Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I hit the video icon on the top of the screen. I see my image in the laptop. I turn on the lamp by the bedside, and the hotel bed and me, in only my boxers, comes in focus.
“Hey,” I say. “This may be a better way to talk, don’t you think?”
A second later my image is replaced with Weaver’s. My relief from earlier turns to joy, because when I see her, sitting on her bed, in her tank top and PJ pants, her hair piled on top of her head messily, I think to myself, “There’s my girl.”
“Hi,” she whispers, leaning close to the computer. “Kate’s sleeping in the other room. I don’t want to wake her.”
We stare at each other. It’s the first time ever we’ve both been on screen. I’ve seen Weaver like this dozens of times. The headboard, the bedding, the mirror on the wall behind her, it’s all familiar. But there’s something different tonight, and it takes me a while, but I realize the shot doesn’t look staged, it looks more natural. I see her pillows are a little haphazard behind her, and there’s a magazine splayed out by her foot. I realize this is the first time we’re chatting as Chris and Weaver, not WildCaptain and Echo. She’d been holding back a bit.
“Did you guys have fun today?” I ask, remembering she and Kate had a date on Staten Island.
“Yeah,” she laughs. “We picked up right where we’d left off. I told her about you…about…this,” she waves her hand around vaguely. I guess she’s talking about the Sugar Girl site.
“What did she say? Was it as awful as you expected it would be?” I ask, really hoping her friend was kind to her. I don’t want to see her hurt.
“It wasn’t anything a few bottles of cheap chianti couldn’t smooth over. We had a good talk. I really needed that. It was great.” She leans in closer to the screen and I see her creamy tit down her tank top. “And no one got sick on the ferry coming home. So bonus!”
She sits back, planting the soles of her feet against each other, and God forgive me, my eyes shoot straight to the spot between her legs, wondering if she’s wearing panties, wondering if I’ll see a damp spot spread as we continue to talk. A minute ago, I was just desperate to see her, now I’m shifting on my bed because my erection is starting to ache.
“And you?” she says, laughing. “Hello! Where’d you go? I asked you what you did today.”
I shake my head, make sure to look at her eyes, nowhere below her shoulders. Although I notice the hicky I left on her shoulder and moan softly.
“Shit day,” I finally say. “My brother came into town and twisted my arm to go out with him. We had a nice meal and then he harassed some nice ladies from Ohio. Typical Ryan bullshit. I don’t want to talk about it now. He’s a prick. Arrogant as hell.”
“Sorry about that,” she says. “Sounds like a nightmare.”
“I’m used to it. Anyway, I’m fine now. More than fine. Thank you for texting me.” I say this with feeling. I want her to know how much it means to me that she’s willing to talk to me and give me another chance. “I guess I was a little arrogant this morning, bringing up the money in such a cavalier way with you. Maybe I’m more like my brother than I realize.”
“Don’t do that,” she says. “I told you I overreacted. I meant it. I’m overly-sensitive about money. That’s on me. I know you. I know you’re kind. I don’t know your brother, so I’ll take your word he’s an arrogant prick, but I can tell you I wouldn’t ever describe you that way.”
“How would you describe me?” I ask, curious.
“That’s not easy to answer. Has anyone ever told you that you’re complicated?” she deadpans. She takes the laptop and lies back with it, so that her face is filling the frame. “Sexy. That’s the first thing I noticed, if I was being honest. You’re kind. I notice small things you do when you don’t think anyone’s watching. You can be bossy…”
“Hey now,” I say, objecting. “I take exception to that.”
“Then you’re delusional, too. Anyway, I like you when you’re bossy. When you tell me what to do when we’re chatting.”
“Well that’s not real life,” I say. “That’s just play.”
“These bruises on my hip seem pretty real, Chris,” she says. The laptop shifts and now I see her whole body, laid out on the bed. She rolls the waist of her pajamas down an inch, and I see five small bruises on her hip. My fingerprints.
“Do they hurt?” I ask, my voice has dropped an octave.
