Never After

by Billie Dale

  She trains the camera on me, I see my body and the massive bed draped with large satin ribbons fill the screen. My heart thumps in my chest and my breath is leaving me in pants. She tosses a book at me, telling me to read until the first person pays.

  We sit together for so long her cold begins to fill the room. She props open the door to allow the sun to heat the small area.

  An hour later, she yells, “We got one,” clicking away at the keys on her laptop behind the camera. “It’s a man. He wants a striptease and he’s paid for ten minutes.” She peers at me waiting for my nod and I can’t will my head to move. I’m frozen in place, staring into the red light on the camera. I feel like I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole straight into hell.

  “SNOW!” she yells but I can’t move. “Damn it,” she whispers under her breath, taking a few steps to me, she grips my cold hands. Ironically, hers are still much chillier than mine.

  The shock of her cold snaps me to attention, I meet her eyes.

  “Let it go, Hun. Release every fear running through you. No one will know it’s you, no one is here but me. This man just paid one hundred and fifty dollars for ten minutes of you taking your clothes off to music. I’ll step outside, the screen will countdown for you. Leave your panties on and begin to ease them off in the last few seconds. Do this for you, for your kids and to flip a giant middle finger at your ex-douchebag.”

  Nodding my head, I try to give her a smile but I’m not certain my lips move. She steps back out of the frame, cue’s up Justin Timberlake’s Filthy, points to me signaling we are live and steps outside. I know I can’t hesitate because I’m on a timer and this person paid for minutes. Looking into the red light, I blink, take a lung full of air and allow the music to move my body. Feeling the chords, fumbling a little because I’m still on the bed, I ease back the panels of the robe, allowing it to slip down my arms and pool at my knees. Running my hands across my heated flesh, I escape into my mind and it’s not some random stranger I can’t see I’m dancing for, it’s Royal.

  Imagining him in my mind’s eye fuels my movements making them fluid and sensuous. When the clock counts down to the final seconds, I’m down to nothing but my G-string and garter. Slipping my fingertips into the side, I glide them slowly down my hips as they begin to clear my pubic area the screen goes blank. Time expired.

  I redress, once the robe is back in place, I tell Elsa she can come back. She’s whooping and hollering about the easy money we made.

  Yeah, easy for her.

  “You’re doing this too, right? It’s not only me?” I ask.

  “Y-yes. I-I’m waiting to see how it goes for you first.”

  I don’t believe her, but I made seventy-five dollars for ten minutes, I did it. She gives me a few minutes to collect myself while she searches for the next person. Next is a man who wants me to sing one of Elton John’s ballads, topless, letting my boobs sway with the music.

  I can’t make this stuff up. The world is full of some strange ones but if they have deep pockets, it’s all good.

  I can see this one. He’s an older man, bald and judging by the roundness of his face, heavy. When she cue’s me to go, I begin belting out the song with the original playing as background music. I stay focused on a spot on the wall, so I don’t have to see the facial expressions of the person on the screen.

  We take two more after the swaying boob man, nothing more intense than running my hands over my flesh. We decided to offer three days a week to keep me sane and the customers interested. I know there will be one who wants the full thirty minutes and wants to see more than my breasts. Though for a first day I feel pretty good with two hundred and twenty-five dollars in my bank account so tonight we eat Chinese food.

  I’d be lying if I didn’t accept the ego boost filling me. I figured once people were able to look at me, no one would be interested and there would be requests for refunds, but these men wanted me. They paid good money to simply watch. I figured I would feel dirty, but I don’t. I’m empowered and being able to buy a great dinner for my kids is worth every second of my nudity.

  The only oriental food we’ve had in the past year has been Ramen. When I carry in three heaping bags filled with egg rolls, fried rice, pepper steak and Aurora’s favorite sushi, I garner the second genuine smile from my daughter in months and a one-armed hug.

