I've been making noises I didn't even know were in my vocal repertoire for the past two hours. Moans, whimpers, gasps, sounds that would mortify me if I heard them played back. But Irina keeps pushing, keeps finding new ways to draw them out of me while the little red light on the camera blinks steadily, documenting my complete surrender.
"Look at how he trembles when I just barely touch him here," Irina purrs to her invisible audience, her accent thicker when she's performing. Her fingertips trail fire across my skin as she demonstrates, and right on cue, my body jerks like I've been electrocuted.
The chat must be eating this up because she smiles at whatever's scrolling by on her monitor. We're positioned so I can't see the screen, probably for the best. I don't need to know what strangers are saying about me while I'm spread out like this, completely at her mercy.
"They love your reactions, Matthew," she whispers against my ear, just low enough that the microphone won't pick it up.
My head falls back as she does something particularly wicked with her hips, and I let out a groan that sounds pornographic even to my own ears.
"Are you close, little one?" she asks loudly, putting on a show.
I nod frantically, beyond words at this point. My entire body is hypersensitive, every nerve ending raw and exposed. When she first told me we'd be going for multiple rounds on camera, I was cocky. Seven times a day in high school. But this is different, this is sustained, controlled, deliberate torture.
She's denied me release twice already, bringing me right to the edge before changing pace or position. The first time it happened, I almost cried. The second time, I actually begged. Now I'm buried face-first in her chest, inhaling her body like it's oxygen, trying desperately to hold on.
"I really can't hold it much longer," I whisper against her skin, my voice breaking with strain.
Her smile is radiant as she looks directly into the camera. "He says he can't hold back anymore," she announces to the chat, her voice carrying that theatrical quality she adopts for her audience. "Should we let him finish this time? Or make him wait again?"
My entire body tenses at the thought of another denial. I'm not sure I can survive it without actually breaking down.
"Look at all those tips coming in," she coos, glancing at the screen. "They're very generous today, Matthew. They love seeing you desperate."
She dips her head, capturing my mouth in a fierce kiss that leaves me breathless. Her teeth catch my bottom lip, nipping just hard enough to send sparks racing down my spine.
"Please," I gasp as she pulls away, my voice cracking with desperation. "You have to stop or I'll cum right now."
Her eyes gleam with wicked delight. She presses a single finger to my lips while looking directly into the camera, her smile predatory.
"Not yet, my sweet boy," she purrs, accent thick with arousal. "Don't you dare finish until I give permission."
She shifts her attention to the screen, reading something that makes her laugh. I'm dying beneath her, every muscle in my body trembling with the effort of holding back.
"What do you think, ladies?" she asks her audience, rolling her hips in a way that nearly destroys me. "Where should my new toy release? I see some very creative suggestions coming in."
I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to focus on anything but the exquisite sensation of her body against mine. The ceiling. The blinking red light of the camera. The dull hum of the basement's ventilation system. Anything.
"Oh my," Irina says, reading the screen with raised eyebrows. "It seems my stomach it is."
"What?" I barely get the word out before she's lifting herself off me, the sudden absence of her warmth making me whimper.
Before I can process what's happening, she's repositioning me, pushing me up until I'm kneeling over her prone form. Her hand wraps around my painfully hard cock, and she starts stroking with practiced precision.
"Show them how much you've been saving up," she commands, her eyes locked on mine as her fist works me mercilessly.
The sight of her beneath me, her perfect body stretched out like a canvas, combined with the relentless rhythm of her hand, is too much after hours of edging. The pressure that's been building explodes without warning.
"Fuck!" I cry out as my entire body convulses. I watch in helpless fascination as thick ropes of cum splash across her stomach, painting her pale skin in pulsing streams. The intensity has me shaking uncontrollably, my thighs quivering as she milks every last drop from me.
I'm gasping for air, panting embarrassingly hard while she continues to stroke, drawing out aftershocks that make me twitch and moan. My arms can barely support me as I hover above her, completely wrecked.
Irina smiles up at the camera, her free hand casually spreading my release across her skin in slow, circular motions. "Thank you for the five hundred dollar tip," she purrs, her accent thick with satisfaction. "You've made my poor boy here quiver so beautifully."
I'm still trying to catch my breath, my chest heaving as I watch her rub my cum into her stomach like expensive lotion. There's something both humiliating and intensely arousing about seeing her use me this way.
"Now," she asks, her eyes gleaming as she glances at the camera, "who's ready to watch him go for a second round?"
My eyes widen in disbelief. "Already?" I gasp, still trembling from the first orgasm.
"Shh," she interrupts, placing a finger against my lips. "Just look pretty for the camera."
She doesn't wait for my answer, just repositions herself against the pillows and pulls me toward her. In one fluid motion, she has me settled on her lap, my back against her chest, both of us facing the camera and laptop setup at the foot of the bed.
For the first time, I get a clear view of what her audience sees. The screen shows a split display, the live video feed of us on one side and a scrolling chat on the other. My face is front and center now, flushed and sweaty, looking absolutely wrecked.
I immediately avert my eyes, mortification washing over me like a wave. The chat is moving so fast I can barely read it, but I catch glimpses of usernames and dollar amounts that make my head spin.
"Don't be shy," Irina murmurs, her breath hot against my ear as her hand snakes around my waist. "They've already seen everything else."
Her fingers find me, somehow coaxing life back into my spent body. I'm amazed to feel myself responding, hardening in her grip despite the exhaustion.
