I had done it. Yes, it's cliché, and yes, it's stupid, but I had done it. Scrolling boredly through late one evening, I stumbled across her stream and, well... Wow.
The first night, I never even saw her body - she sat on her streaming bed with a view from her shoulders up, occasionally rising high enough to make out her chest but never going further. I stared at her face, into those soft blue eyes, round and honest as she chatted to someone outside of the stream, typing on her keyboard with delicate fingertips and occasionally dancing a little along to her music or mouthing the words. Her dark hair fell straight around her shoulders, and she played with it distractedly from time to time; sometimes playing with parts of her body, squeezing her lip or cheek, or picking at a hair or pore. Her flawless, milky features were framed beneath the dark, sweeping lengths of her hair and two pillowy pink lips settled over an emotive mouth that seemed to twist and turn in a genuine display of her feelings, smiling when she saw something enjoyable and pouting when she searched for her camera's remote or one of her toys. It took me sixty seconds to stroke to her soft face alone that night and I unloaded just as she smiled at something, glancing momentarily into the camera, her wide blue-white orbs seeming to see, for a fractured instant, what I was doing to her sheer beauty. I can't say what came over me, why she had the effect on me that she did - but I can sure tell you that I'd had plenty worse orgasms.
I tried to leave it for a few nights, but her face kept swimming into my mind, reminding me of her cuteness and the way every feature of her satisfied me. She was everything I found attractive; she was curvy but not fluffy, milky-white skinned with long dark hair that hung nearly to her ass, and had crystal blue eyes. Her plump lips helped show off her white teeth and her whole face reacted when she emoted. When at last I returned a few evenings later, once again horny and thinking of her, it was to see her sitting on her heels, her knees parted, two perfect teardrop breasts standing proudly below a layer of glistening oil and a pink tail snaking from between her thighs, indicating the pleasure device plugged in deep inside her sex - as one can find within all good camgirls. My arousal was nearly instant, and I fell in love with her all over again. Not ten minutes later, as a 25-token tip triggered the vibrating thrum of her sex toy and her soft yelps rang out into the microphone that brought her soothing voice down the long, lonely wire into my headphones, my hips bucked and hot cum poured from my cock as I came to her.
From that point onwards, I was addicted. I wish I could explain it - but I still can't, not even today, long after I had tuned into her stream for the last time. The next day, I came back as soon as I got home and watched her hanging out on her stream for about an hour before the tips drove her performance and her body drove me mad. My snaking hand wrapped around my hard length again as I stared with unblinking eyes down into hers, and I came in jerky loads over her virtual face. The day after that, she was all I could think about and I watched her at work, hiding the phone screen beside my desk anytime someone passed, desperate not to show the bulge in my pants but just as desperate to withdraw my manhood and cum for her. Today, she presented herself ass-first, and I tried my best not to lose myself in that soft pink love cave as she rubbed herself to her fans, the vibrating toy inside her stimulating her as her fingertips slipped slickly over her pussy until she bucked and tensed in orgasm. I made it to the toilets before viciously tearing my pants asunder and palming the tiled wall of the cubicle, wads of warm semen falling into the bowl as I came for her. I felt like a disgrace, but I also felt alive; she made me throb like I'd never known, and I couldn't stop myself from staring into that perfect body. I had never wanted to bequeath myself, body and mind to another person before, but God did she make me want to.
Every day for a week, I tuned into her stream, gazing into her crystal blue eyes and drinking in her perfect breasts. For a few nights she brought out the fuck machine, and I got to stroke myself stupid as the device pumped her with a toy that I wished was really me, a hard cock parting her folds and yet never unloading inside her. When she laid there without moving, watching something, or drinking from her cup, I stroked to her face. When she sat there, her torso in view, her hands slipping over her teardrop tits, so soft and feminine, I came readily to her. When all I could see was her round ass as the dildo pounded her, I stroked easily to that, too. Hell, when she went AFK at one point, I stared at the spot she usually sat in on her bed and came just to the thought of her, being in her presence enough to reach my climax. I was completely, to put it tenderly,
addicted
.
It was when the email appeared in my inbox that I first clued into what might be going on, though of course by that point it was far too late.
What does this mean,
I remember wondering as I read the subject line "Accepted: You are Her Newest Fan" on my phone. My eyes widened with shock as I read on to see that I -
apparently
- had become her newest supporter, paying a whopping $45 every month to "show her my love". Strangely, I lacked a lot of regret for a man who had just learned he had signed a significant monthly charge into life after my discovery of that email, primarily because it had contained a link to the new content I now had access to. Shortly after that, I was trying to stop myself from making noise as I rubbed furiously to her on the toilet - in the
women's
bathroom.
Breasts, ass, close-ups of her soft pink cunt, pictures of her kissing dildos or touching herself, solo content and groupies - over the course of the next few days I ingested every single piece of media she had created. I stroked to her every day, then twice a day, then three times - and every time she pumped out another release (something she seemed to be able to do constantly, no doubt pulling from clips from her streams) I was glued to it within minutes. I took longer and longer away from my desk, and more and more was my tissue box clutched by my side, on my table, by the sink or under my covers at home. The strangest thing was, when I wasn't thinking of her, I barely remembered anything but her face, her attractiveness and my arousal at her, which of course inevitably triggered me into needing to jerk off again. The money, the content, the time - it all never seemed to phase me at all. I simply
needed
her, needed more of her - and not even my aching penis could prevent me from gazing into her features and building up to yet another ejaculation.
I started to know something was very wrong when I called in sick to work not to go to the doctors or even to play a newly released video game, but to be there for when she went live, my hard cock already in hand and slick with pre-cum, half-undressed in bed and having not even gotten out of it once. It took me little more than a minute to ejaculate across the towel I had laid out in the darkness of my room when her soft skin appeared on my screen, and by the time she was starting to get vibrating donations - not a few of which were mine - rolling in, I was hardening again and touching once more. The pizza went cold on my doorstep that night when, nine hours later, she signed off, leaving me passed out, naked in my room, four ejaculations into a marathon stream that barely affected her, yet left me so overworked that I really
did
have to call in sick the next day. Even then I was far from safe, for although she didn't go live that day, she did post a new video - and my overused meat was forced to succumb to her once more as I inhaled her very essence through my phone, spurting it out in the form of sticky semen minutes later.
At some point the hysteria seemed to die down. I watched less of her streams, content with her emailed videos. I never noticed that the content had started to come directly from her email to mine, and I certainly never realized most of those emails had been replied to. I now came only when her videos arrived, and it became ritualistic for me to be ready for her next correspondence, often sitting at my desk stark naked, cock in hand, emails open. I failed to notice the stains I left more and more of around my house, on my keyboard or in my bed, or the mysterious replies I seemed to be sending her. I excused the amount of time off work and forgot about my commitments. I lived first and foremost around her porn, thinking of other things only after ejaculation had been completed and her face had winked from existence in my life. I'd like to say I went back to work again now that I had regained some form of freedom post-nut, but that would be a lie. Despite my apparent self-control, I was in deeper than I ever had been.
And then one day, no more videos came. I waited, ready, for her to reach out to me. I refreshed my inbox and kept myself in hand (literally) in readiness. When nothing came, I think I must have emailed her over a dozen times - though I could barely remember, even at the time. I forgot to eat and only drank because water was a constant necessity these days, my body working overtime to lubricate and semen-icate myself. I passed out at my desk and woke up to an inbox populated with new emails, none of which I cared about. Her cute profile photo determinedly remained out of my inbox, and I even went back to a couple of her older exclusive videos and photos, so desperate was I to ejaculate for her that I needed the tiding over.
A week passed, and it was a
