by Alexis Angel
I watch each of the shows for a few minutes, laughing and shaking my head.
“How is this is my fucking job?” I mutter, mostly to myself, but the girl hums her agreement, making my cock twitch and my balls tighten.
Yeah, hands down, this job has anything else beat. I mean, if you could get paid top dollar to sell sex, wouldn’t you jump at the chance? I fucking love it. Almost as much as I love fucking.
I’ve made billions in this industry. At the end of the day, it’s the money that really counts, but if I can have a good time while I rake it in, even better.
These escort girls are perfect. No strings, no commitment. They know exactly what I want and just how to give it. Well, with a little encouragement sometimes.
I don’t even have to bother with their names. I certainly don’t have time to deal with a girlfriend and all the bullshit that comes along with that. No fucking way. So it’s all about the sex for me.
I type in some of my findings about the cam site on the spreadsheet—the numbers are looking good—then I click over to the next Bennet Babes room. Each one of these rooms are totally different than the others. The girls look nothing alike, probably because the Bennet Babes aren’t actually sisters, they were named after the original owner, and every room caters to different preferences.
This room belongs to Lizzie.
It immediately strikes me as different from the other girls’ rooms. It’s simple and modern, nothing flashy. High-class, even. Then Lizzie starts talking.
“Sorry, babe, I don’t have time for whiny little bitches. You want in on the show? Let me see how fucking much you want it.”
Her voice is sexy as fuck. Sultry and low. Commanding. Like she won’t take shit from anyone. It makes my cock swell up, thicker and harder as I listen to her.
I scroll through the comments and see that Lizzie’s set up a high threshold for a strip tease and masturbation show, and she won’t perform until she hits it. There are a bunch of whiny little pussies in there, and just like I thought, she’s not taking their shit. If they don’t want to pay, she has no use for them.
Chuckling under my breath, I shake my head. I have to give it to her. She’s fucking sexy as sin, and she’s got business sense too. If I had a type of woman—which I don’t—she’d be it.
Leaning forward, I adjust myself in my seat to better read the comments, and my cock pops out of the escort’s mouth again. This time I don’t give a fuck. Because Lizzie has me totally drawn in to her show.
“Darcy,” my nameless escort says. Her whiny voice grates on my nerves all of a sudden. “I want your cock.”
With an irritated growl, I haul her up by the elbow and angle my head toward the door, my eyes never leaving Lizzie on my screen.
“Out. Now.”
The girl gives a petulant little huff, but at least she knows better than to push me. She simply grabs her clothes and is out the door in seconds.
I settle back in my chair and watch as Lizzie works her audience. It’s such a fucking turn on. Gripping my cock that’s still wet from the escort’s mouth, I stroke it a few times as I look at Lizzie’s body.
Her lingerie doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination, but I’m suddenly desperate to know what she looks like completely naked. Her fingers are working her pussy and she cries out as she comes.
Fuck.
Reaching for my keyboard, my hands hover over the keys, and I debate what I should do. I mean, I just had a woman in here sucking me off, and I kicked her out so I can jerk off to this cam girl?
Shrugging, I mutter, “What the fuck…”
I punch a few keys, then press enter.
Lizzie
Oh for fuck’s sake. I’m so over these assholes who keep complaining about my prices.
Click.
Banned.
Oh, hell no. Click again.
Who else wants my six-inch heel to boot them out of my virtual brothel?
I have no problem kicking these rude motherfuckers out of my cam room. If they want to watch some cheap-ass, nasty-cunt cam girl, they can get the hell off my site entirely. I’m 100 percent none of the other girls in the house would accept these losers either.
Bennet Babes is one of the best sites in the industry for a reason. Our cam girls are top-notch. Classy, even. What, you don’t think a cam girl can be high class? Well, you haven’t met me, babe. My fuckable charm is like nothing you’ve ever seen.
That’s why I’m the Bennet Babe with the most loyal fan base. They can’t help but love me.
