21: THE CAM GIRL NEXT DOOR (1)

CHAPTER 1: LIVE-STREAMING MY PUSSY

RILEY’S POV

My name is Riley, and I lead a double life.

By day, I’m a mousy data entry clerk, the kind of girl who wears oversized cardigans and gets flustered if someone holds the door for her too long.

My boss, Brenda, has to repeat instructions to me twice because I’m usually lost in my own head. My coworkers forget I’m in the breakroom. I’m a ghost, a wallpaper pattern.

But by night… by night, I am a goddess.

The soft hum of my laptop fan is my orchestra tuning up. The glow of my ring light is my personal sun.

I lean into the camera, a slow, wicked smile spreading across my lips—lips I’ve lined in a deep, fuck-me red.

“Well, hello, my sinners,” I purr, my voice dropping an octave, losing the hesitant tremor it has in daylight. “Did you miss me?”

The chat on the right side of my screen explodes. Heart emojis, fire emojis, a cascade of usernames and compliments. My heart races, but it’s not from anxiety. It’s from power.

Here, in my little digital domain, I am not a wallflower. I am the entire fucking garden.

Normally, I hide this body.

My full, heavy tits that spill over every bra I own and the apple-bottom curve of my ass that gets stares on the street—I smother them in oversized sweaters and boring clothes during the day. But not tonight.

Tonight, I’m wearing a crimson lace bodysuit, the kind that cuts high on the hips to frame this ass and plunges dangerously low in the front, putting every inch of my deep cleavage on blatant display.

I trail a finger from my collarbone down between my breasts, watching the numbers in the “Tip Goal” meter twitch upward.

“You like this one?” I ask, my voice a sultry whisper. “I was thinking of you when I put it on. Thinking about how badly you all want to tear it off me.”

A tip notification dings—$50 from user ‘LoneWolf23’. I give a throaty laugh.

“Oh, you’re eager tonight, aren’t you, baby? What do you want to see?”

Then, another ding. A bigger one. $100.

The username makes my breath catch.

DomTheBoss69.

He’s been my white whale for two weeks. A top-tier tipper who never shows his face or uses his mic, only the chat. His words are always, always a command.

DomTheBoss69: The red is a good color. But it’s still in the way.

A thrill shoots straight to my core. My pussy clenches around nothing, already getting slick. This is the game. This is the real addiction.

“Is that so?” I reply, leaning closer to the cam, letting my cleavage fill the frame. “And what would you have me do about that, Sir?”

The honorific slips out, something I’ve never called anyone else in the chat. It feels… right.

DomTheBoss69: Lose the straps. Let it fall. Slow.

My fingers are trembling as I reach for the thin straps of the bodysuit. I’m not acting. This is real. This man, this phantom in my computer, has a direct line to my nervous system.

I push the straps down my shoulders, letting the lace peel away from my skin inch by agonizing inch until the top of the bodysuit pools at my waist, baring my breasts to the camera, to him.

My nipples are hard, pebbled tight from the cool air and the sheer intensity of his gaze, even through a screen.

The chat goes feral. Tips pour in. But my eyes are locked on his username.

DomTheBoss69: Better. Now touch yourself. Just your tits. I want to see you pinch those pretty nipples. Make yourself gasp for me.

I obey. My hands cup my breasts, my thumbs and forefinger finding my nipples, rolling them seductively. I squeeze, tug, biting my lips softly just as a sharp, delicious pain mixes with the pleasure, and a genuine breathless gasp escapes me.

“Fuck,” I breathe into the mic.

DomTheBoss69: That’s the sound. Now stop.

I freeze, my hands still on my breasts. A whine builds in my throat.

“But I was just…”

DomTheBoss69: I said stop. You don’t come until I let you. Understood?

The command is absolute. It should piss me off. Instead, a fresh wave of wetness soaks the crotch of my bodysuit.

“Understood,” I whisper.

He doesn’t type for a moment. I can almost feel him savoring my submission.

DomTheBoss69: Good girl. Log off. I’ll be waiting tomorrow.

And just like that, he’s gone. The session feels empty without him.

I finish the show for the other tippers, putting on a performance, faking moans and shoving a vibrator inside me until I convulse with a real, but hollow-feeling, orgasm.

It’s not the same. He ruined me for anyone else.

The next day in the real world is agony.

I’m at my desk, inputting meaningless numbers, and all I can think about is the erotic feel of his commands.

My body is still buzzing, an instrument he’s tuned and then walked away from. I’m clutching my coffee in the breakroom when a deep, amused voice cuts through my haze.

“You look like you’re about to murder that cup.”

I jump, sloshing hot coffee onto my hand. “Shit!”

Standing in the doorway is Dominic. My roommate Chloe’s older brother.

He’s crashing on our couch for a month while his fancy downtown loft gets renovated, and he’s been a constant, infuriating presence.

He’s everything I’m not—confident, effortlessly handsome, with dark, mischievous eyes and a smirk that seems permanently etched on his face.

He’s wearing a tight-fitting henley that stretches across his broad chest, and I hate how my eyes automatically trace the lines of his muscles.

