Cammers With Benefits (FWB Series Book 1)

by Kaylee Spring

  Contents

  Free Book?

  I. In Bed At Last

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  II. Performing Together

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  III. Broken

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  IV. Falling Apart

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  V. The Curtains Open

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  About the Author

  Also by Kaylee Spring

  Free Book?

  Sign up for my newsletter at kayleespring.com and receive Perfect Fit free!

  Part I

  In Bed At Last

  Chapter 1

  The knock at the door jerks me back into reality.

  Brice.

  I pull my gaze away from the computer monitor and its half dozen chat windows and constant binging sounds, each signaling a new (but small) donation from a viewer. It’s nearly nine. That’s when we said we would meet for our weekly movie session. But the time slipped away.

  After typing out a quick apology to my viewers, I toss on clothes and yell through the front door.

  “Wait, just a minute!”

  This only encourages Brice to knock with more and more fervor. I’m still adjusting my sleeping shorts, far too aware that I didn’t have time to throw on a bra under my hoodie, when I finally pull the door open. Brice’s smile is all teeth.

  “Catch you at a bad time?” He says as he walks right past me. We’ve always been like this. Ever since we were in elementary school and hanging out at each other’s houses every day after classes. What’s mine is his and vice versa. He pokes his head in the fridge. “Did you seriously drink all the beer I brought last week? That was a 24-pack!”

  Shit. I forgot to refill the fridge. He knows I’m not the sort of girl to drink more than a bottle a night, but what he doesn’t know is that this week has nearly broken me. I’ve been hiding all my worries each time we chat on the phone.

  “I can pop out and grab some more,” I offer, hoping to any deities that may be listening that he doesn’t take me up on my offer. I have less than five dollars in my account, and that’s going to have to last until the end of the week when the camming site transfers my earnings for the month into my account.

  “Nah,” he says and plops down on the sofa. “Could probably use a break from booze anyway. It’s good to clear the system every now and then, you know? Make sure you’re not getting too reliant on the stuff. So,” he says and flips through a three-month-old fashion magazine that was splayed open on the arm of the couch, “what were you doing when I interrupted? There’s not a naked guy in the closet is there?”

  I turn away from him for just two seconds. Just long enough to pull the half-eaten box of Cheez-its out of the cupboard. Just long enough time to close my eyes, collect whatever little energy I have left after that cam session, and slip on my happy-go-lucky mask. I then sit on the other side of the sofa, throwing my legs over his lap and holding out the box of snacks. “Two actually,” I joke back. “They’ll have to make do with each other for now.”

  Brice nods sagely. “So I did interrupt something nasty. That would explain the missing beer too.”

  He’s hinting, letting me know that he suspects something. But whether he’s on the trail of the actual truth is impossible to confirm without fessing up. I’m not about to go down that route. Instead, I change the topic entirely. “How’s the part-time gig at the hospital going?”

  “Fantastic,” he says in that singsong voice he does when he’s really exaggerating something. “There’s no better way to spend the day than by cleaning the trash of people you wish you could be. I probably picked up a thousand cigarette butts today. I’ll tell you, doctors smoke a lot more than I expected. I mean, an inordinate amount. You would think they of all people would know to stay away from those cancer sticks.”

  The lightness his humor brings to my apartment dissipates quickly, leaving behind a silence filled only by my refrigerator’s buzzing. “So, what are we watching tonight?”

  Brice flicks on the TV. Flips through a few channels lazily. “I was thinking an oldie but a goodie. Monty Python?”

  “We watched all their movies two months ago,” I complain, but it’s more out of habit than anything else. We always go through this routine. We have an established movie night, but we’re never ready with an actual movie to watch. Not that it matters tonight. No matter what he chooses, my mind isn’t going to be on the TV. I’m too focused on how I’m going to make rent this month, not to mention buy groceries and keep the Internet up. That last one’s more important than running water at this point.

  All too aware of the lacy lingerie I’m wearing under my sweatpants, I casually say, “Just pick whatever you want. I need to take a piss.”

  In the bathroom, I immediately pull off the thong that has been burrowing into my ass. There was no way I was going to be suffering with that all through a movie. I open the laundry hamper I keep in the bathroom only to remember that for once I was actually responsible last night. All of my clothes are in the dryer, which means no old panties to pull on. I figure it doesn’t matter and simply pull my shorts back on.

  The moment I walk out the door, I know something is off. Brice isn’t lounging on the sofa, nor is he scrounging around inside my fridge, searching for anything edible. He can’t be in the bathroom I’ve just come out of either, which leaves only one place: my bedroom. But he never goes in there, because there’s nothing of interest. Nothing but a handful of books and my laptop.

  My laptop.

  I walk in long strides, desperately trying to recall if I closed the browser when Brice showed up at my door. He would only be looking at what movies I had on my hard drive, but if I didn’t close the chat window, he would definitely stumble on the one part of my life I’ve kept secret. The one thing I don’t want him to know about me.