And it’s not just because I have a rocking body. I can deal out the snark just as easily as I deal out orgasms. I’m highly skilled in both.
“Any more of you beggars and complainers out there tonight?” I say into my mic, giving my webcam the full force of my attitude. They fucking love it.
“Don’t think I won’t ban your sorry asses.”
One of my most ardent fans types out how much he’s willing to pay for my show, and others start chiming in too. Yep. That’s right. Those cheap fuckers can move along because I have more than enough fans willing to pay top dollar to watch me get off.
“You’re going to have to do better than this if you want a good show tonight,” I tell the webcam, biting my lip and shaking my head in disappointment.
“These clothes?” I run my finger under the cup of my bra, grinning salaciously and adding a little wink for emphasis. “They have to go before you can watch me cum.”
I shake my head in mock-sadness, trying to keep the smirk off my face and stay in character.
“I really need to touch myself.” I let my finger graze over my stiff nipple, and my breath comes out in a gasp. “My pussy is so wet and empty. I want to cum so badly.”
More comments pour in about how much they want it too.
With a tilt of my head, I pull my fingers away and put it on my hip, pursing my lips.
“Then don’t be cheap-ass little bitches. I know you can do better than this.”
I don’t have time for this, and all my fans know it. No-nonsense. That’s me. I mean, what’s the point?
Let’s get to the good stuff. I mean, we both know why you’re here, don’t we, baby?
I have enough people willing to pay and I won’t settle until they do.
They must love my give-no-fucks attitude, because the tips start coming in. I smile.
“That’s more like it.”
I’m almost halfway to my goal for this show when out of nowhere, some anonymous dude starts dropping thousand-dollar tips, one after the other.
“Well, well, who do we have here?” I say, leaning into the camera and giving the viewers a healthy dose of my ample cleavage.
“Someone’s excited. You ready for some fun, Mr. Big?”
No reply from Anonymous218713.
The tips keep coming right in as I encourage the viewers by rubbing and pinching my nipples through my lingerie. When I’m three-quarters to my goal, I start rubbing my pussy through my lacy thong, turning around and giving the webcam a good shot of my ass.
Gotta get ‘em revved up and paying up, right? Just enough for a tease, though, a hint of what’s to come.
Suddenly, right as my fingers start to play with my ass, Mr. Big pays the rest of the goal in one lump sum.
I raise my eyebrows and grin at the camera over my shoulder.
“Well, aren’t we impatient, Mr. Big?”
That doesn’t happen very often—where someone forks over thousands and thousands as if it’s nothing. I know I should be ready to do whatever Mr. Big wants at this point because he just gave me the biggest payday I’ve had in a while.
But I’m just not that kind of girl.
Yeah, I might be a cam girl, and I might sell the image of sex, but when it really comes down to it, I’m a businesswoman. And everyone knows that you have to play hardball in business.
I do what needs to get done. I’m not some simpering little girl who falls to her knees the minute a man pulls his cock out. Fuck no.
I’m a woman and I’m the type who has everyone falling all over themselves to get a show. There’s an art to it, and I perfected that early on.
I know I can’t just lay it all out there. The buildup and the tease, the anticipation, it’s what will keep them coming back for more. And if his tips are any indication, Mr. Big is someone I definitely want coming back.
My private messages on the site ding, and I glance at the screen. It’s from Anonymous218713.
Mr. Big.
Normally, I ignore all private messages. I mean, I’m giving an online strip tease and masturbation show open to anyone willing to pay. I don’t have time for potential creepers.
But something about this guy intrigues me. He hasn’t said anything in the comments, and he just drops his cash like it’s nothing. I click on the message.
Are you going to stand there teasing me all night or are you going to show me if those tits are half as juicy as they look?
I laugh and wink at the camera.
“So impatient,” I say again.
