Chapter 62
Roni
Iwake to soft morning light floating in through the glass walls.
The duvet is tossed aside, and the pillow is still warm where Phoenix lay, but again, he isn’t here.
There’s no dirty clothes crumpled on the floor.
No faint scent of his cologne. No hint he ever crossed the threshold after midnight.
My skin itches with a soft disappointment, but I shake it off and slide out of bed, padding across the hardwood floor to my usual routine.
My phone buzzes with a notification. Fifteen minutes until showtime.
I get settled at my desk and take a few deep breaths to steady any nerves I may have about showing my entire fanbase whatever Simon has planned.
There’s a small light perched on the bookshelf behind my monitors, and the webcam’s lens glints in the gentle glow.
Alongside it, I’ve arranged everything I need for today’s show.
There’s a small hand–powered saw with a jagged, silver blade.
A roll of duct tape. A sheet of coarse sandpaper.
And the stumpy, amber-tinted whiskey bottle Simon requested, with its label peeling at the edges, the spirit inside still full to the brim.
Beside those lie my “toy bar”. A line of silicone dildos in shades of ruby, midnight blue, and of course all-natural. There are a couple of stainless-steel anal plugs polished to a mirror sheen, and a dildo designed for my fuck machine as requested, though I’m still at a loss for why.
“…I am not my worst decisions.”
One last glance at the clock, a sip of whiskey to steady my nerves, and I click “Go Live.”
A few chat regulars are already here waiting and ready, including Vic. Such a naughty, naughty man. I offer some quick greetings, and smile when @SIMPleSimon signs on. His name pops in bright green.
I tilt the camera down to reveal the saw first. The metal teeth catch the light as I rotate it slowly, then sweep a hand over the duct tape and sandpaper. A message pops up on the screen. It’s him.
@SIMPleSimon: Cam to Cam?
It’s a simple question. One I expected. It’s how he walked me through his game last time. But a moment of hesitation grabs me.
What if he crosses the line again?
“Fuck me,” I whisper to myself.
We’ll cross that bridge if it comes.
@Unhinged: You know that’s my fave.
I’m settled into character and ready when the connection request pings on my screen and I accept. His dark and brooding presence fills the monitor to my right, while I keep the room running to the left.
“Simon says wrap that blade with the tape. Wrap it tight. And let me hear the tape tearing.”
He’s wasting no time.
My thumbnails peel back thin strips of tape, and I wind them around the blade until no sharp edge remains. I press each layer firmly, smoothing the silver against the steel, enjoying the soft resistance under my palm.
“Simon says grab that dildo. The one with the flared base. Slide it onto the taped blade.”
“W-what?” I hesitate. He can’t really,
“Be a good girl and do as Simon says.”
A $1000 tip pops up on my screen and my attention refocuses.
The silicone stretches coolly as I force it over the shaft. It pops into place with a faint click.
“Nice. Got lube?”
I pat the small bottle beside me, uncapping it. Thick clear gel beads on my fingers.
“Always,” I mutter to the camera.
There’s a burst of green in the chat. He’s sent another $100. But a handful of other followers have also tacked on their tips. I haven’t done anything, and already I’ve made $3000.
“Simon says, select an anal plug. Dealer’s choice. Coat it real good. Then, turn around and bend over so I can watch you ease it in, nice and slow.”
I pick up the newest steel plug, its tip narrow and inviting.
I coat it in lube until it gleams. I rise from my gaming chair, knees trembling slightly as I position myself.
My back now faces the camera, and I hook my thumbs into the waistband of the emerald green panties.
The fabric slides down my thighs with a soft whisper, pooling around my ankles.
“Like this?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder. My voice sounds breathier than I intended.
“Perfect,” Simon responds, his voice dropping an octave. “Now, Simon says bend forward. Let everyone see.”
I comply, leaning forward until my palms rest flat against the armrests of my chair. The position leaves me completely exposed to my audience, whose comment count is skyrocketing. The notification sounds ping repeatedly as tips flood in.
