Chapter 2
Jay
“Babe, are you done working yet?” Ray yells from down the hall. “We’ve got a lot of content to film today.”
I still have an hour left on my project, but I shut it down early and set an out-of-office reply. It’s not worth the inevitable argument with my boyfriend as his footsteps thunder down the hall.
“Did you hear me?” He leans into the doorway of my home office, his jaw clenched. “Get your ass out of that chair and into the living room. You should have finished your work by now.”
“I am well aware of that,” I snap. “But my job matters too.”
His glare sharpens. “Do we need to have this conversation again? Our content will pay off way more than your so-called day job if we put in the effort. Now, get in there and fix your attitude before you do.”
I swallow the retort and keep my mouth shut. He acts as if my paycheck doesn’t cover the mortgage, all our expenses, and our health insurance. Since he quit bartending to be a full-time content manager last year, I’ve been paying all the bills.
I reluctantly follow him down the hall, where his phone is already set up on a tripod, ready to record whatever nonsense he has in mind, showcasing us as the perfect, in-love couple.
He launches into what we’re filming, “We’ve got four posts, so we’ll need to change our shirts a couple of times.” I roll my eyes behind his back, already annoyed.
We churn out so many of these posts that they all feel the same: overly staged and repetitive.
Ray and I have been together for five years, dating for nearly two before we moved in together.
The idea to share cute couple content on social media was his, and at first, I loved it.
It was fun and exciting, something we could do together.
But as our followers grew, it consumed our lives.
Every comment, like, and troll’s insult became a source of stress.
Ray obsesses over all of it: the homophobic bullshit, the glowing praise, the metrics that supposedly prove we’re the ultimate couple.
Meanwhile, I’m stuck performing, forced to smile and react on cue, watching the part of our life that was once private slip further and further away.
“We’re doing two cuddle scenes, one on the couch, another in bed with no shirts.
Classic stuff: love-of-my-life, perfect-couple bullshit,” he says, as if that’s who we actually are.
“Then I’ll be slapping your ass in different spots around the house, except for one scene where I don’t, and you’ll act like I don’t love you anymore.
Last, I want to recreate the ‘ninety-nine problems’ scene, but I’ll have a hundred when you walk in. The kitchen’s perfect for that one.”
Original content isn’t really his thing, so he leans on the latest trends.
About a year ago, he had the bright idea to get us on OnlyFans.
I’m not a prude, but it took me a while to feel okay with putting our sex life on camera.
I like porn, don’t get me wrong, but being in it?
That was a whole different story. At first, it was just the two of us: blowjobs or mutually jerking off.
As our subscribers grew, Ray nudged me to level up to full-on sex on camera.
Lately, though, he’s been bringing in a third, or even a fourth person. We didn’t even talk about it. One afternoon, I finished work and walked into the living room to find a guy already there, camera ready. I was blindsided.
We never agreed to an open relationship. I told Ray I didn’t want to do it, but his persuasion always wins out. Subscriber growth and metrics, he argued. So, we had our first threesome. Since then, it’s become a regular thing, happening a few times a month, whether I like it or not.
I tune Ray out, lost in my thoughts, barely noticing what he’s rambling about until he snaps his fingers at me.
“Hey, that guy, Zach, we met last week, is coming over tonight to film with us. He’s been doing a solo gig for a few years, and he’s got lots of contacts for collabs. We need this to go well.”
I really didn’t want to do this tonight. My plan was to curl up in my comfy chair, wrapped up in that fuzzy blanket my mom got me for Christmas, and read my spy book. I’d rather be lost in espionage and intrigue, than faking it in front of a camera. But arguing with him is pointless.
We film the clips, leaving just enough time for a quick dinner before Zach arrives. Neither one of us is a good cook, so we mostly rely on pre-made meals and takeout. I’m just plating the lasagna I put in the oven before we started filming, when Ray drops his latest and greatest idea on me.
“We need to get married,” Ray states matter-of-factly as I hand him a plate of food.
I almost drop it. “What? Why?”
“Because that’s what’s big right now,” he responds. “Every post I see from other creators is engagement photos, wedding ceremonies, or anniversary posts. We need to jump on this. Plus, we’ve had more than one comment asking about it.”