“Clumsy, Riley,” he tsks, stepping forward and grabbing a paper towel.

He doesn’t hand it to me, like I’d expected. Rather, he takes my wrist, and wipes the coffee from my hand himself. His touch is warmer than I’d anticipated.

My heart hammers in my chest in panic.

“I’m fine,” I snap, pulling my hand back. His smirk widens.

“Sure you are. You’re always so… jumpy. What’s got you all wound up?”

His voice sounds exactly like the one in my head when I read DomTheBoss69’s messages. The thought is so jarring, so insane, that I feel my face flame red.

“None of your business,” I mumble, looking at the floor, the perfect wallflower again.

He chuckles, a low, rich sound that does things to my insides.

“Suit yourself. Don’t work too hard.” He saunters out, and I’m left standing there, my skin buzzing where he touched me, my mind a chaotic mess of confusion and unwanted attraction.

That night, I’m determined to reclaim my power. I log on, feeling defiant.

I’ve got my whole arsenal out—my favorite purple vibrator, a thick, realistic dildo, and my newest toy, a clit suction stimulator that promises earth-shattering orgasms.

I’m going to have the best show of my life, with or without him.

He’s there before I’ve even finished my welcome.

DomTheBoss69: You’re late.

I scowl at the screen. “I’m worth waiting for.”

DomTheBoss69: We’ll see. Show me the toys.

I hold them up to the camera one by one, my voice dripping with false bravado.

“See this? This little guy makes me see stars. And this one… fuck, this one feels so real. I can almost imagine it’s a real cock, pounding into me, stretching me wide open.”

It’s my usual dirty talk, but tonight it feels different. It feels like I’m talking directly to him, to Dominic’s smug face.

DomTheBoss69: Imagination is for children. Connect the vibrator. Level one.

My stomach flips. He’s taking control of the Lovense toy, the one that syncs to tips.

A smaller tip gets a gentle buzz. A big tip… a big tip is an earthquake. I plug it in, the sleek pink vibrator already nestled against my clit.

I’m so wet it slides easily.

“Connected,” I say, my voice a little shaky.

For a moment, nothing. Then, a low, insistent hum starts. Level one. It’s a tease, a soft buzz that makes my clit pulse but doesn’t come close to satisfaction.

DomTheBoss69: Now the dildo. Get it wet. Use your mouth.

I bring the large, veiny silicone toy to my lips.

I make a show of it, licking the head, sucking it deep into my throat, coating it with my saliva while the vibrator continues its maddening, low-level buzz.

“You like that?” I moan around the fake cock. “You like watching me deep-throat this big, fake dick? I bet the real thing is even better. I bet I could take it all, right down my throat until my eyes water.”

DomTheBoss69: I bet you could too. Now fuck yourself with it. Slow.

I guide the dildo to my entrance, pressing the tip against my soaked folds. I push it in slowly, gasping as it stretches me.

The combination of the fullness inside and the gentle vibration outside is exquisite torture.

DomTheBoss69: Deeper.

I obey, sinking further onto the toy, my back arching.

A tip notification dings. $20. The vibrator jumps to level three. The buzz intensifies, making my thighs tremble.

“Oh, god…” I pant.

DomTheBoss69: Not yet. You don’t get to come from that. Faster with the dildo.

I start moving the toy in and out of my pussy, the wet, squelching sounds picked up clearly by my mic, my thighs spread out clearly for the camera.

The vibration is constant, a persistent tease that’s pushing me higher, but not high enough.

Another tip. $50. Level five.

The vibrator kicks into a higher gear, a strong, rhythmic pulse that has me bucking my hips.

“Fuck, that’s good… please…”

DomTheBoss69: Please what? Use your words, DarlingRiley.

“Please, let me come,” I beg, my composure completely broken. I’m just a needy, aching mess on camera, and I love it. “I need to come so bad. I’ll be your good girl, I promise.”

There’s a pause. The dildo is still pumping in and out, the vibrator is buzzing relentlessly. I’m right on the edge, my body coiled tight, ready to snap.

Then, a single message.

DomTheBoss69: No.

And he disconnects the toy. The vibration dies instantly.

The sensation is gone, a cruel abandonment that leaves me gasping, my orgasm receding like a tide, leaving me painfully empty and throbbing.

A frustrated sob catches in my throat. I’m so turned on it’s a physical pain.

I finish the show on autopilot, a hollow performance for the other tippers. The second I log off, I hear the shower turn on in the apartment. Dominic’s shower.

I’m pulsing with need and anger. I pad out of my room on shaky legs, needing water, needing to cool down.

His bedroom door, which is just the converted den, is slightly ajar. The bathroom door inside is open too, steam billowing out. And I see him.

He’s standing with his back to the door, under the spray of water. His body is a masterpiece of carved muscle and tan skin.

Water sluices over his shoulders, down the groove of his spine, over the perfect, sculpted curves of his ass.

And his hand is wrapped around his cock. It’s thick, veiny, and hard, and he’s stroking himself with a slow, delicious pace between tortured groans.

A moan slips out before I can stop it.

He freezes. Then, without turning around, his voice cuts through the steam, a rough sinful thing.

“See something you like, Riley?”