Page 1 of De Vil

The smell of my orgasm fills the air as I push the dildo deep into my pussy. Sometimes when I’m talking to a man on the phone, he gets this gruffness about him that makes meneedan orgasm. There’s something filthy and exciting about being talked to like a dirty little whore.

“That’s it baby, yeah, fuck, that’s it. Take it deeper. Yeah, oh Goddamn,” the man, I think his name is Craig, says. I pretend to go down on his cock and slurp on the dildo my pussy just spasmed all over. Men love to hear me get sloppy with them.

He comes hard, and the click of the phone tells me he’s gone. I chuckle to myself as I pull the headset off my head and close my eyes as I think about why I am putting myself through this torture. Being a sex operator wasn’t my first job choice, but I needed money—and fast. My mom ended up in prison for fraud and tax evasion, leaving me to fend for myself. Forget about my dad. I have no clue who the fuck he is, and I don’t want to know.

This last year has been hell on me. I found this job through an online camera site and I… Well, it’s been profitable. All I have to do is pretend I’m into the guys that call me, and they pay for everything. The men usually want me to listen to them come as I describe how I’d give them the longest, hardest, blow job of their lives. Sometimes they want me to describe what I would want them to do to me.

The jokes on them, though. Even though I love the gruffness, I don’t want them doing anything to me. It brings back too many memories of my past. Hell, if the pay wasn’t so damn good, I’d still be at the 7-11 working for pennies on the dollar. Not only have I graduated high school without a single debt to my name, but I also have college paid for. Sure, I received a two-year scholarship, but this job has paid for my degree for now.

Plus, I’ve already moved closer to campus in a brand-new apartment and have a sick new Jeep. It’s my dream vehicle—the one I’ve been dying to own since I was fifteen. I stand up from my desk and stretch, getting ready for the live show. Some people would say I should feel ashamed, but I don’t. I’ve worked my little mouth off to get what I want.

It doesn't bother me to hear a dozen men a day tell me totake that cockdeep in my throat. I’ll tell them about the raunchy fantasies I read and write about. I mean, it's not like they are going to know I've only ever had sex once. Not one asshole that calls me ever cares. And frankly, I don’t either. At four dollars a minute, I easily make two hundred an hour.

If I’m doing a live show, it’s fifty dollars just to sign-in. You want me to perform? You will pay more for it. I usually only have live shows once a week, though. I have to say, I’m glad I wear a mask, and no one knows it’s me. I get naked and I fuck myself with toys. There’s never another person in my room with me, and I don’t feel like I need it. Besides, live shows literally pay my bills to the point I only have to do them one once a month if I choose. I just like the attention.

Tia Falcon is the forgotten child who was left to fend for herself. For four hours a week and a few hours on the weekend, I get to be Roxy Dragon—the best damn cock tease there is. If others get off on me pretending, then so be it. I’m down as long as I get paid.

* * *

“Tia!” My best friend, Jasmine Clarke, runs up to me as I make my way to freshman orientation. I’m technically a junior since I finished two years’ worth of college in high school, but it’s my first day at this new school. Jasmine is the same, but we both signed up for the whole experience. Missing out on this would be kind of upsetting since this is where you learn about the college as a whole as well as its activities.

“Hey, Jazz.” I hug her and she clings to me so tightly, I think she might choke me.

“Did you see all the extracurricular things we can do?” Jasmine bounces on her tiptoes, and I laugh. While we are both smart and can pretty much ace everything in our sleep, Jasmine is all sunshine, and I’m all moody. I prefer the darkness to her light. She complements me in every way. Living on my own during high school was rough. I made it through, though. Sometimes, I wonder if I would have told her about my situation if she wouldn’t have had me move in with her and her mom.

I let the thought go because that would have been a tragedy. My freedom means too much to me to live under someone else’s roof. Besides, what-if they got sick of me? Or worse, they never truly wanted me to be there to begin with? Yeah, better to be alone than dependent on anyone.

“Come on. You need to sign up for the volleyball sorority and the fundraisers for the athletes. Also, I think we should do something else. You know, maybe some kind of booster thing?”

As Jazz continues to prattle on, I look at the schedule. My classes are Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I have labs on Tuesday. Volleyball practices are Saturdays, Mondays, and Wednesdays, and games are on Thursdays.

Fuck, that’s a lot of work to keep up with…

“I’m not sure I need any extracurricular activities.”

“Oh Tia, you must be sociable. If you don’t make nice with your teammates you’re likely to end up being kicked off the team. Remember this isn’t high school anymore. Social standing keeps you in a scholarship. It shows you are a team player and a leader.”

“Oh my God, seriously Jazz, just stop. I’ll sign up.” Even if it’s just to shut her up. She will go on for hours about how we have to make a good impression since we’re scholarship recipients.

I’m not sure it really matters since her step-uncle is the dean of education. In fact, it’s probably a given that she will receive special treatment. Not that I care. Hell no. I want to be known for my athletic ability and that’s it.

Before we make it to the table, someone speaks, and I stop dead in my tracks. “Ms. Falcon.”

That sultry, stern voice causes chills to run down my body. Closing my eyes, I count to five before I put a soft smile on my face and turn around. “Hello, Coach.”

She’s beautiful. Her white-blonde hair stands out against her tanned skin. Large blue eyes with feathery eyelashes stare at me as if they are trying to know what’s going on deep within my soul. Coach Laura Landrey looks like an angel, but is a fierce woman, who refuses to back down from what she wants. She stands tall, at almost six-feet, but her body is proportionate. Hard work has sculpted her form.

“It seems you ditched practice today.” She cocks an eyebrow at me, daring me to challenge her.

“Today? I was settling into my new apartment, Coach.” Yeah, I’m making waves, and I probably shouldn’t. At least not on the first day of school. I’m pretty sure I did the right thing by calling her bluff. Her upper lip twitches a half-centimeter, and she shakes her head.

“Yes, today. You’ll need to makeup practice this afternoon. Be at the gym by five.” She walks away but turns back to me. “And Tia, don’t be late.”

There’s more to her words than just a warning. Why does that give me a thrill?

I walk away with a smirk on my face. Tia Falcon has been in my dreams since the day I saw her playing at the state championship game for her high school. Now that she’s a college student—and atmyschool—I can make sure I nurture her to the point she will grow.

As I get into my office, I can’t think of anything but how I want to see the sweat dripping off her body and hear her begging me to not push for anymore exercise. My pussy clenches with the thought of making her get on her knees. To hear her little moan, whimpering for more…

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