“Not at all,” she says, her voice lower, too. “In fact, when I was showering the other day, I saw those marks and…well, I liked them.”
“You did? What else do you like?”
“I like this spot,” she says, as she trails her finger over the mark on her shoulder. “When I look at it, I can remember exactly how I felt when you left it there.”
My hands are on my knees, white knuckled from keeping them still, when all I want to do is touch my cock.
“You know, I’ve never seen you like this,” she says, reaching for the hem of her tank top and pulling it over her head. “The tables are turned. You’ve watched me so many times—” she rubs her hand over her breast, cupping it— “commanding me from behind that keyboard—” now she’s wriggling her pajama pants down, and I see her purple satin panties— “and don’t think I didn’t notice how much it turned you on to deny me. How you wouldn’t let me come.” She slips her hands below her panties and her eyes flutter closed, her head lolls to the side as the satin panties shimmer, subtly moving from her fingers sliding around beneath.
My cock is throbbing in my boxers as I watch to her, but I understand her implicit message. Weaver wants to play, but by her rules this time.
“Chris?” She says my name in a sing-song voice, and my eyes snap back up to her face from her panties. “What are you thinking about, Chris?”
“I wish I could feel what you’re feeling right now. I wish it was my tongue on you instead of your fingers.”
“Take out your cock. I want to see you,” she purrs, and I’ve never done anything so quickly in my life. As soon as my cock and balls are free, I spread the small puddle of precum that’s pooled at the tip. The pad of my thumb is rough as it slides over the head and swipes around the swollen ridge. I grip the head firmly and pump a few times, dying to release some of the pressure.
“I said show me,” she says. “I didn’t say touch. Put your hands back on your knees. How does it feel?”
“I’m so hard, Weaver, it practically hurts. I don’t think I can feel anything else in my body. Every feeling is concentrated in my cock, and I need to touch it.”
She sits up now, her back against the headboard, and positions the computer in front of her. Fuck. I have a perfect view between her legs and now I can see the damp spot I’d dreamed of seeing just a few minutes ago. She reaches out of sight and comes back with something in her hand. I groan when I see it’s a black silicone dildo.
My hands are on my knees again, but my dick is jerking, reacting to what’s in front of my eyes. Weaver’s popped the head of the dildo into her mouth, dragging her tongue around it. I can’t decide where to look, because her other hand is back in her panties, and from the movement she’s making, I imagine she’s fucking herself with her fingers.
“What do you want, Chris?” she whispers, that huge fucking dildo resting at the corner of her mouth. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want to touch my cock. I want to come watching you fuck yourself with that dildo. I want to imagine it’s me.” I’m breathless. Her hand hasn’t stopped moving and I listen closely, hoping to hear the wet sounds of her fingers moving in and out. I remember how my dick felt, deep inside her, how hot and tight she felt when I fucked her the other night.
She slides her panties to the side, and I see her pussy. There’s only a small lamp beside her bed, but it’s enough light to see that she’s pink and glistening. She’s using two fingers, and as she withdraws them, I see they’re shining, completely soaked.
“Touch. But just two fingers an
d your thumb,” she says, punctuated by a moan as her own thumb comes to rest on her clit and moves in a circle.
I reach down to my cock, and as soon as my fingers touch my skin, my entire body starts tingling. From the ends of my limbs through my torso, my body is humming. I take my fingers and rub the head again, then focus on the spot right under the ridge, making short strokes up. It’s hardly enough, barely any pressure, but instantly my cock is responding. My dickhead looks angry, enormous and deep red, and I gather the precum that’s oozing, allowing my fingers to glide easily up and down. My ears are filled with the sound of my blood rushing, and the need to stroke harder, faster, is urgent.
“Now stop,” she commands, and I steal a couple of extra strokes before I obey. My cock jumps in protest, and Weaver laughs.
“You felt so fucking good last night,” she says. She lifts her hips and slips off the purple panties. It reminds me that I still have her panties from the other night, and I reach off to the side of the bed and grab them from my coat pocket, tucking them under my thigh. She positions the dildo at her entrance, and I can see her pussy spread for it, gripping it, and my fingers twitch. “Do you remember what it felt like? When you were right…there?” She pulses the dildo inside her now, just the tip, and it’s wet and makes a suction sound when it pops out.
