Chapter 3 #2
I smile like I’m supposed to. I pump my fist in the air and yell out the pirate-esque “ARGGG!!” that always gets yelled at our games. The group roars it back. Another of the girls screams that she loves me. Then they fade into the night again, laughing and cheering.
I exhale slowly and take another large sip of whiskey.
Like I said: I’m a god on this campus. At the risk of sounding like a completely self-absorbed shithead, every girl wants me, and every guy kinda wants to be me. I’m fully aware of how outrageously full of myself that sounds, but it’s true.
Now, in the Hollywood version of my life, this is the part where I get introspective and groan about how much I hate being the center of attention. The spotlight is a lie, fame is a fickle mistress, and all those other cliches.
But fuck Hollywood. I don’t hate the limelight.
I fucking love it.
And that, class, is how Lochlan Kildare, respectable heir to the Kildare Irish Mafia empire, came to be “The Ghost Prince”: a masked, half-naked MaskTok sensation with close to a million drooling, feverish social media followers.
It started two years ago. My little sister Demi showed me some wack-ass video of a dude in a stitch mask and combat gear with a baseball bat placed suggestively between his legs, saying a ton of cringe shit about “good girls” and “telling daddy what you want him to do to you”.
I know. I say “cringe”, yet I’ve literally said both of those things in dozens of my own videos at this point.
At first, I made fun of Demi, as any big brother would when his little sister shows him TikToks of half-naked tattooed dudes dry humping the camera. But then I noticed that the motherfucker had fifteen thousand likes on a video he’d posted not an hour before.
Six thousand comments.
Two hundred and thirty thousand followers.
Ronan made a crack about how much the guy was probably pulling in from ad and product placement revenue. But that’s not what caught my attention.
It was the numbers.
I'll admit it: I am a whore for attention. I love it. Crave it. Fucking get off on it.
So even though I was already a walking god on campus, drowning in female attention, I sat down like a true fucking addict and planned how I could get more.
More fawning.
More praise.
More adoration.
I read up on social media branding. I watched other MaskTok content creators and figured out what worked and what didn’t.
I realized that I needed some kind of original branding: hence the drippy white painted crown on my mask.
I saw the link between MaskTok and the dark romance side of BookTok and the massive following that was waiting out there to thirst over my content and feed me the adoration I craved.
Now, again, my genes gave me an unfair advantage. Sure, there were guys and girls out there who were killing it with “fully covered” content. But when life gives you lemons, i.e., an eight-pack of abs, you make lemonade.
…By which I mean, shirtless MaskTok content.
Within a month, I had two videos go mega-viral and get me thirty thousand followers. By the next month, I was up to a hundred thousand.
The likes poured in. The comments were delightfully unhinged and thirsty. All the attention gave my ego the constant hand job I crave, and I haven’t looked back.
No one knows, of course. I mean, yeah, they know I'm an attention whore. But I’m not blind to exactly how poorly it would go over with, well, everyone, to learn that the future head of the Kildare mafia was out there wearing bizarre combinations of military and fetish gear, telling his adoring fans to be good girls, and stroking knives like a cock on camera.
Please.
So I play it close to the chest. Not even my nearest and dearest know I’m The Ghost Prince.
They would never guess how embarrassingly involved I am not just in the MaskTok world, but the BookTok dark romance world, too. I have to be: tons of my content plays into being the favorite “book boyfriend” of the month and basically cosplaying male main characters from hit dark romance novels.
And that's why I’ve known exactly who Velvet Villainess is for a year now.
Not by name, of course. Just as another MaskTok content creator who rose through the ranks even faster than I did.
As the blonde with the tight little body she seems to love showing off in leather fetish gear, masked, while she rolls her hips and slides her hands over herself and adds subtitles saying “being a bad girl because you know what happens to bad girls when SIR gets home”.
I mean, it’s as cringe as the shit I post.
It also gets me hard as fucking steel whenever I watch it.
Which is often.
I drain my glass and head inside to top it off.
But when I walk back into the lounge, I slump back against the wall next to the balcony.
