Chapter Text
Duncan’s balls might as well be navy blue by now, thanks to the constant fights with his girlfriend.
That was the seventh blowup this week. Seventh. He hasn't raised his voice once, yet somehow, it was always his fault.
Sure, he messed up sometimes—he wasn’t perfect—but most of the time? It was her turning molehills into mountains.
Talk to a random girl for five minutes? He’s cheating. Take longer than thirty seconds to text back? He’s definitely banging someone else. Go out with the guys? They’re running some imaginary contest to see who can sleep with the most girls.
“I don’t trust your friends, and I sure as hell don’t trust you!” Courtney had yelled earlier, jabbing her finger in his face like she was ready to fight.
Duncan stepped closer, his jaw tight. “Calm the fuck down. We’re just grabbing a couple beers.”
Her eyes blazed. “Don’t play me for an idiot, Duncan! The way I’ve caught you eye-fucking every slut in sight? And your dumbass friends? They’re no better. So don’t treat me like I’m some stupid bitch, I’m your girlfriend !”
She shoved him hard enough that he had to catch his balance.
Duncan clapped his hands together, his patience snapping like a weak thread. “You know what? Fine. I’ll stay. Not like I have a choice anyway, right? You’ll just spam-call me all night, and when I get back, I’ll get chewed out for some imaginary lipstick stain on my shirt. Yeah, fuck that. I’m done for the night.”
That was earlier. Now he was holed up in his room, alone, trying to decompress.
Duncan let out a deep breath, tipping his head back against the chair.
A year ago, he’d have ended fights like this with angry, teeth-clashing sex. It used to be hot—the jealousy, the fire—it all seemed like part of the game. A foreplay to something explosive.
Now she was just… too much. Too manic, too unstable. She’s volatile—a walking storm of accusations and glass-shattering tantrums. He didn’t have the energy to keep up anymore.
He should break up with her. He knows he should. But somehow, the chaos feels… familiar. Almost comfortable.
It’s not like he hasn’t been here before.
The screaming, the flying objects, the occasional cut from some broken bottle she’d thrown—it all keeps his mind occupied. Distracted from the lingering, restless energy in his own head.
Her screams barely scratched the surface of the dread he’d endured in jail. The endless chaos—the shouting, the brutal fights, the gut-wrenching fear that your turn might be next—was a whole different beast. He’d locked it all away, shoving the memories into the darkest corners of his mind where they couldn’t reach him.
So here he was, in his room, trying to drown it all out with some mindless shooter campaign. He’d already died in the second round, and the random insults from the other players didn’t even register.
He just quit the game. And now he was staring at the screen, the faint glow creating shadows across his room.
What the hell could he do to get his mind off this?
Food crossed his mind, but that meant running through the living room, where she was probably waiting to pick up round two of their fight. No thanks.
He hovered his hand over the mouse, scrolling through his games list, but everything felt dull. His other hand had wandered to his groin—unconscious habit. Legs spread, slouched back. It was a position he fell into without thinking: on the couch, on the metro, even eating.
Most of the time, it meant he was bored. Sometimes, it meant he was on the verge of getting horny. Right now, it was both.
Duncan shifted the mouse to his browser, right-clicked, and opened a bookmarked site. Here it was.
Latinas. Mature. Big Breasts. Same old bullshit. Different day.
He scrolled aimlessly, eyes glazing over thumbnail after thumbnail. The overly exaggerated porn acting grated on him—too fake, too loud, even the so-called “amateurs” were just playing the same game.
Scroll. Scroll. Nothing caught his eye.
He sighed, about to give up and rely on memory—maybe replay one of his past hookups in his head. Then something new snagged his attention.
Live Webcam.
Duncan frowned. He’d always assumed that section was for lonely, desperate, middle-aged creeps. And yet… he wasn’t exactly far off the mark tonight. Horny? Check. Lonely? Double-check. Why the hell not?
One click, and the page flooded with previews. Most of the top-streamed girls were carbon copies: fake moans, over-the-top gestures, trying way too hard. He scrolled deeper, considering closing the tab altogether.
And then he saw her.
