While He Watches

by S. E. Law

  “I wish I had the customer base to be able to do that. I’m just too new, what with starting my bake shop just last year. I used my contacts in the industry to create a steady income supplying desserts for restaurants, but now, nearly all of them have had to close, so we’re left with bupkis.”

  Peter nods knowingly.

  “The food service industry can be a tough place to succeed, but it sounds like you have a good head on your shoulders. By the way, is that a plate of cookies behind you? For work? For home?”

  I laugh. He’s easy to talk to, and I wasn’t expecting that.

  “It was kind-of work. I have a ton of free time, so I decided to use the time to start a baking blog on my website. I set it up today and then I saw the option to post a video. I’m trying to get more comfortable in front of the camera, so I decided recording myself doing something I love. I was sooo uncomfortable in front of the camera, but then again, practice makes perfect.”

  He smiles at me, and my heart races.

  “That’s a great idea. You definitely have the drive to make it in this business. But I have to disagree with you on one thing. You seem very comfortable in front of the camera, and sweetheart, you look incredibly sexy today. I’m a big fan of the hippy-gypsy thing you have going on. It’s a refreshing change from the tailored suits and skimpy skirts I see every day on the streets of New York City.”

  My heart starts to beat a little faster, with both anticipation and panic. This guy lives in the same city as me? That’s both exciting and scary. How many bakeries are there in NYC? How easy would it be for him to find me? What if finds out the name of my store? Peter must sense my trepidation.

  “Don’t worry, Whitney. Your secret’s safe with me. Most cam girls have side hustles, from what I understand. It’s part of the unpredictability of this business and the fickle nature of customers.”

  For some reason, I believe him.

  “Okay, thanks,” I say shyly. “What do other cam girls do? Are they aspiring novelists? Writers? Actors?”

  He nods.

  “Actresses, mostly. I think a lot of girls have dreams about hitting it big in Hollywood, but it’s hard. As a result, a lot of women do cam shows on the side.”

  I nod.

  “Totally get it. No judgment, seeing that I’m in a similar boat.”

  He laughs.

  “Sure, but are you ready to discuss what cam girls actually do?”

  My mouth snaps shut, and my eyes go wide.

  “I’m sorry?”

  He smiles, but isn’t bothered at all.

  “Real cam girls do more than just chat,” he says gently. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

  My heart is practically pounding through my chest now.

  “Oh yeah. Of course.”

  He smiles again, blue eyes gleaming.

  “Then I’d like to continue talking about what you’re wearing today, if you don’t mind.”

  I swallow hard.

  “I don’t mind. I had to tie this scarf into my hair because I got carried away with my baking and didn’t have time to fix it the way I’d like.”

  Peter nods, although his blue eyes gleam.

  “Take the scarf out of your hair. Please.”

  I swallow hard again.

  “What?”

  He repeats his request in a low, rumbling voice, although there’s a command behind his words. It’s quite sexy though, and I slowly untie the knot in the scarf behind my right ear.

  “I need to warn you, when I pull this away my hair is going to be unruly.”

  He grins.

  “Don’t make excuses. Those wild curls are gorgeous spirals of chocolate sprinkled with cinnamon.”

  His description of my hair puts me at ease. This guy is a smooth talker, definitely, not to mention a fellow chef. I pull the scarf entirely out of my hair, and fluff up my unruly mane before asking, “What do you think?”

  He smiles, those blue eyes intense.

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I like your hair pulled back the way it was before. I can picture walking down the streets of the Village with you just the way you were, stopping to look at pretty displays of turquoise earrings and bangles. But I wanted to see what you might look like after I ran my hands through your hair, hence my request.”

  My heart races and my body softens. This is not how this is supposed to go. I’m not the one who is supposed to be getting turned on, right?

  Peter continues confidently, in a low tone that should only be used in bedrooms.

  “Whitney, unlace your top for me. Pretend I’m there with you, pulling the strings out of that pretty blouse.”

  How did we get from introducing cats, to discussing business, and now to this? I guess I knew this was where these shows were supposed to lead but I got so caught up in bonding with Peter, that I forgot. But now, I want to do this for him. I want to pretend he’s here unlacing my top. Suddenly, the dinging of coins rings in my ear.

  “I’ve given you an incentive,” Peter says. “No pressure or anything.”

  Oh my god, $500 has appeared in my account! Cheeks flushed, I swallow heavily and do as he asks. I slowly pull the string out of each shiny metal rivet in the neckline and down my line of cleavage. The coral lace of my bra is exposed. I thought this would feel dirty but it doesn’t. It feels good. Peter is making me feel sexier and more wanted than I ever have before.

  “Don’t stop,” Peter orders as I drop the string on the floor beside me.

  I obey. I run my fingers over the lace that I’ve revealed and stop at the buttons that will completely undo my blouse. I look up into Peter’s eyes on the screen in front of me, and they’re smoldering. I keep my eyes locked on his as I drag the blouse off my shoulders. I can’t believe this gorgeous man is so entranced by my actions.

  “I want you to keep going, Whitney.”

  My insecurities are rearing their ugly heads.