  When I get through the doorway, he’s sitting on the edge of my bed, my laptop propped on his lap. He doesn’t have to say anything; his eyes are all the confirmation I need.

  “I can explain.”

  Brice doesn’t respond. He just keeps looking from me to the video stills populating my computer screen, each showing me in a different erotic pose. Thankfully most have me wearing at least panties. I sit down beside him and try to pull the laptop away, but he won’t budge.

  “If you needed money, I could have helped,” he says.

  The worst part is that I know Brice. Better than anyone. He’s not like this now because he’s ashamed of me. We’ve been best friends since second grade. Just as I know all of his secrets, Brice knows all of mine. How old I was when I stopped wetting the bed. My first crushes. When I first discovered masturbation. When I lost my virginity. He knows everything except this one thing. And now that he’s uncovered my last hidden secret, he’s not ashamed. No, he’s taking pity on me, which may be worse.

  “I can’t ask you for money. We’re both flat broke.”

  “I could have found another job. Anything to keep you from having to do this.” He waves at the screen.

  After placing a hand on his, I tell him as gently and genuinely as I can, “I know this is going to be hard to believe, but it’s not actually all that bad.”

  “Not all that bad?” he shoots back at me. “These men are using you like a fuck toy.”

  If it were anyo
ne else, I would throw them out now for saying something like that. But this is Brice. He’s my best friend. So instead of throwing him out, I give him exactly what he’s dishing at me right now.

  “And at the hospital, your manager isn’t using you?” I shoot back at him, my earlier timidity gone.

  “Not for sex,” Brice says.

  “I’m not actually having sex with anyone. I’m just letting them live out their fantasies. And most of them are actually nice. They’re not the nasty perverts you’re making them out to be.”

  “They’re paying you to do things on camera—I don’t even want to imagine what sorts of things—but you’re nothing more than a dancing monkey to them.”

  “You do realize that you just described every actor ever, right? Because that’s all I am. An actor. I give them the chance to break away from whatever dreary lives they have. And they’re keeping me from being thrown out on the streets.”

  Brice isn’t budging. He’s got his arms folded across his chest in the way he always does when he’s entrenched himself in his side of an argument. From experience, I know that the only way to ever make him budge is to leave him alone. To back off and give him time to consider my side. But I don’t want this to hang in the air. Now that it’s out there, I need Brice to understand this side of me.

  “Fine, let me show you then,” I say and yank the laptop away from him. Before Brice can argue, I go to open the chat window only to realize, to my utter horror, that it has been minimized this whole time. We’ve been on camera for my audience. Only, it’s not my audience anymore. I usually get maybe twenty or thirty viewers each night. A consistent number, but relatively low. Right now there are a hundred people logged into my video stream. And the number is only climbing.

  So is my revenue.

  “They’ve been listening to us the whole time,” I whisper in awe. “And they’ve already donated a hundred dollars. That’s what I usually make in two nights.”

  “So they’ve been spying on us?” Brice asks. “Oh, yeah, they sound like real stand-up gentlemen.”

  I get it. He’s upset. This is the whole reason I’ve been hiding this side of my life from everyone. It’s not that I’m ashamed of it. And I know that’s not exactly Brice’s hold up either. He’s as open-minded as I am. I bet he would be willing to admit that selling sex, if done safely and responsibly, is a useful job for all those involved. Of course, in the real world, this sort of thing often gets convoluted with pimps and drugs and kidnappings. I have none of these concerns. Plus, it’s not like I’m actually selling my body. None of the men watching me from the other side of the computer get to claim me for the night. Images and sound is all they get. They can look but not touch.

  Perhaps if I can make Brice see this, he won’t feel so let down both by himself and me. I know he only means well. He’s overreacting because this is all overwhelming. So instead of ignoring him for a week or two and then continuing on with our friendship as if this never happened, I try to make him understand.

  “Look,” I say, leaning my shoulder into his for just a moment to bring his focus back to the present. He was staring at the wall, no doubt wondering how deep this hole really went. “It’s really not that bad. I host chat sessions for two hours a night. Sure, I do things on camera, but nobody’s getting hurt. If anyone is rude to me in the chat, I can kick them out with a press of a button. See?” I point to a dropdown menu that displays options like ‘Mute’ and ‘Ban’.

  Brice is still stiff. Arms folded. After briefly glancing at the screen that shows a still of me covering my breasts with one arm, he’s resumed his fervent watch of a bare spot on my wall. “I’ll give you an example, alright? Just, don’t leave. Please.”

  I set the computer on the desk, angling it where I usually do so that it shows all of me sitting on the foot of the bed. After positioning the lights I use in the background and fluffing up my hair a bit, I address my audience.

