Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Liam

L aura’s loft was about what I expected—and also nothing like I’d expected. Exposed brick walls framed by tall, industrial windows gave the place that edgy Williamsburg charm. Mismatched vintage rugs, looking like they’d been collected over years of thrift store treasure hunts, covered the worn hardwood floors, which creaked in spots. Art covered the walls, some of it pretty good, but I doubted it was hers. Then, right smack in the middle of the room, under a ceiling rig of strategically placed lights, was her bed.

It was…a sight. Definitely the centerpiece, with a metal frame that was sturdy and sleek and looked like it had been custom-ordered from some catalog called Unmentionables Unlimited or something. A pair of handcuffs dangled off one corner, catching the light and glinting back at me like they knew I was staring. On the other side, a riding crop hung off the footboard, next to a pile of clothes pins. What on earth does she do with those things? My stomach tightened as I took it all in.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Laura called, already halfway across the room and peeling off her sweater without a second thought. She tossed it on a chair and, with her back to me, unzipped her jeans, letting them fall to the floor. I looked away, feeling my cheeks go red even though she seemed completely unbothered. In a second, she was in nothing but her underwear, strolling across the room to a wardrobe where she selected a slinky black dress and slipped it on. The transformation was quick, like she’d done this a hundred times.

Sitting down at her vanity, she picked up a thick stick of eyeliner and started layering it on. “Today’s scene is a classic,” she said, adjusting her lipstick. “Spanking. Apparently, Phil’s a stickler for realism, so he’s got Steve all geared up for it. I’ll probably throw in some insults. People love the ‘dominatrix’ vibe.”

I nodded, not sure how to respond. Spanking and insults—that was the plan? This was a whole other world. While she continued her transformation, adding mascara and bright red lipstick in the mirror, there was a knock at the door.

“Oh, can you get that?” she asked casually, blotting her lips with a tissue.

I got up, feeling more like an intruder than ever, and opened the door. Two men stepped inside. They gave me a curt nod and walked right past me, all business. Laura spun around, waving them in.

“Phil, Steve, this is Liam,” she said, as if they were just here for a cup of coffee. I could tell immediately that their names weren’t actually Phil and Steve, but I wasn’t about to ask. “He’s here to learn how to create content.”

Phil, a wiry guy with slicked-back hair, went straight to a closet and pulled out a black case. He unlatched it with the care you’d use with a newborn, revealing a very professional-looking camera. He flashed it at me. “This baby will be your best friend if you stick with this, Liam. Worth every penny.”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, watching as he checked the settings.

Meanwhile, Steve—who looked like he could’ve been a bouncer at a nightclub—began unbuttoning his shirt. I glanced away, feeling out of place and honestly a little embarrassed. But then he kicked off his pants, revealing a pair of leather shorts underneath. He caught me looking and smirked as he strolled to the trunk at the foot of the bed and rummaged around until he pulled out a leather harness.

“Hey, would you mind?” he asked, holding it up to me and gesturing to the straps in the back.

I hesitated, glancing around like maybe someone would let me off the hook, but no one seemed to notice my unease. So, with fingers trembling, I took the straps and fumbled to fasten them, all while trying to keep my breathing steady.

When I finally stepped back, Steve gave a nod of approval and adjusted the harness with a grin. It was obvious that, to him, this was just another day at work. But to me? I wondered if I’d walked into some kind of parallel universe.

Phil took a last look at the camera, adjusted the settings, and called over to Laura. “Ready when you are.”

Laura flashed him a wicked grin and strutted over to the bed, every inch of her dripping with confidence. I was sitting on the edge of a chair, trying to process all of this, when she picked up the riding crop and gave it a loud, sharp snap against her palm. My spine stiffened at the sound, and my brain scrambled for an explanation as to why that sound had gotten my heart pounding.

“Ready, set, action,” Phil murmured, his eyes glued to the camera.

She turned to Steve; the grin dropping from her face. “Get your ass on that bed, now!”

It was such a jarring command that I actually flinched. But Steve didn’t even blink. Without hesitation, he lumbered over to the bed, plopped himself down, and stretched out, face-down, like he was sunbathing at the beach. He crossed his arms in front of him, resting his head on his hands, and gave Laura this smug, almost bored look. Like he’d been through this a thousand times before.

Laura prowled around the bed, letting the riding crop dangle from her fingers, tapping it against her thigh as she went. Then she turned to Phil and, in a tone dripping with mock disappointment, said, “Can you believe this guy, Phil? Look at him. Doesn’t he look pathetic?”

Phil nodded, raising an eyebrow like he’d seen worse, but still wasn’t impressed. “Pretty sorry excuse for a man, if you ask me.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “You know what? I think you’re right. Steve, you little worm,” she barked, giving the crop a slap against his rear that echoed across the room. “Did I tell you to get comfortable? Do I look like I give a fuck about your comfort?”

Steve let out a pitiful whimper that was probably about as fake as his name. But I’ll give him this—it was convincing. His face scrunched up as he looked at her, like he was ready to beg for forgiveness, which made the entire act somehow even more surreal.

