
Fuck I want to be masturbating right now. I want to close my eyes and imagine his rough lips on my own, the taste of him in my mouth, the feel of his fingers on my nipples. Then again, I know I shouldn’t be having these feelings. Any of them. Why would I pleasure myself to the memory of my kidnapper? Maybe it’s for the best that I’m tied, because my body’s obviously betraying me.
Still, a part of me hopes that the boy I knew eight years ago hasn’t completely been buried by the man he’s become. I’ve seen a glimpse already. A glimpse that he cares. When he was kissing me and pulled away, I could tell he didn’t want to force himself on me. He actually cared for my well-being in that moment. And he seemed hurt when I didn’t return the kiss. It only turned me on and made me lower my guard. Was it a mistake? Time will tell.
I’ve never kissed anyone else besides Massimo. Oh sure, I’ve been around boys in the years since, but not a one of them could ever measure up to him. You’d think I would’ve given in to the sexual urges roiling inside me in the later years, but I’ve been mostly locked up in my room since my mother died, allowed to go out only with an escort. For my own protection, as Papa likes to say. It doesn’t make dating very easy. I’m able to match with guys on Tinder quite easily and I practice flirting with them over video chat, but I’ve never been adventurous enough to try sexting or cam sexing or anything like that.
My mind returns to the moment he pulled away from me after I returned his kiss. I don’t really think he was doing it to torture me. I could tell he wanted me just as much—that raging boner he had in his pants was an obvious giveaway. I guess he stopped out of guilt. He’s going to be auctioning me off tomorrow or sometime in the coming days. He’s going to kill my father and maybe my brothers too. Possibly even me, since I’ve seen his face. So, despite how morally twisted he is, he couldn’t quite bring himself to have sex with someone he was going to sell and murder. Even gangsters have a moral code, as difficult to understand as that code might be.
I shouldn’t have made it so easy for him to back down. I should have told him something along the lines of: “What’s the matter, you can’t fuck someone you intend to kill?”
I shift. I still can’t believe he left me like this. I have the worst case of blue bean—my engorged clitoris rubs painfully against the fabric of my panties whenever I move. He could have at least fingered me, orsomething!
