Watching, a Dirty Standalone

By Fiona Masters

After a crazy crime, Gabriella Biltmore is assigned to court-ordered anger management sessions. The doctor forces her to confront her inner demons, and Gabriella tells her all about the dirty things her Master made her do, in vivid detail.

Jack Bell, a Master of deception, decided she would be his, one way or another. His naughty games escalate into a filthy dream of decadence and filth.

But her husband might have something to say about that.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fiona Masters
• Release date: Oct 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005498863

Fiona Masters

Fiona Masters is a librarian by day and a smut writer by night.

Book preview

Watching

By

Fiona Masters

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter One

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.

Why don’t you start by introducing yourself and explaining why you’re here?

I sighed. You know all that.

Give it a shot anyway. I want to hear it from you, the shrink persisted.

I rolled my eyes and my voice fell flat, My name is Gabriella Biltmore. I’m here because of my court-mandated therapy.

The doctor smiled, Mrs. Biltmore, tell me why you were sentenced to court-mandated therapy.

I stared at the ceiling above her head, Because Judge Miller thought I over-reacted.

Do you believe you over-reacted?

I laughed, No.

You set a car on fire. Is that rational?

Her sumptuous leather couch became less comfortable, as I petulantly admitted, Nothing we ever did was rational.

What was it, then?

Memories warmed my body and made me feel dirty and sick and delicious. Parts of me throbbed at the thought. My breath slowed as my sins tallied marks on my soul. The accurate word tumbled up from my gut and leaked out of my mouth, Fun.

Tell me about your husband.

That cooled my libido fast, Tyler Biltmore. State Senator, with dreams of more. Until…recently.

The therapist was quizzical, Because of you?

Because of me, I agreed.

Does he blame you? Even though you were being manipulated for years?

I stared out the window. Her office had a view of a city park. Kids swung on the playground. A woman played with her dog. Teenagers made out on a bench. Just a normal day. Normal days were for normal people. I didn’t get to have normal days. I was-

Mrs. Biltmore?

I blinked and brought myself out of my self-loathing, Sorry, I’ve been distractible lately.

Normal in situations like these. She softly said, Start from the beginning.

---

I’ve always thought I was pretty, but average. Blonde, big tits for a short girl. Brown eyes, average. For a long time, I pretended to be normal. I did some cheerleading in high school, but when I went to college, I wanted to leave that all behind. I didn’t get to, because of my cheer scholarship, but I had wanted to. I hoped to find a new way to define myself in college. High school felt like kid stuff, and I wanted to show the world how much I had grown. I needed to become someone else.

I met Tyler Biltmore at a party, in my freshman year. We hit it off: maybe my inner cheerleader couldn’t be squelched so easily. He was a football player, meaty and masculine and sexy as all hell. Dark hair, dark eyes, tan. Tyler was charming, the way men in old movies were. He fetched my beer for me, and I practically swooned. No man had ever been so nice to me. How sad is that?

Looking back, it was such a tiny thing, but back then my standards were a father who left when I was two, and my mother’s boyfriends who were in and out of her life, when they weren’t hitting on her teenage cheerleader daughter. She landed me a stepfather as of my high school sophomore year, so I didn’t have a great frame of reference. Men were a tool; a way to get what I wanted. The jocks I dated got me popularity. The nerds I used for my grades got me everything else.

But there was one who gave me something else. Jack Bell. We were friends all through school, all the way since preschool. He lived two streets over, our parents were friends…they thought we might get married. He was so hung up on me. Once we reached high school, our parents gave up. He didn’t fill out the way I had; Jack was still skinny, still awkward. Hazel eyes, mousy brown hair. Bad skin, kind of an annoying laugh, but I found it endearing most of the time. We didn’t have much of anything in common, and our differences were obvious to anyone who knew us, but I liked his company just the same.

My cheer squad decided it was time for me and him to stop hanging out. Our captain, Missy, realized we were tight, so she made sure I was too busy to see him. He would damage our collective reputation, she told me over and over. So, I made excuses when he and I did hang out: it was only for tutoring, I assured her. It wasn’t the only reason, but it was a significant part of our time together. I felt bad about it, but he got to hang out with a popular girl, and I got to stay in cheerleading, so that was fair, right?

No. It’s not. I was an asshole who used him back then. It’s clear to me now. I was young and stupid, and I had learned to use men like my mom always did. Whenever I felt bad about myself, he would prop me up with his sweet compliments. You’re so pretty, I don’t know why he’s not into you, or, "You should be squad captain, Missy’s a bitch."

He was so good at telling me all the things I needed to hear. He worried for me after my first break up, told me I was better than Winston Jones, said I deserved so much more. Jack was like a secret best friend, and I needed that in my life. My so-called friends were mean girls who did nothing but give me a hard time about everything. His support meant so much to me then.

When I met Tyler, Jack was happy for me. I told him I thought Tyler might propose. His exact words were, I can’t believe how happy he makes you look.

I laughed, Isn’t that what boyfriends are supposed to do?

He countered with, No other guy has made you this pretty. You light up when you talk about him.

He was right; I was very happy with Tyler at the start of things. And Jack made me feel even happier about him. When I visited back home, I fell into my old habit with Jack and used him again, without bitchy cheerleaders telling me not to.