“Are you sure about this?” she whispers.
I think about my position as Anatoly’sobschak. The need for privacy. Professionalism. It all flashes through me at the speed of light, and it all pales in comparison to the inferno of need burning me alive. I nod and indicate we’re going to proceed, turning her face to the camera. In the mirror above the dresser behind the camera, I see the dramatic look of fear she makes for the viewers.
“Count them and thank me for each one, Miss Messy. And then I’ll show you how I expect things to be cleaned in this room.” The slap of my palm across the fleshiest part of her soft ass is punctuation.
“One, s-s-s-ir! Thank you,” she whimpers.
I crack my hand over her ass six more times, her wails never loud enough to breach the walls of this room, but a quick glance at her laptop screen shows her viewers hear her pitiful sobs.
She’s so adept at the theatrics, I’d almost believe her tears were real, but I smell her arousal and feel the wetness of her sopping cunt soaking my pant leg. Hollis McCrae has an ass meant to be spanked in worship, and I’ll gladly receive sacrament at this alter.
“Seven, thank you, sir!” she sobs.
“Very good. Three more,” I demand. The final three land on top of one another, turning her ass a hot cherry red I can’t wait to slide my cock into. But not yet. First, my little actress has a cleaning lesson to finish.
Chapter
Twelve
Hollis
“Good girl,” Feliks drawls, the barest hint of his Russian accent sneaking out. I’ve noticed it only appears when he’s super focused on something. Right now, that something is me.
“Now, it’s obvious my cleaning girl needs a lesson on being thorough, doesn’t she?” he asks.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Throbwell,” I purr, falling into the roleplay as though it’s been intentionally planned rather than completely on the fly.
I’ve never cammed with another person, so I know my audience of regular viewers has to be losing their minds right now. Judging by the nonstop clink of tokens into my digital wallet, they’re definitely eating this up.
“Then kneel, and we’ll begin your on-the-job training. If I’m satisfied with your improvement, you’ll find out how generously I incentivize good work.”
Feliks has given nothing but golden retriever energy since we met, despite the fuckboy vibes I detected initially. I assumed he’d be a decent, if somewhat generic, lay if for no other reason than from sheer experience, not that he’d been so crass as to give me any details. But this Feliks? All dominant and controlling and feeding directly into my cam session as if he planned it? Yeah, definitely didn’t see it coming.
Obediently, I lift myself from his lap, doing nothing to right my dress or cover myself. Partly thanks to the voice at the back of my head reminding me I’m on camera, and partly because Feliks didn’t tell me to. Deep inside me, a need to impress him with my ability to be submissive takes root and begins to bloom.
“Strip,” he commands. The single word is sharp and direct. One eyebrow lifts in expectation. Of what, I’m uncertain. I asked if he was sure earlier, and he didn’t back down. Now, we’re in this through the end. Whatever that end may be. For once, I’m allowing another person to run the show in more ways than one.I wrestle out of the tight costume, wriggling in ways I know play well to an audience. Both the one online, and the man in front of me.
“Kneel,” he says. A pillow lands on the floor, and he rises in time to offer a hand to help me sink gracefully to my knees. He’s angled us so the camera’s lens is directly focused on his torso, and it will pick up what happens next.
“Sir?” I simper. “I don’t see any mess here.”
“That’s exactly the problem, missy. You’re only cleaning the surface. Not paying attention to what’s behind things. Leaving messes you should have tended to. Unzip my pants. Take me out.”
I drop my chin to face the straining erection trapped down the right leg of his pants. A quick glance to the laptop screen shows the viewer count skyrocketing, but aside from a slow lick of my lower lip, I don’t acknowledge the audience.
My hands tremble a bit from the excitement rushing through me as I lift them to work the button and zipper of his slacks. He’s long enough I have to tug them down to his knees before I can reach into the waistband of his tight boxer briefs and pull them beneath his erection. I wiggle the fabric lower until his balls are freed as well, tucking the elastic behind them, so his impressive package is perched on display.
“Oh, you’re right, sir. Thereisa mess!” I exclaim. A smear of precum shines in the lighting that turns the room into a stage.
“Exactly. Now, you see why I’m so disappointed in your hasty cleaning? I expect a thorough polishing. Hands behind your back. Efficiency over ease,” he proclaims.
I clasp my fingers in the small of my back, a pose which pushes my breasts forward. Feliks cups my chin with the palm opposite where the camera is, his thumb pulling my jaw down.
“Tongue out,” he orders.
I comply as he uses his other hand to press his cockhead against the tip of my tongue, sliding around and wetting himself. I hear the sound of him spitting an instant before a wet plop of saliva lands on his thick shaft. He slicks his fingers over himself creating lubricant for what comes next.
“Now, take me,” he commands before feeding himself steadily deeper and deeper into my mouth.
