Page 8 of Of Grief And Gratitude

I wasn’t really into the Daddy thing, but I played into it anyway.

“You like that, baby girl?” I gave a nod to the camera as I unbuttoned my white dress shirt. “You gonna be good and take everything I have to give you?”

I shrugged my jacket off my shoulders and opened my shirt, flexing my abs as I rolled my pelvis suggestively. Being watched was enough to make the outline of my cock prominent in my pants, and I turned to the side so my audience could see the bulge, squeezing my shaft for effect.

Mmm, bring that rod over here.

I’m salivating. I want to lick the grooves between your abs and make a meal out of that Italian sausage.

Ninety percent of them would never make a move in real life, but what I was giving my viewers wasn’t reality. It was the fantasy they craved. A chance to imagine they could have me however they wanted.

“You’re so hungry,” I purred, reaching for my belt buckle and making a show of each small movement as I pulled the leather from the metal. “I wouldn’t want to starve you.”

*Squee* Time for the main event!

Please, Daddy, feed me!

More comments poured in when I whipped my belt free from the loops on my pants and folded it over, snapping it dramatically before fashioning makeshift cuffs out of the black leather and pulling them tighter around my wrists with the tapered end between my teeth.

I’ll be such a good girl if you tie me up with that belt.

Ignore her. I’ll let you spank my ass with the belt.

I chuckled and made a show out of unbuttoning and unzipping my pants, revealing my lack of underwear underneath. My abs tapered in a V-cut down to my waxed bits. The lack of hair made everything appear larger and was worth the five minutes of pain and terror every month when I put my life and virility in Ani’s hands.

My pants slid down over my hips and my muscled ass, revealing the length of my hard dick.

Oooh. Fancy. Such a distinguished dick.

Oh, it’s so cute! And hot. I’m going to need my next partner to do that.

They went wild over the tiny black bowtie wrapped around the base of my cock. I silently patted myself on the back for thinking of that little addition to my show and kicked my pants off, finally standing fully nude before the camera, holding my arms wide and doing a few dance moves to let them appreciate my physique. When I turned so they could admire my backside, I held a pose and made my ass cheeks dance when I flexed. Every hour I spent in the gym was worth it to watch their praise scroll on the screen.

I just want to take a bite of that cake. I’d lick up all your frosting, too.

Is it getting hot in here? That cake is fresh!

The conversation turned downright lewd when I made my cock helicopter. Sometimes I attached tassels or glowsticks—they really liked that one—but today, it was just the bowtie. My fist wrapped around my length and slowly stroked while I reached for the bottle of lube and let it drip down my dick.

Oh, Daddy, yes. Pretend it’s my pussy.

You’d stretch me sooo good with that fat cock.

She wasn’t wrong. I loved watching as a woman took me in her body. One of my favorite parts about sex was seeing pussy lips stretched around my girth. I imagined it as I worked myself faster, feeling the first hints of impending release in my balls.

The words on the screen blurred and the beat of the music pulsed in my ears; the only parts of the world to break through my sensual task. They wanted to see me come, and I wanted them to watch.

“Be a good girl and take it all for me,” I grunted, my grip harsh as I coaxed myself closer. Sweat beaded on my brow and my breaths came in ragged gasps. I let a moan escape my lips for my viewers’ benefit. I slipped into Italian, making them go wild for my voice and the exaggerated accent. “Guardami. È tutto per ti.”

My eyelids slid closed and I bit my lip, ready to blow.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Cosimo’s deep, droll voice cut through my self-pleasure, and I dropped my cock, making my balls clench painfully. He stepped past the filming equipment, a look of disgust on his face as he lifted his chin and kept his dark eyes on my face. He almost looked like he belonged in the scene, with his black suit and stormy looks I knew my viewers would drool over. The hand tats, especially.

“I’m filming,” I said through gritted teeth, motioning toward the camera and discarding the little bowtie while he looked away. “What the hell are you doing walking into my place?”

“I knocked. Twice. You didn’t answer so I opened the door.”

Oooh, are we getting a twofer?

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