Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
It was that she just seemed to want to blend in.
She was a tiny thing. Short, slight, the kind of woman who was the definition of having “bird-like bones.” Delicate, even.
She had shoulder-length light blonde hair. Natural, judging by her brows, lashes, and lack of roots. Her light blue eyes were behind a pair of gold wire glasses.
Her clothes were all understated, meant to blend in with their complete lack of contrast. A cream cardigan over an off-white t-shirt, and no jewelry.
No contrast.
She practically blended into the color pattern of the room.
But once your attention was drawn to her, fuck, she had an impact. Her sleepy-looking eyes, her full lips, her somewhat sharp jaw.
She didn’t look like she fit in sitting in a room full of adult content creators.
She looked like she’d fit in more in some Ivy League hallway, carrying a stack of books to bring to her dorm for the long weekend instead of partying like all of her peers.
“I brought them in because, yes, they represent high-earners on our site, but they also have something else in common,” Sion said.
“What’s that?” another, older, guy at the table asked.
“None of these women show their faces on our site,” Sion explained. “They represent an option for anyone interested in adult content creation, but who doesn’t want to have issues with day jobs, families, or even shit like other parents at the school drop-off finding out about them.”
“How do none of them show their faces?” the older guy asked.
“Lorda’s page is more… audio. She is in her videos, but staged in such a way that you don’t see her face. Amie does domme content and wears a mask. And Siana, of course, represents arguably one of the largest fetishes on our—or any—adult sites. Feet.”
“Your channel is only ever your feet?” the older guy asked, looking at Siana.
Further proving my feeling that she didn’t seem to fit in here, she gave him a tight nod, then looked away, her gaze slipping to a ring on her finger. A fidget ring that she turned around and around.
“Yes,” Sion answered for her, then clicked onto the screen, showing videos and pictures of, I imagined, Siana’s feet.
Like the rest of her, they were small. Dainty, even. Each picture featured a different nail polish color or pattern. Sometimes rings. Some featured her feet in shoes, others with them half submerged in various materials from sand and chocolate sauce to Play Doh and packing peanuts.
Sion quickly clicked over to the other women’s pages, and the room fell silent as we heard Lorda talking about good boys, then, in complete contrast, Amie telling her audience what worthless pieces of shit they were.
Sion moved on, talking about how a major tenet of his site was the community, highlighting the creator portal where everyone could discuss things that are or aren’t working, or entertain potentially working together.
I was only half paying attention, though.
My gaze kept sliding toward Siana, thinking about her page, about how you never saw anything but her from the ankle down, but how the likes and comments on her page were full of men gushing about how beautiful and perfect she was.
I felt a familiar itch that had been nettling at me for the past, well, couple of years, really. An irritant that I couldn’t scratch, couldn’t make go away. It niggled at me endlessly, only calmed with long trips to the gym to distract myself.
That ache for that long-lost attention and adoration.
I don’t think I realized, until it was gone, what an addiction it had become, how the absence of it had created an endless pit of withdrawal.
What had just started as a way to check in on old friends, as one hour stretched into two, I started to wonder if this was what had been missing. If I could get the attention I’d been so desperately seeking through an anonymous venture.
I didn’t even have to tell the club.
Not if I was careful enough to hide my identity.
The answer came in the last ten minutes of the meeting, as Sion started naming off a list of types of content creators he was actively seeking to have on his platform.
One, in particular, stood out.
Attractive, fit, men in masks.
Apparently, I wouldn’t even need to speak because there was a sound catalog that could be used.
The second Sion declared that was about all he had to say, the feet girl, Siana, nearly flew out of her chair. Head ducked, she rushed out of the door before anyone could say anything to her.
Weird.
“So, Alaric, man,” Sion said, clamping his meaty hand on my shoulder. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re going to be a really rich man,” I said, meaning it.
“That’s definitely part of the plan,” he agreed. “Also, the other options out there can be a bit predatory toward the creator. I really wanted to make something that is better for us. And more streamlined for the subscribers.”