Audio Link ~6:45
1) If they tipped me, I would bare anything they desired. I jumped and wiggled and smiled, thank you! I pulled my black tank top over my head, showing the red lace bra underneath.
“Wow,” they said, “how big are those?”
2) I hadn’t washed, but I hadn’t worked for days either. It was so hard to get back into it, into the habit of coming online. But I knew I would be broke soon, and it takes so long for the money to get to me … 2 weeks, maybe 4. I’d been using my period as an excuse not to, you can’t work when you’re bleeding. But the tail end is here, the month is coming to an end, and the pressure is on. With that, I set up the camera and tripod in the bathroom.
1) As I unbuckled my bra, the chat was silent in anticipation. I slid it off, and revealed my breasts, my boobs, that jiggled and wiggled as I fondled them. With a grin, I pushed them together to show off how plump and round they were, pinching and twisting my nipples. I raised one to my lips, flicked it with my tongue, and kissed before sucking them. The sensation traveled down my body and made my pussy wet.
2) I started taking off my clothes. I shut my eyes and rubbed my nipples. I tried not to look too sad or lost or like I had a very fat chin. I tried not to spend too much time in my head, so I could feel the sensation in my nipples as it tingled down and into my cunt. But it didn’t. It stopped in my gut like a lead weight.
1) More tips rolled in, and I revealed my body accordingly. I leaned back to removed my panties, and spread my thick thighs to reveal a delicate, curly blonde bush that I stroked and twirled between my fingers. I spread my lips — deep pink, plump folds – to reveal the little gem that was my clit. I touched it lightly, and held it between my index and middle fingers, wiggling and pressing on my pelvis, a gentle pleasure that would make me bite my lip and sigh as I stared into the camera — at them
“Ohhh my,” they said, “beautiful goddess.”
2) I readjusted the camera, trying to find a suitable angle for the movement I was about make. There was no way of knowing. I lowered myself into the bathtub, a disgusting yellow green that never looks quite clean enough. I thought of my fleshy rolls and the folds of my body. How my pink skin must look against mustard in the bathroom with dark brown walls and ceiling, like taking a shit in a cave made of packed dirt.
“I would love to know what dirty thoughts she’s thinking,” they said.
1) One finger, then two, slipped inside. Palm pressed against my clit. Hooked fingers pushing against the wall of my pussy, within soft, velvety folds. The pressure was like a pleasure jolt, a wave that grew in intensity as I pressed with more frequency. I could feel goose bumps on my cheeks as my pussy tightened around my fingers.
“Does it turn you on to know so many of us are watching you?” they asked.
I imagined what it would feel like for them, their own fingers, thicker and less delicate than mine, if they were in place of my own hand. How eager they would be to rub their cocks along my slit until I begged to feel them inside.
2) A pang of guilt or shame or disbelief at the disconnect between their fantasy and my reality rang deep in my gut. Like there was something wrong with me for not thinking of the men and the cocks and how my pussy felt clenching around my fingers, and the 200 men that were watching with their dicks in hands as I hated myself in the bath tub.
1) My toy of choice was a pink glass dildo. It was hard and smooth, with gentle curves that hit just the right spots, no matter the angle. I took it deep, slowly, feeling every inch of the cool glass as it moved inside me. I slid it out, paused, felt the sensation of the warm walls coming together again. I resisted the temptation to fuck myself hard and fast, intentionally denying my pleasure, my orgasm, so I could feel each individual stroke, savoring it.
2) During my period, I prefer being fucked hard. The sensation is too high or too low in the rest of my body. Frustrated with my uncooperative clit, I reached for my glass dildo.
I was dehydrated, but I was dying to squirt. There is something so satisfying about liquid confirmation shooting from your cunt. Rubbing your clit until it hurts. Pounding harder, deeper, hitting that magic spot near your cervix so it makes liquid build up in that magic pouch that may or may not be your bladder.
1) Unable to resist any longer, I let out a desperate, pleading moan. I did want it, but I didn’t want it. I knew what came next. I rubbed my clit faster, and ohh… liquid gushed out of my pussy, puddling underneath me, landing on my thighs, my calves, my feet. By some miracle of physics, drops landed on my chest, and my lips. My free hand moved down my thigh and clutched the flesh, trying in vain to find something would contain my pleasure. Sensations in the form of colours, deep oranges, bright yellows, vibrant pinks, exploded from deep inside me, spreading in unpredictable patterns to the rest of my body.
2) When you’re dehydrated, there is no liquid to build it. Later, when they asked, I told them, “of course I squirted, I always squirt!”. To them, my frustration looked like an orgasm. I could have cried.
1) When the pleasure subsided, I brought my fingers to my lips, spreading them to see how my juices suspended between them. I couldn’t resist my own sweet taste, licking each individual finger, making sure I got every last morsel.
2) I breathed deep. I idly licked my fingers. The liquid was bitter, yellow. It rang on the tip of my tongue, and in the back of my mouth between my molars. It was thin on the roof of my mouth, and vaguely metallic on my lips.
“Mmm I wish I knew how sweet that tasted,” they said.
It tasted exactly like diluted urine.
“You have the most perfect body on this site,” they said.
“Do you sell your panties?”
* almost a perfect length, but should probably be shorter, more room for pauses.
