Chapter 2
HER SECRET SHOW
César
It’s Valentine’s Day and I’m sitting at home, two glasses of whiskey deep, without a woman by my side.
I don’t fucking care at this point. Valentine’s Day is my favorite time of the year.
An excuse to spoil my date with cheap chocolate and not-so-cheap flowers.
We’d share a night of passion, because what was Valentine’s Day for if not hot, rough sex?
And then we’d part ways—usually on amicable terms—and the cycle would start anew next year.
Women are my favorite indulgence. Spoiling them.
Fucking them. Talking with them. It didn’t matter.
My friend and firm partner, Elias, always made fun of me and called me a playboy, but that shit is the furthest thing from the truth.
Playboys don’t respect women and are just there for some ass.
Not me. I want every part a woman will give me.
Her hopes, dreams, fears. I fucking thrive on that shit.
It’s just the commitment I’m not good at.
I’ve never cheated on anyone. I’m not that type of man. I’ve also never been with anyone long enough to cheat on them, which is what I prefer. My interests are fleeting, and no woman has ever stayed on my mind for long.
The only reason I’m not at some overpriced three Michelin star restaurant is because I’ve been working like a damn dog.
My calendar is packed, filled with back-to-back meetings, since Elias decided to become a better husband and spend more time with his wife.
I think that asshole is in Mexico on some beach.
Can’t help but hate him a little.
I finish my third glass of whiskey just as a notification buzzes my phone.
A reminder flashes across the screen—five minutes until my show starts.
If I have to miss out on my favorite holiday, then damn it, I’m going to enjoy it in other ways.
I grab my personal laptop and power it on.
The website is already saved in my favorites.
As soon as I log in, a banner pops up across the screen, proudly declaring me CurvyBabe’s top supporter once again.
Just like I’ve been for the last three months.
I loosen my tie, unbuttoning my shirt before nestling back into my couch, getting comfortable.
My cock already knows what’s about to happen and twitches in my pants.
It’s been too damn long since I’ve sunk myself into tight pussy, I’m certain I’m going through withdrawals.
Until I get my personal life back, CurvyBabe is my only outlet.
The video feed starts up with a two-minute countdown for tonight’s live event.
Before I’m too far gone in my horny thoughts, I send a generous tip, gaining the “top contributor” badge instantly.
A widget in the corner of the screen counts the amount of people joining in on the live and it quickly surpasses over one thousand people.
I take solace in knowing I’m not the only bastard spending Valentine’s Day alone.
Me—and probably the entire chat—watch in anticipation as the countdown gets to its last five seconds.
The moment it hits one, the screen goes dark.
Before disappointment can settle in, the screen flashes again, and this time, she’s here.
CurvyBabe. A masquerade mask covers her face, concealing most of her identity.
She’s wearing this fiery-red lace number that barely counts as clothing.
It clings to her curves like a second skin, cut low enough to showcase the swell of her breasts.
A keyhole slit teases a glimpse of skin right between them.
Thin straps wrap around her shoulders, delicate but firm, like the lingerie was made to be slowly undone.
My gaze dips lower. The bodysuit hugs her waist and hips like a damn dream, sheer panels and lace revealing more than they hide.
There are little ruffles at her hips, and long garter straps trail down her thighs like an invitation.
She’s paired it with matching red thigh-highs, and suddenly I can’t think straight.
She shifts slightly, running a hand through her hair like she owns the room—and hell, she does. My blood heats instantly. Every nerve lights up. That lingerie wasn’t made to be worn. It was made to be worshipped—just like her—and ripped off.
Fuck.
My mouth is dry. She hasn’t even said a word yet, and I already know I’m screwed. My cock swells at the sight of her. Soft, sultry music plays in the background, adding to the ambiance of her small room with nothing but a twin sized bed.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she purrs, a seductress in her own right. Her voice drips like honey. She never speaks much. She doesn’t have to. Her body does all the talking for her.
I drink her in like a fine wine. Her soft belly, wide hips, and thighs that could send a lesser man into a coma. Although most of the comments are praising and complimenting her body, there are a few unhinged ones as well.
Fattie.
Fucking gross.
No person should be that big.
I see red. Fuckers like that are only brave behind a screen and thrive in anonymity.
Their tiny dicks could never win over a woman like CurvyBabe, so they throw their little tantrums online to feel superior.
It’s truly pathetic, but their viewership and comments give her money, so they are just inadvertently helping her.
Still, I report their comments in the hope it’s enough to get them banned.
Reporting the comments distract me so much that I almost miss the sultry moans coming from the video.
My gaze snaps up in time to see CurvyBabe fondle herself.
She squeezes her large breast between her hands, letting her head fall back.
More moans escape her lips, and they can only be compared to the sound of a siren.
My cock hardens painfully in my pants, restricted by the tight fabric.
I undo the top of my pants to ease the pressure. But it’s not enough, and I don’t stand a chance.
I pull on the zipper, nearly hissing as my cock springs free from its confines. Half hard already, I wrap my hand around my shaft, pumping it up and down with a groan. My eyelids threaten to close, but I can’t miss a second of the show. Of her.
One manicured hand—red nails that match her lingerie perfectly—sneaks down between her legs.
I hadn’t noticed before, but it’s evident now.