"You're so good, baby," she whispers, her voice low enough that the microphone won't catch it. "I've never put on a show like this before."
"Thank you," I whisper back, uncertain what else to say.
She tightens her grip, stroking me with practiced precision. "No, baby. Thank you."
Her lips find my neck, pressing hot kisses along the sensitive skin there. Each touch is like lightning, and I can't help the embarrassing noise that escapes me, half moan, half whimper.
Instinctively, I try to duck my head, hiding my face from the camera's unblinking eye. But Irina's free hand immediately threads through my hair, gripping firmlynot enough to hurt, but with unmistakable authority.
She pulls my head back up, forcing me to face the camera directly. I can only imagine what I look like right now, hair disheveled, eyes glassy, lips swollen from her kisses.
"Look at the camera, baby," she commands, her voice carrying that performative edge again. "Show them what you can do."
The camera's red light blinks steadily, hypnotic in its rhythm. I feel caught in some strange limbo between humiliation and arousal, unable to look away now that she's directing me. Her hand works faster, and I watch my own expression change on the screen, fascination mingling with my embarrassment.
"That's it," she purrs, her accent thickening as she speaks directly to her audience. "See how responsive he is? Just a touch and he's ready again."
The chat explodes with messages, scrolling so fast they blur together in a stream of explicit demands and fantasies. I catch fragments as they fly by.
"God I want to break him in HALF"
"look at that face when she touches him!!"
"$50 to make him cry again"
"how much to rent him for a weekend???"
My cheeks burn with humiliation as I realize just how many women are watching me, commenting on my body, my reactions, my most intimate moments. There must be hundreds of them, all hungrily consuming the sight of me falling apart under Irina's skilled hands.
"They're going wild for you," Irina whispers in my ear, her voice laced with pride. "Look at all those tips pouring in."
I can't look away from the screen now. The chat has become a feeding frenzy.
"those lips were MADE for pussy"
"Tate would approve!!"
"I'd keep him under my desk all day"
"look at those puppy eyes omg"
Irina's lips brush against my ear, her warm breath sending a shiver down my spine. "You've been so good," she whispers, her voice husky with desire. "Far better than I hoped for."
My body tenses at her words, every nerve ending on fire from her relentless teasing.
"I'm going to let you cum again, okay?" she murmurs, her accent thickening with each word.
I nod frantically, beyond words at this point. My entire body is trembling with need.
"Whenever you're ready," she continues, her fingers tightening around me. "Just let it all out."
"Thank you," I gasp, the words barely audible as they escape my parched lips.
Her hand speeds up, finding a rhythm that has me arching against her. She starts whispering against my ear, a slow chant that builds with each stroke. The words blend together, but I catch the most important ones.
"Cum for me, Matthew," she commands, her voice a hypnotic purr.
I moan helplessly as her words speed up, matching the pace of her hand. The pressure builds impossibly fast, my second orgasm somehow more intense than the first. I can't hold back anymore.
With a strangled cry, I start releasing in thick pulses, painting the sheets in front of us. Each wave feels like it's tearing through my core, leaving me gasping and shuddering. One particularly powerful jet shoots farther than expected, landing directly on the camera lens with a wet splat.
Irina doesn't stop as she laughs, a genuine sound of delight. "Oh my," she says, her eyes dancing with amusement. "That was incredible."
Through my haze of pleasure, I notice the chat window exploding with messages and emojis. I don't bother to look this time, too exhausted to care what strangers think of my performance. Instead, I collapse back against Irina's body, surrendering to the weakness in my limbs.
Her arms wrap around me, holding me steady as I continue to tremble with aftershocks. There's something almost tender in the way she cradles me against her chest.
"Sorry to disappoint, ladies," she announces to the camera, "but that's all for today."
I can almost hear protests from the chat as she reaches forward to end the stream.
With a few deft movements, Irina reaches over and shuts off the stream. The camera's red light blinks once more before going dark, leaving us in the relative privacy of the basement bedroom. She shifts beneath me, pulling me up toward her until I'm resting on her chest, my head tucked under her chin. I can feel the sticky residue of my first orgasm still on her stomach, pressing against my side, but I'm too exhausted to care.
"We made more in those two hours with you than I did in an entire week before," she says, her accent thick with satisfaction. Her fingers idly trace patterns across my back, sending pleasant tingles down my spine.
I hum in acknowledgment, too drained to form actual words. My body feels like it's made of lead, heavy and unresponsive after the marathon performance.
"Maybe I don't have to..." she begins, then stops herself abruptly. The unfinished thought hangs in the air between us, and I wonder what she was going to say.
Instead of continuing, she starts playing with my hair, her long fingers weaving through the strands in a gesture that feels almost affectionate. It's soothing, and I find myself leaning into her touch like a cat being petted.
"You're a little freak, aren't you?" she asks, but there's no judgment in her tone, just curious amusement.
"I guess?" I reply, my voice raspy from all the noises I've been making.
Irina tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet her gaze. "The chat loved you," she says, studying my face with newfound interest. "Absolutely loved you."
Relief washes through me. "Thank god," I breathe. "One of the guards told me I wasn't sex worker hot, so I was nervous."
Irina's laugh is unexpected, a genuine burst of amusement that shakes her chest beneath my head. "Is that what's been bothering you? Oh, my sweet boy." She strokes my cheek with surprising gentleness. "People love to watch men that look real. You're perfect as you are."