Vixen chuckled. “Red, huh? You kinky fucks, of course you’d pick that one.” She rose from the bed and moved out of frame, leaving the members in the chat to run rampant with theirexcitement. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time she used this toy.
After a few moments of rummaging around off-screen, she came back with full hands. One held a bottle of lube, and in the other… I physically recoiled from the sight of it. The thing looked like less of a sex toy and more of a torture device. The shaft was easily as long as her hand from wrist to the longest finger, and it was covered in silicone nubs that looked too long to be comfortably shoved anywhere delicate. She put the monstrosity down to squeeze a pile of lube into her palm and proceeded to spread it along the dildo. Watching her hand run up and down, it was obvious those nubs had little give to them.
My stomach did a flip thinking of where she was about to shove that thing.
My gawd that’s so hot!
Do you like pierced dick, baby?
I can’t wait to hear you cry on that thing.
You’re such a whore for pain, aren’t you?
You’d be so hot if you were twenty years younger.
The chat comments were getting progressively more graphic, but that last one stuck out the most. I barely caught the username before it scrolled by to make room for more comments—richbro95. Because of course it was.
I knew going in that there would be all sorts of creeps on this site, but just the few demands I glimpsed made me lose what little faith in humanity I had left. Who else willingly watches a woman on camera do whatever depraved fantasies they throw out? I doubted anyone on this page had a significant other, and if they did, I felt sorry for their partners. This kind of fucked up was just…
I had nothing against sexual kinks. I even partook in a few of my own. What I couldn’t fathom was all the obscenities and crude gestures thrown at this woman, even as she did what themajority asked. Calling a woman a whore for doing something sexual that she’s getting paid for was just wrong. Vixen rose up onto her knees, running her hand down her stomach on its way down to unsnap the buttons at the crotch of her lingerie. The chat didn’t seem to bother her. I should close the window. I should remove myself from this shit-show. But I found myself mesmerized, watching her brace the base of the dildo against the bed and slowly lower herself onto the tip. I’m not even sure I blinked in the last two minutes.
The soft cry, even modulated through her mask, was enough to break me. It didn’t sound like a cry of enjoyment.
My hand flashed to the top of the screen, slamming it down so hard it may have cracked. I didn’t know if it would log me out of the cam site or if it continued to charge me by the minute, but frankly, I didn’t care. Those raunchy comments had seared themselves into my brain, and I was going to need a gallon of bleach sloshed inside my skull to rinse them from my memory.
The Hunter
Lore
This mark was more of a nuisance than entertaining. Just another punk with a wealthy daddy, thinking he was invincible because he’d been bailed out of some domesticviolence accusations before. I was already bored with his sniveling and whimpering, tied to his computer chair in the middle of his bedroom with a tarp laid out beneath him. He had started crying as soon as I rolled it out.
Mr. Richbro95, otherwise known as Gabe Sumpton, was the picture of pathetic, strapped to the very computer chair he sat in last night as he requested some truly depraved shit on my cam session. Even without the evidence that my programs skimmed from his browser and cookie history, I could tell he was a twisted motherfucker, and not in a good kink kind of way. The sites he frequented had a penchant for broadcasting sick snuff films. Ones that had very real visual effects. Little Gabe here got his rocks off on watching other people suffer in the most brutal, painful ways one human could inflict on another. And on girls who were barely teenagers, at that.
“I’m curious, Gabe, if you’re as good at catching as you are pitching?” My booted foot shoved against the corner of his chair and sent it spinning wildly. The tire iron I brought lay across my shoulders as I hung both wrists on the ends, watching him come to a stop and strolling over to stand in front of him again. “In my experience, bitches like you who like to watch others be tortured can’t take the heat themselves. But I’m always open to being proven wrong!”
“I swear, I’ll give you whatever you want, just—”
Crunch.
The satisfying give of his kneecap beneath the tire iron was enough to send chills up my spine. Definitely better than edging myself on camera. If only those slimy bastards who pretended they had tough stomachs in the chat knew what Ireallydid to bad people, they’d probably toss their cookies like little babies. Kneecaps were justsosatisfying to crush.
“Oh, come now, Gabe! That’s no fun!” My voice modulator sucked out the fake enthusiasm and turned it into a roboticmonotone. “You hadsomany good ideas last night, where are they now? I’m just a girl looking for a good time! Is it because I’m not twenty years younger? FYI, that would put me at twelve, you sick fuck.”
His dull brown eyes widened in fearful recognition. “No fucking way… Vixen?” he gasped through the pain. “You crazy… fucking bitch! When I tell my dad what you did, he’ll ruin you!”
“You’re not very bright, are you?” I tapped the iron beneath his chin, tilting his head up to an uncomfortable angle. “And Daddy’s not home. I wish he was, so you could watch him turn the other cheek while I fuck you uprealslow. I let that little rat run his shady-ass dealings in my territory, so you can sit onyourass and reap the benefits.” The cackle I let loose at his growing anxiety made him flinch hard. “Hey, I know! Let’s call your dad. I’m sure you have some last words for him, right?”
Gabe was a sniveling, snotty mess as I pulled my phone from the tight pocket of my black leggings. His father was just as bad. I fucking hated that guy. Sighing heavily, I thumbed through my contacts until Don “Bitchass” Sumpton scrolled by, and I tapped the screen to put the call on speaker. He picked up on the second ring. “Yes, ma’am?” he answered politely.
What a good boy.
Gabe immediately started wailing. “Dad! Dad, this crazy bitch has me zip-tied to a chair and broke my fucking kneecap, where the hell are youpleasecomerescueme!” His words began to run together into another gasping cry, more tears dribbling down his splotchy cheeks.
The line was quiet.
“How’s dinner?” I asked brightly, or at least as brightly as I could with the robotic modulated voice. “Jerel messaged me earlier saying the negotiations were favorable. My ten percent will be in the account tomorrow, yes?”
“The wire is being drafted as we speak,” Don’s voice was terse, but otherwise unchanged even as his youngest son blubbered in the background. Brutal.
