My fingers circle my clit, pressure building as I imagine him finally approaching. Standing between my spread thighs. The bulge in his joggers right there, eye level if I could lift my head.
"You ready to be famous, button?"
I whimper into my empty apartment, hips lifting off the mattress.
The fantasy Ryan doesn't ask permission. He just pulls his cock out—thick and heavy—and drags the head through my folds. Teasing. Making me beg for it while the cameras record everything.
"Please," I whisper to no one, fingers working faster. "Please fuck me."
Fantasy Ryan grips my hips and slams inside in one brutal thrust. No warning. No gentleness. Just claiming what's his while the cameras capture every second.
He fucks me hard on that table, using the stirrups as leverage to drive deeper. Each thrust punches the air from my lungs.The restraints dig into my ankles. I'm completely helpless, completely his, and everyone watching will know it.
"That's it, button. Show them what a dirty little slut you are."
My fingers move frantically now, circling my clit while I imagine him pounding into me. The wet sounds. The slap of skin. His grunts mixing with my moans. All of it recorded. Permanent. Evidence of exactly how much I need this.
"Come for the camera," fantasy Ryan commands. "Let them see."
And I do. I come so fucking hard my back arches off the mattress, thighs trembling, a scream tearing from my throat that echoes through my empty apartment. Wave after wave crashes through me while I work myself through it, imagining those cameras capturing every spasm, every desperate sound.
When I finally collapse back onto the bed, panting and limp, I'm staring at the ceiling again.
My pussy is still throbbing.
Why am I such a freak?
It could be worse, inner monologue reasons.You could be coming to the image of Caleb killing someone…
I throw the sheet off me and get out of bed. I'm not thinking about him.
Caleb is over.
I want Ryan.
I need Ryan.
Ryan, with his cute porn obsession. Ryan with his tame camera set up. Ryan with his button nick name.
I mean, little button?
Or good little slut?
The choice is obvious.
I note the time as I get in the shower. I've got forty-five minutes before I have to meet Ryan at the Gym.
I'm going to let him film me.
Maybe I won't even ask for a mask.
The gym isopen when I get there. People come early. People who work real jobs and have real daytime schedules. But it's only about a half a dozen.
Ryan's fishbowl office upstairs is dark. Which is weird. We've been meeting here at five AM for training for nearly two weeks now and that office has never been dark when I came in.
Maybe he's already in the back setting up?
I walk down the hallway to the big double doors that lead into the empty space where the cameras are, pull on the handle and… it's locked.