1) If they tipped me, I would bare anything they desired. I jumped and wiggled and smiled, thank you! I pulled my black tank top over my head, showing the red lace bra underneath.
“Wow,” they said, “how big are those?”
2) I hadn’t washed, but I hadn’t worked for days either. It was so hard to get back into it, into the habit of coming online. But I knew I would be broke soon, and it takes so long for the money to get to me … 2 weeks, maybe 4. I’d been using my period as an excuse not to, you can’t work when you’re bleeding. But the tail end is here, the month is coming to an end, and the pressure is on. With that, I set up the camera and tripod in the bathroom.
1) As I unbuckled my bra, the chat was silent in anticipation. I slid it off, and revealed my breasts, my boobs, that jiggled and wiggled as I fondled them. With a grin, I pushed them together to show off how plump and round they were, pinching and twisting my nipples. I raised one to my lips, flicked it with my tongue, and kissed before sucking them. The sensation traveled down my body and made my pussy wet.
2) I started taking off my clothes. I shut my eyes and rubbed my nipples. I tried not to look too sad or lost or like I had a very fat chin. I tried not to spend too much time in my head, so I could feel the sensation in my nipples as it tingled down and into my cunt. But it didn’t. It stopped in my gut like a lead weight.
1) More tips rolled in, and I revealed my body accordingly. I leaned back to removed my panties, and spread my thick thighs to reveal a delicate, curly blonde bush that I stroked and twirled between my fingers. I spread my lips — deep pink, plump folds – to reveal the little gem that was my clit. I touched it lightly, and held it between my index and middle fingers, wiggling and pressing on my pelvis, a gentle pleasure that would make me bite my lip and sigh as I stared into the camera — at them
“Ohhh my,” they said, “beautiful goddess.”
2) I readjusted the camera, trying to find a suitable angle for the movement I was about make. There was no way of knowing. I lowered myself into the bathtub, a disgusting yellow green that never looks quite clean enough. I thought of my fleshy rolls and the folds of my body. How my pink skin must look against mustard in the bathroom with dark brown walls and ceiling, like taking a shit in a cave made of packed dirt.
“I would love to know what dirty thoughts she’s thinking,” they said.
1) One finger, then two, slipped inside. Palm pressed against my clit. Hooked fingers pushing against the wall of my pussy, within soft, velvety folds. The pressure was like a pleasure jolt, a wave that grew in intensity as I pressed with more frequency. I could feel goose bumps on my cheeks as my pussy tightened around my fingers.
“Does it turn you on to know so many of us are watching you?” they asked.
I imagined what it would feel like for them, their own fingers, thicker and less delicate than mine, if they were in place of my own hand. How eager they would be to rub their cocks along my slit until I begged to feel them inside.
2) A pang of guilt or shame or disbelief at the disconnect between their fantasy and my reality rang deep in my gut. Like there was something wrong with me for not thinking of the men and the cocks and how my pussy felt clenching around my fingers, and the 200 men that were watching with their dicks in hands as I hated myself in the bath tub.
1) My toy of choice was a pink glass dildo. It was hard and smooth, with gentle curves that hit just the right spots, no matter the angle. I took it deep, slowly, feeling every inch of the cool glass as it moved inside me. I slid it out, paused, felt the sensation of the warm walls coming together again. I resisted the temptation to fuck myself hard and fast, intentionally denying my pleasure, my orgasm, so I could feel each individual stroke, savoring it.
2) During my period, I prefer being fucked hard. The sensation is too high or too low in the rest of my body. Frustrated with my uncooperative clit, I reached for my glass dildo.
I was dehydrated, but I was dying to squirt. There is something so satisfying about liquid confirmation shooting from your cunt. Rubbing your clit until it hurts. Pounding harder, deeper, hitting that magic spot near your cervix so it makes liquid build up in that magic pouch that may or may not be your bladder.
1) Unable to resist any longer, I let out a desperate, pleading moan. I did want it, but I didn’t want it. I knew what came next. I rubbed my clit faster, and ohh… liquid gushed out of my pussy, puddling underneath me, landing on my thighs, my calves, my feet. By some miracle of physics, drops landed on my chest, and my lips. My free hand moved down my thigh and clutched the flesh, trying in vain to find something would contain my pleasure. Sensations in the form of colours, deep oranges, bright yellows, vibrant pinks, exploded from deep inside me, spreading in unpredictable patterns to the rest of my body.
2) When you’re dehydrated, there is no liquid to build it. Later, when they asked, I told them, “of course I squirted, I always squirt!”. To them, my frustration looked like an orgasm. I could have cried.
1) When the pleasure subsided, I brought my fingers to my lips, spreading them to see how my juices suspended between them. I couldn’t resist my own sweet taste, licking each individual finger, making sure I got every last morsel.
2) I breathed deep. I idly licked my fingers. The liquid was bitter, yellow. It rang on the tip of my tongue, and in the back of my mouth between my molars. It was thin on the roof of my mouth, and vaguely metallic on my lips.
“Mmm I wish I knew how sweet that tasted,” they said.
It tasted exactly like diluted urine.
“You have the most perfect body on this site,” they said.
“Do you sell your panties?”
* almost a perfect length, but should probably be shorter, more room for pauses.
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