17. Willow
17
WILLOW
T he anticipation grows all week, until I'm so excited I can barely concentrate. Which is a good thing. At least, I don't let Lloyd bother me. But finally, it's Friday night.
It's hard to explain what these times in front of the camera represent for me.
I don't tend to feel like myself most of the time. The Willow Brown everyone see is a mask I wear to fit their expectations of me. The little girl, barely out of infancy, incapable of taking care of herself—that's how Morgan sees her little sister. The genius who's just a brain on legs, without feelings—that's what my friends from school and college see me. Then there's that thing men like Lloyd think they can control. The vulnerable prey who can't say no. He might have been the first to assume he could just touch me inappropriately, but he's not the first to look at me like that.
I'm never more myself than when I'm in front of the camera. Sexy, sensual, giving what I want, but on my terms.
In control.
I meet my two hires in the lobby, one blond and on the short side, the other dark-haired, with a beard that hides a weaker jawline.The guys are attractive enough, if a little less so than my first escort.
"Hey, I'm Ruby." I know better than to give my real name.
"Tom," the short one says. "This is my cousin, Sam."
Sam only nods.
"Great. Let's get to it, then. I only have you for an hour."
I booked the room for the entire night, but I'm only paying the guys for a little time.
I highlight the terms we discussed by text in the elevator, swallowing some nervousness. The thing is, as exciting as it is to bring some guys into my video, I can't deny a tiny bit of awkwardness and even fear. I don't know them. But I paid them, and we're going to be live. There's no reason to think things will go wrong.
They'll do.I wouldn't say either of them are my type, but they should work well with my audience. Everyone has been so excited about tonight. I'm looking forward to their reactions, and watching the video myself after it's filmed.
"All right, so, if you could stand either side, out of view, and then approach when I signal you?" I ask.
It makes sense for me to get started alone first.
"Then, as discussed, it'll be a double blowjob. No deep throat, though; I have a gag reflex," I babble, feeling more high-strung than I'd like to admit. “I have a few toys on the bed—I’ll take one and hand it to you if I want to use it. Any questions?"
"Yeah," the short one says. "How much are you making from this, huh?"
I shrug. "Depends. I don't know how many people will log in. But I'll pay you two hundred each, for an hour as discussed. If we stick to the angle I pointed to, there will be no faces shown."
I really don't like that one, I decide. He's about my age, a few years younger than the bearded one, but there's a bit of an arrogant edge to him that rubs me the wrong way. Still, we don't have to be best friends so it doesn't matter whether I like the dude or not. This is about me and one of his appendages. So long as it's seven inches and clean, as stated on the bill of health I requested, I don't care what he's like.
"All right, let's get started."
The first time I took pictures and videos of myself, it was for Dimitri, and years later, I can't help it, I still think of him as an image of myself is reflected on my computer's screen.
"Hey guys, I'm back. Have you missed me?" I wink.
An array of messages appear, and I beam. Plenty of them are tips, anywhere from ten bucks to a hundred just for saying hello.
"Missed you too. You wanna see how much?"I run my hand along my collarbone, with a flirty smirk.
I always start fully dressed, taking my time to remove the pieces.
Today, I'm wearing a pink skater dress, with a conservative boat neck, trimmed with lace, in stark contrast to the naughty red babydoll I have on underneath. I stand up from the well-made white hotel bed and turn to show them how I lower the zipper at the back, slow, teasing.
I feel like a freaking star, knowing all of them have their eyes fixed on me, riveted. In control and beautiful and powerful.
At least, until something grips my wig, pulling me back. It's secured to my own hair with pins that dig into my skull at the sudden tug.I yelp in both pain and surprise. What the fuck? I thrash against the iron grip around my head, my vision blurring.
"What the fuck are you doing?" one grumbly voice asks.
"What, you're gonna let that bitch tell you how it's done, huh? She wants to give a show. I'll give her a show." I manage to twist around far enough to see the short blond guy's the one gripping me.
"Man, that's not okay," the bearded one says. "This is on live camera."
Like the fact that we're recorded is the only reason what Tom's doing isn't acceptable.
"Like that matters. You think that bitch is gonna go to the cops, huh? She's basically a whore. They won’t care."
I…
He's right. I wouldn't go to the cops, because that would mean Willow Brown going, not Ruby Red. That would mean people knowing it's me behind the wig and effects.
Oh god. Oh god. I'm so fucking dumb.
Suddenly, I feel sick to my stomach, and incredibly stupid. How could I let this happen?
I should have had a guard here with me. Someone to make sure I was safe. Alex, maybe. At the very least, my old escort, as he was respectful and clearly fine with the whole system.
I shouldn't have been doing this at all. It was stupid. Why do I always do stupid things?
My shrink made it clear: I could find some outlets for my condition, my addiction to attention, but I had to do it safely.
As the blond throws me back on the bed and pins me down, with enough force for me to not even be able to squirm, I whimper helplessly, feeling wetness on my cheeks.
Dimitri.
I don't know why I'm thinking about him right now.
Dimitri would never have allowed for this to happen. He would have taken care of me.
And he would have been the one, the first, to take me. He should have been. Why wasn't he?
Jesus, I have issues. Even now, I'm clinging to the thought of him. A man who's shown, proven, that I meant nothing to him. I'm his friend's wife's little sister. That's all.
I lower my face to the mattress, trying not to notice the distinctive sound of a zipper.
This wasn't supposed to be like this. I fucked it all up, didn't I?
I wince in anticipation, trying my best not to cry.