Cammers With Benefits (FWB Series Book 1)

by Kaylee Spring

  “I’m still working with Greg.” This bomb hits like an electromagnetic pulse, frying Brice’s brain and dropping the room into a bubble of silence that’s only popped when I add, “My scenes are all solo, but we’ve made a new deal.”

  “What are you talking about?” Brice asks, his tone trying to be jovial, like I’ve forgotten that I’m actually working at the Brazilian restaurant now. “You’re a waitress.”

  “A lie.”

  “But why would you make that up? Why would you go back to Greg?”

  All this time I’ve been thinking I’d be able to take this secret to my grave. That the money I got from it could be explained away as some distant relative leaving behind a portion of their inheritance to me. But now that I’m on a roll, the word vomit won’t stop falling out of me. Brice hurt me with his words, and all this time I’ve been working for us. He needs to know the whole truth, even if it hurts.

  “Because I need money. You need money. Your mom needs to keep her house. Don’t look at me like that. I heard her telling you. What was slaving away at a restaurant going to change for any of us? I went back and begged Greg for my job back, but I had a condition: no partners except for you. That’s how we came up with this whole new format of videos. Actually, it was my idea, and that’s why I bargained to get a cut of the profits instead of a direct paycheck.

  “And I don’t regret it, just like I don’t regret camming. I wasn’t young and stupid. I was poor. My best friend was poor,” I say, giving him a hard stare. “Camming kept me afloat, allowed me to lend you money when you were down and out. I was always the one inviting you over. Buying you food. That was all down to my fine, fine tippers. So no, I don’t regret it.”

  Brice is trying to hold back. I can sense it in the tension of his arms, the tightness of his lips, and the way he keeps looking away from me. When he finally opens his mouth to answer, it’s in a low growl. “I don’t like that you were lying to me, but I like even less that you’re still doing this kind of work. It was okay for you to be camming and everything when we weren’t together, but now things are different.”

  “You mean that you’re incapacitated, so since you can’t film scenes with me, I need to get a respectable job?”

  “When we were filming scenes together, it was different. Any guy watching would know that I was the one inside of you. But now that I’m not there, they can easily imagine it’s them. I don’t know if I’m okay with that.”

  My hand clenches and I imagine slapping him, but the part of my brain that stills my hand has no effect on my tongue.

  “I don’t know what to tell you then,” I say honestly. “Because this is happening. So you can either get over it or get over me. Maybe hook up with your physical therapist. She seems to know you so well.” The moment that last sentence falls from my lips, I regret the words, but I don’t apologize. Whether or not Brice approves is for him to deal with. I’ve come to terms with my career choice.

  So before I say anything else I’ll rethink later, I march out of the room, tossing aside Brice’s hand when his fingers shoot up to catch me. When I’m at the door, I pause just long enough to say, “I’m happy being yours and yours alone, but if you can’t trust that, maybe it’s time to stop pretending we were ever anything more than friends with benefits”

  With that I slam the door and make for the exit as quick as my feet can take me. But even the crisp air outside does nothing to calm the whirling storm that has a hold of my heart. And the one time I wish it were raining, I have nothing to hide the tears sliding down my cheeks.

  Part IV

  Falling Apart

  Chapter 13

  It’s been two weeks since Brice and I have spoken. Fourteen days during which I’ve spent more time at the studio than at my apartment. 336 hours of which the majority I have either been nude or semi-nude. I’ve spent so much time in front of cameras the past two weeks that I’m even looking for the lens when I’m back in my bedroom. And when I finally hit the pillow, I’m so exhausted that I’m unconscious before I’m even asleep, if such a thing is possible.

  Greg didn’t complain when I threw myself into the filming. Finishing quickly only means saved cash on his end. On mine, it means less time for my mind to run idle and wonder what Brice might be up to. It also means completing my end of the bargain a week ahead of schedule, even I have to film sixteen-hour days and work through pain I’ve never known to be possible.

