The Billionaire's CamGirl

I must have dozed off because an hour or so later I heard a ping. I checked my browser window and saw a message from WildCaptain.

Are you available?

And that was the beginning. It certainly helped that I was jetlagged and half-drunk that night. The exhaustion and wine quieted my nerves, and my first session went better than I expected. It also helped—a lot– that I’d just come back from Paris where I’d had the most mind-blowing one-night stand of my life. It was easy to take off my top, to touch myself, because I imagined the man behind the screen was Chris, a sexy stranger who’d fucked me senseless just nights before. WildCaptain was my steady client for the entire week, and the money I made from his sessions and tips alone allowed me to rent a bedroom in a friend’s apartment.

The next week WildCaptain made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. He wanted an exclusive. After a few back and forth emails with Sugar Girl, I learned that this wasn’t entirely creepy. Some guys liked the idea of having their own personal performer, and they were usually guys who could afford to pay. Sugar Girl advised me to take it, and I was able to set my own price for the private arrangement. And if ever things got weird, Sugar Girl would block him. In exchange for a hefty fee, my profile was made private to assure him that I really was his and his alone.

So here I am. Playing with my nipples on my bed, my laptop in front of me, no longer in a friend’s extra room but in a swank apartment of my own. And it isn’t creepy. In fact, it’s a turn on. I feel free with my body and comfortable with the stranger behind those dialogue bubbles. As I rub my nipples, feeling them harden into peaks under my fingertips, I can feel my panties getting wet, and watch my computer screen, waiting and hoping for him to tell me to touch myself.

How does that feel?

“I feel this all through my body,” I say to the computer. I’d always imagined I’d use some sort of weird “sexy” voice, but there isn’t any need to act. I use my regular voice with WildCaptain, and it seems to do the trick. It’s clear what he thinks is sexy is watching me, the real me, following his commands, getting worked up, making the noises that I naturally make when I’m turned on, coming for him on camera.

“Tell me what you want?” I ask.

Hand down your panties. Show me how wet you are.

Those are the magic words, and I so badly wish I could hear them in his own voice. See his mouth forming the filthy words that turn me on. I slide my hands from my breasts down my tummy and under my panties. I slide two fingers up and down my seam, gathering the moisture pooling there, and also taking a few sneaky passes over my clit, screaming for attention.

I said show me.

He can get bossy sometimes. I pull my hands out from my panties, pressing my fingertips together, and then pulling them apart, showing him the string of fluid stretching between. I wish I could hear his reaction.

Rub your wet fingers over your nipple.

I rub the moisture on my nipple, and it tingles in the cool air. I snake my other hand back to my pussy, even though I don’t have permission.

“I wish I could hear your voice,” I say. “I wish I could see you pumping your hard cock.”

Trust me, I don’t look as good as you. Take off your panties.

I feel goosebumps rise on my skin and I know we’re getting into the homestretch. Sure, the client’s pleasure is what this is all about, but after the first couple of weeks chatting with WildCaptain, I haven’t ever ended a session without coming. Before we had our exclusive agreement, I took a few other calls from random guys, and each of those sessions ended in minutes. They were thrifty and fast. As soon as they came, they’d disconnect. In fact, I hardly had to do more than take off my bra and reach into my panties before click, the session ended without even a goodbye. This arrangement with WildCaptain isn’t only a money-maker, it’s fun, too.

I wriggle out of my panties and throw them off the bed, out of range of my laptop’s camera. They land neatly on a potted plant and I giggle. The left side of my bedroom, where the Captain’s eyes could never venture, is a total mess. For months now I’ve pushed everything off my bed onto the floor there.

What’s so funny? I saw that little smirk.

“It would ruin the fantasy if I told you,” I say. “Trust me. You don’t want to know about the mess off screen.”