Page 45 of Piggy

Charlotte

Grayson stands by the camera, shirtless, the red light blinking like a warning. It glares into my soul, and I want to ask why it’s on... but I don’t. I won’t.

My neck still stings, skin zapped raw beneath the collar. My mouth learned its lesson: obey or suffer.

Now just us — and the camera — everyone else left. He moves slowly, like he has all the time in the world to break me.

Then he slides on the mask.

Not a fun one. A ghostface, but metallic. He tilts his head slowly, an apparition of evil staring at me.

It’s a haunting, heartless mask consuming the man I loved.

He steps in front of the camera’s lens, blocking the light with his broad, sculpted body. I mouth, Grayson , but I already know it’s no use. The man walking toward me isn’t the guy I fell for. He’s darker. Colder. Hungrier.

Like a nightmare in human form, heading straight for me .

I stumble back a step, hands raised, pressed in silent prayer, but not to God. To him. Please. Please don’t hurt me.

Just barely, he shakes his head with a predator’s stance. Then, without a word, he grabs my wrist. I gasp as he yanks me forward, spins me around, and shoves me in front of the lens.

My bare thighs tremble under the bedside light.

“Like her new ink?” His voice is deep, brimming with amusement and cruelty.

My mouth goes dry. Oh my God . He’s talking to the camera! To other people.

“The tattoo artist was right,” he goes on, as if we’re hosting a show. “Very Betty Page. Except this brat’s no pin-up. Not classy. No manners. Rough. Betty Rotten? Nah. Already taken. This one’s mine.”

He squeezes my ass — hard .

“Say hi to our new brat, Betty Pig,” he clouts. “She’s about to squeal.”

I flinch. The nickname burns worse than the collar ever could.

“You ready to cry for us?” he says, dragging his fingers over my inked skin, across the backs of my thighs like he owns every inch.

I shake my head. Tears blur my vision.

Please don’t.

But there’s no mercy in him now .

He grabs a fistful of my hair, forces me to bend. The bed hits my stomach. I’m face down, his hand on my lower back.

And all I can do is breathe, and wait to be ruined and left however he desires.

“Time for inspection, Piggy,” he growls. My body is bone straight on the mattress, arms trembling, heart caught in my throat.

He yanks my hair, angling my head to the lens. “Spread your legs. Show them what’s mine.”

I hesitate.

Smack.

The sharp slap burns across my ass, stealing my breath.

“I said show them your slutty holes.”

Tears prick my eyes. I part my thighs and arch my back, my body betraying me as heat pools low in my belly.

“Good girl,” he murmurs now, quieter, voice rough with need. His fingers glide between my legs, parting my lips with a firm, filthy stroke. “Look at that sweet pussy. Fuck, she’s soaked.”

I bite my lip hard enough to make me wince.

“You hate me, Betty Pig? Hate what I’m doing?” His thumb circles my clit. “So why are you dripping for me?”

His hand stills, resting heavy on my lower back. His next words are a whisper, only for me.

“Tell them you’re mine, Charlotte.”

My voice shakes as I squeak out, “I’m... I’m yours.”

He smooshes the side of my face into the mattress and growls, “Louder!”

“I’m yours!” I yip.

“Yes, you are, my stupid girl.” Two fingers slide inside me. I clamp down automatically. I hate this. The lights, the cameras, the humiliating game.

But my body? My traitorous body aches for him.

Only him.

I loathe myself for it. But I’ve missed his touch so badly. I want this to be just us, like it used to be. No audience. No show.

Hummm .

My heart stutters as a low hum fills the air. I twist to look over my shoulder just in time to see Grayson slide a thick vibrator under me, the tip pressing right against my clit.

“W-what—” I gasp.

My cuffs rattle as I squirm from the sudden burst of stimulation. But he’s already wrapped his fingers in my hair like a leash, keeping me pinned.

“Come on, little pig,” he snarls. “Cum for your fans on camera.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. I won’t. I’m too embarrassed. Too unsure and raw.

“I can’t,” I pout, truly meaning it.

But then his mouth is at my ear.

His mask lifts, just enough.

And I feel him .

His warm body close. His cologne wrapping around me. That hot breath. The voice I crave in my darkest dreams.

“Cum for me then, baby.”

That’s all it takes. That voice. That man.

My Grayson.

I shatter.

My thighs tremble as I fall apart, gasping, panting, broken open around his fingers as the vibrator hums a song on my clit.

Heavenly.

But he doesn’t let me breathe.

The vibrator grinds harder, unrelenting against my oversensitive spot. I twist in agony, trying to escape the pleasure that now feels like torture.

“Stop! Please!” I cry out, thrashing in the cuffs.

He laughs, low and sinful.

“Almost got her squealing,” he taunts, jamming it harder against my clit, smacking me ass every time I try to escape the toy’s touch.

