Who the hell does he think he is? I squint my eyes at the name on my phone. The screen black as if he’s blocked out his device’s camera.
@sarge_in_charge What a stupid name. He’s either loaded or full of shit or trying to scam me. Or he could just be lonely like a lot of my subscribers. I get it. I feel the same way.
“Do you want to give me your bank details?” he says in a deep voice, like some sort of computer distortion. He could be a woman on the other end, for all I know.
“Let me get my card.” Standing from the bed, I tug the dress over my thighs. I may have been ready to strip down to my underwear tonight, but now it’s just him, I’m a little self conscious. I don’t know if it’s the blank screen or the domineering tone, but my skin breaks out in goose bumps.
Opening my bag on the dressing table, I reach for my bank details with a tremble in my hand, then pause. This is a ploy to find out my full name. I’ll send an invoice via the app, that’s the easiest thing. They may take a percentage, but it’s safer than giving out my name and bank details.
Sitting back on the bed so I’m on the screen again, I lift the phone from the stand and point the camera at the ceiling. “I’ll send you an invoice through the app.”
“All right. Whatever’s easiest for you.” A drumroll of taps comes through the mic while he waits for me to set up the invoice.
I’ve done this many times for clients who had a special request for a private video, but now I’m fumbling it up as I tap the wrong buttons. He’s already said he wants me to keep my clothes on, but talking seems worse. I’d much rather bare my breasts than my soul.
“There. All sent.” I fix the mobile back in the holder in the centre of the ring light. The black screen stares back at me in silence. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here.” His deep tone hums through the speaker, causing a flutter in my chest and an unease like the clipped wings of a bird trapped behind my ribs.
“So now it’s just the two of us, are you going to show your face so I can see who I’m talking to?”
He chuckles in the darkness. “You don’t get to see me. You’re not the one calling the shots here.”
“You think because you’re the one paying, you’re in charge?” A smirk lifts the corner of my mouth. If anyone’s in charge here, it’s me. It’s the one thing I like about this role. The feeling of empowerment I get at having subscribers begging for my attention gives me confidence to be a little more daring. I’ve grown so much this summer from foot videos to baring my nipples. I’ve never stripped fully, wanting to keep some modesty, but I have put on a few shows.
“Yes, I’m in charge and don’t you forget it. But seeing as it’s just the two of us, I’ll turn on my video.”
I hold my breath as the screen comes alive. A black leathered hand adjusts the screen, then black trousers and a white shirt come into view.
“You need to angle the screen. I can’t see your face.”
“This is all you get for now.” He chuckles again. “My little nurse so desperate to see me.”
“It’s just polite to see who I’m talking to. I’d hardly say I was desperate.” I fold my arms over my chest in a huff.
“Then take off that wig and those glasses. Let me see the real you.”
I push the black frames up my nose. The magnified lens of the cheap reading glasses do nothing to help me see more of this man on my tiny screen, but they add another layer to hide behind. “I can’t see without my glasses.”
“Okay. Let’s get one thing straight, sweetheart. I’m trained in the art of body language, and I can tell when someone’s lying. You can keep the glasses on if it makes you feel better, but lose the blonde. It doesn’t suit you.” Now he’s the one to fold his arms across his broad chest. Long sleeves and black gloves cover any slither of flesh, preventing me from seeing any colour of skin or tattoos that may give away his identity. “And don’t lie to me again. Got it?”
“Yes. Got it.” I pull the grips from the wig holding it in place, then let it fall down my back onto the bed. Now it’s just the two of us. It seems pointless trying to convince him I’m a natural blonde when he clearly knows it’s not my colour. The hair net holding my black tresses is the next thing to go and my hair falls around my face, framing my heated cheeks. I say a silent prayer for full coverage foundation under this man’s gaze.
“Yes, what?”
I shuffle on the edge of the bed, moisture dampening my knickers between my thighs each time he uses that dominanttone. Even behind the crackle of the voice changer, his commands come through loud and clear.
“Yes, sir.” With my heaving chest about to burst from this tight dress, I wait for the praise I crave.
“That’s my good little nurse,” he drawls, sending a shiver down my spine. No other subscriber has ever had this effect on me, sending me weak with their demands.
“I’m hardly little.” I state the obvious, but I can’t deny how much I like the sentiment.
His gloved hand lifts to his face off screen as if he’s rubbing his jaw. “No. You’re definitely not, but you are younger. So you’ll always be little to me.”
“I’m intrigued, sir. How old do you think I am? And more importantly, how old are you?”
“Have you forgotten already? I’m asking the questions.” A low rumble comes through the speaker.
