Chapter 3
THREE
As the woman slipped from the bed, Redtube reached forward and turned off the digital camera set in the tripod near the footboard, his movements stiff, his mind whirring. He’d stopped recording an hour ago, but the action in the bed had kept going, just like every other time he’d play a scene with a woman he’d invited home with him. He’d tease her on camera, drawing out the sensuality, then he’d tie her hands to the headboard and draw out every drop of pleasure from her body. Once she was begging for his cock, he cut the recording, slipped on the condom, and fucked her until her eyes rolled back in her head.
Yeah, he didn’t film that part; he wasn’t making porn, at least that’s what he told his prez when the man asked if he was putting the club’s reputation on the line. Red was aware that his lines were blurred, that what he was doing was just on the edge of what could be flagged as too adult for social media, but he always made sure to keep things sexy but not gratuitous; he knew the kind of shit he’d get into if he dragged the Unchained through legal muck.
So, he kept the fucking off camera, where he didn’t need to worry about getting the club in trouble because of his gluttony.
These days, his bedroom was more like a film studio rather than a sanctuary, where he could hide away from the world, relax, refresh, and rest.
He’d spent the last two hours giving the woman everything she begged for…everything the viewers begged for, and still, he felt…dissatisfied. Once the recording stopped, he’d kept the fun going; he’d come, filling the condom, but that was nothing more than muscle memory, his body driving him to completion, a primal imperative and nothing more. Nothing that actually meant anything.
So why the fuck did he do it? That was a question that beat against his skull more and more lately, a question that had far too many layers, far too many possible answers, and none of them actually satisfying.
He filmed, he fucked, he changed the sheets, then he went to bed to do it all over against the next day.
“That was amazing, baby,” the woman purred, moving around the massive bed to sidle up next to where he was sitting, her stilettos in one hand and her ruby red dress in the other.
Not even bothering to look at her, he replied, suddenly exhausted, “It was, and now it’s over.”
Ignoring her gasp, he stood up and reached for his jeans where he’d dropped them after his strip tease…for the camera…for his viewers…to satisfy his ever-growing need for—fuck, he didn’t know.
Sex, kink, play, booze, lifting, handing out digital ass-whoopin’s for the club—nothing satisfied him anymore. There wasn’t a day gone by where he didn’t wake up with a yawning, aching, ravening hunger for something he couldn’t find.
My Daisy….
Fuck. Shit. Damn.
His Daisy, Valentina Ivanova, a woman he really shouldn’t be thinking about right now, naked and freshly fucked, with another woman’s pussy musk filling the air.
“You don’t have to be so rude,” the woman snapped, dragging her tight as fuck dress down over her naked body. When she’d removed her dress, she’d been naked underneath; she’d been well aware that his invitation at the classic car show in Scranton had been one of easy, string-free sex. She hadn’t minded about the cameras, had been eager, asking questions about where he’d be posting, and if he’d tag her so she could show her friends.
Is this what my life has become? Empty sex for attention and adoration from people who mean shit to me?
Swallowing down the sudden rising bile, Redtube turned to the woman, flashed her his patented “thank you for the fuck” smile, and drawled, “Sorry ‘bout that, peach. Got a lot on my mind right now. That said, I have a busy day tomorrow, and I need to get some sleep after that.”
Always leave them happy, always leave them wanting more—isn’t that what they all want?
From the first video he’d posted to the one he’d uploaded only days ago, the messages and comments were the same: that’s fucking hot, I can’t wait for the next one…. And so, he’d played and filmed it, over and over, different women, different scenes, different themes—like a motherfucking mix ‘n’ match value menu.
At first, it had been fucking amazing; all the sex he wanted, with whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted—and it didn’t hurt that he was in an MC where the pussy was on tap and always DTF. The first two years, he got paid for fulfilling his various kinks on camera, hiding his true identity behind a mask, building a social media and then an OnlyFans following that netted him hundreds of thousands of dollars a year.
He'd sold his soul for the pleasure of living out his deepest, darkest sexual fantasies for profit. And he’d felt like a god, a thirst trap above all others online, and that had been enough.
Until something changed.
Until a DM pinged on his phone late one night and sent his world spiraling.
@xxxDaisyChainxxx: You’re Unchained
Before then, he’d only cared about what his MC brothers and his followers thought of him, wanted from him, expected of him. They all wanted something from him, something he could do for them, how they could use him for their own gain even as he did the same.
Not Valentina…she only wants you….
Shit. Fuck. Mothergoddamn! Now was definitely not the time to think about her, about her sweetness, her kindness, her innocence…. She was all that was good in the world, all that a filthy fucker like him didn’t deserve but still wanted anyway.
“Look…peach…” he paused, realizing he needed to ease her toward the door, “leave your number, yeah? I’ll catch you another time.” Because there was no fucking way he was handing out his personal number to anyone—as the cyber expert for the Unchained, he knew just how easy it was to track and surveille someone, so handing his number out was a fat fucking no.
He gave it to Val easy enough, though, because he’d been desperate to speak with her even when he was away from his computer. Also, with her brains, she’d have no problem finding his number if she wanted it anyway.
He smirked at that thought; his woman was smart as fuck.
The woman he’d fucked—he didn’t even know her name—glided over to him, sliding her hand over his chest, his muscles tightening—not in pleasure or anticipation, but rather repulsion. They’d fucked but he wasn’t about to let it get intimate, and touching without asking was not in his one-and-done playbook. He initiated. He was in control.
He gripped her wrist and gently removed her hand from his body.
Her face lit up, her smile turning sensual, her eyes growing dark. Damn, she was thirsty again, but he was all out of jizz to feed her.