I groan, a guttural, painful moan as my body is forced to give again and again.

As I pant heavily, he rolls me onto my back and lowers himself between my legs like a man admiring his favorite meal.

His hand grazes over the raw, waxed skin, but gentle now.

“You know why I did this?” he murmurs, dragging his lips down the crease, dipping in his tongue for just a moment .

I shake my head, and tilt my hips, wanting more.

But he simply rises enough so his cock slides forward, not quite entering, just gliding between my lips, teasing, smearing wetness across flushed, aching skin. I shudder beneath him.

More than six months. That’s how long I’ve been starving.

For him.

My hips lift, my body desperate to feel him inside again no matter the cost. But instead of giving me what I need...

He grabs black duct tape.

I flinch as he tears off a strip.

Then, I watch mortified yet fascinated as he seals it over my pussy. From clit to entrance.

Tight.

He presses down, smoothing it like he’s wrapping a gift.

“I’m going to own every part of your body,” he growls. “But the one place you want most?”

He leans in, the mask inches away. “That stays mine until I say otherwise.”

He strokes over the shiny tape’s surface to my aching entrance. He presses his thumb against the tape, teasing me into a state of madness.

I choke back a moan, clenching, writhing for what I can’t have.

Humiliated. Desperate. And...

Completely his .

I study him as he kneels between my legs. He seems in a daze as he strokes the head of his cock along the slick tape between my legs, massaging the shape of my cunt underneath. But his length slides lower, seeking more forbidden ground.

He spits on himself.

“No,” I gasp, trembling. “Please—”

But he’s already there.

No mercy. Just his cock, thick and relentless, stretching me where I’m vulnerable, where he’s made sure I’m ready for him.

I cry out, visceral.

“That’s the sound I wanted,” he grunts. “Squeal for me, Betty Pig.”

Then—

“Starting without me?” a voice hisses.

My heart stops.

Meghan.

She enters in red latex, wielding a paddle. Her stilettos click against the floor as she stalks toward the bed, totally unfazed by what she’s walking in on.

Panic floods me.

“Please, Grayson! Don’t let her—” My voice shakes.

Grayson’s fingers dig into my hips. But he’s not thrusting. He’s still. Tense. However, I can’t see his expression .

Meghan slinks closer. Her sharp nails grab my hair. “Did you really think I’d let him live here with you and not make money off the show?”

Pain burns in my scalp. In my back. I’m frozen, and frankly, scared.

Meghan pulls harder on my hair. Her lips part and spit leaks down, aiming straight at my forehead! It dangles, nearing—

Grayson moves. Fast.

Thump.

Meghan hits the floor.

He’s over me again, mask off, breath scorching my neck. “Nobody touches you, baby. And nobody spits on my girl. Except me .” A thin ribbon of spit lands on my cheek, then his tongue follows, licking it off with a low growl. “Understand?”

My body just nods, fully under his spell.

He’s bare-faced now, his expression twisted in something that looks a lot like... love.

Just then, more people enter. Two guys. I panic, but he covers me with a sheet, then jumps into pants, standing in front of me like a wall of muscle and rage.

Meghan groans behind him. “This wasn’t the scene, Grayson! You fuck her. I ride her face. And who are these guys?”

The slightest smirk curves his lips as he tilts his head to the camera. “It’s just a standby light. It’s not even recording.”

“What?” she balks.

I sit up fast. “Yeah, you mean, the camera is not streaming? ”

He holds back a laugh, then smirks at me. “Baby, come on. Me sharing that little body with the world? Never.”

Oh, Grayson . Such a confusing, beautiful nightmare.

I flush red and blurt: “I love you.”

He closes his eyes for half a second, just long enough for the storm in him to still. But he swallows and forces himself to look away. Then he turns to the room.

He points at Meghan. “Chain her. Get her out of here.”

“What is this?” she growls as the two guys cuff her hands and ankles.

Grayson glares at her. “You set up Charlotte. Tried to have her raped by some bastard with a badge and a death wish.”

“Riser,” she mumbles.

He nods. “Turns out, you were the one with a death wish.”

“No! Wait! Listen, Rowen!” she begs.

But the men drag her out of the room. She screams the whole way out.

But I stay still, wrapped in this sheet, watching the monster I thought I’d created become my protector instead. And when the door slams behind them all, it’s just me and him. Breathing. Watching.

I fidget. “Who are those guys? What will happen to her?”

Click.

I yelp and grab my neck.

“Oh, my dumb Charlotte,” he says, almost sweetly. “Thinking’s dangerous for girls like you. No thinking . That’s my job. ”

I nod, but the truth stings. I’m not just Grayson’s prisoner. My body obeys him more than it obeys me. He branded my heart long ago. Now, he’s branded my skin.