#camera shy

It’s not exactly unlike her to surprise him. She often plays with the unexpected to keep him on his toes and help him explore what’s possible. But this is new, she's never started without him before and it hits him hard, a visceral shock to his system. A dirty kind of thrill like discovering that your sexy roommate “forgot” to close her door before getting in bed with her vibrator. He's so overcome- lungs seized, heart pounding, cock painfully stiff- he doesn't even know what to do with himself. But the beauty of it is that he doesn't need to know. In the games he plays with Moxie, she's always in charge. So for now, until she tells him otherwise, he can just enjoy the gorgeously filthy sight before him and the wonderful freedom of waiting for instructions.

“Hey- baby-” she pants out on broken breath- “I- I-” her pants abruptly turn to gasps and he thinks for sure she’s going to come. But at the last second, she pulls herself back from the brink- “I’m- sorry. I just need- I’ll- just a minute, baby- just a-” 

This time there is no pulling back, her breath catches in her throat as she throws her head back and her whole body tenses. He barely notices that he’s leaning in close to the screen to watch her face as she falls apart, already palming his cock through his sweats. 

After a minute, the tension in her body snaps and her shoulders drop. Her thighs fall open and from this angle, with the way she kneels facing him, he catches a glimpse of her glistening cunt. A quiet whimper breaks from the back of his throat.

Moxie rasps harshly for a long minute before trying to speak again. 

“Sorry, baby,” she says between breaths, “I was just so wound up getting ready for you. I needed to come. I-” abruptly the hand gripping the wand- which fell loosely on her upper thigh- tightens and she clamps her legs around the toy once more- “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just- need another. I promise baby, I promise I’ll- we’ll- oh god!” 

This time as she comes, she shouts, hoarse and overwrought, writhing as her hips rock into the toy of their own volition. The front of Cleansheet’s pants are wet with precum and his teeth grind as his hips buck up into his palm.

When she finds her voice, she apologizes again. But before she can get any farther, a wave of impulse too strong to deny overtakes her and she’s fucking herself against the wand once more. 

This happens twice more and each time she says she’s sorry, so sweetly too, but he knows that's just part of the game. Especially when she gives him a mischievous, knowing wink before going right back to what she was doing. 

MoxieMinx didn't need to ask him if this is the kind of game he would enjoy, she already knew. Roughly two months of weekly private sessions, and she understands him better than some of his long term girlfriends did. Which, he knows he’s at least partially to blame for. He’s never really told anyone what he wanted before. 

Why is it that taking the lead in bed when a woman wanted him to never scared him, but even the thought of admitting that he wants to be told what to do terrifies him? 

He knows what his therapist would say if he ever got the nerve up to tell him about it, that he's too comfortable putting other people’s needs first. And asking for what he wants is something he’s never had much practice with. 

Even in his first private session, after he finally decided to pull the trigger and request one, he struggled to tell Moxie what he wanted. At first, he chickened out and just asked her to “do what you normally do”. Right away, he had the strange feeling that she could see right through him. But she didn’t call him out on it, she just told him that there is no “normally” when it comes to private sessions because they’re all about the individual. She suggested that if he wasn’t sure, he could look over her menu of options and see if anything stood out. Still, even with “soft dom” right there in black and white”, he couldn’t say it. Sensing his uncertainty, she took pity on him. She told him that he didn’t need to decide at that moment, instead, she sent him a checklist to look at in his own time and send back to her. She then suggested a little “choose your own adventure” for that first time. They could get started, she said, and every once in a while, she would pause and give him two choices for how to proceed. He easily agreed and barely even noticed that she must have picked up on what he couldn’t say, because at some point, the options stopped being questions and turned into directives. He came harder that first session than he ever had before and he knew he was hooked. 

They’ve come a long way since then. They both know the way he likes to play now, which means Cleansheet absolutely should not be touching himself right now without her permission. But in this exact moment in time, watching Moxie come undo for him alone, he can’t stop himself from helplessly grinding his cock against his palm through his pants. 

Finally, on the tail end of a shockwave that had her keening, she relents. When she finally lets the tension go from her body, she drops the wand on the bed beside her and makes no move to pick it up. For several heartbeats, he watches in fascination the way her chest heaves and her belly hollows as her lungs and heart fight their way back to normal. 

Eventually, she turns her attention back to him. When she sees that he's touching himself, she frowns.

She looks wounded as she says, “Baby, you’re not jerking off, are you? You wouldn’t get off without me, would you?” she asks, wide-eyed and artless, as if she hadn't been doing exactly that herself. 

Still, he’s quick to pull his hands back, knowing that her supposed guilelessness could easily turn into a rebuke if he's not careful. 

“I'm very sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to. It’s just that- you’re just so beautiful. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Thank you.” She smiles sweetly before turning stern. “But that sounds like you making an excuse for yourself.” Her brow is raised pointedly.

“You're right, miss,” he replies quickly, eager to defer, “I broke a rule and have no one to blame but myself. I apologize and hope you can forgive me.”

Moxie hums, her expression unreadable and he holds his breath. A heartbeat passes before she finally smiles. 

