“I’ll start.” He stands, pulls off his jacket, and tosses it onto the bed. Starts the casual and sexy process of loosening his tie. I sit up, onto my knees, and take advantage of their distraction to move a toy into the eye-level attachment that affixes to my stand. “Susannah, kneel down before me.”
I fight a smile, his words matching my thoughts. I wait, his tone telling me enough. He is in control.
She kneels, her dress pants tight, and looks up into his face as he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs out of it. Nice. Muscular, trim. He works out but doesn’t obsess over it.
“Can you move the camera in a bit?” I move closer to the end of the bed and switch camera inputs, to a higher one that sits above the toy, one that looks down on me, much as he would.
She hops to her feet, moves offscreen, and then I see the camera pan in, see him turn to face me, the camera framing him in perfect clarity. He flips the leather of his belt out and yanks the clasp of his pants. A burst of arousal comes at the anticipation, as his wife kneels before him, a smile curving over his mouth as he palms the back of her head softly. Reaching forward, she places a tentative hand on his zipper and turns to me, looks into the camera and I stare a little bit into her soul.
We may be a hundred or two thousand miles apart, but it is amazing the connections that can occur on camera. I understand why the clients think they know me, have a right, a claim to me. I feel it too. But they are one of thousands to me, and I am—for many of them—the only one. It is a dangerous seesaw of inequality, one I balance on with no clear understanding of its butterfly effects.
CHAPTER 30
House Arrest Countdown: 1 Month, 3 Weeks
MARCUS ISN’T THE only one who prefers Jess Reilly. He realizes that quickly, his first two chats lucky in his easy snag of her attention. She is one of the most popular women on the site, her window constantly grayed out in a private session. He spent a few nights refreshing his screen, hoping to grab her the minute she returned to free chat—only to be bested by another user doing the same thing. It was infuriating, to wait like a lackey, begging for a chance to pay a whore.
Then, after trying for two weeks, he got her.
“I know you.” She smiles into the camera, and he feels the juvenile warmth of importance. He reaches forward to type but is stopped by her voice. “We’ve chatted before, right?”
I was aided. Returning clients’ names are shown in blue versus red. One time out of a hundred the system glitches, and I give a warm welcome to a person who has never seen me before, but this time I am rewarded by a quick line of text.
freebird71: Yes. I’ve been trying to chat with you but you are always in private.
I frown in a manner that conveys regret and wish I were somewhere else. Somewhere with people, living, breathing organisms that have blood in their veins and who scream when injured. Tonight is a bad night. One where my mind won’t stay on camming, and my hands want to squeeze a throat until it cracks. “I’m sorry. The site’s been busy lately. If you sign up for my fan club it can send you a text or pop-up when I enter free chat.”
freebird71: brilliant
I smile. “Yes. It’s nice.” Nice that it charges the customer forty dollars a month just for the ability to encourage their spending. Nice that it reduces the amount of time I fend off the free-chat clingers.
freebird71: the other girls don’t talk.
“Most of them are foreign. Or in a place where they can’t be heard.”
freebird71: why not
“Why can’t they be heard? Maybe they live with family, or a roommate.”
freebird71: do you?
An odd question but one I’ve gotten a hundred times before. “No. I’m in an apartment on campus. I got lucky and got a one-bedroom.” I smile, as if WAHOO! This is a feat worth celebrating.
freebird71: boyfriend?
Another common question, ranked right up there in popularity with How many toys do you have? Do you do anal? Are your boobs real? I shake my head again. “Nope.”
freebird71: why not
I give the answer that always works. One that clients believe. “My job doesn’t really work with a boyfriend. Most guys don’t want to date a girl who gets naked on the Internet.” Yes. Lucky me. With a boyfriend who turns a blind eye to my homicidal tendencies and allows me to cyberfuck strangers all day long. I smile brightly and ward off a yawn. My mood tonight is strange. I am bitter and angry, and don’t know why. After this chat, I am getting offline. I’m too close to blurting out the wrong thing and damaging my online image.
freebird71: I want to fuck you
And… looks like the chitchat is over. I am almost relieved, despite the fact that my throat is tired of moaning and my body has been worked over enough times today to classify as spent. “How do you want me?”
freebird71: on your knees in front of the camera. Get a flogger.
I shake my head. “I don’t do that sort of stuff.” I flip screens and look at my client spreadsheet, read the note I have next to his username: Wants a personal meet. I can’t imagine the girls who meet these guys in person. The risks they take when we already make enough. More than enough.
I get on my knees, switching the camera input to the cam above me, the one that looks down on me from the height of a typical man. “Do you want me to suck your cock?”
freebird71: yes
“Black or white cock?”
A long pause.
freebird71: white. Stop talking and suck me.
I clip a nude RealSkin seven-incher on the stand before me and grip it in eyesight of the camera, looking up into it. Tilting my head, I stare into the camera. “Please.” I don’t move. I don’t suck. I wait.
Thirty seconds pass.
freebird71: please what
“Please suck me.”
freebird71: are you serious?
I let go of the cock, let it hang before me, and stare into the cam and wait. Another minute passes. Another seven bucks earned.