I shake my head and huff under my breath, stunned by his reasoning. “So, you want us to get married because it’s good for social media?”
“Babe, this is important,” he goes on. “Our posts are getting stale. We need something for people to get excited about.”
“Ray, I don’t want to get married. I’ve told you this.”
He rolls his eyes. “I know, I don’t really give a shit about it either, but for now, we need to at least get engaged. And you need to be the one to do it.”
“To do what?”
“Propose.”
“Why the hell do I need to propose?”
He points his fork at me. “Because it would prove you’re fully committed to this relationship. How many times have I told you about the comments saying you don’t look happy? We can’t have people questioning us. It’s not good for our brand.”
The simple truth is I’m not happy. My mantra for years has been that I don’t believe in marriage, not after my parents’ ugly divorce. But that’s not entirely true. I just don’t want to marry him.
And the guys he’s talking about in those posts, I’ve met some of them, and they genuinely seem happy and fulfilled in their relationships. But that’s not us.
Lately, I’ve been thinking more and more about ending things with Ray. But it wouldn’t be easy. Unraveling our life together, our content, and five years of history would be just as hard as getting a divorce. And Ray, being Ray, wouldn’t make it any easier.
I swallow the last bite of my dinner; the heaviness of what he’s asking of me chokes my throat. But to get this conversation over with, I offer him something.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good,” he says as he drops our plates in the sink for me to clean up later. “You should go take a shower and prep before Zach gets here. I’m setting us up in our room.”
Not bothering to protest, I trudge down the hall to get ready.
I hate using our bedroom. When we first started filming with other guys, he promised we wouldn’t use it.
That promise evaporated the second week when a guy wanted to be in bed.
We could have used the guest room, but Ray insisted that the lighting in our room was better. Case closed.
I take my time getting ready and stretching myself because Ray won’t bother opening me up properly. In past threesomes and foursomes, his focus is always on the other guys. Last time, he didn’t even notice I didn’t get off. I honestly can’t remember the last time we had sex that wasn’t on camera.
When I finally emerge, I find Ray and Zach already got started while I was in the bathroom. They’re making out on the bed, totally naked. Ray notices me and gives me an irritated look, probably because I took too long.
He guides me onto the bed, his hands firm and demanding, positioning me on all fours and directing my head toward Zach.
I’ve barely said two words to the guy, and now I have his dick in my mouth.
I’m good at giving head, though, so I take him all the way to the root.
He’s average, so my gag reflex isn’t an issue.
As predicted, Ray doesn’t check if I’m ready.
He swipes some lube on me and slides in.
For the next twenty minutes, they switch off positions, swapping back and forth between who has my ass and who uses my mouth.
I go through the motions, mostly detached, until Zach has me on my back, feet in the air, as Ray steps behind the camera.
“Come before I do,” Zach whispers while he’s jacking me off. “I want this to be good for you.”
He seems like a nice guy, and I appreciate he wants me to get off.
He’s hitting just the right spot, and the familiar warmth spreads through me, climbing up my legs and pooling in my balls.
A few moments later, my body shudders as I let go, white ropes spilling across my abdomen.
Zach groans as my ass tightens around him.
He pulls out, finishing in a few strokes, and comes on my stomach.
Ray stops recording and breaks down the tripod while Zach heads for our bathroom.
A few minutes later, he comes back out and tosses me a wet rag so I can clean myself up.
You would think my boyfriend would have done this for me, but he’s too busy reviewing the footage to notice that I’m still lying there covered in cum.
“Thanks for the good time. I always appreciate a tight ass,” Zach says to me, giving me a wink.
“You weren’t so bad yourself,” I respond with a smile.
Ray finally lifts his head from his phone, as if he forgot we were in the room. Even though inviting other men into our sex life was his idea, any hint of flirtation from me always sparks that familiar flash of jealousy in his eyes. Zach must pick up on it because he quickly changes the subject.
“Oh, and Ray, I’ll text you the contact info for the guys doing the collab in Florida next month,” he says. “I can’t make it out there, but they’re looking for more guys. I’m sure they’d love to have you.”
“Awesome, thanks, man.” Ray’s enthusiasm is instant.