freebird71: good. I video chatted with you the other night. Remember?
His username doesn’t ring a bell. It takes something extreme to get me to remember someone. One guy chatted with me twenty-three times last month. I remember him. Though with the username ElephantCock4You—he was hard to forget. So was his eleven-inch dick. NuttyBuddy73, who painted his penis with peanut butter and then licked it off? I remember him too. But freebird71 doesn’t ring a bell, not that I’d ever admit that to him. “Of course I do!” I say brightly, flipping screens and opening the word document I keep in the background, type in his username with a few quick strokes. Two notes beside the resulting cell. Marcus. Asked where I lived. I lean back on the bed. Smile as I part my legs in a way that draws attention to my underwear’s hot-pink crotch. “It was…” I tilt my head to the side as if deep in thought. “Marcus, right?”
freebird71: right.
freebird71: good.
freebird71: get naked. I want to see you.
I get naked.
I arch.
I touch.
I pull open the toy drawer and get creative.
The eight-inch white dildo is declared to be his favorite. I pretend it’s my favorite too.
He finishes by putting me on my knees, having me look up into the camera. I lick my lips and open my mouth and beg. Lick imaginary cum off of my lips and tell him it tastes delicious.
Chat timer: 37:02. He wants more. A second round.
I hop off the bed. “I’m gonna grab some water.”
freebird71: ok
I glance at the wall clock. 3:15 p.m. Briefly wonder at this guy’s time zone, if he is in his office or his pajamas. It’s so hard to tell when they just type. When I can’t hear the tone or volume of their voice. I prefer the cammers who turn on their audio, whose voices travel through the lines and paint the pictures of the confessions of their souls. My favorite are the whisperers. Makes the entire thing feel clandestine, the idea that they are risking their jobs or their lives in order to virtually fuck me. I pull on a thong, open up the fridge, and grab a Voss. The fridge clicks shut as I uncap the bottle, swig the cool water, and walk back under the heat of the lamps.
He’s still there, the screen unchanged, the clock in the upper-right-hand corner letting me know that my stroll to the fridge just earned me somewhere around the neighborhood of two dollars. I take another sip, watching my video feed, seeing the flush of my cheeks, the tint of naked skin. I move the bottle down. Rub the cold plastic over the tops of my breasts, my nipples instantly responding, pebbling hard, the high-def camera catching every reaction, the wet path of the bottle leaving a smear of glisten across my skin.
freebird71: do that again
I ignore him for a moment, leaning my head back and taking another long pull of water, moving my free hand to the camera’s control and zooming in further.
The art of seduction is now second nature. The tease. Giving them what they don’t know they want, and then withholding long enough to make them pant.
freebird71: do it again
I move onto the bed, sit Indian-style, and frame the camera on my body, mattress to shoulder, putting the bottle in the hole between my ankles and my crotch, the cold plastic wet against the silk of my thong. It’ll leave a damp spot. He’ll like that. I set down the cam remote, run my hands across my breasts, dragging the moisture across, gently pulling the tips of nipples, squeezing the flesh of breasts, lowering my mouth and lifting a pink tip into my mouth.
freebird71: jesus I want to fuck you so badly.
freebird71: how much?
A danger zone but I don’t stop. For one, I’m enjoying this. For two, this is a potential whale, a man unconcerned with minute counts, who has apparently come back for a second chat in one week. At any given moment, I’ve got fifteen to twenty whales, and am always looking for more, always needing a fresh supply.
I choose to ignore the question, lifting the bottle and returning it to my breasts, my damp thong clinging to me where the bottle had been.
freebird71: how much would you charge if I flew you here for sex?
I let the camera see a smile and empty the bottle down my throat, tossing it to the side without looking. “I don’t do that, Marcus.”
freebird71: $1000
I fight back a laugh. A thousand bucks is an average offer, but that’s coming from six-minute chatters, ones who save up to drop fifty bucks on an orgasm. This current chat is running on fifty minutes, three hundred and fifty of his dollars spent without hesitation. A thousand-dollar offer from him is almost insulting.
“I’m a camgirl, Marcus, not a prostitute. Just drop it.” My smile paints the words with a brush of friendliness but my hand moves closer to the mouse. I tried, gave him a chance. The “End Chat” screen will do more to put across my stance than words. It always does, the clients coming back contrite and behaving.
His response flicks up in the moment of pause before my finger presses on the mouse.
freebird71: fucking tease.
------JessReilly19 HAS ENDED THE CHAT. RETURN TO FREE CHAT?
I reopen my client spreadsheet, add in his IP address and a note. Flag it for Mike to gather intel. He’s a potential whale, but he’s also a potential problem. It won’t hurt to know a little more about freebird71.
CHAPTER 28
House Arrest Countdown: 2 Months, 1 Week