“Hey,” he drawled, some unnamable drive pushing him. “Leave the hair tie,” he demanded, raising his hand to take it. It was black, like most of the others, but somehow this one felt heavier. Weightier. More consequential. As always, he slipped it over the top of the bed post, adding it to his collection, one only his MC brothers knew about.
If Val knew about the hair ties, he knew things would get rocky.
If she’s so okay with your fuckery, why are you scared of her finding out about your fuck tokens?
Fuck, he didn’t want to think about it.
It took too long to get the blonde out of his place, but once he did, he showered, changed his sheets, tossing them in the washer, and then remade the bed—his lieutenant would be proud, even six years after he signed his discharge papers—and then, finally, sat down to edit the video he’d just filmed.
As he watched the scene unfold, he cut, he layered, he made sure that everything was just this side of Meta’s community guidelines, then he saved the finished product, threw his head back, and sighed.
The video was fuck hot, and that was what he wanted, what his followers and subscribers wanted, but…Valentina….
He knew she was one of his 150,000 OnlyFans subscribers, and that she followed him on every other social media platform; that’s how they met, on Instagram. Val enjoyed and always liked the thirst trap images he posted, where he was always masked, usually bare-chested, and flashing naughty bits just this side of lurid. He’d built his following by giving the people what they wanted—him, arousing them by simply showing off his hard body in all its glory. He loved the tease, especially when he knew Val saw them. But he also knew that she didn’t like him filming the “scenes” with other woman, but wouldn’t stop him because it “made him happy,” because it was “part of who he was,” a man who got off on knowing millions of people were watching him, desiring him, getting off on what he was doing on their screens. She knew about his exhibitionist kink, about how he liked being watched—for the most part. He’d never cross the line and fuck in public, but his cock got hard at the thought that people looked at him, wanted him, and were using him as a tool for their own pleasure.
Yeah, he was fucked up, but Val…she understood. She didn’t like it, but she never made him feel like she was ashamed of him.
“Do I know millions of women look at you? Sure, you’re hot as hell, and I like looking, too. Do I like thinking about them pursuing you? No, I don’t, because…well…I’m jealous, even though I have no reason to be.” She took a deep breath, one that drifted over his skin even over the phone. She was right, she didn’t have a reason to be jealous, because those people could click and look, but they weren’t the ones he craved. “If it’s what makes you happy, Red, I won’t say anything about it. Only you can say what to do with your own body,” she’d said, and that had lifted a weight of anxiety from his shoulders. He’d liked Val, had found himself drawn to her, even from the beginning, before he’d ever heard her voice. But that like had grown, deepened, into admiration, adoration, and finally soul deep affection. He loved the fuck outta her. And he knew it was the same for her.
Is that why you fucked the blonde? Because you care for Val so much?
Growling, he jolted from his desk chair and stomped from his room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. There was a bottle of Smirnoff he hadn’t finished off yet, and that would do just the trick to silence that slithering, chittering, chilling voice in his head. The voice that told him that what he was doing was wrong, that if he wanted to be with Val, he needed to keep his dick in his fucking pants.
But Val understood, she knew that he was a man with needs, with an appetite, with a hole inside him he tried to fill with fucking and online likes. She was so okay with it that she still liked and commented on all his videos—there was no way she was so na?ve that she didn’t realize that he was fucking those women. But they never talked about it. They’d get online, chat, text, call each other, and spend hours every day just being together, well, as much as they could be together when she was still refusing to meet him face-to-face. Yes, he understood she was shy, had some hang ups about her looks, but he didn’t give a shit if she had a cleft palate, a cloven hoof, or a goiter—he just wanted to meet the woman he loved, touch her, kiss her, inhale her scent, press her warm skin against his, and just… be with her.
Touch her with hands tainted with the body of another woman….
Fuck. What this fuck was with all those thoughts? Val was fine. They were fine. And once Val came around, they’d be more than fine because they would be together, and he’d never touch another woman again. She would own him.
She already does…but you give what belongs to her to others….
Goddammit!
Val on his mind, guilt slithering through him—not that he did anything wrong—he decided to send her gift certificate for Starbucks, her one weakness—caffeine and pastries.
That morning, she’d texted about work, an assignment she was on for the state, and how she was only powering through it with the help of caffeine. She couldn’t give any information about what she was working on, but she shared enough that Red knew she was fucking brilliant.
So brilliant that cracking open any file on her was impossible—and he’d tried, wanting to know all there was to know about her. Wanting to find pictures of her, to see her with his own eyes. He wasn’t so proud that he couldn’t admit that, in terms of cyber skill, she had him beat by a fucking mile. There wasn’t a trace of her where she didn’t want it, and that meant he was stuck waiting until she felt safe enough to reveal everything.
He understood her desire for time, and he respected it. He’d promised to wait for her; to commit his heart only to her, and he’d keep that promise. She would be the only serious relationship he’d ever have…once she finally agreed to be with him. Until then, he filled his days filling holes, uploading Reels and videos, talking with Val, and then looking for his next empty, meaningless, faceless hole to fuck.
Yeah, Valentina was a fucking rockstar, so understanding, so mature about everything. And once she finally agreed to meet him, he’d pull out all the stops to make her the happiest woman on the fucking planet.
But how much longer was he expected to wait, to yearn for her, to silently beg for her to finally come to him?
Heaving a sigh, he threw back two shots of vodka, then headed to bed.
Tomorrow was another day.
Grabbing his cell, he sent a text to Val, which was part of their familiar pre-bedtime routine.
Redtube: Goodnight, my Daisy. Sweet dreams.
After brushing his teeth, and covering his tatts in moisturizer to keep the ink bright and camera ready, he pulled back the covers and slipped between the crisp, clean sheets. Hitting the lights, Red dropped off to sleep, only vaguely realizing…Val hadn’t responded.