#ishowspeed smut

pairing: ishowspeed x reader(afab) genre: smut, NSFW warnings: livestreamed sex, heavy cnc, audience control/paid requests, public humiliation, verbal degradation, extreme overstimulation, orgasm control/denial, tears, bondage (cuffs to headboard), multiple penetration, internal vibrators, piv, anal, heavy clit stimulation, impact play (spanking, slapping), rough sex (obvi), mouth gagging. please let me know if i missed any warnings!

The chat log scrolls faster than your eyes can track, a ceaseless waterfall of text. You’re on your knees on the bed, the duvet bunched beneath your shins, and the camera’s red eye stares from its tripod like a patient predator. Your wrists are already tender from the padded cuffs Speed fastened ten minutes ago, attaching them to the headboard with a theatrical flourish that had chat spamming laughing-crying emojis.

“Yo, chat, slow the fuck down,” Speed says, leaning toward the monitor set up on his desk. His face tilts, eyes scanning the chat with precision. “I can’t read that shit when it’s moving like that. One at a time, bruh.”

He’s shirtless, gray sweatpants slung low, showing the prominent V-line.

The overlay on the stream displays the donation ticker climbing. $50. $75. $120. A hornet’s nest of arousal and money and ten thousand strangers watching you breathe.

Your typical Tuesday.

A donation pops up with a text-to-speech ping that cuts through the room: Speed, slap her ass and call her a good little slut.

Speed grins, that wide, slightly chaotic grin you know from every thumbnail. “Bro! Y’all are wild tonight.” He turns to you, one eyebrow arching. “Chat says you’ve been too quiet. You okay with this?”

You nod, the word catching in your throat.

“Say it. They need to hear you.”

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Louder.”

“Yes, Speed. I’m okay.”

His hand comes down on your right cheek before you’ve finished exhaling. The pain is sharp and immediate, the sting blooming a half-second later like a struck match dragged across skin. Your hips jerk forward involuntarily.

The chat explodes.

“Ooh, she felt that one!” Speed’s voice pitches higher, cracking into laughter. “Damn, girl, you jumped. Look at that red mark already.”

He angles the handheld camera closer, and you know your ass is filling the frame, the handprint rising pink against the paler skin. The feeeling of humiliation sends a hot wave pooling low in your stomach.

“Speed, dude, read my donation,” he is already back to the monitor, muttering and mimicking the chat’s tone as he reads another TTS. “‘Put the egg vibrator in her pussy and then her ass.’ Bro, which one first? Y’all gotta specify.”

The chat devolves into a war. PUSSY FIRST scrolls alongside ASSHOLE CREW and strings of skull emojis. Speed holds the vibrating egg up to the camera, a small pink silicone teardrop connected to a remote control on his phone.

“Pussy is winning,” he announces after a moment. “Democracy rules, baby.”

Your thighs are already slick. He doesn’t prep you — never does, not when chat’s impatient.

He hitches your hips up slightly, spreading your legs with a firm hand on your inner thigh to expose you. The egg’s tip presses against you, cool and smooth, and then it’s inside with a single push that makes your breath stutter. Your inner walls clench around the intrusion, and Speed doesn’t wait for you to adjust. He taps his phone screen, unlocking the app control, and the remote clicks on.

A low, steady buzz.

Your head drops forward, chin nearly touching your chest. The vibration is a deep hum that seems to settle deep in your lower abdomen, making your hips twitch involuntarily. Clearly not enough to come — Speed’s too smart for that — but enough to make everything feel swollen and urgent.

“Look at her,” he says, tilting his head. “She’s already losing it. Chat, what level we on?”

A flurry of numbers. Seven. Eight. Ten.

“Level ten? Chat, that’s crazy.”

But he’s already tapping the screen, holding his phone up to show chat. The egg’s hum escalates to an insistent, thrumming whine inside you. Your thighs snap together, but his hand wedges between them, prying you open again. The sound that leaves your throat is not quite a moan — thinner, needier, something you’d be embarrassed about if your brain had room for anything beyond the vibration.