  “Peter,” I stammer. “I don’t look like those runway models and actresses that stroll down every street of New York City. My assets are generous, to put it nicely. I don’t measure up to the perfectly sculpted bodies that you usually see in this glamorous city.”

  He shakes his head.

  “Whitney, those scraps of lace don’t hide your figure. I appreciate what you have. Let me see; let me go to bed tonight imagining what it would be like to have my hands on your breasts. I can tell by the way you’re breathing that you want this. Give in to the desire, sweetheart.”

  He’s right. I am incredibly aroused at the idea of him going to bed thinking about me. I unclasp my bra and let the straps slide down over my arms. My breasts are large but they have a nice shape. I remember how Willow had laid on her back on her bead with her head hanging upside down over the edge.

  I turn around to mimic this position. My skirt falls down over my bent knees and exposes my thighs. My shoulders are on the edge of the bed and I let my hair fall down over the side, with my chin pointed towards the ceiling. I cup my breasts so Peter can get a good view of the creamy orbs.

  “That’s so sexy,” he breathes reverently.

  I’m afraid of what he might ask for next, but decide to take a chance. Quickly, I lift a tit to my mouth and gently trace my tongue over the hard pink ridge. I see his eyes go wide, and his breathing deepen. Then, I arch my back one last time before reaching out to shut off the camera before this goes too far.

  “Sweet dreams, Peter.”

  I end our private show.

  6

  Peter

  I can’t seem to get Whitney out of my head. I logged on to that site for a distraction from all the pandemic news, but I never expected to find someone so interesting and real. She’s so charming and disarming, yet shy too. I don’t think she knows how beautiful she is, either.

  I did have sweet dreams about Whitney last night, which is strange because I feel like I only ever think about work. I have nightmares about drive-throughs with lines that go on infinitely and days when not a single employee shows up for th
e job, leaving me to work the grill by myself. I wake up in cold sweats because one of my dairy suppliers has burned to the ground, leaving Shake Place without a way to serve shakes.

  But last night was different. It was all about chocolate curls and cupcake kisses from a voluptuous baker. Her profile mentioned that she lives in New York City, and I’m intrigued. I must not have been spending time in the right parts of the city if women like her live here as well.

  I need to see her again. I want to take care of her. I respect Whitney’s ambition and sense of responsibility to her employees and family, and as an established business in the food delivery space, I can help her get through this tough time.

  “What do you think, Demi? Will she accept another request for a private show?”

  I take the cat’s purr as a yes and send Whitney a message through LiveFans.

  Whitney, you haunted my dreams last night. When can I see you again? Does tonight work?

  Simple and to the point; I hit send and wonder how long it will take her to get the message. I could hit the gym and burn off some of this frustration in the meantime.

  But then, my computer pings with an alert. Could she be replying so quickly? It’s probably just another update from one of my managers; it can wait. I try to walk away from the screen, but then give in to temptation. I need to see if it’s Whitney.

  Peter, I think I can squeeze you into my schedule around 8:00 pm. Does that work for you?

  I wonder how many other viewers she has had. Our private show was at 7:00 last night, and she had her regular show scheduled for 9:00. If she did that show, I imagine those guys got the flushed cheeks, heavy bedroom eyes, and the sexy version of Whitney that left me restless. Annoyingly, I find this has me feeling a little envious. After two conversations with this woman, I’m confronted with a sense of possession. Shaking it off, I type back.

  Whitney, 8:00 pm is perfect. Please wear something with buttons.

  I head to the personal gym in my penthouse. Thirty minutes on the treadmill should do me some good, both physically and mentally. I need get this girl out of my head because it’s starting to become ridiculous. I’m a self-made man who’s turned down so many women, I’ve lost count. Whitney’s power over me has got to stop.

  It’s 8:03. I spent two hours in the gym and worked myself into a heaving, sweaty pulp. At least it released some of the sexual frustration I’ve been feeling. I make Whitney wait until 8:05 before logging in, not wanting her to think I’m too desperate to see her. I want to see how she handles me being firm with her and click “enter” for our private room.

  The curvy girl is sitting on her bed, patiently waiting, sipping on a glass of wine. She’s changed the scene. The jewel tones of her bed are gone and so are most of the pillows. She’s hung a sky blue tapestry on the wall behind the mattress and she’s sitting on a plaid blanket. There’s a basket beside her.

  “I thought you were standing me up,” she quips with a smile. “You were early for our date last night, but I have good news: I splurged with a little of the money you tipped me and set up a picnic for us.”

  Whitney pulls out a wheel of cheese, some grapes, and what looks like homemade bread from the basket. She’s wearing a white halter sun dress covered in big pink flowers, and it buttons all the way down the front while hugging those luscious curves. Her lips gleam with petal pink lipstick and her nails are painted to match. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail tied with a ribbon the color of bubblegum.

  Good. I’m glad to see this set-up. Whitney followed instructions and she’s going to make some serious money tonight.

  “You look amazing,” I remark. “I wish I could be there to really share that picnic with you. Did you make the bread?”

  She smiles sweetly.

  “Of course I did. What self respecting baker buys pre-sliced bread? But I really only splurged on the Gouda and the grapes. I’ve had this wine sitting here on a shelf for a while now. It was a birthday present last year.”

