Marriage Contract: the Billionaire and I

The red “LIVE” button glowed at the top of my screen like a warning I was about to ignore.

I adjusted the bunny ears on my head and leaned toward the camera, the little bell on my collar jingling with the motion. My outfit barely qualified as clothing—tight enough to restrict my breathing, short enough to start wars in the comments.

“Hi Daddy’s little sinners,” I whispered, brushing a finger over my lower lip. “You’re just in time. I was caught misbehaving again.”

The screen flooded with tips and messages. I giggled and glanced back—he was still behind the scenes, quiet, watching.

“Want to know what I did?” I teased. “I said no.”

A pause. Let it simmer.

“I told Daddy I didn’t feel like obeying.”

The tension snapped like a trigger. The chat went wild. I barely got a second to breathe before he stepped into view—fully clothed, calm, composed. Dangerous.

He didn’t say a word. Just gripped my jaw with two fingers and tilted my face up until all I could see was him.

“Tell them what happens when you say no,” he murmured, loud enough for the mic to pick it up.

I tried to smirk, but his grip didn’t loosen. “I get… corrected.”

His hand slid down the curve of my throat to the collar. Click. A leash attached. My breath hitched.

“You like being watched, don’t you?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

I nodded.

“You like being reminded who you belong to?”

A harder nod.

“And you like knowing all these men can see you,” he growled, dragging the leash so I had no choice but to crawl into his lap, “but only I can touch you.”

I melted. Literally. My thighs trembled as he spread them with just the pressure of his knee. I didn’t dare look at the screen—I could feel how insane the chat was going.

His fingers slid up the inside of my thigh, tracing dangerously close but never touching. Not yet.

“Open wider,” he ordered softly, “and tell them what you’re being punished with tonight.”

I hesitated. The blush hit my cheeks like a slap.

He reached into the basket and held up a smooth, firm carrot—like it was a weapon, not a vegetable.

I gasped.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” he murmured against my ear. “Smile for your fans, Bunny. They’re paying to see you squirm.”

And I did—smiling sweet and sinful while he made me remember exactly why being his was the hottest kind of torment.

tried to close my legs.

He didn’t let me.

The leash tightened, tugging at my collar like a cruel reminder—I don’t belong to myself right now.

“You disobeyed. And now you’ll perform,” he said, loud enough for everyone watching to hear the authority in his voice.

The chat was exploding. Donations. Hearts. Comments flying so fast I could barely keep up.

He didn’t care.

All his focus was on me. His girl. His toy. His Bunny.

“Hands behind your back,” he ordered.

I obeyed instantly, heart pounding in my throat, body already trembling from anticipation.

“Good girl,” he said, voice like dark chocolate and sin. “But not good enough.”

From behind me, I heard the drawer open. The sound alone made my stomach flip.

When he returned, he held up the paddle. Pink. Heart-shaped. Deceptively cute.

The chat screamed.

“Count for Daddy,” he said.

Crack.

“One.”

Crack.

“Two.”

He didn’t stop. The sting bloomed across my skin like fire, each slap making the bells on my collar jingle. My thighs were slick, breath ragged, brain buzzing from the overload of pain and pleasure.

The comments begged him for more. Harder. Slower. Spread her legs while you do it.

But he didn’t take orders from anyone—not even the ones paying. He made them wait. Made them watch.

“You think they care about you, Bunny?” he whispered, gripping my chin so I had to look at the camera. “They want you filthy and broken. But me?”

His lips brushed my ear.

“I want you ruined.”

I whimpered.

“Tell them what you’re sorry for.”

“I-I’m sorry for saying no.”

“And what happens when you say no?”

“I get punished,” I whispered.

Crack.

“Louder.”

“I GET PUNISHED!”

“That’s right. And if you cry, what do you say?”

“…Thank you, Daddy.”

He smirked.

“Good girl. Let’s show them what happens next.”

My knees ached on the floor, the paddle-shaped heat still tingling across my skin like a brand.

“Look,” he said, voice low, velvet wrapped around steel.

He turned the monitor slightly, forcing me to watch the playback—my own face on the screen, flushed, teary-eyed, lips parted in an O of desperate need. My thighs clenched on instinct.

“You see her?” he asked, like she was someone else. “Look at that filthy little thing. Trembling. Obedient. Starving.”

I swallowed, hard. My reflection blinked back at me, raw and undone.

“She begged so nicely,” he mused, dragging fingers down my spine—just enough to make me shiver. “But she still doesn’t get what she wants.”

I bit my lip.

He leaned in, breath brushing the shell of my ear. “You know why, Bunny?”

“Because I said no,” I whispered.

“And now I say no.” His words coiled around my throat tighter than the collar ever could. “You don’t get to fall apart until I say so.”

He moved behind me, and I heard it—that sound. The soft hum of a toy powering on, hidden from view. My body went rigid with anticipation.

I couldn’t see what he was doing.

I couldn’t feel it.

But I could hear it.

And worse—I could imagine it.

“You’ll sit still,” he ordered. “Hands still. Legs wide. And you’ll watch yourself fall apart for nothing.”

The hum intensified, cruel and constant, just out of reach. I squirmed.

“No,” he said sharply. “Don’t move unless I say.”

My breath hitched. I obeyed.

He circled me like a storm—out of sight, but always felt. My body was a livewire, vibrating with need, waiting for the strike. But it never came.

Instead, he leaned down and whispered, “Your punishment is simple.”

A pause.

“You get everything but release.”

I whimpered.

He smirked. “Already desperate? Poor Bunny. You haven’t even been touched.”

The monitor glowed, replaying every second—me, craving, kneeling, begging. My own sounds echoed back like ghosts. The tips still flooded in. They didn’t know what was happening off-cam. They didn’t know he was denying me everything.

And that made it worse.

Because I was performing for them. Burning for him.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear—gentle, tender. The contradiction made me dizzy.

“You’ll watch that video on repeat after we’re done,” he murmured. “You’ll memorize what desperation looks like on your face.”

The toy hummed louder for a second—then shut off.

I cried out.

He laughed softly. “What’s the matter, Bunny?”

“N-Nothing.”

“Good girl,” he said, placing a

soft kiss just below my jaw. “Now do it again.”

He turned the screen to show a new angle.

“Let’s see how long you last before you beg without permission.”

And I knew I wouldn’t last long.