  Now there’s only one video left. It's nine on a Friday night. The studio guys are not hiding the fact that they just want to go home. But Greg has promised them a three-day weekend if we can just wrap up tonight. The only problem is that I’m supposed to be getting myself off in this scene, but I can hardly bring myself to touch myself, much less work myself into a frenzy that would pass as an orgasm on camera.

  I’m on the floor of a false bedroom set, my back leaned against the bed, knees up and thighs spread. I’ve been relying on baby oil since I’ve been doing about half a dozen scenes like this every day for the past three days. Now is no different. Off camera, I get my fingers nice and slick before motioning to let the camera guys know I’m ready. Greg isn’t here to direct, which is usual for him. He’s always going back and forth between the different studios; he doesn’t have time to supervise me all day.

  Since this is one of a series of videos that would be the last scene viewers may watch in my Choose-You-Own-Sex-venture site, I really have to make this spectacular. Blow them out of the water so they can blow their own load, so to speak. So as soon as the cameras start rolling, I look straight into the camera, lick my lips, and insert a finger into myself.

  I hide the grimace by throwing my head back and moaning. The truth is that everything is so sore. I’ve been abusing myself too much recently, and not resting long enough to properly heal. It feels like my skin is too thin, my nerves frayed, my hormones flat. In my imagination, I insert Brice into this scene. If I close my eyes, I can almost make myself believe that he’s wrapped around me, his cock pulsing to get inside me, his fingers rubbing at my clit.

  I lean back now, hiking my ass up a bit as I press into my hand. Hopefully, this looks sexy to the viewers, because it’s absolutely killing me. The artificial lubricant has all but worn away. My irritated skin screams for me to stop even as I feel an orgasm building up. I decide to push through the pain, screaming as I cum, the pleasure entwined with the pain.

  I pull my fingers away so the camera can get a close-up of my pulsating pussy. Then someone in the back calls out, “Cut!”

  It’s Greg, shaking his head.

  “We’re going to have to go for that again,” he says.

  “What? Why?” I hate sounding like a petulant child, but I absolutely can’t do that again. It would be a simpler task to carry Greg around on my shoulders.

  “It’s just no good. If you need a break, take a break, but when you come back you’d better have your head in the game.”

  I don’t know what’s crawled up his ass and died, but I throw on my robe and march straight past Greg without another word. He isn’t so stoic in his dissatisfaction.

  “You think you’re the only one working her ass off? Have a look around you. We’re all suffering here. And we have to make this perfect. I’m not going into this half-assed, which means you can’t half ass your scenes.”

  I head up to the roof, because I fell back into my old nicotine habit soon after Brice’s accident. I’ve been careful to scrub my mouth and change my clothes before seeing him at the hospital each day, but even though he hasn’t said anything, I’m sure he’s figured it out. It’s not hard for anyone to see that getting through each day is breaking me down so that I feel like a worn-out t-shirt, so thin that the slightest tug will rip straight through it. It should be doubly easy for the person closest to me to see, but Brice and I aren’t what we were before the accident.

  Two weeks of not talking. It’s like while we weren’t looking, someone slid a huge pane of glass between us. So as long as we don’t
try talking to each other, we can pretend that everything’s the same. But the longer we go on acting like nothing has changed, the dirtier that glass gets. And one day, we’re not going to be able to see each other clearly anymore.

  I give myself time for two cigarettes. The studio guys are no doubt tapping their feet and watching the clock, but I’ll be no good if I get back down there right away. Truthfully, I need a day or two to recover, but Greg and I both want to publish this video series as soon as possible. The quicker it’s up garnering views, the faster we’ve got money in our pockets.

  After flicking the last cigarette to roof floor, I take the stairs down. Before heading back to my studio, I take a quick walk down the halls, aiming for the bathroom. Where I end up first is the other studio where the red light tells me that there’s active filming happening on the other side of the door.