Her preview glowed in cool hues, a girl framed in a halo of blue, white, and neon. Pale skin, a couple streaks of blue in her hair. Alternative. Goth. Definitely the trend lately, but she pulled it off like she was born for it.
Her setup was sleek—like something out of a cyberpunk flick. The visuals alone had him curious, so he clicked.
The chat loaded first, a flood of filthy, cringe-worthy comments filling the screen. Duncan frowned, suddenly aware he was in the same space as these losers. For a second, he considered backing out.
And then she appeared.
His breath caught. She was stunning. Porcelain skin, luminous under the glow of her setup. She was already mid-show, fingers moving in slow, teasing circles.
But it wasn’t just her body—it was her eyes. They locked onto the camera with a gaze that was both submissive and commanding, drawing him in like she could see through the screen.
Her username flashed in the corner: Blue Angel. It fit her perfectly.
Hundreds of people watched, their usernames and donations blurring together. The scoreboard filled with cash—hundreds of dollars stacked in minutes. None of it mattered to Duncan. He couldn’t look away.
She shifted onto all fours, her side angled toward the camera, giving the audience a teasing view.
He could see her lower back tattoo peeking out—a skull in the center with bat wings and sharp tribal spikes. Hot as fuck.
Her fingers trailed slowly across her body—cupping her breasts, sliding down her waist, brushing against her clit—then moving to grab a handful of her ass. She squeezed, spreading herself just enough to give them more.
Her pale skin contrasted heavily with the flushed pink of her pussy. It was hypnotic.
Duncan realized his hand had wandered into his pants. His cock was already hard, straining against his grip. Normally, he’d take his time, play it slow, but tonight he was too worked up.
She gave her ass a playful shake, letting it jiggle before arching her back. “Do you like that, baby?” she purred. Her voice was soft, teasing, but intimate enough that Duncan almost believed she was speaking to him.
“I wish I had your cock inside me.” Her fingers slipped between her folds, the slick, wet sound cutting through the speakers. She spread herself open, revealing everything. “See?” she said in a needy tone. “I’m so ready for you.”
Duncan’s cock throbbed in his hand, his grip tightening as he stroked himself. His breathing quickened, his body sinking deeper into the chair as he spread his legs wide. This was it. She was it.
Tonight, Blue Angel had him completely under her spell.
The alarm blared at 7 a.m., birds softly chirped in the background. The weak sunlight of the day managed to sneak through the windows.
New day, same grind. Duncan had been cycling through jobs—painting, delivering mail, cleaning cars. Things would start off fine, then, somehow, he’d screw it up. At least, that’s what they always said.
It didn’t help that he’d been out of jail for three years. That label stuck like a target on his back. Extra hours? Crappy tasks? He couldn’t say no. Why would he? Ex-cons didn’t get to be picky. It was either take what you’re given or starve waiting for someone’s scraps of kindness.
‘Kindness…’
Duncan cracked his eyes open, wincing at the sunlight and the parade of morning thoughts pounding through his head. He turned over, spotting his girlfriend, her face buried in the sheets.
Courtney's been the only one there for him when he got out.
It all started with letters, pen pals while he was inside. He never thought much of it at first, but her words made the days less unbearable. Her letters became something he looked forward to, a distraction from the cold walls around him.
When he got out, they gave it a shot. And for a while, it worked.
However, something about her always put him on edge. She’d shower him with compliments and gifts, only to flip it and remind him she was the reason he was better. That he should be grateful for her.
The isolation didn’t help. No family. No friends. Nothing to fall back on. He was easy prey for someone looking to feed their own insecurities. He almost let her control him, let himself get swallowed up by her neediness. Almost.
For now, he had what he needed—a roof over his head, a fridge stocked with food and beer, and a decent setup to pass the time. All it took to keep her happy was a few compliments, a couple of nights of wild sex, and some empty promises.
He’d play along. Until he found something better.
His gaze lingered on her still form under the sheets. Naturally, she wasn’t happy with what he was giving back. She wanted more—wanted him locked in, tied to her forever, just like last night. That was the price for keeping his loneliness at bay.
“Yeah, screw that,” Duncan muttered under his breath, pushing himself out of bed.
