The Billionaire’s CamGirl

by Wylder, Penny

  I walk around him, letting my hand reach out to touch him, dragging it around his belt as I move. He dances closer to me, rocking his shoulders from side to side until we’re face to face, and he puts one hand on my hip, so we sway together, faces close to each other, the feeling of his breath on my cheek. There’s still room between us, but there is an undeniable magnetic pull, a palpable sexual energy growing.

  The song changes, and with the new rhythm pounding through the floor, I shimmy away, closer to the DJ booth, where there’s a little bit more room on the dancefloor. I don’t look behind me, but I can feel Chris’s eyes on me, and I know he’s following closely. I smirk to myself, imagining I’m leading him with an invisible leash.

  I turn around and he grabs at my waist again, but this time there’s an edge to his touch. Where he’d been hesitant before, now he’s rough. I arch my back, leaning away from him, moving my upper body in time to the music. I see his eyes dart down to my breasts, the deep vee in my dress revealing just a hint of the demi-cup bra underneath. I can’t hear a thing above the loud music, but when I see the side of his mouth quirk up, and his tongue darts out ever so slightly to lick his top lip, I imagine he may have just growled at me. He leans in closer to me, his shoulders mirroring mine, and then the hand on my hip is firmly on my back, pressing his chest to mine. He’s in control now, and we’re standing flush against each other, swaying side to side again.

  His eyes never leave mine, and they burn into me with intensity. I remember those eyes and noticing in Paris how unusual they are. It was when he had me pushed up against the wall with his fingers inside me, when he’d demanded I hold eye contact with him as I came. I came so hard staring into those eyes, noting they were green, and the irises were rimmed with translucent brown. I’d never seen eyes like that before. The thought sends a shiver through me, and he must detect that, because his hand travels up my back and comes to rest in my hair. I can’t hear what he says, but I feel the rush of his hot breath on my ear as he leans down to whisper to me. A feeling travels in tingles down my spine and back up again, coming to rest in my belly, leaving me with a full but desperately needy feeling.

  I was going to say “Yes,” despite not knowing what he’s even said, but then he spins me so my back is to him, and the surprise of it makes me laugh out loud. When I look back at him, he’s smiling too. With a hand across my waist, he backs my ass up firmly to him, and I feel his cock through his pants, growing harder as we dance. I reach my hand up and touch his hair. It’s perfectly coifed, pulled away from his forehead, and when I touch it, I’m happy to find it’s soft and thick. His hands are so big his fingers rest just by my bellybutton, and I’m getting more and more eager to feel those hands other places, places not appropriate for this club.

  Suddenly, from deep in my subconscious I wonder, “Where’s WildCaptain?” It comes from nowhere. I was having fun, turned on, and I don’t have any reason to feel guilty, but I do. Why do I feel like I’m cheating on him? He’s supposed to be a client, not my friend, certainly not my boyfriend. Obviously he has a life aside from our cam sessions. It’s only me I realize who barely has any life other than my time with him. How had I become so needy for this stranger? So dependent?

  I can’t stand the music anymore. The blinking lights. I need to escape, even if it means running away from Chris, someone I actually do know in real life, someone I could have a real life experience with, even if only for a night. But the dancefloor starts tipping on its axis, and I start to feel woozy. I break away from Chris’s tight hand on my waist and bolt toward the balcony.

  The cold air hits me like a shot, and I inhale sharply, pushing through small groups of smokers outside. I focus my eyes on the Chrysler building, uptown and in the distance, and I run and don’t stop until my hands have the firm bannister underneath them and I can lean against the wall. I take deep breaths, trying to slow down my heartbeat, trying to push away the doubts about my life choices, my attachment to WildCaptain, the totally bizarre turn my life has taken in the last four months.

  “Weaver.” It’s Chris coming across the balcony, a camel wool coat thrown across his arm. He opens it up as he gets closer to me and places it on my shoulders. “What happened?”