“Uh-oh, listen closely chat!” Speed tells the camera. “Y’all hear it?”

A donation pings: $50 GAG HER WITH YOUR BOXERS.

Speed cackles. “You hear that? They want me to gag you with my boxers.”

Even though he’s pretending to ask, you can hear in his voice that he’s already decided. He takes off his sweatpants, tugging the black boxers down. “Open up.”

You do. The fabric tastes faintly of salt and him, and he pushes it past your teeth until it fills your mouth, muffling the next vibration-induced whimper that tears from your throat. Spit gathers at the corners of your lips.

“That’s hot,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before catching the camera again. “Okay, ass egg now? Chat, vote. Ass egg yes or ass egg no?”

The yeses cascade.

He retrieves a second egg from the box, this one slightly smaller, already slicked with lube. The first one is still buzzing inside your cunt, a relentless rhythm that has your arms trembling against the cuffs. When his finger circles your ass, the dual sensation makes your vision double momentarily — you blink hard, the room swimming back into focus.

“Breathe,” he says, quietly. Then, louder: “Chat wants it. C’mon.”

The second egg slides in with a pressure that borders on pain before tipping over into something else entirely. Something that makes your toes curl and your bound hands clench into fists. You’re full now, doubly so, and when he clicks the second remote both eggs hum at different frequencies — a dissonant and maddening feeling that has you bucking against nothing.

“She’s losing it!” Speed yells, activating his manic laughing. “Bro, she’s losing it!”

Your eyes water. The vibration is a storm with no eye, no calm center. You can’t think anymore, can’t form words around the gag. All you can do is kneel there, thighs trembling, a slick mess running down your inner legs, while thousands of strangers watch you come apart.

A donation dings: $100 ASK HER WHO SHE BELONGS TO.

Speed grabs your chin, tilting your face toward the camera. Even through the blur of overstimulation, you see the intensity in his eyes — part performance, part something fiercer. “You heard it. Who do you belong to?”

He pulls the boxers from your mouth.

You gasp, sucking air. “You.”

“Louder, so the whole chat hears.”

“You, Speed. I belong to you.”

The eggs shift inside you with every word. Your voice breaks on his name.

A new donation, the highest yet: $200 FUCK HER ASS WHILE BOTH EGGS ARE IN. DON'T LET HER CUM UNTIL YOU SAY SO.

Speed reads it aloud, and his smile changes, transforms into something sharper at the edges.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, chat. You want a show?”

He reaches for the lube, and his hand wraps around the back of your neck.

The lube clicks open. Cool gel slicks between his fingers, and then his hand is gone from your neck, leaving your skin tingling where the pressure used to be. You sway forward, caught by the cuffs, the duvet a wrinkled mess beneath your knees. The eggs hum their mismatched song — one a deep thrum in your cunt, the other a sharper buzz in your ass — and your thighs are so wet now that the slick trails down to your kneecaps.

Speed's palm lands on your hip, steadying you. “Chat, watch this! Watch her try to stay still.”

The head of his cock presses against your ass. Just the tip for a few seconds.

You squeeze helplessly around the intrusion, and the eggs shift inside you, the vibrations suddenly angled against new nerve endings you didn't know you had. A muffled sound escapes you: half-whimper, half-sob.

“Ooh!”Speed's voice goes up an octave. “She is vocal again! Chat, did you hear that?”

He doesn't push in yet, just holding there. The head of him stretching you the barest fraction, and the chat scroll becomes a blur of capital letters and fire emojis.

A donation dings: $25 DON'T LET HER CUM YET LMAO.

“Bro, I wasn't gonna,” Speed says like he is genuinely offended. “Y'all think I don't know how to run a stream? This is art.”

He withdraws. The absence is almost worse than the fullness. Your hips twitch, squeezing helplessly around nothing while the constant, mismatched frequency inside you drags out the ache.