Yeah, I’m going to draw it out and drive this guy crazy. After all, he’s paying big bucks. I’m sure he wants to get his money’s worth.
I turn up the music in my room and start dancing, moving my body in ways that I know drive my fans wild.
Another private message dings. You like it slow? If I were there right now, I’d tear your clothes right off you.
I pause, not sure what I think about that. Mr. Big sounds like he likes to be in charge. Yeah, well, guess what, buddy? So do I.
Giving the webcam a feisty look that I know he’ll realize is just for him, I ever-so-slowly turn around and unfasten my bra, one hook at a time. When I turn back around, I slip the straps from my shoulders, then pause, a naughty smile on my lips.
Woman, you’re driving me insane. You have my cock so fucking hard right now.
He really is one impatient bastard. Finally, I let the bra fall to the floor, exposing myself for the webcam and playing with my nipples.
Ding. Mr. Big again. Fuck. Your tits are so perfect. I just want to shove my cock in between them and come all over your face.
Oh my God. This guy is the exact reason I don’t normally engage in private messages. But for some reason, his take-charge attitude has me all kinds of horny.
I mean, he’s willing to pay a shit-ton of money to watch this. And out of all the cam girls he could watch, he picked me. So yeah, that turns me on.
My head falls back, and I take the couple steps back to my bed and reach inside my soaked lace panties. Holy shit.
“I’m so fucking wet right now,” I say to the viewers, but really it’s for the benefit of Mr. Big. I want him to know what he’s doing to me with his dirty talk.
Ding. My pussy clenches at the noise, some Pavlovian response, just knowing it’s Mr. Big. What the fuck is that about?
Finger fuck yourself.
I respond immediately. I never get like this about fans. But he has my attention.
I love how demanding he is. I actually want to do what he says. So I do.
It doesn’t take long at all for me to be right on the edge. Dammit. I wanted to tease him and make him wait, but I’m so close and it feels so good that I can’t help it.
All it takes is another ding, and I’m coming. Like really fucking hard. I moan and writhe on the bed, knowing this is one of the most intense orgasms I’ve had on my show in a while.
When I catch my breath and sit up, staring into my camera, I smirk. Mr. Big dropped some serious cash on me just now.
“Was it worth it?”
Ding.
I had an escort in front of me sucking my cock. I kicked her out so I could watch you. So was it worth it? Fuck, yes.
Lizzie
Dudes who give their credit card numbers to Bennet Babes are harder to please than you're probably thinking. But even with all the free shit out there, I know how to get the tips rolling in on top of those recurring payments. But when the show is over, it's over.
Usually.
When the camera's off I just enjoy my life in this crazy, massive mansion. The last thing I want or need to think about is a fan, or some random cam lurker.
Usually.
Yet here I am, three days later, lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling in the middle of the goddamn afternoon doing exactly that.
"Mr. Big."
Well, there it is. The first time I’ve said the name of any of these dudes out loud. Outside of the show, that is. I've officially brought my work home, something I never do. But I'm enjoying it way more than expected.
Mr. Big. I think about him stopping a blowjob so he could jack it to my show. Yeah fucking right. I give him credit for being entertaining with his bullshit, at least. That is a load of shit, right, babe?
Yeah, of course.
Okay, this was bound to happen. I have a crush on a dude who doesn't really exist. Occupational hazard. I'll forget about this crap by tomorrow. This is ridiculous. And hilarious. Why am I laughing so hard at the frigging ceiling?
I keep laughing after my door swings open and Lydia flounces in with all her Lydia-swagger. She just stands there, arms crossed, looking at me and having none of it. Well, almost none of it: I can spot her trying-not-to-laugh expression from a million miles away. It's all in her eyes.
"The fuck you laughing at, girl?"
Now I start cracking up seriously hard. Lydia just stares. She knows me well. My laughter finally breaks when I see Lydia look down slightly, the amusement quickly draining from those gorgeous eyes.