I replay the scene from the library earlier: how I’d just finished packing up my tripod and ring light and was sitting there in the dark ready to check over my latest creation before posting it, when the door had opened.
I’d kept quiet, because, well, come on. I was sitting in the dark in a black mask, shirtless. It would scare the living shit out of anyone who walked into that room.
Except it wasn’t just anyone who did.
I’d watched in a little confusion as Galina Nikitin marched in, slid a bag out from behind a chair, and started setting up a tripod and ring light nearly identical to mine.
I went perfectly still when she pulled a costume and a big blonde wig out of that bag.
And I stayed perfectly still—aside from my hungrily twitching dick—when she completely undressed barely twenty feet away from me, changed into leather fetish gear, the wig, and a mask, and started to film herself dancing.
…As Velvet Villainess.
My teeth grit as I replay the image of her rolling her hips and dancing in front of that bookshelf. I wish I actually had recorded her on my phone, so I could watch it again.
Do I feel a twinge of guilt, leading her to believe I had that leverage over her?
A little. Maybe.
But it’s offset when my cock swells to steel in my pants, tenting the front as I groan and feel my balls churn.
Fuck.
Sure, now he decides to wake up.
For a half second, I debate going back down to the party, finding Carrie, and picking up where we left off. Except the second I picture her face and that super annoying faux-porn voice, Lochlan Junior deflates again.
Mother.
Fucker.
I switch to mental images of Galina crawling toward me on her hands and knees, looking up at me from between my spread knees.
Standing. Turning around. Settling that tight little bare ass down on my throbbing erection.
Fuck me. I’m hard again.
Picky little bitch.
My hand drops to the front of my pants. I groan when I squeeze my painfully hard dick, slowly stroking through my jeans. A groan rumbles deep in my throat.
Fuck, suddenly I'm so horny I could explode.
I start to replay the way Galina’s hips moved on my lap. The way I could feel her hot, wet cunt grinding back and forth across my cock. I give him another heavy squeeze, moaning audibly as precum begins to leak into my pants.
I need to deal with this.
Now.
My belt jangles as I open it. I yank down my zipper and grunt as I reach inside my boxers and pull out my heavy, swollen cock and my very full balls.
My brows arch when I look down at myself.
Jesus Christ, am I hard. I mean, I’m always a big boy, but…fuck.
Making up for earlier, are you?
Memories of Galina’s hot, wet pussy filter back into my head as I wrap my fist around my cock and start to stroke.
I groan, the veins bulging and my balls swelling.
More pearly white precum beads at the swollen tip and drips down, slick and sticky and wet.
I grunt again, stroking harder and watching another heavy drop fall to the floor.
I reach into my back pocket and pull out Galina's lacy pink thong I stuffed there earlier.
My fist starts to pump harder as I raise the lace to my nose and inhale deeply.
Fuck…
I groan out loud as I inhale the sweet scent of her cunt. I breathe in another whiff of her pussy, my cock swelling to a degree I’m not sure he ever has before. I glance down and hiss in pleasure as my fist glides up and down my erection.
Holy fuck. I might even be a half inch bigger than usual, which is insane.
I bring the pink thong down to my dick and wrap it around my shaft, both hands stacked. My head drops back against the wall, and I close my eyes as I start to stroke my swollen cock.
I think of Galina.
Of her perfect, tight body writhing on my lap. Of spanking that ass, and her whimpers when I did. Of her pebbling pink nipple responding to my fingers and tightening against them.
Her hips grinding, her choked gasps, and her red hair wrapped around my fist.
Her bare pussy with that neat triangle of red above it grinding along the length of my dick like a greedy little thing.
“Being a bad girl because you know what happens to bad girls when SIR gets home”.
My mind was almost made up the second she soaked my pants with her cum. Now, I’m beyond sure.
She’s going to be my bad girl.
My plaything.
My personal Velvet Villainess.
My jaw goes slack as my muscles clench. My balls twitch and pull up, and I let out a loud, guttural groan as cum explodes out of my heavy cock and fills her lacy pink thong with sticky white ropes.
Hello, Villainess. Prepare to meet your new villain.