Staying calm is getting harder by the second, and you know that if you show just how unbearable this agonizingly slow pace is, the chat will get even more hyped and start spamming donations just to drag it out as long as possible. Your arms tremble. You exhale through your nose and the cuffs creak. While you try to compose yourself, getting used to the constant dual vibrations, Speed’s voice carries from the desk as he bickers back and forth with the chat.

A minute later, he finally dismisses the stream with a loud laugh. The bed dips under his weight as he crawls back between your knees, his warm hands gripping your hips to hold you still.

“Bunch of kids, man…” he mumbles to himself.

Finally, he's at your entrance again, and this time he slides in with one long, excruciatingly slow thrust.

Your vision whites out for a second. The double vibration, the stretch of him filling your ass while both eggs hum — it's too much and not enough, a plateau of sensation that has no peak, no release. Just endless, maddening pressure.

You’ve learned the pattern by now: whenever chat manages to ragebait him or push his buttons, he loses whatever tiny bit of patience he had left. The subtle shift is immediate: his grip on your hips tightens past the point of comfort, his rhythm growing far less careful, driven by that leftover spike of irritated adrenaline.

“There it is,” Speed murmurs, his voice dropping and finally losing some of its chaotic energy. This is the voice he uses when his own needs override the performance. “There it is, baby. Take it.”

He moves. Not fast, not yet, but each stroke is deliberate, pulling nearly all the way out before sinking back in, and you can feel everything: every ridge of him, every pulse of the eggs.

Your clit is absolutely throbbing, left out and ignored — an ache that is constantly there and can’t be relieved because your hands are still tied and chat is still obsessed with multiple penetration.

When you try to shift your hips to find friction against the duvet, his hand clamps down.

“Nuh-uh. Chat said no cumming.”He removes the gag from your mouth, knowing damn well you’re going to argue.

“I wasn't-“

“You were trying. She was trying, chat! She thinks I didn't see that!”

The humiliation blooms hot and red across your chest. It’s an embarrassing, intoxicating mix: the constant state of exposure, the way your body betrays you in front of thousands, being handled like a toy for their entertainment, while your brain scrambles just to keep up with the sensory overload.

The camera's red eye doesn't blink.

A new donation: $75 FUCK HER PUSSY NOW. KEEP THE EGGS IN.

Speed repeats the donation aloud as soon as the TTS reads it, drawing out the words for the camera. “Ooh, chat wants a rotation. Y'all are nasty tonight.” He pulls out of your ass. “Hold on. Let me- yeah, okay.”

He unclips the cuffs from the headboard but leaves them on your wrists. “Turn over, baby. On your back.”

Your limbs are slow to obey, muscles quivering from being in one position for too long.

When you're on your back, he hooks the cuffs to the headboard again. The stretch is different now — your shoulders ache, your breasts are exposed to the cool air, and when you look up, Speed is staring down at you with an expression that makes your stomach flip.

“Legs up,”he says. “Hold them. Show chat what we're working with.”

You obey and pull your thighs toward your chest.

The position is obscene. The wires from the eggs trail out of you like thin pink tails, your cunt is swollen and glistening, and the vibration is visible in the faint tremor of your pussy lips.

Speed lets out a low breath. “Damn.” He turns straight to the webcam, gesturing down at you. “Y'all seeing this? Look at that!”

You can only imagine how the chat is losing its mind right now. They always go wild whenever you have multiple things stuffed inside you.

He lines himself up and slides into your pussy in one smooth push. Immediately, the egg in your pussy shifts deeper, pressing against your cervix while he fills the remaining space. The sensation is… there's no word for it. Too full. Stretched past capacity. The vibration is everywhere now, conducted through his cock, and he groans, a sound that makes your clit throb in sympathy.

“Shit,” he manages. “Shit, that's- chat, I'm not gonna last if-“

A donation interrupts him: $50 EDGE HER WITH THE WAND. VOTE NOW.

The chat erupts. WAND CREW scrolls alongside NO WAND LET HER SUFFER and a cascade of eggplant emojis. Speed glances at the monitor, still buried inside you, and grins.