The day wasn’t going to wait for him, and he wasn’t about to waste it.
Thirty minutes to an hour. That’s what the mechanic told Duncan.
His battery had died on him the second his shift ended. ‘Great. Another 150 bucks down the drain. Fucking junk.’ He let out a frustrated grunt, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way to the nearest bar.
Might as well kill time with a couple of drinks before heading home—where he’d probably just get chewed out for being late anyway.
“Hey, man! Over here!” A dirty blonde guy waved his hand above the crowd, grinning like he owned the place. Geoff always had a knack for spotting Duncan, and to be fair, the upkeep washed green mohawk made him hard to miss.
Duncan pushed through the sea of loud voices and clinking glasses to reach his friend, who greeted him with a couple of hearty slaps on the back. “Long time no see, man! How’ve you been?”
“Surviving,” Duncan muttered, glancing at the table. Bottles of beer were scattered across it, the condensation pooling underneath them. “Looks like you didn’t wait for me.”
Geoff shrugged with a laugh. “Hey, we’re celebrating!”
“Celebrating ? Who died?”
Geoff let out a laugh as he smacked Duncan’s shoulder. “Nah, Henry finally got his management gig. Dude’s been grinding for that promotion for months.”
“Lucky him,” Duncan replied, sliding into a chair.
“Come on, give the guy credit. He’s been bending our ears about that project for ages. You must’ve heard about it.”
Duncan squinted like he was trying to summon the memory. “Nope. Must’ve tuned it out.”
“Well, he’s solid. Could hook you up with something steady if you wanted. Henry’s all about helping the homies.”
Duncan just grunted, his fingers drumming on the edge of the table.
Geoff leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Man, what’s going on with you? You’ve been dragging lately. Your girl is giving you trouble again?”
Duncan scoffed, reaching for an unopened beer. “What else is new? I couldn’t make it last night. Her nagging is driving me up the wall.”
Geoff sighed, shaking his head. “This is getting stupid.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Seriously, just break up with her. It sucks watching you like this.”
“And go where? I don’t exactly have the cash to move out.”
“You can crash at my place,” Geoff offered. “Couch is always open.”
Duncan snorted. “At your place? Where it’s party central every night? Yeah, sounds like the perfect way to catch some sleep.”
Geoff shrugged again. “Okay, fine. How about a hotel?”
“You’re hilarious. Just hand me a beer so I can drown my problems like a proper adult.”
Geoff frowned but didn’t push. “Damn…”
“Damn is right.”
“…Or,” Geoff started with a mischievous grin, “you could find another sugar momma.”
Duncan choked out a laugh mid-sip. “What?”
“I’m serious, man. You’re young, you’ve got options—”
“Are you suggesting I sell myself?”
Geoff held up his hands. “Hey, aren’t you already doing that? Just with fewer perks?”
Duncan leaned back, exhaling heavily. He didn’t need reminding.
“Alright, alright,” Geoff said quickly. “I’ll drop it. But if you change your mind, Bridgette’s got a lineup of bombshells ready for you. We could do a double date!”
“That sounds like the ninth circle of hell. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.”
“Come on, dude. Uni girls. Best in the city. I’m telling you.”
“You’re not letting this go, are you?”
“I just wanna see you bounce back, man. You’re like a zombie lately. Bet a fine girl could bring you back to life.”
Duncan finally sighed in defeat. “Fine. Tell your girl to set it up. But I’ve got standards—no whiny types, or I’m out.”
“Noted!” Geoff said with a triumphant grin.
“And this stays between us. Girlfriend can’t find out, got it?” Duncan took another sip, then added, “And it’s gotta be between three and five. That’s when she’s busiest.”
Geoff gave him a mock salute. “Consider it done.”
8:45 p.m.
Duncan checked the time on the radio and exhaled sharply. Too late. His phone had been dead for a while—not that he was in a hurry to text her. Wouldn’t make a difference. If anything, it’d just make things worse.
He killed the engine, grabbed his keys, and muttered a quick prayer for an easy night before stepping inside.
The scent of something cooking hit him immediately. The kitchen light was still on. Great.
“I thought you were done by seven,” a voice called out, surprisingly calm. Too calm. “Why so late?”