  My feet may have led me here, but my brain still hasn’t caught up with my racing heart. It’s a wriggling thought that causes me to slip in the door without a sound. I can’t be sure who’s filming in here, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s Jack, because he was walking out of the changing room when I was walking in before this last scene that I just can’t seem to get a hold of.

  Jack and I don’t see much of each other. He and his crew prefer to film late, and I’m usually finishing up before he’s even changed. Tonight is different, and for the first time, I give into temptation, and soon I’m up against the wall, hidden by shadows, watching Jack and Jade hard at work.

  I’ve managed to walk in during the middle of their scene. Jack has Jade up on the arm of a white leather couch. Her thick, strong legs are wrapped around his waist as he pumps in and out of her. I only catch glimpses of Jade as the cameras swarm her, moving in for close-ups of her bouncing breasts. But Jack is always in view.

  His hands grip at Jade’s ass, keeping her in his control. Her head is back, lolling as she moans. Either she’s an amazing actress or the waves of ecstasy rolling over her are authentic. I’m betting on the latter, because it’s not hard to slip myself into her position in my mind. At first I’m forcing myself to imagine Brice’s face as he hovers over me, his body slapping against mine as we writhe in pure delight. But I can’t keep my eyes off Jack and his body, and without even acknowledging it, I’m letting him take control of my fantasy.

  I’m biting my lips as their rhythm picks up, thighs slapping together with more fervor now. Jade’s fingers dig into Jack’s shoulders as she stares up at him, cresting the wave that will soon roll over her, pulling her down so that—even if just for ten seconds—she loses control of her body.

  I don’t know when it happened, but my fingers are working away at my clit, naturally lubricated from the fantasy that has saturated my mind. There’s nothing that I want more in this precise moment than to just allow myself to give in. To just have a single desire that is all my own. But this is not a guilty pleasure I can afford. So, just as Jack and Jade press up against each other in the throes of orgasm, and Jack pulls out to splatter his seed across her chest, I slip out of their studio and back into my own, my hand never leaving my crotch.

  The cameramen are listless, absorbed in their phones. They don’t make to move back into position when I first enter, no doubt expecting that I’ll need time to set up once more. But I make straight for the fake bathtub, sit down, and spread my legs. One by one the red lights of cameras flicker on. When I close my eyes, I can imagine that I’m somewhere else. That other place should be with Brice, but Jack Hammersmith’s body is obscuring any view of my best-friend-turned-lover.

  I tell myself that it’s no different than porn, and if I’m fine with filming it, I should have no qualms consuming the stuff. So I allow myself to fall into the fantasy. Place myself in Jade’s place. Imagine that I’m the one gripping Jack’s cock between my hands, working his shaft and licking the tip before he bends me over and has his way with me.

  The fantasy’s details come into sharper view as the rest of me fades away. It’s me—not Jade—digging fingernails into Jack’s shoulders. Those moans are mine. The quivers running through my thighs and gripping relentlessly at my abs are my body’s reaction to unfiltered pleasure.

  When it’s all over, my head falls back, and all my muscles go weak. It’s at tis point that I remember where I am. That I’m alone in this bathtub. That this is meant to be the final video of my series. With this in mind, I look right into the main camera, give a weak smile, and say, “See you next time.”

  Then Greg is shouting, “That’s a wrap!”

  I can’t even muster the energy to cover myself while the film crew pack their equipment and make for the doors.

  “Looks like you finally got your groove back,” Greg says. He’s standing over me, arms crossed, a pleased look on his face. “Reminds me of the night I first saw you and Brice together. That passion. It’s what drew me in.”

  I’m nodding, relieved that it’s finished and I can sleep in tomorrow. But also feeling a profound sense of shame. For those few minutes, it was as though Brice didn’t exist. And though I never cheated on him—even emotionally—I know I would hate the idea of him needing to fantasize about another girl to get off.

