Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
The ticker at the bottom of the screen jumps as the first tip lands: twenty bucks, just for saying hello.
I keep an eye on the time, but for now, in this hot pink haze, I am entirely, gloriously, myself.
The light from my ring lamps is hot on my skin, making every inch of me brighter and more forgiving than real life ever allows. I’ve set up the camera so it frames only what matters: my throat, my chest, my thighs spread on the edge of a pink IKEA chair I’d never have picked if not for the way it makes me look edible. Anonymity is the whole game, and I play it like a pro. Not a single pixel of my face has ever made it onto the screen.
The chat is already busy, my regulars falling over themselves to be first noticed. There’s BigBen82 (“GODDESS, HOW WAS YOUR DAY?” in all-caps, always), and QuickSpooner, who never says anything except emoji but tips like he’s buying influence in a banana republic. Then there’s HughRules. I have a complicated relationship with that username. He pays for private sessions, but only to watch. He never types, never even throws a tip until the show is half over, but when he does, it’s a bomb—one hundred dollars, boom, just for a full view of my arching spine or the curve of my hand on a bottle of lube.
Tonight, I want to give them a real show. I start by running my palms up my thighs, letting the camera catch the shimmer of my stockings and the way the lace edges bite into my hips. I say, “Hi, darlings. Hope you’re hungry,” in a tone that would get me fired before the echo died at Gibson Grant. My voice is part promise, part dare.
They eat it up. The room goes from thirty viewers to seventy in less than three minutes. Tips pop up at the bottom, twenty here, five there, another thirty for a special request. I move slow, letting them get their money’s worth, always keeping my chin dipped, hair falling to shadow what little the camera might betray of me.
BigBen82 says, “Can you use the big one tonight?”
I know exactly what he’s talking about. With a sultry smile, I reach down, slow as honey, and pull a fat purple dildo from my prop drawer. It’s intentionally ridiculous, a challenge to physics and modesty alike. The chat goes wild with pings, emojis of fat dollar bags appearing. I trail the tip up the inside of my thigh, making a production of shivering at the contact, and say, “You want this, Ben? It’s gonna take work. I hope you’re patient.”
Another fifty comes in, this time from a lurker I haven’t seen before. I acknowledge it with a wink and a “Thanks, mysterious stranger,” then lube the thing up, caressing the ten inch length with my fingers while turning it so the light glistens across its bulbous head.
In real life, I’m methodical and organized to a fault, but here, I let myself get messy. My moans are real, and attuned to the frequency of the room. I massage the dildo sensuously with my fingers before lifting it to my lips for a taste, my breath coming faster as the chat fills with filth and additional dings. I keep an eye on the little preview window, make sure I’m never showing anything above the bottom of my nose. Control is everything, even when I’m being watched by a hundred anonymous eyes.
QuickSpooner wants the show to move faster. He wants to see the dildo stretching my pussy, and he tips ten, then another ten, piling it up until it’s clear he’s not going to stop until I deliver. I oblige, giving the dildo one last hungry lick, and then press it between my legs, letting the tiny head tease my wet hole.
The messages start to blur together: “FUCK THATS HOT,” “QUEEN OF TEASE,” “how much for a custom vid?” I let them all ride, laughing breathlessly into the mic and dragging out every syllable. Every minute is money, and every money is a step further from the life I’m supposed to be living.
Then, with another coy smile at the camera, I press the purple head against my little hole and let out a breathless moan as it slips in one inch, and then two. I throw my head back, golden strands flying, and moan sensuously.
“Oooh, that’s so big, my little pussy’s being fucked by a big dick, unnnh!”
Hey, there’s no need to be an Academy Award-winner in this line of work. The hot moans and filthy words do it, and soon, I’ve got the entire length jammed in my wet twat as I pant and twist, juicing wetly between my legs.
“It’s so big!” I squeal. “Unnnh, I can’t get it out!”