He hung his jacket in the closet, barely glancing her way. “Truck broke down. Took at least two hours to get it running again.”
A half-truth. It hadn’t taken that long, but dragging out the excuse might keep her from picking a fight.
Courtney didn’t respond right away. Instead, she kept stirring the stew, her movements slow, controlled. Then:
“And you couldn’t call me to pick you up?”
His jaw ticked. “You were working,” he muttered, pulling a drink from the fridge.
“I’m the manager , Duncan. I can leave whenever I want,” she snapped, finally looking at him. “How do you not know that by now?”
He popped the cap off the bottle with his thumb and took a swig. “Didn’t wanna bother you, that’s all.”
That should’ve been the end of it.
She paused, wiped her hands on a dish towel, and turned fully toward him. That’s when he caught it—the tightening of her shoulders, the shift in her stance.
“But stopping by a bar? That didn’t bother you, huh? ” Her voice was smooth but edged with bitterness. “I can smell it from here—that cheap smoke stink you always drag back from your nights out.”
Duncan tensed. His fingers tightened around the bottle.
He held her stare, unflinching. “Yeah, grabbed a couple with the guys. You wouldn’t let me go yesterday, remember?”
“Oh, I remember.” Her tone cut like a blade. “And I also remember telling you I don’t trust them. But I guess you forgot that part.”
“It was just an hour.”
“You just said two.”
“At least two,” he corrected, voice steady, measured. Don’t escalate. “Can we not do this tonight?”
Courtney folded her arms, jaw tight, eyes flicking over him like she was deciding where to strike next.
“…Taxes are coming up,” she finally said. “I need half. Unless you’re fine living without electricity.”
Duncan’s teeth clenched.
She knew he’d been dodging expenses, trying to save whatever he could. And the truck had already drained him—two visits to the mechanic in a month. That stung. Everything else? She covered it. And now, she was using that against him.
He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Alright. I’ll pay you tomorrow.”
“I want it now.”
His head snapped up. “Now?” His patience was wearing thin. “It’s late. Why don’t we eat something, sleep—” He stepped closer, slipping his hands around her waist, lowering his voice just enough— “and I’ll get it to you later?”
Maybe sex would make her forget.
But Courtney wasn’t budging. Arms still crossed, her glare burning into him. She wasn’t just mad—she was looking for a punishment. A reminder of who was in control.
“What?” he muttered.
“I wanna go out.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Babe, we either go out or we pay the taxes. Can’t do both.”
He reached for her again, but this time she stepped back—quick, like his touch physically repulsed her.
“Don’t fucking touch me, you snake,” she spat. “I know what you’re doing. Don’t play dumb with me.”
His fingers curled into fists.
“What? What!? ” His voice shot up, a thread away from snapping. “It’s all in your fucking head! Do you really wanna keep searching for a ghost? Because I swear, you’re gonna find one!”
Her eyes flashed. “So you are hiding something?!”
His head dropped back with a groan, hands flying up. “Do you want a fucking receipt? I’ll go print you one if that’s what this is about.”
“I don’t give a fuck about a receipt!” she yelled. “Like you can just bullshit your way out of this!”
Duncan’s pulse pounded in his ears. “Why the fuck would I fake a ticket?” His voice sharpened. “I didn’t even buy a drink, I was jus—”
"Oh, so some whore paid it for you?!” Courtney's voice cut through the air, louder.
Duncan suddenly buried his face in his hands, wondering how he’d ended up in the line of fire—again. And again. Something in him snapped.
His hand shot into his pocket, yanking out his wallet. “You know what? Here.” Then slapped the crumpled bills onto the counter, the last of what he had. “That’s all I’ve got. Pay the fucking taxes.” Without another glance, he turned, muscles tensed up, jaw tight. “And get off my back.”
It was a lost battle the moment he walked through the door.
“Fuck.”
Duncan let out a long, heavy breath and sank into his chair. He flipped his wallet open—empty. Again. Zero.
Money. Always money. He needed it if he ever wanted out of this shithole. But how ? No legit job would give him the kind of freedom he needed, not with his record.
There was a time when this wasn’t a struggle.
