Chapter 59

SUGAR DADDY CAMGIRL

Once I’m sure my bedroom door is locked, I saunter across the room and kneel on a fluffy white rug at the foot of my bed.

In front of me, there’s an open laptop and a set of chunky pink

headphones.

There’s a modest little purple vibrator on my right.

Behind me on the nightstand is an old-fashioned alarm clock glaring at midnight in ghostly green. There are thick white pillar candles lit and glowing on every surface throughout the room, giving it an elegant ambiance. Soft, sultry mood music plays from the record player in the corner. But across the house, all is silent save for the low, constant hum of the air conditioning. It’s the ideal white noise to block out the naughtiness about to go down in the cozy privacy of my room.

This is a private show; there’s no space for the peanut gallery. Everything I need is already here. They are already waiting for me. I’m willing to bet they’ve been counting down the seconds.

My hands reach up to tug my hair free of its taut, no-nonsense ponytail.

The stress of the day comes tumbling down as coppery waves splash out around my milky-pale shoulders and fall around to frame my pretty, angelic face.

I sigh as my achy scalp starts to tingle with relief. Finally, the hair can come down along with the rest of my tension. Tonight is all about release. I slowly trace my fingers back through my thick mane of fiery auburn hair and shake it out so it’s slightly teased up and extra sexy. Bedroom hair, but not bedhead. Sexy, but not sloppy. Not yet, at least. It’s still just the opening act.

Keeping my eyes locked on the target of my seduction, I twirl a long lock of hair around my pinkie finger. I tilt my head to one side and smile coquettishly.

A soft giggle falls from my lips and I wiggle my perfectly manicured fingers in a little wave. I slip one strap of my lacy black camisole over my shoulder and mouth the word oops. As if it was an accident. As if any of this is a coincidence. I know what I’m here to do.

My big blue eyes are wide as I sit awash in the glow of the laptop screen, scanning the cam chat. I hear the bling of new notifications, and new members joining the virtual room.

There are already a ton of my regulars here, and another one logs on every minute or so. The list of names grows longer, and the chat populates with typed messages. Compliments and greetings roll in, quickly followed by requests.

I pick up the bubblegum-pink gaming headset on the fuzzy rug in front of me and slide on over my ears. I bite my full, plush bottom lip gently, feeling the delicious sting of my teeth.

I want to remind my audience how soft my lips are, how plump and juicy they would feel to the touch. I want every man to salivate over the thought of kissing me, tasting me, feeling my pretty pink tongue push into his mouth.

I raise my finger to my mouth and suck it in, hollowing out my cheeks as I slide it in and out. All the while, my eyes are locked on that little webcam pinhole with the flashing red light. A flood of pervy messages comes in. Requests for me to take my clothes off, to blow a kiss, to say something filthy. I move the mic piece closer to my mouth so that my lips are almost buzzing against it when I speak.

“Tips speak louder than words,” I remind my suitors in a low, smoky voice.

Ding, ding, ding!

Notifications pour into my ears as more members join the chat and start sending small but heart-skipping tips. Five dollars here, ten dollars there. Most of their money comes with a request, but some of it is just like confetti raining down.

“Oh, you want to see a little more skin?” I tease. The screen is filled with messages like:

These guys think of me as a pretty, ditzy bimbo who lives on this little square screen on their computers. They don’t think about me as a complete person with a life, but that’s okay. I play the role they pay me for. I can pretend to be naive and innocent if that’s what a paying customer wants. They get off on my bimbo act, and I get off on taking their money.

It’s a win-win. Besides, I’m genuinely sweet to them. My curvy but petite body combined with my ginger hair and pretty face is more than enough to draw them in, but my sparkling personality keeps them coming back again and again. I win just as many tips with kind words as I do flaunting my plump breasts, flat tummy, and juicy ass. I know how to chat these guys up just enough to make them feel wanted but keep them at arms’ length so they’re always wanting more. I thrill them with my spicy side and enchant them with the girlfriend experience. I make them feel welcomed and appreciated. I listen to their troubles and encourage them. And if a pep talk from a pretty girl isn’t enough to brighten their day, a flash of my tits usually does it.

I pout at the screen and murmur, “I wish you were all here right now.” The responses flood in:

Still, as filthy as we get, there’s a computer screen between us. It’s more about the fantasy than the fulfillment, and that’s what makes me irresistible to them.

They can look, but they can’t touch.

I’m a virgin, ripe and pure for deflowering, but I’m out of reach. Not that some of them haven’t tried to get me offline, but I don’t allow that. I keep the two worlds separate: my industrious days and my steamy nights.

During daylight hours, I’m just Nina Clarke. But starting at midnight and ending at whatever time I can reach before falling asleep, I’m Naughty Nina.

She’s my camgirl persona, the sexed-up version of myself I sell every night, and business is booming. Maybe even busting. I need cash, and this is a quick, mostly painless way to get it. Occasionally, I’ll have to deal with an overly friendly or rude customer, but in general, my clients worship me.

I’m exhilarated by the hustle and the rush, even if the guys themselves are pretty dull. Most of my arousal, my playing-along, is just for show. I’ve gotten very good at pretending to be way more turned on than I am. All they see is a hot girl moaning, teasing, touching herself for their pleasure. They’re easily fooled, and most of them seem flattered to even get an iota of my attention, even for a price.

Show us your tits!

Take your panties off!

Play with your vibrator!

They are a little demanding. Virtual dollar signs pop up on the screen, though, and I jump into action. I give my audience a little more to ogle.

I slide my other strap off my shoulder and let the lacy camisole slip down a little, showing more of my deep cleavage. Underneath it, I have on a matching black mesh bra and panties, along with sexy white thigh-high socks and a choker around my neck. I lean forward and subtly push my tits together to make them look even bigger and juicier.

I know these guys are drooling by now. The tips keep coming in small tidbits, enough to keep me going on this hours-long striptease but nothing unusual.