“I accept your apology. But I will need to see better control from you in the future. I really don’t want to have to discipline you to teach you a lesson.” 

Ha, yes, she does, he thinks. And really, that’s fine with him. Because as much as he knows that she likes edging him into near insanity, she knows that he likes having the bounds of his stamina and restraint tested before being told when to come.

“Yes, miss. It won’t happen again, I promise.” 

“Good. Now-” she straightens and lifts her chin. Her chest glistens with sweat and his cock jumps eagerly at the sight of her peaked nipples. “I promised I wouldn’t make you wait much longer-” four orgasms ago, he thinks, snorting internally at her innocent act that they both know is fake- “and I really, really do want you to come. Last time,” her thighs flex seemingly of their own accord and her voice suddenly turns breathy, “you made such a mess, I get wet just thinking about it. I want you to do it again. I want you to make a mess of me too.”

Her hands slide over her belly and breasts. His cock leaks more precum into his already ruined shorts. 

He nods eagerly before remembering that she probably can't see given the position of the camera. 

“Yes, miss. I- I would love that.” 

She smiles.

“You just have to do exactly what I tell you. Think you can do that, baby?” 

Throat too tight to speak, he nods. When she raises a brow, he pushes out on a squeak, “Yes, miss.”

“Good, now get those fucking shorts off, I need to see my cock.”

Complying immediately, he stands and shucks them off before sitting back in his chair. Sometimes he lays on the bed, but he likes the chair for this, it’s easier to see her this way and something about gripping the arms when she tells him to feels a bit like being tied up. 

“Oh, baby,” she says appreciatively, “so fucking gorgeous. Do you know how beautiful it is?” As she asks, the deliberately artful tone of her voice slips away, replaced by a sincerity that makes his heart thump. “I dream about it, about it buried deep inside of me.” 

Cleansheet blushes and the appendage in question jumps like it can hear her. She notices. 

“I think he dreams about me too,” she says with a bounce of her eyebrows. “Don’t worry, I plan to give my cock lots of attention.” 

Shit, he loves it when she calls it “my” cock. 

“But first,” she goes on and his nerves start to tingle with an intoxicating mix of trepidation and excitement, “we have to give the rest of that beautiful body some attention too.” 

What comes next, Cleansheet can only describe as a deliciously torturous dance. 

He’s already on edge, but she draws it out, building the anticipation even higher. She teases him by making him tease himself. At her direction, his hands move lightly across his chest and stomach, past his hips and down his thighs. She focuses on the places she’s learned that he likes to be touched and makes him explore new ones. His touch turns firmer and more focused when she says so. He massages and scrapes and pinches himself at her command. He whines and moans and pants. Every nerve in his body comes alive. 

When she finally gives him permission to touch his cock, she forces him to go slow, making him explore himself like it’s the first time, tentative and curious, with light fingers and delicate strokes. 

“Start at the head, just use your finger tips. Rub your thumb lightly over the slit, feel how wet you're getting. Don't let it drip, collect it with your fingers, that's it.” 

The coil in his belly gets tighter and his balls ache but he forces himself to breath through it, making the urgent tension ease back just a hair. 

“Now, run your finger tips around the ridge where your head meets the shift. Feel the way your foreskin is stretched so fucking tight because my cock is so desperate to be seen.”

Following every word like it's gospel, he leans his head back and closes his eyes. He likes to watch her, especially in times like this when she licks her lips and tenses her thighs and stomach like she doesn't know she's doing it. But he wants his fingers to be her fingers and in his head he can make them exactly that. 

“Slide your fingers down your length, find the veins and trace each one. Lightly like the tip of my tongue.”

His hips jerk reflexively and he has to fight to keep them still. Blood rushes in his ears,  thunderously loud, but he can still hear her. 

“Yes, you like that don't you? Thinking about my tongue? I like it too. Useyour nails- carefully- and think of my teeth just grazing you as I kiss and lick my cock.”

Cleansheet whimpers.

“Keep one hand like it is and touch your balls with the other.” His legs widen as he follows her command and she groans. “Gorgeous. Fingertips only, baby, and nails. Feel my teeth there too, testing how sensitive you are, letting the weight press down against my lips. Squeeze them now, not too hard. I'd suck on them first, before taking my cock down all the way down my throat.” 

Everything inside of him tightens painfully and his breath turns ragged. He's afraid he can't hold his orgasm back anymore, he's so close to snapping. 

“Oh baby, hold on, hold on,” she says, “I know it's so hard. Take a deep breath, it'll be worth it I promise.”

Opening his eyes, he fights against his body, trying to force it to obey him. He takes a deep breath and she praises him, then encourages him to take another. The pressure starts to recede, but it takes two more deep breaths before he feels safe. 

“That was amazing, baby,” Moxie praises. “You're doing so good. Not much longer, okay? My cock just takes so much abuse,” she teases, “I want to make sure it feels appreciated.”

He huffs a laugh. 

“Yes, miss. It does, miss. Always with you.”

She hums appreciatively. 

“Good, my pussy appreciates you both.”

He breathes out a rough breath at the thought. She bites her lip, clearly pleased. 