  “Sorry for the mix up. I’d explain what this is all about, but it seems most of you heard already. So I guess my broadcast is lasting a bit longer tonight, but it’s going to be a bit out of sorts. I hope you all can understand and be on your best behavior. This is Brice. My best friend.” Brice is only partially in the shot, his shoulder and leg creeping in from the left frame. I try to pull him in to wave, but he yanks out of my grip. “Anyway, I guess I should start with how I actually do this,” I say, addressing Brice now.

  “So I usually start by warming up the viewers. You know, asking how their day was and stuff. They can interact with me in the chat room here. Everyone always says I have the cutest voice, and I’ve been accused more than once of putting it on.” I look straight into the camera and smile. “Now that you’ve all heard me when I didn’t know we were recording, you’ll see this really is how my voice sounds. Anyway, then I usually describe what I did that day. Maybe talk about something funny that happened.”

  A bell rings on the computer. Brice looks over to read the alert that’s popped up. His eyes go wide.

  “Okay, see? I’ve got a request to take off my shirt. That’s how this works. They make requests and I either accept or decline, depending on what it is and how big the donation is.”

  Then I lean over and whisper into Brice’s ear. “This is where I make most of my money. One viewer can put in a request. If I accept, that means everyone has to pony up a certain amount of money to stay connected. I decide how much though.”

  After pressing the ‘Accept’ icon, I’m prompted to enter a dollar amount. “It’s good to keep the early requests low. Don’t want to lose half your viewers before you’ve even begun.” I enter in two dollars and wink at Brice. “I’ve got a hundred viewers right now, so that will be two hundred bucks if they all accept. I’m betting we lose half of them right off the bat. Maybe more.”

  But I’m pleasantly surprised when all but one send their donations in. After the non-payer is booted from the room, it’s time to keep my side of the promise. It’s not until this moment that I have a horrifying realization: I’m not wearing a bra. Usually, if a request comes in to remove my shirt, it’s not a big deal. I would have a bra on—something lacy or see-through—that I could earn more donations to have taken off later. But I’ve got nothing. And since I clicked ‘Accept’, there’s no turning back; Brice is about to get an in-depth education about how camming works.

  “Brice,” I hiss over in his direction. “I have to take my shirt off now. I don’t care if you look. I mean, you saw everything before when you walked in on me changing that one time. Just don’t leave. Please?”

  He’s chewing his bottom lip. Something he only does when fighting against a bout of stress. “Fine,” he says with resignation. “I’ll stay and watch your boobs.” That last part is accompanied by a slight smirk. He’s trying to lighten the mood, but he’s right back to sullen half a second after he’s made this lame joke.

  Still, I can’t keep my viewers waiting after they’ve forked up the money or else I risk negative reviews. So I grab the bottom hem of my hoodie and lift it over my head. The cool air in the apartment runs over my bare skin. A wave of goose bumps works down my chest. I can feel my nipples hardening in the cold.

  Three more dings of a bell signal that I’ve received more donations. It’s like a round of applause by those whose hands are probably busy with other things. But Brice is not one of my admirers.

  When I look over at him, embarrassed for the first time since I was new to this game, he’s got his gaze locked on the ceiling. When I place my hand on his, he shudders at the touch but doesn’t look down at me. He’s too nice of a guy. Too wonderful to me. Even though he doesn’t say it, I can hear him explaining how he doesn’t want to look at me like I’m just some sexual object. Because I’m so much more than that to Brice.

  What he doesn’t know is that when we first met in elementary school, I harbored a crush for the cute boy who always wore overalls. Thankfully he left that fashion faux pas in the past, but I’m still holding onto a little gi
rl’s crush. I would never admit it though. There’s no way I would risk our friendship, which is the only truly good thing I have going for me.

  A new message alert pops up. It’s a request for a private room. Out of pure habit, I reach over and click it. I’m used to requests for private sessions. They aren’t exactly common, but I get one every week or so. Half the time they want to see me get off. The other half just wants to chat. This isn’t either of these though.

  My cursor hovers over the ‘Decline’ button even before I read the message. There’ just no way I’m going to go into a private room with Brice next to me. Seeing me topless is one thing, but I need to ease him into this, not throw him into the deep end.

  Then I actually read the message, and I can’t help but look over at Brice. His eyes are wide and I’m pretty sure he’s stopped breathing.

  The message reads:

  $1,000 if you have sex with your friend.

  Chapter 2

  $1,000 if you have sex with your friend.

  As soon as Brice’s brain processes the meaning of the message, he’s on a tirade about how sick my viewership is.

  “This is exactly what I’m talking about. They don’t see you as a person. They just want you to perform for them so they can get off.”

  His words would hurt more if I didn’t know that they are coming from a place of deep respect for me. It’s the only reason that I can even joke about the offer.

  “$1,000 is a lot of money,” I say in a lighthearted tone. But even saying this out loud is enough to set Brice off.