An open slit stretches across her crotch, allowing her fingers to dip in easily.
The moment her finger finds her clit, she gasps, and I imagine every viewer moaning alongside her.
Her pussy is still mostly covered, but we get enough of a tease to hang on to her every action. I don’t miss the way her lips part in a silent gasp as she presses a finger inside herself, moving it in and out in a slow, rhythmic motion.
I follow her pace, stroking my cock painfully slowly. It’s sweet torture. I both hate and love it, needing more, but not wanting this to end too quickly.
CurvyBabe commands the camera, having every bastard salivating at their screen.
She sits back on the bed and spreads her legs wide.
The fabric of her lingerie pulls taut over her center, the slit opening to expose the pretty pink of her pussy.
And fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing I’ve seen.
An involuntary groan leaves my lips as I squeeze my cock, pretending my hand is her pussy.
I really need to get fucking laid.
She adds a second finger into her needy cunt, and her sultry moans grow louder.
This is her favorite way to get started, slowly fucking herself with her fingers and coming all over them.
She moves to toys next. I’ve watched far too many of her videos not to know her pattern, and even though it’s predictable, I still come hard every time.
This goddess of a woman has an effect over me like no other, and she doesn’t even know who I am.
Hell, I don’t even know who she is. Not really.
When her fingers move faster, I match her pace with my hand.
Soon my moans mix with hers as I picture myself sheathing my cock inside her cunt and fucking her within an inch of her life.
Because I’m a damn gentleman, I’d make sure she came first, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until she begged for me to stop.
And even then, I would coax another one out of her before spilling my cum so deep inside of her that I’ll forever be etched on her body.
Pressure builds in my lower abdomen, growing more intense with each stroke of my hand.
Precum gathers at my tip, as if in preparation to explode for her at any minute.
The pressure moves from my abdomen down, locking my body up.
It won’t be long now; this woman can unwind me without even touching me.
“Fuck,” she moans into the camera, cheeks flushed and her fingers moving at a punishing pace.
Wetness pools between her thighs, making her fingers slide in easily.
I imagine myself pumping in and out of her, hard and fast. The moans she would make for me, how her body would wither under mine, and how we would come undone together.
The last thought pushes me over the edge. I groan, squeezing my cock as ropes of cum spurts on my stomach. CurvyBabe screams out, finding her own orgasm, and my spent cock twitches upon seeing her finish.
At the end, I’m left satisfied, with mild disappointment tainting my post orgasm bliss. Reality settles in, and I remember I’m alone. Alone on Valentine’s Day and alone in life while those around me have been married and settled for some time.
I don’t know if that’s the life I want, but I want something. Or maybe that’s just my horniness talking, and I’ll get out of this funk after I’m buried to the hilt in someone’s pussy.
“I think it’s time to change positions,” CurvyBabe purrs, drawing my attention back to the screen.
My social life problems can wait. For now, I’ll live in this bubble of pleasure.
CurvyBabe moves to her hands and knees, arching her back just enough to tilt her hips up, positioning herself perfectly within the camera frame.
That ass—that fucking ass—has been the downfall of my bank account.
Round, soft, and sinful, it bounces slightly with every small shift she makes.
She moves like she knows exactly what it does to me.
I’ve dropped so much money just to see it again and again, to have her turn and show it off like it’s a damn masterpiece, because it is.
That ass has haunted my dreams, wrecked my focus at work, and still, it’s never enough.
I’d pay a thousand times over just to watch it move for me.
CurvyBabe starts talking, but her words are lost to me.
I have a one-track mind with her ass on the screen, admiring every inch.
And then I zero in on the tattoo on her lower back, just above her ass.
It’s a small, delicate piece. A butterfly with pink wings.
I’ve seen it a hundred times before, but this time, it stirs up a memory.
Foggy at first, like it’s unsure if it wants to take form.
And then I remember.
My body freezes, locking up, and I’m certain the color drains from my face as if I’ve just seen a ghost.
But this is so much worse than a ghost.
So much fucking worse.
Because I’ve seen that tattoo before. Not just through a screen—but in my office.
Just a few hours ago. She dropped some papers.
Bent over to grab them. That slutty little skirt rode up her thighs, giving me a view I shouldn’t have taken—but did, anyway.
Her shirt shifted just enough to expose her lower back.
That’s when I saw it.
A butterfly. Inked in delicate lines. Pink wings.
The same fucking tattoo.
Lety Zavala is CurvyBabe.
How the fuck am I supposed to face my secretary now?
There’s a small possibility that these women just have the same tattoo, but the more I look at CurvyBabe, the more I see the similarities between them. Same black hair that hangs nearly to her ass, curly and full. Those same pouty lips I’ve dreamed about on more than one occasion.
How could I not have seen it before? The truth is so obvious as it stares me in the face, mocking me with my own stupidity. My number-one rule has always been to never get involved with an employee, no matter how tempting.
And Lety is so fucking tempting—making me contemplate breaking my own rules. It’s been easy to ignore her and pretend that my body doesn’t react each time that perky ass walks by my door with those wicked high heels.
Now that I know this information, what the fuck do I do with it?
I know one thing for certain: Lety Zavala has become my new obsession.
And this time, I don’t think I want to ignore my need for her. Maybe it’s time to break all the rules.