  Dodging Axel’s questions about where the extra money came from, we dive into our food. Chatting about their day and what events they have coming up, it feels like it used to before everything exploded, before we lost it all, including our happiness. Forget the dank basement we live in, overlook the looming shadow of the things Nic did, we’re a small family of three now but we can be mighty if we stick by each other.

  After the sleepless worry of the previous night, I fall into a deep slumber as soon as my head lands on the pillow, dreaming of deep sea green eyes and jet-black stubble.

  Eleven

  Two months later....

  The world of internet sex and the people who pay for it is a trip straight to Wonderland. Not even the Mad Hatter, high on wacky biscuits, could come up with some of the strange fetishes and fantasies I’ve re-enacted in front of the camera.

  Elsabeth’s still behind the scenes, the damn cow won’t take her turn in front of the lens. We’ve made a decent nest egg for our ice bar, and I’m close to being able to move out of the dungeon of despair.

  I have a few regular customers now who want the same thing every time they tune in. A request to watch me get myself off came in a few times. Once I struggled through the first one and imagined Royal watching my hands work my body, it became easier to get in to. I never achieve an actual orgasm, but I’ve become real great at faking it.

  Some of these people pay to talk to me. One claimed my rates are cheaper than a therapist and he gets to see my boobs. He’s been a repeat, coming on every day we’re live for fifteen minutes. If business stays solid, we should be able to start shopping for commercial real estate in the next six months.

  Royal has become a frequent guest in our home. He drops by several times a week bringing us dinner. He talks with the kids and eats, leaving me each time with a friendly kiss to the cheek and a ticked off lady garden.

  Elsa’s clacking at the keys, deciding who the last viewer will be for the day. It’s been easy this time around, I’ve kept my panties on. She looks at me over her screen, chewing on the corner of her bottom lip. I don’t like this look. This look means she’s deciding how to ask me to do something I don’t want to do.

  “You up for a thirty minute?” Keeping her eyes on the screen, she offers no details.

  “What does he want?”

  “Damn,” she whispers.

  Did she think I wouldn’t ask?

  The longer sessions aren’t my favorites. The one’s where I masturbate are increasingly frustrating from the lack of orgasm and I usually need to complete myself later, at home, when I’m alone. With the kids there, alone time is a hot commodity. Between the webcast and Royal’s frequent visits, I stay in a perpetual state of arousal all the time.

  “He wants the whole thing. You, naked, vibrator and he’s requesting for you to look at him on the screen, with the camera closer to your face.

  “He doesn’t want to watch what I’m doing down below?” I ask waving a hand toward my crotch.

  “No. Says here he wants to see your eyes, tits, and face when you come.”

  “Oh, uh, I’ve gotten pretty good at faking it. I think I can pull it off. Plus, it’s four hundred and fifty dollars, can’t say no to it. If I’m not into it, I can pretend, and he’ll never know.”

  Reaching over, I pull the deep blue vibrator out of the bedside table drawer and apply a small amount of lube while we’re still off camera. Even picturing Royal the inability to get myself off is drying, my vagina throws a bitch fit if I don’t use something.

  Once everything is set up, she signals I’m live and makes a hasty exit.

  “Hi,” I purr, “Would you like s
ome music while we play?” Gliding my hands along my abdomen, I wait for his response. When it comes, my heart drops right out of my chest and runs away while my lady bits stand up and applause.

  “No, I want to hear you.” The voice vibrates through the microphone, setting my insides ablaze. I know the roughness of his voice; I hear it whispering to me every night in my dreams.

  Royal is on the other side of my connection.

  I can’t turn my head to him, my hands have stopped moving, and my breath has ceased to fill my lungs. I know I can’t stall because he’s paying a hefty sum for his time. I remind myself my mask conceals me, and he doesn’t know anything else about me. If I keep my voice low I might be able to get away with this.