Those iconic eyes sell more subscriptions to Bennet Babes than any pair of tits or set of succulent, dildo-caressing lips could ever hope to. Lydia's spot in the mansion is well-earned, as is mine. It feels wrong to see her no-fucks-given face go a bit sour, and maybe even sad.
"What’s all this? What’s with you?" Lydia gestures to me with her hand, her expression suspicious. What the hell is she on about?
"What are you on about?" I sit up on my bed.
"You. In here by yourself laughing like a lunatic. You’ve finally lost it."
"Lady, I lost it a long time ago."
"That's not what I meant. You…" Whatever Lydia's trying to get out is stopped dead in its tracks by the startling sound of Catherine the Great—a nickname I'm smart enough to keep to myself—bellowing at us from downstairs somewhere. Lydia breaks her cool to shoot me a confused look.
I just shrug.
"Well, Catherine's finally lost her goddamn mind."
For some reason, Lydia doesn’t find this funny. She looks properly freaked as she practically runs out into the hallway. I follow her casually, not giving up the joke.
"I mean, we all knew it was gonna happen eventually."
I try to keep up with Lydia as she powerwalks through the corridor and down the Italian marble stairwell. We follow the sound of Catherine's voice like it's some panicky homing signal.
I still can't make out what she's shouting, but now I see she’s standing in the foyer by the front door. Why would she stand there? What kind of place is that for a house meeting, anyway? There are far better places for that in this giant building we call home.
I’m still tagging behind Lydia as we make it to the foyer. Mary and Jane are there already, looking petrified. Catherine quiets down for a moment when she sees me. Her face is colorless. It must be really bad to faze her like that.This shit's getting out of hand.
"I don’t know who died, but I think you're all overreacting."
My remark is met by silence. Damn, no one's laughing at my jokes today.
"Charlie! Charlieeeee!" Catherine launches right back into it, but I can finally make out what she's shrieking about. She's calling for the last mansion-dwelling cam girl still at large.
Not for long, though. Catherine lets herself stop roaring as we all hear the clacks of Charlie's high-heeled sandals reverberating throughout the entire first floor.
Charlie joins us to complete a misshapen, scared-shitless
, small semi-circle around Catherine. Yeah, I may be feeling a bit panicked myself. We never have meetings like this.
But I feel a ten-ton weight is being lifted from my shoulders when I see Catherine compose herself to speak to us like she always does. Okay, well she's smiling a bit.
Let's hear what she has to say. Maybe it’s not so bad.
"It may be over."
Okay. Never mind. Scratch that.
What the fuck does that mean? Catherine seems so calm, but turns out what I thought was a smile is actually a grimace.
Fuck, now I know exactly what it means. The realization dawns on me as I hear Charlie's voice squeak out a question, something like "what may be over?" Through my stomach-dropping anxiety, I only make out a few words in Catherine's response: website, jobs, mansion residency, sold.
This doesn’t make sense. I thought I had it figured out. I'm here because I'm goddamn amazing at what I do. As is everyone in this room, including Catherine the Great.
The life we have here is incredible, but it didn’t come easy. Things don’t just fall onto our laps. Everything we enjoy is well-earned through genuine dedication and endless hard work.
It's not like somebody can just take it away.
Can they?
I'm at a rare loss for words. That won't keep me from speaking the fuck up, though.
"Selling Bennet Babes? Seriously? There’s no other site of our quality. And that's because of us. How could anybody just let that all go?"
I feel flushed and legit furious, but Catherine seems calm and starts smiling for real as she responds.
"Oh, my sweet child. You're worried about quality and fairness? This is a business. You know that."
"A business? We're more than just fucking assets!"
I can see that Mary, Jane, Charlie and Lydia are transforming from fearful to confident with my lead. They're not going to sit through this shit, either. Good.
"So, when are we going to get a say in this whole shitstorm?" Mary finally pipes up, with Jane supporting her: "Yeah, when?"