The rate for his services was high. His quality was high. His acting skills were good enough that he could be a completely different person, and you'd never know.
However, the role he was least comfortable playing was Oliver.
Oliver Addams was a b...
Okay, is it fucking weird that this billionaire is paying me millions to just lay on the couch like this? Right? Like this is not an arrogant billionaire with tiny penis energy. No, this is fucking strange.
I have no idea how long I lay on the couch like this, but I some point, I had fallen asleep. The sound of Cal's voice wakes me. He's talking like my mother did with the guys she brought home every night, loudly and angrily. Not to trauma dump but after the screaming matches, my mother and her guest would almost always end in loud, angry sex.
"No, if you don't get me my fucking money, it's your life on the line." There's a pause. I watch the muscles on his back flex as he runs a hand through his hair. "You can't give me your fucking eighteen-year-old kid in exchange for your goddamn drug debt. What the hell do you think this is? Some shitty-ass online novel platform in which you can exchange your kid, you idiot."
I stand up, trying to as quietly as possible make my way to the bathroom so I can at least pretend I'm not be listening to this threatening phone call. Me being the ever so graceful bitch I am, bump directly into an end table and knock over an expensive-looking vase. I immediately crouch to the ground to see if I can stop it before it either shatters or knocks into something else.
I don't catch it, and it hits the carpet and rolls all the way to Cal's feet. I'm practically on my knees now, and I watch as Cal looks down at me.
"You have till Monday." I don't know what day it is, but I'm assuming Monday is close. I watch as Cal hangs up the phone. I survey the scene quickly. The sketchbook from earlier is next to a half-empty bottle of bourbon and a square glass. Cal walks forward to me with a sly smirk on his face.
Cal grabs my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "This is a good look for you." Cal crouches down, still managing to tower over me. "Submissive, quiet. Perfect and ready to take orders." I can smell the bourbon on his breath.
"That's what you have to pay me for." I smirk, breaking the role of the submissive he wants me to be. He knew what he was signing up for when he picked me. He read my description, "spunky" code name for disobedient brat.
Cal wraps his hand around my throat, putting just enough pressure on it to make me uncomfortable and aroused. "I have women dropping their panties for me left and right. But I don't want a queen a want a king. I want someone I can break. Someone who I fuck raw with no consequences. So if I have to pay for it, then I will, but believe me when I say I will be the best you've ever had."
"Sounds like a lot of bluffing." My face flushes red as his grip loosens on my neck. He puts his hand back on my chin uses his thumb to part my lips.
Cal chooses to ignore my quip and instead says, "I wonder what your pretty, full lips would look like wrapped around my cock." He drags his thumb down my lips and then stands up.
"I'm sure I won't have an issue getting my lips around your shrimp dick." I'm choosing to ignore my raging hard-on by cracking jokes directed at the person who I want to ravage me.
"You'll just have to wait to see this shrimp dick," Cal says, his voice gravely and dripping in sex appeal. I want nothing more than for him to fuck me into next Tuesday. "Go get some rest, Oliver."
"But-" I say, scrambling to my feet.
"What? You anxious for my, as you call it, shrimp dick?" Cal says arrogantly. See, this makes more sense than him sketching me while looking like a fucking god. He is just a mean and averagely attractive man in his mid-twenties who definitely has a small penis.
"N-no, I just thought that we were gonna, you know."
"You're disappointed that I'm not going to fuck you? How pathetic." Cal punctuates his statement by grabbing my bulge and giving it a squeeze. I bite my bottom lip as I feel myself get even harder, something I didn't think could happen.
"You're dismissed," Cal says, turning on his heel and walking off into his bathroom. I stand here dumbfounded, listening to the sound of the shower turning on. Undoubtedly, a cold one.
"Fuck." I mutter as I walk out of the room. I make my way back to my room.
This never happens. I never have to deal with rejection like this. Eighty percent of the time, the client insists we have sex the first night. The other twenty percent of the time, we fuck during the first week. We're now creeping up on a month, and Cal has barely touched me. I'm starting to feel like an eighth-grader who saw a tit for the first time. For some reason, he's fucking teasing me. Making me wait for it. Maybe he wants me to work for it.
I flop down on the bed, staring up at my ceiling. I can't stop myself from thinking about Cal. I slip my hand into my pants, grabbing hold of my dick that's still rock hard. Maybe, I can satisfy myself.
I paint a picture in my head. I imagine how it would reeling to be tied to Cal's bed, absolutely restrained and able to move out of his touch. The feeling of him teasing my body to the edge and then stopping to untie me and flip me on my stomach. As I pleasure myself, I imagine Cal's thick lengthy dick filling up every bit of my insides. I cum in my boxers.
My face flushes red in embarrassment. I can't believe I just masturbated to Cal. This billionaire asshole won't have sex with me. I strip of the underwear and chuck it into the laundry hamper. I fall asleep still just as ashamed of myself now as I was without being underneath these luxurious sheets.
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