  Slipping my robe off, I move to unclasp my bra, but he interrupts, ordering me to pull my breast over the cups. I slip my panties down my legs leaving the garter in place. My hands tremble as they glide across my flesh. I can hear his breathing accelerating through my speakers.

  “Play with your nipples,” he demands.

  I follow, rubbing a finger over and around the peaked bud.

  “Pinch them, pull them. Use your other hand to rub your clit.”

  His voice low and rough. His arduous pants have my core pulsing. I need to look at him, see the heat in his eyes. I want him in the room with me.

  My hand plays between my legs. Ghosting over my bundle of nerves, my hips buck off the bed.

  “Yes,” he hisses. “That’s it. Slide a finger inside, only one.”

  Tipping one finger in, his groan of appreciation has me craving more. The only sounds in the room are our mingled breaths and the slip of my wetness. I’m not sure how he knows I’m following his orders between my legs, but he does.

  “Keep those fingers tugging on your pretty pink nipple and slide the vibrator along your pussy.”

  I’ve done this long enough now I know the shake in his voice is from him pleasuring himself. For once I want the camera to pan down to his dick. The thought of his hard erection pumping in his hand almost sends me off the edge the second the toy pulses against my slit. Without instruction, I slip the humming device inside, easing it in and out when I want to go faster. I’m teetering right on the edge of ecstasy. A needy, heaviness sitting low in my belly guides my movements.

  “Look at me. Give me your eyes,” he commands.

  I forgot he can’t see me below the waist, without seeing my face he has no clue the pleasure he’s giving me.

  Raising my eyes to the screen, I meet his lidded orbs. My mouth gapes open and my tongue wets my lips watching his body move with his tugs, seeing him lose himself in pleasure. His eyes drop closed, his dark lashes fanning across his cheeks.

  I add my other hand below rubbing hard on my button while the toy plunges, feeding my core. My eyes roll back in my head from the blooming heat inside. The blood pumping to the juncture of my thighs making my head light. My moans grow louder, his eyes open meeting mine.

  His gaze trained on me. “Oh god. I’m close. I’m so, so close,” I chant over and over as heavy pressure builds low in my stomach.

  “That’s it Bright Eyes. Give it to me.”

  I fall over the edge, screaming out in pleasure. Weeks of pent-up need explode inside lifting me higher than I’ve ever gone. My loud moans mixing with curses flying from his lips while he finishes. When my body floats back to earth, I realize he called me Bright Eyes. My eyes pop open wide, turning my head to the screen, I’m met with black. Time expired, he’s disconnected.

  Either Royal is a complete douchebag who calls everyone this pet name, or he knows exactly who’s hidden behind my mask.

  Scrambling, I grab my robe and call out for Elsabeth. I must sound in trouble because she comes in wielding a baseball bat ready to swing for the cheap seats. After she sees I’m not in distress and cocks one light eyebrow at me, I begin the tale of Royal and recount everything.

  “I’m not sure where to begin. You’re such a bitch for not telling me about his spectacular ass from the start, I could have flagged him before connecting. Your best hope is he is a dickhead and calls all women by that nickname. Come on, we’re done for today, it’s wine-o-clock.”

  She motions for me to follow her inside the house where we drown ourselves in cheap boxed wine and greasy barbecue potato chips.

  Yes, I know it’s gross but don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.

  Twelve

  Up to my elbows in rank toilet cleaning, I know he’s close before the timber of his deep voice makes my hair stand on end. I keep scrubbing and if I’m being honest, hiding in the bathroom. One would think a house large enough to hold seven full-grown men would have more than two places for them to relieve themselves. One would be wrong, but I’m just saying. You might also think that said full grown men would be able to hit the large opening in the oval-shaped bowl. Again, wrong.

  Royal’s sound draws closer and foreign, enormous winged creatures take flight in my stomach while my heart tries to jump out of my chest. I’m tucked away, crossing my fingers he doesn’t have the thought to see if I’m here.

  I should have tried to cross my toes too. Damn my luck.

