Everyone online wonders “Where is Tyrone?”
Sitting behind his desk, He lights another cigar… watching his kingdom submit…
“Let’s give them a mega show…
It’s just past midnight. Rain taps against the high windows of the compound’s south wing—once an office space, now converted into something more personal: shared quarters, dimly lit, full of heat and breath.
Tyrone sits back in a leather armchair, shirt open, chest glistening from the shower. Faith stands by his side, arms crossed under her massive chest, watching.
Across the room, Brooke, Aspen, and Renee are tangled in silk sheets on the oversized bed. They were told to “wait until called.” That was two hours ago.
Now? They can’t wait any longer.
Aspen straddles Brooke’s thigh, panting, eyes locked on Tyrone for permission. Brooke moans beneath her, grinding back slowly, lips parted.
Renee watches from the corner of the bed, hand between her legs, whispering, “They’re gonna get punished if they keep going.”
Faith leans toward Tyrone.
Meanwhile—Camera 3 is Rolling
Unbeknownst to the girls, one of the select cameras is live—streaming quietly to a handful of top-tier subscribers. No alerts. Just silent access. A reward for patience.
The feed shows Brooke arching under Aspen’s mouth. Renee can’t resist and crawls forward to join—her tongue flicking against Brooke’s nipple while Aspen hums between her thighs.
They’ve forgotten the rules.
Faith smiles.
Backlash Building
The next morning, a screen grab from the stream leaks. Not the footage—just a still. Aspen’s face mid-orgasm, Brooke gripping Renee’s wrist, the watermark DOM-3:PRIVATE in the corner.
It spreads.
Fast.
Faith slams the laptop shut when she sees it.
“You want me to track the leaker?”
“Later,” Tyrone says. “First, we remind the girls what this is. Who they belong to. Then we make them watch it… and beg to go deeper.”
The glass-walled room overlooks the main studio floor below. Every camera is live. Lights are dim, ambient, casting bodies in golden shadows. Brooke is bound at the wrists, suspended just above Aspen, who’s on her knees, tongue darting like a flame. Renee stands behind them with a crop in hand, murmuring instructions only the microphones can hear.
But Tyrone isn’t watching the show anymore.
Not really.
Faith stands beside him in tight black leather—corset cinched, thighs bare, boots tall. Her breasts threaten to spill from the top with every breath. She’s grinning as the numbers roll in across the tablet screen in her hand.
“Half a million subscribers,” she says. “Three hundred grand in tips… and we’re only three hours in.”
Tyrone chuckles, cigar between his fingers.
“Let them cheer. They think it’s for them.”
He turns to her. Doesn’t ask. Just takes her by the throat and pushes her gently against the floor-to-ceiling glass.
Below them, the scene goes on—moaning, spanking, aching—but up here, Faith gasps as his hand slides between her legs, already soaked through the lace. She grinds back against him, breathing faster.
“You gonna punish me if I make a mess?” she whispers, eyes wild.
“Not yet,” he growls. “But you will hold still while they scream my name.”
He unzips, pushes her legs apart, and enters her with a slow, ruthless thrust. Her moan echoes off the glass, nearly louder than the show below.
She tries not to cry out again—but he pulls her hair back and makes her look down.
“Watch your girls, Faith. They worship me… just like you do.”
Her hand slams against the window for balance, body trembling as he fucks her hard and deep—raw, unrelenting, claiming every inch. Her eyes flutter. Her lip bleeds where she bites it.
Below, Aspen throws her head back in orgasm.
Above, Faith’s legs quake.
“They think they’re the stars,” she gasps. “But we’re the fire behind the curtain.”
“Damn right.”
Thirty Minutes Later—The Feed Breaks Another Record
Back in control, Tyrone buttons his shirt. Faith is on her knees, still catching her breath, hair tousled, lips swollen. The tablet buzzes again.
“One million,” she grins. “We just crossed it.”
He tilts her chin up.
“Then tomorrow… they earn it. Every damn dollar.”
She licks her lips, still hungry.
“Want me to line up the next four for you?”
“No,” he says. “Tonight… they come to us.”
