“Well, for the moment,” she begins, “I guess this will have to do.” She takes off her top and removes her shorts. She starts slowly fingering herself.
“What do you say? Do you want to get each other off?”
I start stroking my cock, gearing up for round two. “Let’s do it,” I type in.
In unison, we both start moaning and masturbating.
Lizzie
It’s a bit anticlimactic—or at least, as anticlimactic as it could be—with my fingers in my cunt, trying to make my best ecstatic face for the camera.
Well, if you saw what was happening on the laptop, phone and tablet screens of countless horny Bennet Babes enthusiasts throughout the world, things were actually very pro-climactic.
Either way, my job here is done. It ended earlier than usual, and fuck—it seems like Mr. Big’s not even paying attention. Is he?
Charlie, Jane, Lydia, Mary—they’re all compressed into a slurping, kissing, licking, moaning little group. Don’t get me wrong, there’s all kinds of complex stuff going on. I’m just usually checked out by this point.
The evening’s goal is obliterated, with enough viewers tuned in to fill Madison Square Garden—or at least Mercury Lounge. This show is a roaring, record-shattering success, the best in the site’s history. And yet I’m a million miles away from it right now.
The number of viewers logged in is getting dangerously close to four digits. I can’t even think of scrolling through that list of screen-names.
I know a lot of them would love for me to jump in on the action, but that’s too bad. These fuckers should know how it works by now, anyway. Plus it’s not like I’m thinking about any of them.
Well, there is one user I’m thinking about. His screen-name is a Sex and the City reference, and it’s probably buried deep in the master list of viewers.
Luckily, he’s top of the list in the chat window of my computer.
I could be texting with Darcy right now or even video chatting through my phone.
Instead, I’m typing back and forth with Mr. Big through the Bennet Babes website.
Somehow we’re out of our private chat, and we’re just messaging on the public chatroom, visible to hordes of hormonal dudes who can also see me clearly on camera. Most of them would have trouble typing right now, but some are surely wondering why Mr. Big has so much more sway with me than any of their sorry asses.
Mr. Big just typed: “Stop. Looking. At. The. Camera.”
I pivot to the closest wall, away from the other cam girls, keeping my phone with me. Mr. Big’s next comment is already on my screen: “That is the OPPOSITE of what needs to happen!”
How is there nobody else chatting? I only banned a couple dozen users from the chatroom tonight. Oh, never mind.
My mouth is dry, my stomach churning. I know exactly what Mr. Big is getting at. I inhale deep, keeping as quiet and still as I can so the camera and mic won’t pick it up. Lydia’s space is covered in new layers of blindingly white latex paint.
All the cam show craziness is behind me. All I can see in front of me is a white wall, a
nd a white door. The off-camera lights are so bright I can’t even see the doorknob. What the hell am I afraid of, anyway?
Mr. Big just typed: “One of the best things about being human, Lizzie. I know this is it for you. I want to see you step towards it. Turn that chair around.”
If anyone’s still reading the chat, who knows what the hell they’re thinking about those lines of text that just popped up. One thing’s for sure though: Mr. Big isn’t giving up. Time to take a step towards it.
I swivel the office chair quickly to my right like I’m pulling off an adhesive bandage. Shit, it’s only work. I’ve watched these shows plenty of times. But have I really?
Jane is hovering over Lydia, who’s looking up at Jane with hunger from her chair. Jane’s hands are on Lydia’s shoulders, tilting both Lydia and the chair back slightly. Jane has her right knee up on chair, and she brings herself slowly closer to Lydia as the chair tilts back more and more.
When it looks like their faces are about to collide, Jane slowly licks Lydia’s cheek, and then in a flash their tongues are in each other’s mouths, their tits are all smooshed together, and the chair snaps back to its upright position. For the first time, I notice Mary fingering herself just behind them.
Mr. Big just typed: “Not bad. What do you think? Five stars? Four and a half?”
What do I type back? I feel silly, still wearing my tank-top while the rest of them are stark naked.