  The door creaks open and he leans with all his tasty glory against the door frame as if it’s his only support. Fuck me, how does he always look so delicious? Arms crossed over his chest making his pecks bulge, legs crossed flexing the muscles in his thighs struggling to escape from his jeans. I puff out a breath, moving the hair pieces hanging down in my eyes up in the air and back to where they started.

  With a slight step forward, he slides a warm hand along my cheek, tucking the wayward hairs behind my ears. His woodsy aroma strong enough to mask the disinfectant odor filling the room.

  “Hey Bright Eyes. Good to see you again.”

  I nod, my voice gone by whatever is beating at my insides, waiting for him to continue. His use of the pet name bringing flashes of his orgasm face front and center and my nipples perk up to check out the situation.

  “I never got your number, I’m glad you’re here cause now I can ask you out in person.”

  My voice rings out squeaky and jagged. “Ask me out? Like on a date?”

  “Unless ask you out means something else, then yeah.” Nodding to the papers in my hands, his eyes crinkling with his smile, “You, uh, doing a little light reading?”

  My eyes widen as I remember what I’m holding. A stack of Penthouse magazines. “Oh, um, no, I,” opening a drawer I shove the stack inside, “I’m just cleaning. You know, seven men; bathroom.” I stammer, my skin burning red hot.

  Shaking his head back and forth with a laugh before his eyes turn sincere. “So, about your number and a date?” I don’t see any lust or any other sign he knows what my tits look like or how my voice sounds when I come.

  Well, Bob, I’ll take ‘he’s a douchebag who has the same nickname for every woman, for 1000’.

  Yet, he’s a lickable ass my body craves and after months of being stuck in the friend zone, I accept his date offer. He types my number into his phone shooting me a quick text, so I too have his number.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Leaning in, he kisses my cheek hesitating for a few seconds before drawing his lips away, whispering how he can’t wait to see me tonight. He leaves me standing with my rubber gloves on covered in man juice−and not the fun spurt on your belly kind−with a goofy grin wanting to rub the spot on my cheek where I can still feel the heat of his lips.

  Finishing up at the brother’s house, I scurry home as fast as my piece of shit car will carry me, rushing inside to shower, shampoo, shave, and style. The four essential ‘S’es’ of dating, the most important being shaving every hairy surface where he might like to put his face. Okay, men don’t usually put their face in your armpit, but their close to the boobs and bushy pits are gross, ask any man who saw Madonna’s spread in Playboy years ago.

  I’m not sure what we’ll be doing, dressing casually in my favorite skinny jeans, well my only skinn
y jeans but they make my butt look great and an off the shoulder red sweater paired with black ankle boots. A light brush of taupe eyeshadow, two coats of mascara and a coat of red lipstick and I’m ready to go, a whole two hours before he’s supposed to arrive. Unsure what to do and unwilling to clean my dungeon, I settle myself on the couch with a worn-out copy of a collection of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

  Lost in the words and darkness of the tales, time flies. Aurora bounces through the door holding another kid’s meal with Royal following behind her.

  “Look who I found, Momma,” she announces, happier than I have seen her in months. She tucks herself behind her divider, and the sound of the crinkling bag and YouTube fills my ears.

  Shifting from foot to foot, he stands before me. “Hi. You look gorgeous.”

  Dressed in dark jeans molded to his legs, his bulge on display encased in denim. Holy crap, if this is him soft he must bust the zipper when he’s hard. Shaking my head from the thoughts of his manhood, my eyes travel along the buttons of his long-sleeved navy shirt, hugging his torso and highlighting the gold flex in his eyes, up over his scruff covered jaw and his smirk has me licking my lips, to those dreamy luminous emeralds. His black hair looks as if he’s ran his hand through it repeatedly with pieces sticking up here and there, making me want to run my fingers through it to see if it’s as soft as it looks.

  Set him on a platter. Dinner. Is. Served.