Page 3 of Push My Buttons
I know ObsidianWolf never uses emojis. His sentences are short, clipped, confident.
I know NeedleAndVice likes to watch. He never asks. Just… encourages.
And GlassHouse? He’s the reason I double-check the locks before every stream.
There’s something about the timing of his tips. The specificity. He once tipped with a message that mentioned a detail only visible if you could see into the studio before I went live.
That shouldn’t be possible.
I told Lorna, my boss at Behind the Lens, about it. She said not to worry. That some subscribers like to push boundaries.
She would know, I guess, since she is the OG cam girl.
I pause as I remind myself of what she said. Just for a moment. Long enough for the energy in the chat to shift.
More tips. More comments. More requests.
I force a smile and lean forward again, brushing the black wig over my bare shoulder, hand drifting slowly down the curve of my thigh.
Back in character.
The show goes on.
My breathing deepens as I trail one finger just beneath the lace edge of my panties, dragging the moment out, letting the tension simmer in the chat. I glance up through my lashes at the camera, shifting slightly so the light grazes across the curve of my breasts. Slowly, I reach for the delicate lace at the center of my bra.
One hand slips beneath the fabric.
Then I tug.
The lace glides over my nipples, baring them to the screen—hard and flushed under the warm candlelight like sinful cherries on a sundae from hell. The tips spike instantly—comment bubbles flooding upward like a pervy parade.
I tease one breast with my fingertips, circling and tugging as the other hand slips lower. A new tip flashes.
CamKing77 tipped $400: “Use that glass one. Let us see you take it.”
I hesitate just long enough to make them wait. Then I reach beside me, fingertips curling around the thick glass toy I’d warmed earlier. Smooth and weighty, it catches the candlelight as I hold it up—translucent and undeniably intimidating.
The chat reacts instantly, comment bubbles going full-blown caps-lock meltdown.
I slide the lace panties aside with two fingers, revealing slick heat and swollen folds already twitching in anticipation—a result of a little prep work earlier. I'd known tonight would be intense, and let's just say I came into this with a head start and an agenda. I angle my body toward the camera just enough to let them see. Not everything. Just enough to drive them batshit.
And then I press the toy against my entrance.
Slow.
Stretching.
I ease the thick glass inside inch by inch, hips trembling as the fullness builds. My body resists, then yields, slick and shuddering as I take it all the way.
The sound I make is quiet but real—muffled pleasure and strain. The mask hides my expression, but my body tells the story. Chapter and verse.
I start to move the toy, slow and steady, my free hand teasing my nipple, breathing ragged now. Every shift, every thrust makes the lace shift and stretch. I ride it with rising tension, hips grinding, thighs shaking as the pressure coils tighter.
Until—
Release.
My moans break free, rough and desperate, as I clench around the toy, breath catching and back arching. The mask nearly slips as I tip my head back, black strands falling over my face, my thighs twitching through every pulse.
