Page 11 of His Every Move

“Hope everyone’s having a good night so far. I had a shit-ass date just now, so I figured I’d hop on since you all know how to make me feel good.”

GAPEACH89: Yes, we can make you feel good.

TRUCKERDUDE3: Looks like you’re already starting to feel good.

ANONYMOUS982: Take thos off!

“No requests unless you tip,” I reminded the watchers. Tips began to ding onto the screen. I’d become conditioned to get hard at the sound. Like Pavlov’s dog, except instead of hearing a bell and drooling, I heard a chime and started leaking.

“Thank you,” I said as I changed the goal meter. “If I get a thousand tokens, then these come off.”

I lowered my briefs just enough to show my dark tuft of pubic hair. More tips filled the screen. I smiled, rubbing my length, reading the comments, getting off on these random strangers getting off.

NIGHTOWL: You look so good. You’ve got me so fucking hard.

“Thanks, Night. I’m getting hard for you, too.”

I made my cock throb against the briefs. I knew NightOwl enjoyed seeing my bulge pulse. I’d chatted with him quite a bit. If there was one person who I considered myself close to in this sometimes sketchy online world, it was Night. He was a great tipper, sure, but he also was great at conversation. He’d paid for a few private shows that would end with us talking about some recent world event or a favorite book or a terrible movie. Random shit.

It was nice. Felt like he was a friend.

So much so that I had opened up to him about my problems with the Nomad account. He’d been the one who referred me to Stonewall Investigations, saying that he’d gone to one of their branches for help and really liked working with them.

After meeting Benji, I felt the same way.

I had to remember to thank him when I got the chance.

“We’re almost to the goal,” I said, slowly pulling my briefs down, holding the head of my cock but showing inches of shaft. The chat started to get more feral.

TRUCKERDUDE3: Oh fuck yeah.

NIGHTOWL: Damn, so sexy.

ANONYMOUS428: Yummy.

NOMAD21: You made a mistake.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose as a sudden chill slithered down my spine. I immediately blocked and reported this new account, deleting the message.

I made a mistake?

What did that mean… made a mistake how? By logging on?

Or were they referencing something else? My thoughts swirled, my dick deflated. It was vague enough to be incredibly ominous. Were they referencing something I did today? Meeting and walking out on Kevin? Going to Stonewall?

No… it had to be them just trying to act tough. There was no way they were that aware of my actions.

The mood had been shot. Even though there were over a thousand people in my stream and plenty of tips still rolling in, I felt like I just had to log off.

“Alright, guys, I’m going to?—”

A notification appeared across my screen.

NIGHTOWL Is Requesting a Private Show.

Huh.

Private shows were almost always worth it. It cost a pretty hefty amount to reserve my time and attention for just one person. But it wasn’t even the money that I focused on.

---