One big hit used to be all it took. He was good at it—too good. The weight of a gun in his hand, the rush of adrenaline, the high of walking away with everything. Easy. Addictive.
He clenched his jaw and shook his head. ‘What the fuck am I doing here?’
Sitting around like some caged dog, waiting for scraps. That thought always lingered… but tonight, it gnawed at him.
Duncan exhaled hard and slumped deeper into the chair. His brain twisted itself into tighter knots, desperate to find an exit.
Geoff mentioned one of his guys might have an offer—the so-called Henry. What would it be like? A 9-to-5, bottom-of-the-ladder, blue-collar grind. Crawling through his personal hell just to buy a ticket out. And that's if they even took him in the first place.
He shut his eyes, jaw clenched, as a storm of images tore through his mind—then, somewhere in the daze, there she was.
A different kind of numbness, someone who was begging to reach in. Maybe she could help him forget, if only for an hour.
Bookmark. Right-click. The screen lit up with the face that haunted his wet dreams.
Blue Angel.
“Hello again, beautiful,” Duncan muttered, smirking as his fingers idly traced over his thigh.
She was mid-laugh, responding to some irrelevant comment in the chat while she got ready for the show. The sight of her drowned out the noise in his head.
“You're all so needy today. None of you are going to hold for much longer, huh?” She chuckled, preparing the mood for the session.
This time, Duncan caught her with some clothes on: A long-sleeved crop top with a neckline wide enough to reveal the curve of her breasts. The skimpiest shorts he’d ever seen clung to her thighs. And then, thigh-high stockings that hugged her legs perfectly, making her thighs look even more tempting.
She was going back and forth with the active chat, daring them to make certain moves or moan a few choice phrases. Always tempting them to buy her subscription.
“You can have aaall that you want from me, for the right price,” she teased, letting out a cheeky laugh.
‘Cute and smart,’ Duncan smirked. ‘I wouldn’t entertain these idiots for a minute without some cash in my pocket,’ he thought, his hand casually grazing his groin.
She was on his screen now—stretching, teasing, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth like she knew exactly what it did to her audience… and him.
What would it be like?
Waking up beside her every morning. Hearing the soft, sleepy sounds she made. Feeling her shift under his touch, locking her down as she squirmed against him, struggling to keep quiet.
He’d love to hear her gasp, to hear her voice crack as she begged him to sink deeper inside her. His dick twitched at the thought of her belonging to him.
“Last session I came so hard that I was thinking about you all day~ I can’t wait for you to fill me up again.” Her sultry voice broke his thoughts, making his breath hitch.
Her shirt was pulled up now, exposing her nipples, already hard from her touch. Red marks were starting to show.
“Fuck...” Duncan whispered, rubbing himself through his pants. The friction only made it worse. He parted his legs, reached for his zipper, unbuttoned—his cock popped out of his pants. He hadn’t felt this hard, this fast, in a long time.
He clasped the base, holding it in, focusing on her every move.
She was already going at it—hands moving over her chest, fingers tugging and twisting at her nipples, little sighs slipping from her mouth.
“Mhm, they’re already so sensitive,” she murmured. The slow circling of her hips made it clear she was getting more aroused by the minute.
Duncan’s grip tightened. His hand wrapped around his cock, stroked slowly, drinking in every desperate motion she made. He didn’t notice the soft music playing in the background until she sat up, giving her nipples a break. As she adjusted and turned around, he caught every detail of her.
Her shorts barely covered her ass, and she knew it. As she bent over, giving the audience a clear view, her hand slid down her thigh, then up to squeeze one cheek, teasing along the edge of her pussy. Then she spanked herself—hard. A sharp cry slipped out. “Bet you’ve never seen anyone make you this excited.”
Duncan let out a low chuckle between strokes. She knew exactly what she was doing.
He was already leaking—his cock wet in his hand, slick sounds filled the room. His left hand worked the shaft in steady, slow pumps. His right hand cupped the back of his balls, keeping him steady. Up and down. Up and down.
Like she said, he hadn’t felt this kind of lust in a long while. He needed to slow down before he cum all over his desk.
