Page 6 of Tips and Trysts

His eyebrows launch and stay there, and his hooded eyes have widened considerably. “Right now?”

I lean closer to the camera and pucker my lips. I definitely need a touch up. “This guy is one of my whales.”

Everett doesn’t respond at first, but eventually, he clears his throat and says, “I know an inordinate amount about whales—and their conservation—but I have no clue what whales have to do with camming.”

“Camgirl slang,” I answer, speaking while I run the tip of my fingernail along the edge of the freshly applied line of black lipstick. “He’s a big spender, otherwise known as a whale, and I want a new laptop.”

“You’re not seriously going to fuck yourself in front of me,” he states, splintering on the word ‘fuck.’

I shift the phone, attempting to find a more flattering angle. “God, no. Although, it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.” I glance at him.

His throat bobs with a hard swallow, but he doesn’t speak. I’m not surprised; there’s not much he could say beyond acknowledging I’m right. Even though he hasn’t watched my streams, Everetthasseen my body.

While many (most) of his qualities are downright abhorrent, his photography skills aren’t. Shooting my naked body rather than his beloved landscapes was an obligation—an attempt at an apology to help his best friend seduce mine. I needed a photographer, Lander needed Valeria, and Valeria needed my blessing.

That night seven months ago—a mere week after our horrendous introduction at Smoke and Shadow—Everett didn’t say a word beyond terse instructions.Put your hand higher. Look to the left. Pull down your strap.I scoured his face for a semblance of a crack, but all I saw was pure, pristine stone.

At the end of the shoot, he left without a word. We’ve never spoken about it.

Tonight, his face bears the same stony quality. He watches me raise my black crop top without a lick of interest on his face.

“This guy likes when I watch,” I explain when I realize Everett still won’t speak about that night.

His eyebrow remains at elevation until his gaze drops to my phone. “And you don’t have to touch yourself. He just pays you to watch him jerk off.”

“Nope,” I warn. “No kink shaming—ever.”

“I’m not kink shaming,” he clarifies. “I just don’t get why he wouldn’t want to see you do…more.”

“Like what?”

“Like…I don’t know. Play with yourself or something.”

“So creative. Is that what you would have me do? You’re a visionary.” I toss my hair over my shoulder. “This is what he likes, and I like getting paid. Whether or not you understand it is irrelevant.”

“You’re doing it right in front of me.” He tilts his head and lets out a measured exhale. “Does your whale know you’re not alone?”

The sudden gentleness in his tone tells me the question is genuine—and it’s a good one, I admit.

“I’ll tell him,” I reply, easing some of the razor’s edge from my words. “And if you’re uncomfortable, say it. I’m a professional. I’m not going to force you into anything.”

He looks away. “Do whatever you want. I really don’t care.”

My phone buzzes, alerting me to my customer’s arrival. Showtime.

He goes by the name BigSpender, which is a double entendre. He spends tons of money and he loves to come—a lot.

BigSpender takes his dick out as soon as I start the private stream, and at the ten-minute mark, he’s close. My part is simple. I groan while I watch him, occasionally rubbing myself over my skirt. My groans are loud and indulgent, but most customers love them. To me, they’re clinical. They live in my throat, close to my ears like white noise, and it’s the profound lack of intimacy between BigSpender and me that makes this arrangement work.

Twelve minutes in, he’s whimpering.

“I’m ready for you to come,” I murmur, pressing my palm against my body.

There’s a snicker from the opposite side of the elevator, and I shoot a glare at Everett.

He’s still seated, legs extended, now typing on his phone with his thumbs. He smirks, so I flip him off, holding my hand out of the frame where BigSpender can’t see.

The private session takes a grand total of fifteen minutes, and the moment I end the stream, Everett is ready to chime in with, “There’s no way he buys that shit.”

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