Page 38 of Tips and Trysts

“Will you bear with me?” she asks, glancing at her arm before winking. “Let’s see how I do with one hand.”

Once her panties are off (and I silently thank them for their service), she procures a toy from off camera. “You know you’re not getting what you want unless you tip more,” she murmurs, wiggling the rabbit vibrator in the air.

Her encouragement must have done the trick tips-wise. Within seconds, Cora starts dragging the black silicone against her inner thigh.

Inhaling, I take in the slopes of her naked body, watching as the woman whose thumb was in my mouth a mere three days ago lays on her side, spreads her legs, and begins working herself with a vibrator in front of hundreds of viewers.

MissedMeNowFistMe:So hot

GregP4455:I want u so much bb

RobbyHobby:Are you gonna come for us

…Holy fuck.

If someone had asked me yesterday if every person’s body is alive underneath its skin, I would have said yes, obviously. From a purely literal standpoint, we are all alive and our bodies are moving, functioning things carrying out innumerable biological processes like machines. Our parts fit together, work together, and the sum is each of us.

Watching Cora, I no longer believe that.

All bodies are alive underneath our skin, but Cora’s body isn’t a machine—it’s a masterpiece. Her movements are lyrical, straddling the line between intentionality and incidental grace. When her hips rise, the indents of her flexing muscles are prosaic. Her body takes up a cadence of shifts and turns and the cadence is smooth, peppered with the faint interjections of her parted lips, her heaving breaths, and her arched spine.

When she faces the laptop, her hair cascades onto the mattress like spilled ink. Her groans punctuate moans and gasps, and it’s a full sensory experience now—one that evokes some of the best memories I have of sex. Twisting, thrusting, panting—every move reminds me of my most frenzied encounters, the ones I thought had imprinted in me indelibly. And yet I know she’d erase all those memories if she touched me. She could make me hers. Easily.

Maybe she already has.

And the remarkable thing is how genuine this performance is.Thisis how Cora carries herself when she’s loopy on codeine, when she’s laughing with our friends, when she’s ranting about something that pisses her off (usually me). This person I’m watching—Lilith Lace—is a person I know.

This is Cora Flores.

And I wonder what it’s like to touch a body like this—one brimming with life. I wonder what it would be like for her body to be mine, in a sense. To be the man who touches her. To be the one she performs for.

GregP4455:It’s so hot

GregP4455:When r u gonna come

GregP4455:Will you come now hurry

…No. Absolutely fucking not, GregP4455.

There’s no way I’m going to let Cora see this embarrassing shit when she comes.

FuckingMyOwnFace:Look at all your gorgeous little holes lined up like that, tight and ready for me to put something in them.

Send.

Wait. Shit. Somehow—probably because my erect dick has deprived my brain of blood—I forgot what public means. Everyone can see my message.Everyone.

Onscreen, Cora falters, losing her rhythm. Her eyes widen.

I shouldn’t have done that. I need to delete it. I need to figure out how to—

But then Cora smiles. Her lips remain parted, and a flicker of a frown knots her expression at first, but it melts quickly into the line of her raised brow.

Thanks to our encounter in her kitchen on Monday, I know that look.

More.

FuckingMyOwnFace:Touch your needy pussy with that toy, princess, but know it’s going to be me one day.

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