Not much time passed before she slid her shorts down, not without teasing the viewer. Her figure was unreal, the way her waist was so pronounced, letting her hips have a nice and round shape. The softness of her skin could show even through the screen. Her tights, which still have the stockings on, looked incredibly tempting as she caressed them.
He couldn’t focus anymore, grunts and muffled moans came out of his lips. His breathing is starting to cut off, and his legs are barely holding on.
“I haven’t even touched myself yet and you’re already losing it?” she purred, eyes locked on the camera like she could see straight through the screen.
It was embarrassing. Duncan clenched his jaw, shut his eyes tight, and threw his head back—hand frozen mid-stroke. He had to breathe through it, calm down before he blew his load three minutes in.
'Get it together. We’re just getting started.'
She dropped onto the bed, never looking away from the camera. The angle shifted as she sprawled out, letting the lens drink in every inch. Her hips tilted just right, lips caught between her teeth, eyes heavy-lidded and full of sin. She knew what she was doing, knew exactly what it did to them. To him.
As her fingers dipped into her mouth, slow and wet, she spread her legs wider. The camera picked up the slick shine between her thighs, swollen and already soaked from the tease.
She chuckled, biting her lip. “Look at that. I’m already so ready for you.”
Duncan’s eyes shot open. His cock twitched hard, begging for release.
Her right hand slid back between her legs, spreading herself open. She sucked on her fingers again, slower this time, making a show of it—then circled her clit. Her breath hitched instantly. Overstimulated already. One touch and her thighs jerked.
Duncan licked his lips, hips rocking forward to match her rhythm.
“I’m trying so hard not to make a mess right now,” she moaned, her voice trembling, eyes glassy with pleasure. She looked straight into the lens—straight at him.
Then it started.
Their rhythm synced—slow, grinding, torturous. The kind of mutual edging that left both of them panting and twitching. He didn’t care if his girlfriend could hear him from the next room. He was lost in it—lost in her slick, aching cunt, in every sound she made.
Blue Angel’s face twisted with growing desperation. She was close. He could see it in the tension in her arms, the frantic pace of her fingers. Duncan’s hand matched hers stroke for stroke, the wet smack of her slick echoing in his ears.
“Ooh~ fuck, I’m reeeally close.”
He was right behind her. The idea of finishing together—of feeling that shared release—pushed him to the edge. A grunt slipped from his lips, hips jolting with the first warning spasm.
Then—
Ping.
A notification. His smirk dropped.
A robotic voice cut through the room: [Codyjerkins90 donated $500: ‘here’s my allowance for the month, mommy.’]
Everything stopped.
“Oh, wow,” she purred, shifting focus immediately. “Someone’s eager. Thank you for the donation.” She brought her messy fingers to her lips, sucking them clean with a soft, exaggerated moan.
Duncan’s hand stalled on his dick. Still hard. Still needy. Frozen.
“And why don’t we play a game, then?” she continued, pulling out a pair of metal cuffs and a sleek, purple toy. “Tonight, I want to give you all the control to make me cum.”
She spread her legs wider, lube glistening on her skin, and rubbed slow circles against her clit with the toy. “Are you ready, Cody?” she breathed, clicking the cuffs into place over her head.
Duncan’s stomach sank. His hand went limp.
No. No fucking way.
As Blue Angel started moaning another guy’s name—fake and forced or not—his erection started to mirror his mood.
'What the fuck am I doing? Jerking off to her moaning for another man?'
His hand jerked away from his cock, found the mouse, and slammed the tab shut. Jaw clenched. Exhale sharp.
His dick flopped, the orgasm gone, ruined by a horny wimp.
He sat back in the chair, eyes shut again—this time not from pleasure, but sheer fucking frustration. His temples throbbed as he rubbed them hard and let out a long, bitter sigh.
Could this day get any fucking worse?
He stayed like that for a while. Silent. Staring into nothing.
This is it, he thought. The universe has spoken. Time to stop playing. Time to grab destiny by the fucking horns.
First thing’s first—he needed five hundred bucks. Now.
Taxes? Groceries? Didn’t matter.
She mattered now. No fucking way was he gonna sit here like some broke-ass nobody while some fuck-ass simp stole what should’ve been his.