The steel plug feels cold despite the lube as I bring it to my tight ring.
I take a deep breath, then press the cool metal into my puckered hole, breathing slow and steady.
The first pinch of pressure blooms into a warm stretch, and I pause to let it settle.
My ass tightens around it, a delicious ache.
“Tell me how it feels,” he purrs through the mic. I brush a finger across my waist.
“Y-you—” my breath catches, “—didn’t say Simon says.” I chuckle, teasing him.
“Haha, good girl.” He claps, and I notice a new wave of tips coming in.
“Simon says tell me how it feels.”
“Stretching… warm… a little tight, but good.” The plug slides home with a subtle pop, and I sink my weight back, hips dipping.
“Simon says to do a little dance. Really make sure it’s in there.”
I rise and shift my hips side-to-side, the plug nudging against nerve endings, sending a low hum of pleasure through me.
I turn to face the camera fully. The emerald panties remain around my ankles, a delicate restraint as I begin to sway.
My hips circle in a languid figure eight, each movement sending a shiver up my spine as the steel plug shifts inside me.
“Simon says slower,” he commands, his voice rough with desire.
I comply, deliberately slowing my movements to a hypnotic crawl.
My hands drift up my body, fingertips tracing the curve of my hips, the dip of my waist, before sliding over the lace of my bralette.
The chat explodes with tips and comments, but they fade to background noise as I lock eyes with Simon’s dark silhouette through the camera.
“That's it,” he murmurs. “Simon says bend over and show me that sweet ass.”
I pivot, lean forward, and arch my back until the camera frames my puckered hole around the plug.
“Simon says rub your clit for me.”
I trace slow circles along my folds, the bits of lube slick and cool. Though, he doesn’t wait long before spitting his next command, his impatience crackling through the speaker.
“Simon says stand up. Feet shoulder–width.”
I obey, legs firm, chest lifted.
“It's time for the drilldo,” he announces, his voice dropping to a husky whisper which makes my skin prickle. “Simon says take it in your hands. Feel its weight.”
I lift the contraption, the silicone attachment wobbling slightly as I hold it up for the camera.
“Simon says drizzle lube all over it,” he instructs. “Be generous. I want to see it glisten.”
I uncap the bottle again, squeezing a thick ribbon of clear gel over the length of the silicone shaft. It catches the light, dripping slowly down the sides.
“Simon says coat it evenly with your fingers. Show me how you'd touch a real cock.”
My fingers wrap around the shaft, sliding up and down, spreading the lube in long, deliberate strokes. The silicone warms under my touch, and I hear Simon's breath catch.
“Simon says slow,” he whispers.
I press the head to my opening, pushing past the plug’s base. A deep heat bubbles as it grinds against my clit. I maintain eye contact with the lens, throat tight with the effort and excitement of it.
“Simon says sit on the edge of your love seat and spread those thighs.”
I rise, move to the loveseat, and perch on its edge. My legs part wide, and I flip the drill’s switch. A low hum fills the room.
“Simon says slide forward so I can see that beautiful plug twitch when your asshole flexes.”
I scoot until the plug peeks past the cushion, the camera capturing its slow, obedient pucker.
“Now, Simon says use the trigger.”
I press, and the drilldo surges to life, every vibration and penetration pressing deeper.
My hands grip the seat cushion as I begin to move against it, thrusting back onto the toy.
A gasp tears from my throat. My body quivers.
The plug stretches me from behind while the dildo-covered saw drives in front, and a hot swirl of sensation tightens in my belly. I arch, moan, almost sob.
“Oh god—”
His voice, low and approving. “Fuck yes, baby girl. That’s what I want.” Another tip notification pops up, numbers flashing green across the screen.
Then, just as I’m losing myself in the press and pull of the drill, his voice cuts off.
“Shit, hold on a minute,” he bitches. “Someone’s here.” The whirr of the drill echoes, then stops. I blink at the lens, chest heaving, as his screen goes dark.