  “I’m sorry,” I start. “You’ve just taken me by surprise. Like really, really by surprise. It’s just incredible to run into you here. After all these months. There are hundreds of bars and clubs in this city. And I never go out. Like ever. The one night I go out, I run into you, and it’s just freaky. It’s like you knew where to find me.”

  He stares at me, with the same intensity from before, and he isn’t smiling, not saying anything. And as I look at him, at his steady expression and confidence, everything starts to click.

  “How did you know I’d be here?” I ask, raising my voice now.

  He smiles now but doesn’t break eye contact.

  “You know how, Weaver,” he says, reaching out to take my trembling hands.

  “Because I told you, didn’t I?” I reply, looking back into his eyes and finally understanding.

  Chris is WildCaptain.

  7

  Chris

  This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting months for. I didn’t know how she’d react, but I know exactly what I want to happen. That night together in Paris was all I’ve thought about for the past four months. I keep imagining her, her hair tossed around her gorgeous face as she looked over her shoulder at me as I fucked her. I keep remembering how completely free she was that night. She didn’t have a single inhibition. She gave herself completely to me, and she also took everything she wanted. It was just a single night of sex—explosive, intense sex—but I couldn’t help but feel a strong attraction to her and desire for more.

  It had been out of necessity at first, contacting her through Sugar Girl. She slipped away while I was sleeping, only leaving a short note, telling me to make sure to be out by eleven and “thanks for a fantastic night.” The only clue I had was that web browser window I’d seen open on her laptop. Sugar Girl. After days of thinking of her, replaying every touch, every sound she’d made when I was with her, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I started logging on to that website, looking through pages of women, searching for her face. I had no idea if I’d ever find her, but I was obsessively drawn back to that website. And one day, sitting in my office in London, waiting for my next meeting, I logged on, and she popped up at the top of the screen, the latest cam-girl on Sugar Girl’s roster. I hit message without even thinking.

  And now here she is, shivering in front me, in the flesh. All those months of watching her, yearning to reach through the screen and touch her, have brought me to this moment. I want to take her now, press my lips to her and taste her again. My body is screaming to feel her weight against me, to hold her, but she’s just standing here. Starting back at me. Processing my duplicity, her feelings, the months of our interactions. But behind her puzzled expression, I know there’s desire. Because I felt it on the dance floor. I felt the way her body reacted to me at the slightest touch, as her chest heaved just a bit more, and her cheeks, even under the flashing club’s lights, were flushed.

  I’ll wait for her to speak first. I owe her that much. I’ve been in control for months now, orchestrating this relationship from the anonymity of my keyboard. I like being in charge, I admit it. And I especially like being in charge when I tell her exactly how to touch herself, how to make herself come for me. But in order to make this work, for her to come to, submit to me again, I have to give her space. She needs to choose me now, to assimilate WildCaptain with Chris, and accept me. I give her time, standing there in the freezing winter air, but my eyes stay frozen on hers, unyielding and confident. Because although I want her to choose me, I know she already has.

  And then she runs.

  I watch her head for the emergency door at the edge of the balcony. She swings it open and disappears on the other side. It takes me a beat, but I eventually follow, walking calmly after her, never falling more
than a flight of stairs behind her. It takes a few minutes for her to walk down seven flights of stairs in those heels, and I exit the alley door just a few seconds after she does. I see her, illuminated by the red exit sign, leaning against the brick alley wall, her eyes shut, her hand clutching my coat tight at her neck.

  I stand a few feet from her, myself leaning against the wall, staring ahead this time, lessening the intensity, hiding my urgency.

  “You must understand,” she begins, and I turn my attention back to her, eager to get over this first conversation so we can move onto to more intimate things. But she stops. Her eyes still squeezed shut. She lets go of the coat and runs her fingers through her hair, massages her temples trying to alleviate the tension that has settled over her face. “This is just…” she starts again. “This is fucking creepy, Chris.” She balls up her fists and shoves them in the pockets. But she isn’t running. She doesn’t make a move. So I decide to make my move.