  “Gouda, grapes, homemade bread, and birthday wine sounds like a perfect picnic. We wouldn’t want to be too full for our after picnic activities,” I tease

  Whitney blushes and takes a sip of her wine. She’s adorable and I love it.

  “Do you have a bottle of wine to open and drink with me?” she asks.

  “I think I might have one here somewhere. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

  Quickly, I get up and leave the room. In the kitchen, I grab a California red out of my wine fridge and open it quickly before returning to my date. She smiles and toys with her ponytail upon seeing me again.

  “So, I wore a ribbon in my hair in case you wanted me to take it out again. And I have the buttons, as you requested.”

  My eyes roam over her beautiful face and lush curves.

  “I couldn’t have asked for a more appropriate outfit for tonight. I’m going to reward you for that. Let’s play a game. For every button you undo, I’ll give you $50. Starting now.”

  To me surprise, she smiles coyly.

  “Maybe I should make you wait. You haven’t even tried my bread yet.”

  I laugh and play along with her game.

  “Well, cut me a slice and add some of that cheese to it.”

  She ponders this for a moment and looks about to do my bidding, but then she shoots me a naughty smile and instead unhooks the top button of her dress. Perfect. Who cares about bread and cheese when there’s Whitney? I send her $50.

  With the dress hanging open, she leans forward to cut the bread, and I can see the tops of those lush, creamy orbs as they dangle. I get a glimpse of a pert, pink nipple, and immediately stiffen at the sight.

  A growl escapes my throat.

  “I think you’ve done this before. You’re too good at it. You can’t possibly be a baker in real life.”

  Whitney falls out of character to defend herself.

  “No, I really am a pastry chef. I’m not a professional cam girl.”

  “Well, you have a promising back-up career if the bakery goes belly up.”

  Her cheerful smile falters and I realize how insensitive that was. I already know how worried she is about her business, and immediately apologize.

  “I’m sorry Whitney, that wasn’t what I meant. I meant that you are so beautiful and smart that you’d do well at anything you set your mind to.”

  I add $200 to her account. She looks at the notification, and her long lashes drop a bit.

  “Thanks,” she whispers. “I believe you. I guess I also owe you four buttons,” she murmurs before reaching down to the bottom of her dress and undoing four of the pearly white fasteners.

  “We don’t have to play this game, Whitney,” I tell her, still feeling like shit for putting my foot in my mouth.

  “No, it’s okay. Besides, what if I’m enjoying the game?” she asks slowly, popping four more buttons on the skirt of her dress. It’s now revealing half of a creamy thigh, lush and ripe.

  I deposit another $200 and any words I misspoke are forgotten. Whitney finishes her glass of wine and pours another. She takes another deep sip and sets it on her night stand. Then, she packs the food back in the basket and sets it on the floor beside her bed. Picking her wine glass up, she leans back on one arm. Her split skirt is spread out around her and one foot is tucked behind her bottom.

  “Tell me what you want me to do, Peter. I’m yours,” she whispers.

  How does she know what I was already feeling? I want to possess her.

  “How many buttons do you have left?”

  She counts, “Ten.”

  I send her $700.

  “I think your math is wrong, Pete,” she says sweetly.

  “The other $200 is for the ribbon, but I want that to come last.”

  She finishes her second glass of wine and seductively releases all the buttons on her skirt. I get a flash of white lace, but then she returns to the fasteners on the bodice of her dress. The garment falls open and I realize I was wrong. I thought she was braless, and i
t’s true, but she’s not completely bare up top. Instead, she’s wearing a white girdle which emphasizes her narrow waist and tiny matching panties. It looks like something that would be worn under a wedding dress because it’s all frothy cream lace and exquisite detail. It never occurred to me that she might be married. Suddenly, I have to know.

  “Whitney, are you married?” I blurt.

  She jumps back for a moment.

  “What? No! Why would you think that? I’ve never had a boyfriend serious enough to even consider getting married.”

  “It’s just … well, what you’re wearing looks like something reserved for wedding nights.”

  She thinks for a moment.

  “Wait, are you married?”

  “No,” I answer immediately. “I’ve dodged that bullet, thank god.”

  She looks down at herself and giggles a little. I think it’s the wine. She’s downed two glasses in front of me, and I have no idea how much she had before that.

  “I guess you’re right and technically, this was worn in a wedding. I got it when I was in my cousin’s wedding. We all had tight bridesmaid dresses and I needed something to smooth me out beneath the satin. I bought this girdle at the bridal shop. Come to think about it, the sales lady did look at me kind of funny.”

  She rolls into a fit of laughter and I can’t help but join her. The wine has definitely loosened her inhibitions.

  “I need more to drink,” she declares and gets off the bed to stumble over the basket she set on the floor.

  She is now giggling so hard that tears are rolling down her flushed cheeks. She has definitely passed into the realm of drunken bliss, but it’s endearing. I like seeing her happy, even if it’s drunk-happy. She moves off camera for a moment as I wait.

  “Whitney,” I call her name, thinking maybe she’s forgotten that I’m here.