Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
This time, I let her go, a half-smile lifting one corner of my mouth. “Actually, I think you just said, fuck you.”
She lifts her middle finger over her shoulder without looking back.
“You ride home with a human, and there will be consequences.” I keep my voice low in case there are any humans within hearing distance.
“I’m catching the bus, dickwad!” she shouts over her shoulder.
Kids in the parking lot are listening. Basically all of them. We’re quite the subject of interest. I sort of like the attention, despite my initial rage over the two of us being forever linked in the minds of Wolf Ridge residents.
I like everyone seeing how I get under her skin.
I also don’t mind them seeing how she gives it back to me.
Almost as if I’m proud of her for standing up to me. Like I’m helping her prove to the world she’s not as weak as everyone thinks she is.
And if that isn’t the most insane form of thinking, I don’t know what is.
Oh yeah, maybe giving up an entire professional football career for no reason.
That might be it.
Rayne
Thank fates. Now that Wilde’s living here, having the house to myself is a rare thing, which gives me no time to make my foot porn videos.
I revel in being alone. First things first–a snack. I’m so damn hungry.
I swear, I must be channeling my mom. Just so long as I don’t grow a big baby belly, too, I guess I’ll survive it. I devour an entire box of graham crackers smeared with peanut butter.
Then I head into my bedroom to strip down to my panties and put on some sexy shoes. I set the laptop up on the shelf above the bed for a top angle of my legs and feet. Since I may only have limited time, I record two half-hour-long segments (changing into another pair of shoes and different panties for the second one).
I upload them to drop to my OnlyFans and Patreon accounts, then see what private messages I have in there.
I book private, thirty-minute sessions for five hundred dollars a slot, usually getting a couple a week. The trouble is if anyone else is in the house, I can’t do them. Shifter hearing sucks for family members who want privacy.
I had to cancel a couple of appointments since Wilde showed up. Maybe now that he’s training with the football team, I can fill my schedule again.
I message a couple of my regulars and say my appointment calendar is open again.
One guy immediately books in for this afternoon.
Well, that works. I have to use my time to make money when I have it. I bill him and send a video link. The moment the money hits my account–the one I set up with an online bank by forging my mom’s signature–I place the laptop on the floor, so only my feet are in the picture and then open the video chat.
The guy’s screen name is Footlover352. Not super original, but they’re not here to entertain me, of course.
“Hey Footlover,” I purr. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, giving him a view of my calves and the strappy stilettos I wore for the second video. “How are you today?”
He makes a sound in his throat. His camera is on, so I can see him. He’s in a windbreaker with a t-shirt on underneath. His face is round with extra weight, and he’s slightly balding. This guy is weird. Sometimes they’re perfectly normal-sounding. Sometimes a little nervous. This one is not a normal guy with a quirk. He’s a social misfit.
Not that I’m one to talk.
“Take the shoes off, Rainbow.”
I slowly reach down, taking my time, stroking my finger along the strap across my ankle before I unbuckle it. I slide my foot out of the sandal and spread my toes like I’m preening for the camera.
“Come closer. Can you please come closer?”
I shift my bare foot closer to the screen, twirling my toes. “What would you want me to do with these feet if we were in person? Walk on your face?”
“I’m going to oil them up,” he says. “With massage oil. For the best massage of your life.”
“Oh yeah? How would you rub my feet?”
“I’d get between each of those little toes. I’d fuck those toes with my fingers and the oil.”
“Uh-huh. What else?”
“I’d put them in my mouth. Suck them hard.”
“Mmm, I’d like that. I would like that so much,” I purr. “I would love to stroke your face all over with my toes. It would feel so good.”
The session goes on, and I cut it off right at the thirty-minute mark, despite his offer to pay me for another thirty minutes.
It’s not hard work, but it still exhausts me.
“How much for the shoes?” he pleads as I’m about to turn off the video chat.