Even as caught up as he is in his own body, he doesn't fail to notice the way that she reacts. He sees the little telltale twitches and flexes that give away her own growing excitement as she takes him further and further. As she's been talking, her hand has slipped between her thighs. She doesn't comment on it as she sometimes does and she keeps her legs closed, pressed close together for friction rather than wide open so that he can see. It's not an act of performance but of pleasure, and he loves it all the more for it. 

MoxieMinx isn’t the first camgirl Cleansheet's ever visited, but she is the only one he’s ever wanted to keep coming back to. Four months since he discovered her and he likes her just as much now as he did when he first became a viewer, if not more. There’s something special about her. 

Yes, she is gorgeous and sexy as hell, with a kind of imperfection that’s human and inviting and so fucking hot. But it’s more than that. Shit, in her free chats- where he first found her- she doesn’t even take her clothes off. Things can get a bit risque- her tops are often sheer and her shorts tiny- but things rarely ever venture beyond P-13. She does talk about sex, but she also talks about movies and music, articles and books, food and funny news stories. The best thing about her chats isn’t that they’re sexy, it’s that they're fun and an escape from the pressures and insecurities of the real world. Sex is only part of it, it's connection that keeps everyone coming back. 

“Let's show my cock just how much we adore it, hmm?” 

He nods and whines weakly in agreement. 

“Wrap your fingers around it, slowly one at a time, make sure you feel each one.” 

She shakes her head and her teeth prick into her bottom lip. 

“So fucking gorgeous with my cock in your hand,” she says, her voice full of a kind of reverence that makes his cheeks heat with more than just arousal. 

“It’s time now baby, stroke yourself. Slowly, keep your strokes long baby, give every inch the worship it deserves.” He does as she says and watches as her hips start to rock. “That’s it, baby, just like that, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.” 

She devours him with her gaze as the tension in her own body starts to peak. 

“Faster now, just like that, yes. Keep going, keeping going,” she pants out, rolling her hips faster and faster. “Fuck, baby we’re almost there. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” 

His hand speeds up, unconsciously synced with her movements. He’s dizzy and breathless and everything inside of him is tight, begging for release. He’s so close, he wants to let go, he just wants her to come with him. 

“Please, miss, please,” he begs breathlessly. “Together, please, together.” 

“Yes, baby, I’m with you, I’m right-” her breath catches- “now, now, now, I’m-” 

His ears fill with static as his orgasm hits him with all the force of a punch in the gut. Come spurts from his head at the exact moment that her body seizes and she lets out a throaty keen. Ropes of his seed spurt everywhere and just as she told him, he imagines it landing her, on her breasts and stomach and thighs, a primitive instinct to “claim”. 

Waves of pleasure white out Cleansheet’s vision at the edges. He rides out his orgasm half-blind before slumping loosely back into his chair. 

He’s not sure how long he sits there dazed before he comes back to himself. When he does, he blinks at the screen. Moxie’s ragged breaths sound loud in his speakers and she’s trembling. Her head hangs forward as she holds herself upright with fisted hands pressed to her thighs. She lets out a quiet dazed “fuck” like she was just as surprised by the intensity of it all as he was. 

Something deep in his chest squeezes tight.

When she eventually looks up at him, something bright and eager shines in her eyes. She smiles a crooked smile and when she laughs, it’s a joyful, awed sound. 

“You know,” she says, her voice teasing but missing the deliberate coquettishness of before, “I think we’re getting pretty good at that.”

He barks a laugh. That’s an understatement if he ever heard one.

“Yeah, although I don’t think I can take any credit for that, it all goes to you.” 

“Thank you, but… it really doesn’t, you have to take at least some of it too.” 

He wants to argue, brushing off her compliment, but before he can, she goes on. 

“I mean, I am good,” she says with a cheeky smile, “but that- it-” she pauses, as if she can’t find the word she wants. He holds his breath, but doesn’t know why- “it’s not always like that.” 

Cleansheet’s heart thumps hard and the hairs on his neck lift. But then Moxie’s smile flatters for a second, like she just processed her own words. Before he can react, her full smile is back and brighter than ever. 

“So, um, that’s our time,” she says, her voice friendly but professional. “See you next time?”

He wishes he could ask her about what just happened, but he knows he can’t.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t miss it.” 

“Great, until then,” she blows him a kiss, then leans forward and ends the connection.

He stares at the “session ended by host” screen for too long. 

“Moxie” is a fantasy. A very convincing, very beautiful, very indulgent fantasy. But she isn’t real. Cleansheet knows it. All of her clients know it. It’s part of the social contract they’ve all willingly agreed to. Moxie happily plays her part and lets people live out their filthy fantasies for a little while, as long as everyone remembers where the line is drawn. That the very real person behind Moxie is not theirs for the having. She’s not the one on their screens every week. 

But just now, just for the barest of moments, Cleansheet thinks that maybe he saw her. Like maybe what she said was real and not part of the game they were playing. And suddenly he knows that he’s in trouble. Because whether that’s what happened or he just imagined it, he realizes how desperately he wants it to be true. And wishing for something like that is very, very dangerous. 

Part Three

Series Masterlist