Chapter 6

SIX

BOBBY

C ondensation gathers on my fingertips as I took a deep glug of my second beer of the night. The barman gives a nod as I slide him a ten. No change comes. He knows me well enough to know it won't be my last.

Dirt coated corners and sticky window ledges skirted the room, old men propped up by pockmarked tables. There were swankier bars in the town, but this one was right on the outskirts, closest to my cabin. Faces rarely changed, but if they did, the patrons were too sozzled to care.

I liked it.

I'd never fit into the squeaky clean parts of the world. The smart clothes and smarter people made my skin itch. As a child, I'd liked to play in the dirt. To dig and explore and exist until my mother forced me into the bath when she could ignore the filth no longer.

Over the years, I replaced the physical muck with a more mental kind. Sordid thoughts and dirty videos. Illicit nights filled with sweaty bodies and horrid words. Activities that the showers, I now willingly took, couldn't wash away.

I drank the final dregs of the bottle, and almost instantly the barman replaced it with a fresh one.

My phone dinged, and I pulled it out of my pocket. The text from my mom could wait. Without thinking, my fingers took me on a tour of social media. In and out, a regular dance. Finally, to my favourite thing to check, my store.

Three new orders awaited. A thread of joy shot through me. The only thing better than an order was a glowing review. It was despicable that I craved their words so intensely. Feedback on my work. Appreciation. It was sick, really. The need for adoration. It reminded me how human I was.

Two new reviews awaited me. The first was a young male in a dog mask, thrilled with it. A photo of him in a black room at the foot of a pair of patent heels.

Something deep inside me sparked at the next image. The pink collar set with the gold details… The one I'd sent with a bit of myself rubbed into it. Curls in the deepest shade of red, like tangles of fire, swept over the pale shoulders. Freckles dotted the tiny swath of cheek I could see before leading to plump pink lips. Lips I wanted to bite.

The collar sat snugly around her throat, digging into the flesh there. Perhaps a sign she liked it a touch rough. My pants tightened at the thought.

I swept my finger up the screen, revealing her hand tightly holding a dish towel to her chest. The pink flush above the towel didn't escape me. A jealous wave smacked into me. She looked freshly fucked, and I wanted to reach through the screen and haul her over my lap. Spank her for being a slut for someone else.

An insane thought.

But a real one.

Did I want to read the review? Read her gush about the hot time they'd had? At least she'd been wearing my cum through her fun.

A grin stole across my face when I gave in and read it.

My pretty little whore's husband hadn't used her at all. That pink flush must have been at her own hand. Or toy.

Fuck.

My dick was fighting against my zip, warring to reach the plump-lipped redhead. I stroked my fingers over her lips on the screen, wishing I could pull the picture down further to see her eyes.

What I'd give to see her on her knees looking up at me with that collar on.

I'd cherish her.

Adore her.

Fill her with all the cum she deserved.

I pulled up her order, her name right there on the page in black text.

Ashley Brimley.

A pretty enough name.

And only fifty miles away.

An insidious thought ate its way into my brain, destroying all the sensible ones that rattled against it.

I'd longed for a pet of my own. Sweet Ashley needed a good owner. One who would treat her the way she needed. One who'd show her how to be adored, show her what she deserved.

An owner like me.