Page 59 of Shameful Addictions

He looked back at her.

They were in his house, in his second, smaller living room. He had invited her to come watch the news with him, having known ahead of time that they would be running a segment on her. Some source or other must have given him the intel. Either that, or he had been the one to set it up in the first place.

“I’m very proud of you, Charlotte,” Mamba said. His voice held a rare warmth that she basked in eagerly. “You really have turned things around. I knew there was a slut inside you somewhere.”

Charlotte gasped. “You called me Charlotte!”

“I did.”

“But… who is Charlotte? I’m Cuntflaps. And I always will be.”

Mamba gave her a very calculating look that went past her skin, penetrated her heart to a level underneath even what she thought she knew. He suddenly grinned and laughed and put his hand on her shoulder. “I should have done this to you years ago. I’m proud of you, Cuntflaps. Very few women could do what you did, coming back from the brink like that. Few would be so daring–or naïve–as to challenge me in the first place. A damn good job I’ve done on you.”

She smiled, beaming at him, luxuriating in the praise she had been working so hard for.

Mamba led her out of his living room and to the studio, where she spent more and more time until it had begun to seem like a proper workplace. She could easily have logged onto her laptop at home and answered comments and emails from there; it just felt better to come to his studio and do it there, where he could watch her be the absolute slut he had worked so hard to turn her into.

Charlotte went over to her couch and lounged on it, absentmindedly playing with her pussy while he found her script for the day. He brought it over and held it out to her. She accepted it, her fingers wet with her juices, moistening the paper.

Embrace Sexual Freedom.

Charlotte glanced up at Mamba. “This script…”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Do you think it’s time?”

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

She licked her lips. “No.”

He nodded. “That’s right. I didn’t. Do your work and do it well. Earn your paycheck.”

“My paycheck?” she repeated, eyes widening with her surprise. “I’ll be getting paid today?”

“Only if you prove that you deserve it.”

He walked away, leaving her there on the couch. Charlotte blinked a few times to get rid of the dollar signs in her vision, though it proved difficult to focus still. With how many views she was getting now, she could only imagine how many zeros would be on that check. Enough to restore some part of her life to its former glory, perhaps.

“I don’t see you doing any reading,” Mamba growled.

Charlotte ducked her head, hiding her face behind her script. She hardly needed to read what was printed there, since it was a story she had lived for herself. She waited a few minutes, moving her eyes, pretending to pay attention. At last, she said, “I’m ready to start filming.”

“Already?” He snorted. “Do you think you’re smart or something, to memorize it so easily?”

“I’m not smart,” she murmured. “But I’m more in touch than I’ve ever been. I can do this.”

Mamba was silent for a long moment. “Maybe you can,” he conceded. “But if you disappoint me, you will regret it.”

What will you do? Punish me? At this point, I’d like it.

She hid her smile behind a curtain of her platinum hair. She won either way.

Mamba told her to go when she was ready.

Feeling as if she had been born ready, Charlotte positioned herself just right, leaning back with her legs spread and her arms draped lazily over the back of the couch. She looked right at the main camera and spoke smoothly, calmly, and sensually, a huskier version of Mamba’s hiss.

“Welcome back to Triple L. I’m your Host, Cuntflaps.”

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