"I told the little shit to fuck off. How dare he think I owe him a blowjob for picking me up from work. I owe nobody, nothing. Except the thieving bank. They charged me thirty bloody pounds to tell me I had no money in my account. That I already knew. So that's me now on minus thirty which is worse than being on fuck all! Silly fuckers."
It wasn't just Rebecca's language that was intensely colourful; everything about my flat mate was lambent and kaleidoscopic. She lived for the moment, she revelled in her wild, helter-skelter life with a lust for spectacular flamboyance and an adoration for the unusual.
Hence Brian.
He was a theatrical wild-child: a deeply flashy man who adorned his arrogance with a gaudy cheapness and a rude vocal lordliness. We didn't dislike him. Rebecca's boyfriends never stayed with her long enough for her friends to form too much of an opinion about them, but we weren't too disappointed when she announced their split.
"You need to find a nice, normal boyfriend."
"You need to get yourself on Internet dating."
"You need to buy yourself a proper vibrator and then you wouldn't need men."
All of her friends had advice for the unfortunate dater, and she'd listen to all of it, before ignoring every word and doing something totally unsuitable and inappropriate.
"I'm going to do porno-cams," she announced a few days later as I lounged on the couch, reading the latest best-seller from my favourite erotic author. "My mate Poppy says it's twaddle, I need the readies and ya never know."
This wasn't the worst idea she had ever had; that must rank as trying to smuggle her favourite loose tea through customs and being arrested for drug trafficking, only to be released an hour later when the police realised that the kilogramme of marijuana was actually Fortnam and Mason's finest Earl Gray. The vajazzle kit as a Christmas present for her grandmother wasn't too clever either, and nor was starting the barbecue with half-a-litre of paraffin.
I was certain she would do a couple of these "porno-cam" shows, get bored and then move onto her next hair-brained scheme. "Oh, and I need your help."
"Uh-huh." I glanced over the top of my Kindle, leaving fornicating monsters and their innocent girls waiting as I wordlessly expected an explanation.
"I need someone to help me set up the cam. And ... ummm ..."
"Yes?"
"... Fuck me!" Her eyes tore themselves away from me for a split-second as she scratched her thigh, deliberately raising her skirt as she less-than-innocently sated her itch. "I have Brian coming 'round tomorrow but he's in King Lear or something tonight. I'll give you half of what I make."
"That'll be half of fuck-all," I mused, but Rebecca was sensual and sexy, and as the little minx reminded me, an opportunity to screw her wouldn't come around too often. My exhibitionist nature and desperation trumped my reason and I agreed without thinking too deeply about what I was agreeing to. I set up my camera in her bedroom, pointing at her freshly made bed, and we waited until the early evening. We drank beer and flirted, bringing a warm glow to my loins and a dampening of my inhibitions. She giggled as she signed her laptop into the site; the young lady clad in just colourful socks with a mismatched bikini. She was bright and fluorescent, an unmistakable splash of intense colour.
SS_CamGirlThe first "ping" was followed by more, and more. I watched as dozens of men flirted with the brown-haired vixen. She smiled and laughed at lewd comments, flashed her breasts repeatedly and then set a target of £250 for her show. For every £50 she would get lewder and ruder, and when she reached her magic number, I would fuck her.
The crowd in her private chat room grew; donations towards the Get Becky Banged Good fund turned from a trickle to a torrent in minutes. She played with her exposed tits after the first £50, rubbing her hand over her delicate orbs while I waited patiently, tenting my boxers. I watched, spellbound as her fingers twisted over her engorged nipples and she kissed them, swirling her tongue over the delicate points.
I shuffled awkwardly as her socks joined her discarded top, and then her pink bottoms were flung unceremoniously into the corner of the room to show her shaved crotch to the scores of masturbating adults across cyberspace.
Her audience adored it, lapping up her play with an avalanche of disgustingly lovely yet crude comments. Every inch of her was adored and loved; hundreds of doting men offered superlatives over her flawless body. Her eyes twinkled as the penultimate target was reached, delving into her bedside drawer to reach for her sex toys. "To warm me up, boys!" She cried, licking her lips at the camera. "You want to see me get fucked, don't you? I need to get fucked. Help me." She looked as if she was speaking personally to every single member of her audience: every man and woman sitting at their computer screen had Rebecca pleading with them for assistance. It sent a shiver down my spine as I watched her vibrator flick to the first setting as she pressed it gently against her parted legs.
Her undulating body swam with pleasure, the comments box on her video was flooded with dirty chat as she drove her sex toy harder and harder against her crotch, crying as her lust overtook her senses and tipped her into orgasm, screaming loudly from her red bedspread.
The donations: £249.
