Page 2 of Horror and Chill
It fogs with heat.
Then I sit back, thighs spreading just enough to make the room lose its mind. I pull the dagger from my garter, flipping it in my hand like a magician. It’s cool against my palm and totally useless as a weapon, but it looks good when I press it between my breasts again and drag it lower, slow, teasing, letting the tip rest against my navel as I moan, quiet and deliberate.
The sound draws a fresh wave of desperation from the chat. One of the regulars—TonyFromAccounting—starts pledging custom tip amounts just to get me to say his name.
“Tony,” I respond. “You really think you could survive me?”
The next five tips max out the stream.
I smirk, letting the silence drag just long enough to make them beg. I reach down, slowly this time, until my fingers brush the small black remote beside my thigh. I click the button once and the toy I put in my cunt before starting this session roars to life.
My thighs twitch, just barely, but the chat catches it. Of course they do.
GothDaddy69:That jump. I saw that jump.
Sk8rSlut97:OH WE’RE DOING THIS
BloodAndBoudoir:Bless this cursed night
I lean back on my elbows, stretching out across the fur rug, one leg bent, the other extended, body framed perfectly in the wide-angle lens. The black leather harness digs into my ribs, and the skull pasties gleam every time I move. My mouth falls open like it’s all too much; too much sensation, too much pressure, too much teasing and maybe that’s true, but I’m not here to play fair.
The next setting on the toy is stronger, and when I hit the button again, my breath catches. Not a fake sound or a performance. A real, guttural gasp that tightens my chest and rolls low through my belly.
The chat explodes.
TonyFromAccounting:I NEED TO LICK THE FLOOR
JennyBean69:Bitch your FACE
DadIssuesUnresolved:This is why I don’t believe in god anymore
I let my head fall back, fingers grazing my inner thigh like I’m deciding whether to give them more. The buzz inside me isn’t subtle anymore. It’s constant, maddening, and perfect. My voice slips into soft, broken moans, timed to the rhythm, controlled, but just barely.
I spread my legs wider, hips rocking gently, and press the remote again before looking into the camera. It spikes.
I cry out; not loud, not theatrical, but raw. There’s a crack in it. Something human. Something mine.
The camera catches everything: the way my jaw clenches, the flush climbing my throat, the way my stomach tightens like I’m about to unravel from the inside out. I reach between my thighs, slow and shaking, and let my hand hover. I don’t touch. Not yet. I want them begging.
QuietInTheBack:PLEASE
GutterPrince:If you come I swear I’ll explode
Sk8rSlut97:PLEASE LET ME BREATHE
I brush my fingers against the toy, light and taunting, and the whimper that escapes me is high and sharp enough to make my own eyes flutter. It’s not fake. My body arches once, twice, breath stuttering as everything coils tighter and tighter and tighter. And then I let go.
The orgasm hits like a wave and keeps rolling, dragging me under. My back bows. My hand clenches. My legs shake as I grind against the pulsing toy. I moan their names. I moan nonsense. I don’t care. I give them everything.
I don’t pretend this part.
I ride the aftershocks, gasping softly, hips still twitching. My fingers slide off the remote and fall beside me on the rug.My thighs stay open, trembling, as I lie there, half-naked and panting, catching my breath like I’ve run ten miles straight into Hell.
The chat is a blur. Nothing but capital letters and tip floods and confessions of eternal devotion.
I stare at the lens for a moment longer. No words. Just sweat, breath, and the kind of eye contact that makes a man believe he’s already sold his soul.
Then I smile, slow and feral, and clickEnd Stream.
