Page 15 of Santa's Baby

Wow!

“Reuben.” I speak his name aloud, and it sounds like dirty satin. I wonder how it would sound at squeal volume, while he’s slamming the shit out of me.

I need to find out.

A search forReuben Sinclairhimself hits a lot more results. There’s a chunk of interviews as part of his associations with various charities, with quotes on how he had to climb up the ladder from nothing himself, so he knows how hard it is for youngsters out there with nobody to rely on.

I can’t imagine him like that. A young boy, desperate. All I can see is the Reuben Sinclair of today. Powerful. Prestigious. Charitable. Loaded. And dirty as all fucking hell.

My stomach drops out with every article click, terrified I might come across either of the two fateful words. Husband or father. I feel ill at the thought of him being a cosy family man behind the scenes, with a beautiful Mrs and some sweet little kiddos. But no mentions turn up. Not in a single article.

A link to an old podcast appears on page seven, and my fingers are legit quaking as they click on it.

He’s talking about a particular charity that helps out single mothers.

I, myself, was from a struggling single parent family, and as much as my mother claimed in later years that it was stress talking, not her, she blamed her decision to have me at such a young age for her hardship. She’d throw her emotional outbursts in my direction, and I didn’t understand it then. My young mind couldn’t interpret her, and all I felt was pain. I had no idea how much pressure she was under to keep our heads above water. It was hard. Very, very hard. I have both huge empathy and sympathy for people battling with similar journeys. It’s not easy.

His tone has me entranced, even though it’s just a snippet. I replay it over and over, my head whirling. I can’t stop.

This is dangerous. It’s a familiar road up ahead.

I’ve been more in control of myself these past few years, ‘keeping my head screwed on’as my nan would have said. I’vekept my compulsivehappy ever afterfantasies at bay, confident enough to quit psychotherapy over six months ago. But my grip is slipping so fast by the second, I get tremors.

I had no idea how much pressure she was under to keep our heads above water. It was hard. Very, very hard. I have both huge empathy and sympathy for people battling with similar journeys. It’s not easy.

I give myself the excuse of ‘just a bit of fun’, but I’m staring at the picture of Reuben behind the cheque as his words sound out, and remember Ella’s enthusiasm at seeing him.He’s such an amazing guy, so kind and humble, and selfless… and just AMAZING.

I can’t stop.

I had no idea how much pressure she was under to keep our heads above water. It was hard. Very, very hard. I have both huge empathy and sympathy for people battling with similar journeys. It’s not easy.

There is another side to the man talking, though. One a podcast and some online news stories will never come close to. He’d have them closed down if they tried.

Reuben Sinclair is a sadistic, degrading, hardcore beast of utter filth. The things I’ve done with him, along with the other Agency founders would scale the heights of anynaughty listthere could be.

That’s one of the reasons it’s so fucked up exciting.

Yin and Yang swirl endlessly, the two sides of Reuben’s coin unfathomable, and it only makes the man more stunning.

I start chewing on my nail extensions.

Santa.

I need to see Santa.

I need to see him, and hear him, and touch him, and play for him.

I need to play for Reuben.

Yeah. I’m fucked.

I had no idea how much pressure she was under to keep our heads above water. It was hard. Very, very hard. I have both huge empathy and sympathy for people battling with similar journeys. It’s not easy.

Dawn is breaking through my apartment windows when I break myself out of the stupid spell. I’ve been obsessing for hours. For once in my career, I haven’t even checked out my review from earlier – my only known time of not giving a shit how I performed.

I drag myself to the bathroom and get ready for bed, giving my used pussy a good soaping, even though it makes me wince. I should have taken some time out between proposals, but oh well, fuck it. I’ve been in considerably worse states. Even with sore pussy syndrome, the inevitable happens when I get under the covers. My used pussy gets another round as I imagine all the things Reuben Sinclair could do to me, and remember all the things hehasdone to me. I wouldn’t want to be hooded… or anonymous. I want to look him right in the eye as he takes me however he wants to.

His voice is still on loop.