Instead of acknowledging me, he scrolled through the fan chat messages.
“That ain’t a bad suggestion, uh—monsterfucker47.”
“Are we even bothering staying in character anymore, or has your goldfish brain already moved onto something else?”
Roscoe turned back toward me. “We got any grapefruit?”
“Can we try to keep this somewhat normal?”
“Dude, we’re up to fifteen viewers,” he whispered, still reading through the chat. “They really like you. I got a great idea.”
“Oh God. Let’s just fuck or something so we can end this.”
Roscoe grabbed an old USB phone charging cable and pointed to the chair. “Have a seat. The real lesson’s about to start.”
“What are you doing with that?”
“Trust me,” he whispered with a look I definitely didn’t trust. “We got twenty viewers now, so we need to take this up a notch.”
Holding the cord, he grabbed my arms and held them behind my back, forcing me into the seat. The more I struggled, the stronger his grip became.
“All right, I don’t want to do this anymore.”
He looked at the camera and laughed nervously. “Half-turns like Cody love to play hard to get, but they’re all kinky little monkeys.” Roscoe slipped the wire around one wrist and tied it to the arm of the chair before working on the other end. As much as I tried, I couldn’t loosen it.
“When I get out of this—”
He grabbed my face with one hand and shoved a cheek retractor into my mouth.
“I assure no half-turn will be harmed in the making of this video,” Roscoe said as he turned the chair toward the camera and got down on one knee. “Rosebud798, thanks fer the twenty. This one’s fer you.” He ran his long tongue up and down my shaft, soaking everything in his spit.
My eyes rolled back as he went to work, and all I could do was moan incoherent words while spittle roped down my chin, as the device he used made it impossible to close my mouth or swallow properly. This wasn’t at all what he usually did during foreplay; instead, it was as if his goal was getting me off as fast as possible, even going as far as slipping a finger into my ass. Thankfully, he had trimmed and smoothed out his claws earlier today.
I jerked, tilting my head back as I got closer, grateful that Roscoe was putting a quick end to this. With one final shudder, I moaned out, fully expecting release, but instead, he pulled away at the last second. The red haze returned as I realized what he was doing.
“Oooo, he’s all riled up now,” Roscoe said, giving a concerned look toward the camera. The fake sentiment didn’t last long as awicked smile snaked up his maw. “Want me to do it again? You know these guys get dangerous when you tease ‘em too much.” He squinted at my phone. “Hell yeah. Fifty viewers.”
He started sucking my dick again, and I got this strange feeling, like sandpaper rubbing beneath my skin. Predictably, I was on the brink and Roscoe pulled away. This time, a warbling howl left my throat. The rage coursing through my body was so intense I could hear my own pulse in my ears.
“Yer doin’ great. They love it,” he whispered, and licked the crook of my neck. Standing again, he turned back toward the camera. “Ah shit, that’s a good idea, ThisIsAdamCodylol420. I never met a half-turn that didn’t love a bit of piss play. You guys wanna see that?”
My eyes went wide, and I rapidly shook my head at Roscoe. It seemed Adam wanted a war, and once this was over, that was exactly what he was going to get. How was he even watching the stream? His phone was in here.
“He wants it. Don’t you want it, you frustrated little monkey?” He held up a finger and got even more excited. “Oh! I know what’ll make this better.” He trotted over to my laptop and pulled up my PearTunes account. “Ever heard this song before?”
An acoustic guitar started playing in a familiar tune, before a bass guitar layered in with clapping. Roscoe gripped his dick with one hand as he shuffled playfully around the chair to the beat. Then he started singing the lyrics toStuck in the Middle with you.
I let out a shrieking yell I’m sure the neighbors could hear as I struggled in vain to loosen the cords.
As he continued singing, Roscoe swung left, letting loose a stream of urine that soaked my chest. He was actually doing it. Of all the shit he’d pulled. Once I killed him, Adam was next.
The stream of piss went the other way when he belted more of the lyrics, this time getting into my mouth. I let out a gurgledscream of rage, the room almost blood-red as the sandpapery feeling on my skin got worse. He kept his cock pointed at my chest, pissing while thrusting his hips in time with the music.
“Here I am, stuck in the—”
With an ear-splitting snap, the arm of the chair separated, and I pounced upward, breaking the other arm while holding the detached piece of wood in my hand. Before Roscoe could react, I leapt onto his back and began beating him repeatedly over the head.
“Shit! Cody, I’m sorry!”