“Wand's winning,” he announces. “Lemme grab it.”

He doesn't pull out. Just stretches toward the box that is toppled on its side on the bed, his cock shifting inside you with the movement, and your hips buck involuntarily. The eggs hum louder — or maybe you're just more sensitive now, every nerve of yours is screaming.

The wand is large and white, its head the size of a tennis ball. Speed flicks the switch, and the buzz is audible even before it touches you. The rumble makes the egg vibrations seem polite by comparison.

“Ready?” He doesn't wait for an answer.

The wand presses against your clit.

“Agh!” You can’t help but moan.

Your back arches off the bed, the cuffs yank taut. A moan turns into scream and tears from your throat, and Speed has to lean his weight into you to keep you from bucking him off. The vibration is a freight train, a seismic event, a thing that erases thought and language and leaves only the animal fact of sensation.

“That's it,” Speed says, and his voice comes from very far away. “That's it, take it, don't you fucking cum.”

He's fucking you now, matching the wand's rhythm. Inside you, the double eggs buzz like trapped wasps, driving the pressure higher and higher until your thighs start to shake. Your toes curl into the sheets, every nerve ending pulled taut as you edge right on the brink of completely breaking apart.

And then- It’s gone.

Speed pulls the wand away.

You can’t help but sob. Actually sob, tears streaking hot down your temples. The absence feels like a physical pain with your clit still pulsing. The ghost of the vibration is still there, and the eggs keep humming inside you, but the pleasure is not the same.

“Chat.” Speed stares directly into the camera with wide eyes like he just invented fire. “She almost came. Did you see that? She was right there.”

A donation dings: $100 DO IT AGAIN. EDGE HER THREE TIMES.

“THREE?” Speed's voice cracks. “Y'all trying to kill her? Okay. Okay, fine. Three edges. Chat mods, count them.”

The wand returns.

This time, you're already sensitized past the point of sanity. The first touch sends electricity jolting up your spine, and Speed's cock is still moving inside you, and the eggs are still buzzing, and you're going to die here, you're going to come apart at the seams while ten thousand strangers watch.

“First edge,” Speed announces, pulling the wand away just as your vision starts to tunnel. “Mark it down.”

Air rasps in your throat as you try to catch your breath, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.

“Second one coming up. Breathe for me, baby.”

The wand returns, and the sensation is instantaneous. The dual buzz of the eggs, his cock stretching into you, the pressure snapping back with double the force.

The heat coils instantly in your gut, tighter and faster this time. You’re already so undone that it takes less than half a minute for the wave to start crashing over you again. Your hips strain upward, muscles locking as helpless whimper tears from your throat-

“Second edge,” Speed says, and the vibration vanishes.

Tears spill over your temples. You're crying openly now. From the thing beyond pain, beyond pleasure, a place where your body has stopped belonging to you and become a raw nerve suspended in buzzing, trembling purgatory.

“She's crying,” Speed tells the camera, and there's something almost reverent in his tone. “Chat, look. She's actually crying.”

A donation: $200 THIRD EDGE. MAKE HER BEG TO CUM.

Speed leans close to your ear, the wand hovering an inch from your clit. The heat of it radiates against your swollen flesh.

“You hear that? They want you to beg.”

A stubborn sliver of pride still flickers somewhere inside you, but it’s hopelessly drowned out by muscle memory. You’ve played this exact game in front of his lens a thousand times before. Your body already knows the script, and right now, the agonizing need feels a million times heavier than your dignity. You just want it to be over. You just want to cum. The words spill out of you before you can even filter them.

“Please.” Your voice is ragged, barely recognizable. “Please, Speed, I can't- I can't do another-“

“You can.”His lips brush your earlobe. “One more. One more and I'll let you fall apart.”

The wand touches down for the third time, and your body completely gives up the fight.