  After wrapping the blanket around me again, I pull myself up and make for the changing room, not uttering a word to Greg. Maybe it’s my exhaustion, maybe it’s me overthinking things, but there’s a small part of me—deep, deep down—that’s also wondering if I can catch another glimpse of Jack if I hurry.

  Chapter 14

  When I enter the changing room, Jack’s standing in front of the full-length mirror, all muscles and sweat-sheened skin. His cock hangs halfway down to his knees. I’ve heard of them being that big, but his is the first one I’ve seen in real life. “I saw you before,” he says.

  I lick my lips guiltily. “You saw me?”

  “Yeah, at the hospital the other day.”

  The air falls out of my lungs with relief. I thought he was talking about something completely different.

  “I was just there for a check up. I was going to say hi, but you seemed to be in a pretty big hurry. I’ve never seen someone walk so fast. It’s like you were in some powerwalking mom’s group or something.” He points to the shower room. “I gotta wash off this sweat. What about you?”

  I nod without speaking. Every other time I’ve used the communal shower, it’s been alone. Just good timing is all. There are four stalls, each with a curtain, so it’s not like we’d be taking a shower together. And it’s all professional. There’s no chance of anything happening even if I wanted it to. Which I most definitely don’t. I’m 100% devoted to Brice, even during this current spat we’re in.

  I take the shower opposite his, our curtains facing each other, but I close mine all the way. Only a one-inch slit remains on the left side, through which I can see his perfect ass if I peek back.

  “I heard you’ve been hella busy lately,” he says loudly, so I can hear over the rush of water.

  It feels weird to be talking while in the shower, but I answer back, “Greg and I are working on this new project.”

  “Oh, I know all about that,” Jack says. “Greg had to get my approval before you could even start. You might not know this, but I’m not just an actor here. I’m one of the co-owners.”

  My stunned silence is enough response for him to laugh. Then I say, “What? Why didn’t I ever know that?”

  I can just see him shrug to himself, the water pouring over his tanned back. “He runs the business side while I keep the videos pumping out. We’ve always been this weird sort of dynamic duo since we were roommates in university.”

  I nearly throw the curtain back so I can get a clear look at his face. Just to see how serious he is when he claims this. “You two were roommates?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Jack says. “He was the weirdo trying to make these homemade horror movies every weekend. I was the one who had other things to do on a Saturday night. He hated that I was always bringing girls back to the room, so we fi
nally came to a deal: I’d star in one of his movies and he wouldn’t report me to the RA. The movie was called something corny, like The Smothering of Sam, or something like that. Anyway, it got all sorts of hits on Youtube back in the day, but all the comments were about this scene where me and this girl named Samantha were in bed together. No sex. Only suggested nudity. That’s it. But it was what everyone in the comments was talking about. Greg, ever the businessman, saw an opportunity to make more suggestive videos, and here we are today.”

  I wonder why Greg has never mentioned anything about his relationship with Jack before this. There’s the chance that it simply never came up, but I’m also of the idea that there’s something deeper there. I can’t imagine that Greg has always been happy being behind the camera. I would bet that his feeling like the sidekick is what led him to scouring cam sites and stumbling upon me that fateful night.

  “So he had his start in horror movies, huh?”

  I’ve been paying more attention to his story than to washing myself off. The truth is that I should be hurrying. I made a promise to myself that I would stop by the hospital after all this filming was done to try and patch things up with Brice. But the fact that I’ve finally finished filming this series of seemingly never-ending videos has left me feeling more relaxed than I ought to be. That’s probably what has me taking my time now, imagining that if I wait long enough, he’ll get out first and I can catch another glimpse of his full frontal.

  “All that to say,” Jack says, “that I know about your project. In fact, I’m glad I’ve got your attention, because I think you’re really onto something. And if this goes as well as I expect, I want this to be the first of many.”

  “More Choose Your Own Sex-venture series?”

  “Exactly. The first one starting off as a solo gig is a great way to dip our toes in the water, but imagine if we did something like this for every fetish out there. I know you prefer filming with your friend. What’s his name again? Brent?”