“I remember,” I say. “I couldn’t see straight when I slid inside of you. You were so fucking tight, and you felt like you were on fire.”
“You did that to me,” she says, her voice a series of pants. “Your hands, your mouth…fuck…you turned me on…made me so desperate for your cock…I let you fuck me right there, on the street.”
The dildo is disappearing inside her, quicker now, and now I’m the desperate one, desperate for her to be bouncing on me, gripping me, riding me until I explode inside her.
“Let me do this with you,” I beg. “If I can’t fuck you right now, I have to come with you.”
“Show me how you like it, Chris.” she says. “Show me everything I’ve been missing all these months.”
Fuck yes, finally. There’s a small bottle of lotion on the nightstand next to me, and I squeeze a bit in my palm. I grab the base of my cock with one hand and grip with the other, twisting up from the base to the tip, again and again, coating my cock and imagining it’s Weaver’s wet cunt instead. I’m on a runaway train and I can’t take this slow. I watch her, pumping the dildo inside her and playing with her clit, swollen and slippery under her fingers. She must be getting close, because her knees are now pressed flat against the bed and her pussy is gaping open in front of me, giving me a show like she’s never done before.
I move a hand down to my balls, tugging them away from my body, hard. They ache when I touch them, and I pull them harder, focusing on the discomfort to slow down my orgasm. I know this won’t last long, but I don’t want to come too quickly and cut this show short. I can’t take my eyes off her beautiful pussy, so hungry for the dildo. I watch it thrust inside her, stretching her, and I want to reach through the screen and taste her, smell her.
I find the panties that I’d hidden underneath me and hold them to my face, continuing to stroke with one hand. They smell musky, and I groan as I remember dancing with her, touching her waist and causing her to soak them. I wrap them around my dick and the lace creates the most phenomenal friction against me, and I pump slower, feeling the fabric scrape the underside of my cock, tease the head. I see Weaver’s eyes are barely open, and her nipples are a deep pink, hard and swollen. Her hips are moving in rhythm with her hands now, meeting the dildo thrust for thrust. I hear her headboard creek from her back pressing against it, her feet planted firmly against the bed. My hand speeds up, swirling her panties around the head when I get to the top, shivering at the rough feeling on the sensitive head. The pressure in my balls is building, and I feel them tightening up in my hand as I grip them, hard.
Weaver sits up straighter, leaning forward. Her hands have abandoned the dildo, and now she’s just sitting on it, buried inside her, and bouncing softly. Her hands are erratic and frenzied, moving so quickly over her clit they’re just a blur on my computer screen. Her groans are growing lower, coming from deep inside her, and her lips fall open. Panting, she starts saying my name. “Chris, Chris, fuck Chris, I’m going to come.” She’s hypnotizing. Every inch of her is erotic and electrifying, and my hand is moving on its own. My eyes are glued to her, watching her hair fall in her face and her little body bounce, up and down, up and down, as her shoulders hunch up and her eyes squeeze shut. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out, and I see a jolt of pleasure, electricity, shake her whole body. She sits up straight, riding it out, her back arched and her tits thrust forward. I’ve never seen her come this hard before. She falls backward, twitching with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and I stare at her pussy where the black dildo has slipped out of her, the sheen on it showing me how wet she is. And the feeling in my balls in now spreading through my body, and I can’t hear, and I can barely see, and I switch hands, hold her panties in front of my cock, and watch as ropes of cum spurt out onto the lace. I grunt, over and over again, until the last drops are spent, and then I lean back, completely exhausted and satisfied.
After a minute, I’m afraid she’s fallen asleep. “Hey, Weaver,” I say gently.
She opens her eyes and gives me a lazy smile and a laugh. “That was different and very…Shit!” She lurches forward and I see her squinting at the screen. “Damn it.”