  I inch closer to her, so my shoulder is next to hers, and I reach out my hand to touch the swath of skin the open collar has revealed. Her skin feels like it’s on fire contrasted with the cold air. Her closed eyes flutter a bit, as I drag my finger down her neck, from underneath her chin all the way to the inviting crevice between her breasts. I see her weight shift, infinitesimally, and I take this as a positive sign. I tuck her hair behind her ear so I can see her face better, and I bring my face close to hers, just a hairsbreadth between us. I can smell her perfume, I can hear her breathe, and the moment feels sacred as I watch her.

  I run my fingers across her forehead, trying to smooth the worried crevices above her brow. Maybe I see a ghost of a smile on her lips? My fingers caress down the side of her face, and they remember the feel of her skin, the sharp angle of her jawline. Her ear pokes out from her long hair and my mouth longs to nip it, to hear her react to my mouth on her. She stands still as a statue, only her rising and falling chest betrays that she’s a living woman. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry. I just needed to see you again,” I say, running my hand down her tummy, feeling her lacy dress under my fingertips. I revel in the feeling of her, her body finally close to mine, so I can have her the way I’ve wanted to for months. My hands run back up and rub the lace over her breasts, slow circles around the perfect globes, and occasional brushes over her nipples. “I promise you, you have nothing to be afraid of. I’d never hurt you. Please believe me.” I can tell I’m warming her up, I know it. Her nipples are starting to pop through her dress, and the flush on her cheeks has traveled down her neck to her chest. She breaths quicker, and the way her lips part conjures the image of my dick inching in between them. How amazing her mouth would feel on me. How I’d hold her hair while I fucked her perfect face. And the thought of that rips away any remining self-control.

  I roll her onto her, crushing her against the wall and seeking her mouth. I didn’t misread her cues, because as soon as our mouths meet, her lips open eagerly, not wasting a second before her tongue is wrestling with mine and her hands are in my hair, grabbing me so tightly I wince from the pain. I don’t care, I want those hands everywhere. After months of jerking off watching her, watching her naked and languid on her bed, fucking herself with her fingers and toys instead of me. Her kiss becomes desperate. Her teeth nip at my upper lip, her hands pull my head closer until our mouths are consuming each other. Another painful nip from her and I pull my head back, drag my tongue down her neck, inhaling deeply her scent, and resting my mouth by her shoulder, biting her softly to let her know I’m in charge and then sucking hard, marking her.

  “I’ve thought of this for months,” I whisper in her ear. “I remember every second of our night together. The way you felt, the sounds you made–all of it. And I remember how it felt, to find your side of the bed empty in the morning. That couldn’t stand, Weaver. No way.” Her face looks calmer now. The tension from before replaced with a deep blush. She’s listening to me, but does she believe me?

  Her hands move to my chest, and she’s prying her fingers under the buttons, her fingernails raking against my skin. I open the top two buttons to give her better access and moan into her neck when I feel her nail graze against my nipple, sending shock after shock of pleasure straight to my dick. Our hands collide as I reach into her dress, pulling her tit up and out of her bra cup, squeezing her nipple to see it harden and hearing a hiss escape from between her teeth. We’re all grabbing hands and gnashing teeth and twisting tongues. I grind my hard cock up against her hip, reveling in the friction coupled with her nipple hardening between my fingers. She opens her legs and I step in between, feeling her hot pussy against my thigh, feeling her rubbing herself against me.