You shatter, your whole body seizes. The cuffs bite into your wrists, the duvet is somewhere beneath you but you can't feel it anymore, can only feel the industrial-grade roar against your clit and Speed's cock buried inside you and the two eggs still buzzing their dissonant duet. You're making a sound but you can't hear it — a sound coming right from your throat as a massive wave of orgasm violently rips through you. Your thighs lock around his hips, and every muscle in your stomach spasms against his cock.

Speed holds you down through the whole thing, riding out the aftershocks while the wand keeps buzzing ruthlessly against your overstimulated clit until you're literally weeping from the intensity.

“T-too much-“ you manage to gasp out.

“That’s what happenes when you cum before you’re allowed to, baby. You know the rules.” Speed’s voice sounds breathless as he looks at the monitor. He deliberately presses the vibrator a fraction harder for a split second, and your hips jerk violently off the bed.

“I’m sorry-“

“She’s sorry, chat! Do you hear that? Do we forgive her?” Speed shouts as he finally pulls the wand away.

You collapse back against the mattress, your vision is blurry. But there's no actual rest — the two eggs are still humming inside you, turning what should be a peaceful comedown into a continuous, agonizing thrum of hypersensitivity. Every tiny twitch of your inner walls feels amplified a hundred times over.

“Look at her, chat. She's completely fried. Look at her eyes. She's gone.”

You don't sob this time. You just lie there, chest heaving. Speed is still hard inside you, not moving, just watching your face. It’s an absolute miracle to you that he hasn't cum yet.

A donation dings. The text-to-speech voice is robotic and cheerful: $150 TAKE HER TO THE BALCONY.

Speed freezes, his eyes locking on the monitor as he thinks. “The balcony? Bro, we're on the third floor. People can see that shit from the street.”

At his words, your heart spikes all over again. The realization hits you — the risk of being out on a third-floor balcony with strangers below. Through the exhaustion and the raw throb between your legs, an absurd pulse of heat hits your stomach. Inside you, your pussy gives an involuntary, desperate clench around his cock at the mere thought of being seen.

Speed freezes. His grin flickers, eyes darting down to where you’re joined before snapping back to the camera. A slow, wicked smirk spreads across his face.

“Yo, chat! She just squeezed the shit out of me!” he laughs. “Y’all hear the donation and she literally clenching on my dick. She wants it. Look at her — she’s acting scared, but she’s lowkey turned on.”

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “You nasty, fr.”

The chat explodes. BALCONY CREW scrolls alongside DO IT PUSSY and strings of laughing emojis. Another donation pings: $50 BALCONY OR YOU'RE A COWARD.

Speed pulls out of you. The sudden emptiness is jarring, your pussy clenching around the egg that remains. He stands, wand in one hand, the other running through his hair.

“Y'all are trying to get me banned bro,” he says, but he's already looking toward the sliding glass door. “For real. This is how channels get deleted.”

A donation: $200 I'LL DONATE $500 MORE IF YOU BLINDFOLD HER AND TIE HER TO THE RAILING.

Speed reads it aloud.

“$500? Hold up. Let me do the math. That's- that's seven hundred total with the other ones. Chat, is this for real?”

The donations pile in. $50. $75. $100. All of them variations on the same demand: balcony, blindfold, now.

Speed stares at you, taking in the sight. You’re pinned on your back with your arms stretched overhead, the wires from both toys dangling in plain view. Tears track down your wet cheeks while your entire body twitches with a lingering ache.

“You hear this?” he asks, and his voice has dropped again, the real voice, the one beneath the performance. “They want me to take you outside.”

You manage a nod.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes.”It comes out as a croak. “Yes, Speed. I heard.”

He unclips you from the headboard. The cuffs stay on your wrists. He helps you sit up, and the change in position makes the eggs shift — a fresh wave of sensation that makes your eyelids flutter. Your legs don't want to hold your weight. Speed wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you upright.

“Alright, switch up,” he announces, grabbing the webcam tripod with his free hand as his streamer persona flips right back on. “Chat, we're going mobile. Y'all better appreciate this.”

part 2 is coming up soon!

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