Laura kept circling him, dragging out the moment. “You’re such a baby,” she sneered, with a jab of the crop to his side. “Look at you. Whimpering like some helpless little thing. You make me sick.”

I sat there, half horrified, half fascinated, barely able to breathe as I watched her take complete control. Part of me was reeling, trying to make sense of this twisted pantomime unfolding right in front of me. But another part—the part that I definitely wouldn’t admit to—found something about it…intriguing. There was something strangely thrilling about seeing someone go all-in on a role, so shameless, so confident.

Laura leaned down, poking Steve’s back with the crop. “What, am I too much for you, huh? You can’t handle a little punishment, you pathetic baby?” she taunted, her voice dripping with mock disdain.

Steve whimpered again, even louder this time, and I stifled a laugh. The whole thing was so over-the-top, so completely absurd, it almost felt like some kind of twisted vaudeville act. And yet, here I was, watching it play out in front of me, feeling strangely…invested.

Laura glanced over her shoulder at me, catching the look on my face. For a split second, her lips curled up in a sly smile, and I felt my cheeks go red. She knew. She knew exactly what she was doing, not just to Steve but to me, and she was loving every second.

Then she turned back to her “subject,” lifting the crop high. “Maybe I should just leave you here to suffer, hmm? Let you think about what a pathetic little worm you are.” Laura hit his ass with the riding crop, hard.

Steve actually squirmed on the bed, muttering something about how sorry he was, how he’d never mess up again, and that was it—I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. But the funny thing was, I wasn’t just laughing. I was still blushing, still on the edge of my seat, caught somewhere between horror and…something else entirely.

Laura took a step back, crossing her arms with an air of total disgust as she glared down at Steve. “You’re not even worthy of this bed,” she sneered, giving him a light but condescending kick in the side. “The floor, worm. That’s where you belong.”

Steve slid off the bed with a dramatic, exaggerated sigh, plopping himself down on the floor like he’d lost his last scrap of dignity. Phil followed him with the camera, circling him like he was filming some rare species in its natural habitat. Then Laura lifted her foot, placing her stiletto on his chest, just above his heart. She dug the heel in slightly, smirking down at him. “What kind of worthless, pathetic little worm ends up groveling on the floor? You’re a disgrace to worms everywhere.”

I clapped a hand over my mouth, barely holding back a laugh. Laura gave me a sidelong glance, her own lips twitching, but she kept it together, turning back to Steve. “A real worm wouldn’t be caught dead groveling like this! You’re an embarrassment to the entire worm species. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve muttered, looking up at her like she was some kind of benevolent queen, there to dole out whatever justice she saw fit.

With a final disgusted sigh, she lifted the riding crop. “Get on all fours. I don’t want to see your face. Crawl, you nasty little worm.”

Steve scrambled onto all fours, crawling around the bed while Laura trailed behind him, snapping the riding crop at him every few steps. Whack! Right across his rear, and he let out this half-whimper, half-moan that seemed way too satisfied.

Laura whipped him again, and Steve actually picked up the pace, crawling faster, looking absolutely ridiculous as he clambered around. “That’s right. You’re nothing but a crawling, writhing worm. Keep moving!” She smacked him again, and this time I couldn’t hold it in; a laugh escaped before I could stop myself.

That did it—Laura’s own shoulders shook, and she coughed, trying to hide her giggles as she scolded Steve with a little less venom than before. But she managed to keep it together just long enough to chase him on another lap around the bed, peppering him with insults and flicks of the crop.

Then, without warning, Steve stopped in his tracks, froze, and let out this long, weird, guttural sound. Laura raised an eyebrow, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had just happened. My eyes widened as I realized, yep, he’d just… finished.

With a final smack to his rear, Laura rolled her eyes. “You nasty little worm,” she scolded, waving the crop in his face. “Did I give you permission to come? You little pig fucker, don’t you ever do that again!”

Steve murmured something unintelligible, his face buried in the floor like he couldn’t believe it either. And that was that. Phil stopped recording and lowered the camera with a nod. “Got it all. I’ll edit it this afternoon and send you the video.”

Steve hauled himself to his feet, his face flushed, and slunk off to what I could only assume was the bathroom. The door shut behind him, and there was dead silence in the room, followed by the sound of Laura cracking up.

She turned to me, shaking her head. “So,” she said, still laughing. “What’d you think?”

“Wow,” I breathed, still trying to process everything I’d just witnessed. “I mean… wow. And you didn’t even have to—y’know.”

“Fuck him?” She gave me a smug look. “Nope. Just a lot of theatrics and a few well-timed insults. That’s the beauty of the work, Liam—you can have people eating out of the palm of your hand with the right attitude. And no mess afterward.” She winked. “Well, Steve made a mess now, didn’t he?”

She walked over to her closet, rummaging around before pulling out a ring light. It was older, with a few scuff marks here and there, but it looked sturdy enough. “Here you go. Consider it a loan for now, but once you start making bank, you can pay me back.”

I took it from her, swallowing hard as I looked at the thing. She was really serious about me going through with this. I felt this knot of excitement and panic twist up in my gut, but I tried to look cool about it.

Laura winked and patted me on the shoulder. “Break a leg, sweetie.”