“What’s the matter?” I ask, completely baffled by how she could worry about anything right now after what we just did.
“I forgot we were on the server. I’m going to have to pay them and that wasn’t, well that wasn’t something I’m going to charge for because…well because!” She’s completely flustered and says, “Text me,” before the screen goes black.
My phone dings immediately.
Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I guess we could have just FaceTimed :)
There it is again. Fucking money. She’s freaking out over owing Sugar Girl money for that session, but she isn’t going to charge me. I open the app quickly and send enough to cover the session plus a generous tip. It must go through instantly because she texts me back,
Why’d you do that?
Why? Because I can’t stand to see her anxious? Because I have more money than I’ll spend in a lifetime? Because watching her fuck herself and come was worth every penny? I settle on,
Because it’s not a big deal to me and it was my mistake as much as yours.
The little dialogue bubbles appear and then go away. I’m tense waiting to see her response; not wanting the same argument we had this morning to happen again. The bubbles appear again and the message is simple.
Thanks, Chris. I owe you one.
You don’t owe me anything, I type. Then I reconsider. Actually, I know how you can pay me back. Let me take you out for a real date.
I’m holding my breath as the bubbles appear, and when I read her reply, I exhale.
Tomorrow at 8?
I type back, It’s a date.
11
Weaver
“Calm your tits, Kate!” I yell, stomping down the hall toward my bedroom. I’m putting on my make-up for my date with Chris. I expect he’ll be here any minute, and I don’t want him to have to linger very long around Kate.
“Tits are calm, Weaver, thank you,” she snaps back. “And my head is a little clearer than yours. I think you’re crazy.”
Kate’s having a major meltdown over my date tonight with Chris. She follows me into my bathroom and stares at me in the mirror as I blend my foundation.
“What happened to my perfectly supportive best friend from the Staten Island ferry yesterday?” I ask.
“She was drunk, Weaver. You got her drunk,” she says. “And I meant what I said last night. It’s two thousand and fucking nineteen. I can’t believe you even hesitated to tell me about Sugar Girl. When I said I didn’t care, no judgement, I meant it. Get yours, girl. Make money
. This world revolves around it. Fuck, I’d pay to watch you shake your tits; they’re really nice. But Chris, Weaver…I just think…”
“Stop thinking,” I say lightly and playfully shimmy at her. “Can I offer you a glass of chianti, amica?” I blot my lips and head out of the bathroom, searching for my shoes in the mess on my floor. Kate follows. She hasn’t been more than a couple of feet behind me ever since I told her about my date with Chris.
“Anyway, shouldn’t you be getting ready for your date?” I ask.
“That’s not a date and you know it!” she groans, making a face at me. “He’s a seventy-year-old truffle farmer from Arkansas!”
Kate missed meeting this guy at the food and wine expo the other morning. She felt so guilty she’d been too hungover to meet him, that she’d scheduled tonight to see him, and now she was angry at herself that we weren’t spending the night together. And she is particularly peeved that I’m going out with Chris.
Kate is right; she was completely supportive when I told her about the Sugar Girl work, and slightly hurt that I didn’t feel comfortable confiding in her. But she’s deeply suspicious of Chris. Of his timing, his secrecy, all of it. I get where she’s coming from, and if my brain weren’t so completely fogged by hormones, I’d probably be as suspicious as she is.
“Kate, I’m not stupid,” I say, stopping my search for my shoes so I can look her in the eye. “I don’t know where this is going with Chris. I don’t know everything about him. But what I do know about him, makes me want to learn more. And I haven’t felt that way, well…ever.”
“Tell me more,” she says, softening, but still rolling her eyes.
“He’s kind, Kate,” I say. “You work in the service industry like me, you see how money can make people assholes, the worst versions of themselves. Chris is different. He’s respectful. He doesn’t think he’s better than everyone else. He feels safe to me. Despite his ruse with Sugar Girl, I trust him to not hurt me. And Kate,” I say, grabbing her by both shoulders, “he’s like the hottest man I have ever fucked. The. Hottest.”
The Billionaire’s CamGirl Page 9