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“Yes,” she says on the phone.
“Yes, what?” I ask harshly.
“Yes, sir,” she corrects herself. Good, she’s listening.
“A man?” I ask with another question almost immediately.
“Yes, sir.”
Fuck. My cock is twitching in my pants for some reason. I glance at the computer at the email from Gerard. It reads simply: URGENT. MOZOROV IS PRESSING HARD FOR COMPLETE BUYOUT.
Whatever. I can’t give it the time it needs right now because my next question to Ashley is just, “Did you fuck him?”
She’s either going to hang up, or she’s going to go along with what I’m saying.
I decide to take it further and tell her, “I’m buying you right now, Misty. That means I own you. That means you do whatever I tell you to do. Tell me you understand.”
Another pause. Has she hung up? Has she put me on mute?
“I understand, sir,” comes her response. Her voice is soft. It’s not so sultry. It’s more real.
“Good,” I say, unbuckling my pants and pushing them down. “Now, tell me the truth. Did you fuck him?”
“Yes, sir,” she replies. “Yes, I fucked him.”
“Did you cum?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” I say, not sure why I’m getting off to this, but I’m unwilling to fucking stop. “Are you touching yourself now?”
Again, she responds without shame. “Yes, sir.”
“I want you to stop, Misty,” I say to her. I hear a whimper on the other end of the line. It sounds of disappointment. But I’m too far gone. My mind is in a haze of lust and it’s not controlling anything I say or do at this point.
“Look south, towards downtown, Misty,” I tell her.
“I am, sir,” she replies. “My apartment faces downtown.”
“Do you see the spires of the city?” I ask. “Imagine the biggest one is my cock. Imagine my giant cock going inside of you. In and out. Fucking you.”
I hear her moan.
“Can I touch myself, sir?” she asks, a bit breathlessly.
Jesus fuck. My cock is rock hard as I say, “No, not yet. Are you staring downtown?”
“Yes, sir. Why am I staring out the window?” she asks.
“Because what you see outside your window represents the highlight of human achievement, Misty,” I say to her. I’m not fucking lying, but I’m not sure why I’m telling her this. “When I was a kid in the city, my Dad would take me every Sunday to the Empire State Building so we could look out on the skyline. He would tell me that as long as I was willing to work hard, those buildings represented the idea that I could do anything.”
“That’s sweet,” Misty says.
Fuck. Her name is Ashley. I can’t forget that. I’m starting to think of her as Misty… as my Kitten. This is fucking dangerous.
“Fuck sweet,” I tell her harshly, scared at how much I’ve given away. “I want you to picture my cock, Kitten.”
“Yes, master,” she says and now I’m just completely hooked. Where the fuck did she get that in her head to call me master? “Is it hard, sir?”
