Page 3 of Always Watching
A few more messages roll in and I start to feel more and more like myself, the last dregs of unease falling from my shoulders.
While I wait for the timer to go off and end the voting, I palm my dick, stroking it slowly. I get an influx of tips, and comments begging me to pull my length out and jerk off, but I don’t immediately. I want to build the anticipation for the main event. When the countdown reads two and a half minutes, I reach into my tight shorts and free my erection, a drop of precum leaking from the head.
“See what you all do to me?” I whisper to the camera in a sultry voice. “I can’t wait to see what you vote for. Hopefully it’s something for my ass tonight.” I jerk myself slowly, not wanting to get close to the edge just yet—I want to give a good show.
The timer goes off and I smile. “Alright, the votes are in. Let’s see what we got.”
Just as I lean forward to read the results, a private message pops up.
DID YOU GET MY BEAR???
My breathing stutters and sweat breaks out over my body. Whoever the person is has never sent me a private message. I quickly check the screen name, and almost swallow my tongue: ICURan.
They made a username specifically for me.
I quickly close the private message and try to concentrate on the subscribers who are sending me comments in the chat, but I can’t focus. Something about today feels different. Maybe it was hearing about the man who was kidnapped from his job—a store I visit often. Maybe it was Mr. Barlowe’s unwanted touch, or maybe it was the bear. Hell, maybe it’s a combination of all those things, but I can’t be here. These four walls can’t surround me right now.
I have to go.
Pushing my hair back from my forehead, I tell my viewers in a voice shaking with terror, “I gotta go. I’m sorry.”
I quickly disconnect the live stream and hop off my bed, then I rush to my closet for my go bag—a bag I packed for this very reason—and shoulder it. I have clothes in my car I can change into, but right now I have to get out of here.
After grabbing my car keys and my phone, I power walk to the door and slide my shoes on before I flee my home
Once I’m safely in my car, I search for my emergency clothes in the back seat while simultaneously pulling up my text thread. I find Olly’s name and shoot him a quick message.
Me:Hey, I know you might be in a session, but I’m coming over. I’ll be quiet. But I can’t be home right now.
I have a key to his house, so it’ll be no big deal for me to go in and lounge while he’s working.
Surprisingly, he answers back.
Olly:You have near-perfect timing. I just shot my load and logged off. What’s up?
Instead of answering him, I toss my phone into the passenger seat and point my car toward his house. I’ll talk to him when I arrive. Right now, I need to put some distance between me and my apartment.
Chapter 2
North
“Austin.” I cluck hisname and frown. “Austin, Austin, Austin. It’s only been a week.” I sigh as I run my finger over the open wound on his chest, letting the pad trail along his marred flesh. I don’t even feel azingof excitement at the way he squirms. “Why are you already soboring?”
I usually have a better time with the people I take. Between me, my brother, and the odd jobs our dad sends me on that actually pay, I’m never left wanting for violence or bloodshed.
That doesn’t mean I hadn’t expectedmorefrom the man I currently have tied to a chair. He looks at me with his one good eye like I’m the devil, and I sigh. Even his expression isn’t doing it for me.
“Come on, Austin. I watched you beat the shit out of your girlfriend. I really thought you could take more than this.” I lift a blade from the table beside him and let out another annoyed sound when he screams behind the gag I have stuffed into his mouth. I usuallyliketo hear their screams, but Austin startedgrating on my nerves after the third day and the second time he pissed his pants.
I’m over it already. It’s like some tragic relationship I’m trying to cling to, hoping something will change, that something will bedifferentif I justbelievedhard enough.
Pathetic.
Nothing is changing. Austin looks like he wants to faint when I draw the flat of my blade against his cheek in a tease.
“Fuck, you aren’t even worth the price of the zip ties I used to catch you, are you?” I flip the knife in my hand and press the pointed end to the tattoo cutting across his throat. I’ve beenextracareful not to damage it. It was the ink that drew my attention, after all—the ink I want to play with. The fact that he’s an abusive piece of shit is bonus points. I’ve noticed the ones who like to hit are usually the first to break under myspecialcare.
This guy isn’t worth the fucking effort, though. He’s been a waste of a week, a waste of rope.