  I can’t stand feeling her heat between so many layers of clothes, so I reach down, searching for the hem of her dress to gain access to her pussy. I can describe it in detail from hours of watching her on my monitor, but it’s been months since I’ve felt its warmth, its tight grip, and I can’t delay a second longer. My knuckles brush up her inner thigh and she widens her stance. “Yes, yes, yes,” she’s panting as I venture further. Her panties are silky, and I let my fingers lightly dust along the outside, up and down her lips, reaching further below to press into her pussy, feeling the dampness of the silk under my fingertips. She bears down on me and I slip my finger under the fabric, instantly met by a pool of hot juice that practically burns my finger. She’s so wet that when she moves my finger slips right in, up to my second knuckle, and I can’t believe how tight and warm she is. I pulse my finger and watch her, watch the expression on her face transform from frenzy to lustful concentration. Her eyes are locked on mine and half closed until I move my thumb up to her clit, softly moving it from side to side. She’s swollen beneath my finger, and I love imagining her clit growing fuller, her pussy getting wetter as she anticipates my cock, what I know she really wants.

  We pull apart when we hear a door open down the alley, but there’s no way I’m done with her. I can’t stop now. I tug her by the wrist making her follow me down the alley, away from the open door, and pulling her into a doorway hidden in shadows. I waste no time and pin her against the door, and this time, I hike up her dress, all the way to her waist because I want to see my fingers on her. Rather than asking permission, I decide to ask for forgiveness, so I tear the panties off her. I bring them to my face and inhale deeply, practically coming in my pants from her overwhelming scent. I’d suspected she was wet when I was dancing with her, and the panties confirm it. I tuck them in my pocket to save for later.

  Her hands are on my chest and she looks up at me from under her long eyelashes. We are frozen for a minute, waiting for any sounds or errant people who may walk by. When I’m sure we have the alley to ourselves, I reach down to her pussy again, now stepping back a bit so I can watch my finger run up and down her seam. Her swollen clit is peeking through her lips, and I lick my finger before touching it. She jumps like I’ve sent an electric shock through her. “Fuck Chris,” she hisses. “Nobody’s touched me since that night with you.” So I do it again. With my other hand I bring her tit completely out of her dress and bend down to suck on her dark pink nipple. Her hands rest on my shoulders, her nails dig into my skin and I circle her clit, alternating with pumps inside her dripping pussy. I could do this until she can’t stand anymore. It’s all I’ve thought about for months, and now that I’m here, I’m taking my time.

  Greedy girl that she is, though, she grabs my belt, pulling me closer to her and displacing my own hands. The sight of her little hands unbuckling my belt send a surge through me, and when she unzips me and my cock springs free, I have to brace myself against the wall to stay upright. Her hand goes to work, pumping the top of my cock, swirling the pad of her thumb over the precum at the tip and then swiping around to the sensitive underside. Over and over again she repeats this, and I grit my teeth, the feeling is so good.

  “It’s better like this, isn’t?” she whispers, a challenge in her eye. “How many times did you see me come, watching me
? Jerking yourself off behind your computer screen?”

  Her hands are fucking magic, and my dick is so hard I’m leaking, the sounds of her wet hands fill up the small space of the doorway. Then she stops and draws her hand away, reaching down to gently touch my balls.

  “But now I’m here. So who’s in charge now?” she says, an edge to her voice. I won’t say it. I won’t tell her what she wants to hear because it’s a lie. She’s mine and I know she wants to bend to my will.

  “Me, Weaver,” I tell her steadily. “I’m in charge.” I trace my fingers over her lips. “I’m in charge of this mouth, and when it sucks me.” I drag my hand down to her pussy, sliding two fingers inside her slowly. “And this pussy is mine too.” She tries to keep her face neutral as my fingers hook up and stroke over her spongy g-spot, but I hear a moan deep in her throat. I pump a few more times and then withdraw my fingers, licking them clean inches from her face, and then crushing her in another kiss. I put my mouth up close to her ear and say, “And now I’ve decided it’s time to fuck you. Right here in this filthy alley, where anyone can walk by. And I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re going to scream.”

  I twist her around and pin her chest to the brick wall, sweeping my long coat to the side, I position my cock at her entrance. I nudge it in just a centimeter and ask her, “Tell me who’s in charge, Weaver?”