The Billionaire’s CamGirl

by Wylder, Penny

  She won’t give it up. I pump a few times inside her, giving her the smallest taste of the tip.

  “Say it, Weaver,” I say again, stilling my cock even though it almost kills me. “Who’s in charge here? What do you want?”

  “Fuck me,” she whispers, barely a breath. “You’re in charge. Fuck me.”

  As soon as those words pass her lips, I’m buried balls deep. The feeling has fireworks exploding behind my eyes, and I have to stay buried and still until I can gather control. Her pussy is like a vise, a steaming and wet glove around me, and I know once I start moving, I won’t stop, I can’t stop.

  “Fuuuck,” she hisses out.

  I hold onto her hip, my fingers digging in so hard I know they’ll leave a bruise. She doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, her free hand finds mine, covering it. Her other hand is extended in front of her, bracing herself on the wall, as I pound relentlessly into her, feeling her pussy get wetter.

  “Do you like it when I pull your hair? Fuck you like this, against a wall?” I grunt.

  I watch my dick disappear inside her, noticing how it glistens with her juices each time I pull out, enjoying the sound of my balls slapping against her ass when I dive back in. I can smell her, everywhere. I change my angle so I can penetrate her deeper, and her grunts turn into a low keening.

  “Like that?” I ask, angling deeper and deeper, hitting her again and again where she needs it most.

  “Don’t stop. There,” she demands.

  Her hand leaves mine and reaches between her legs, and I see her start to rub her clit, a frenzied motion that makes her pussy clench down harder on me. As much as I love to be in charge, to dominate her, the sight of her masturbating while I fuck her has me transfixed. I pull her hair backwards so I can watch her face. Her lips are parted and her teeth are clenched. I press my lips against hers so we share breath, and I grunt out, “Come on my dick. I want to feel you explode.”

  I cover her hand with mine, feeling her fingers work faster and faster, and then suddenly her body shakes, she lets out a moan that fills the alley and I feel her body go slack in my arms. I can feel the waves of her orgasm rocking through her, and her pussy is flooded with her arousal. It’s enough to push me toward my release, and just as I feel my orgasm growing and warmth traveling up my spine, I pull out, stroking my cock as spurts of cum coat her ass. I jump when I run the head through the mess I’ve left on her.

  We stand there like that, catching our breath, holding each other, until a siren sounds in the distance. As if waking us up from a dream at the same time, we straighten. I use her panties to wipe up her ass, tucking them back in my pocket. I’m not done with them. Weaver straightens her top, so her breasts are covered and her skirt is down. I imagine the stickiness between her legs and my cock reacts in my boxers.

  Once we’re decent, we stand there, staring at each other. She looks almost shy. Impossibly I’m still horny, I still want to fuck her, taste her pussy on my tongue, but Weaver deserves some explanations, and I have no doubt we won’t be having a repeat performance. Soon.

  “Can I buy you a cup of coffee, Weaver?” I ask, going for what seems like the most normal, everyday question a guy could ask a girl.

  Relief seems to break across her face, and she scrutinizes mine for a second.

  “Throw in some fries and it’s a date,” she says.

  “Let’s go.” I extend my hand to her and she takes it. We walk down the alley out to 14th street.

  8

  Weaver

  It’s déjà-vu. Chris and I are walking down the street, hand in hand at midnight, his coat is over my shoulders. But we aren’t in Paris this time, and instead of heading to my rental studio to fuck, we’re walking in Manhattan to a diner to have a post-fuck snack. Regardless, it feels familiar. How could it be that a man I’d only spent a single night with four months ago can feel so familiar?

  And then it hits me again, in a shocking wave: we know each other very well, I just hadn’t known that as I was getting close to WildCaptain, it was really Chris all along. It’s confusing trying to meld the two men into a single person.

  I’m leading Chris to my favorite twenty-four-hour diner. It’s a twenty-minute walk from the club, and I’m relieved we walk in silence. I’m trying to get my thoughts straight, and I know talking to Chris before I do will just confuse everything.

  Did I know it was him? Should I have been able to figure it out somehow and I just didn’t want to? No, I decide. I hadn’t been in denial or ignoring any signs. There were none. Aside from the fact that my mind wandered back to him, and often. I have so many questions for him, but I’m not sure where to begin. The first would definitely be How? My friends and family don’t even know about my website, how could he have figured it out after just one night with me.

  And of course, Why? What’s the angle here? It seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to just for another fuck. Oh, but I am glad he’s gone to the trouble. Despite the weird circumstances that led to this reunion, I haven’t felt more relaxed, more in the moment, in months. I have a hundred questions bouncing around my head, but I can also appreciate the warmth of Chris’s strong hand on mine, and the pleasure of walking by his side. And each time I remember his hands tugging my hair, digging into my hips, a warmth spreads throughout my body,

  “Just up this way,” I say, breaking the silence of the past ten blocks. “I’ve loved this place since I was in high school and first taking the train into the city with my friends on my own.”

  The light in the diner is bright, and it is a harsh contrast to the dimly lit streets. Suddenly it seems like we’re back in the real world, our little bubble has burst, and I feel awkward as we wait at the hostess stand. The hostess is a punk rock chick, with rings running up and down each ear and the corners of her mouth, and hair that is a color I can only describe as nuclear waste.

  “Follow me,” she says, without even looking up, and leads us to a large booth in the corner of the diner. Chris and I each enter from separate sides of the circular booth, but wind up sitting right next to each other. We start looking through the diner menus, which in typical New York diner fashion, are about thirty pages long.

  “Limited options,” Chris jokes, breaking the silence, peeking over his enormous menu at me. I chuckle in agreement.

  Sitting side by side, in this diner, suddenly it feels like we’re on a date. Little nervous butterflies flutter in my tummy, and I search in my head for something to say. It’s hard to remember that he and I, just this afternoon, had a pleasant chat by text. That we joked with each other. That he knew me. It wasn’t hard to remember though how he fucked me just thirty minutes before. I feel a pleasant ache between my legs and I’m acutely aware that my panties are missing, making me worry that I’m leaving a wet spot on my dress.

  I scan the menu, but I already know that I’m ordering onion rings and the biggest burger they have. And a chocolate milk shake. I definitely worked up an appetite in the alley with Chris.

  “Hey,” I say, apparently startling him because he jumps a bit at the sound of my voice. But he looks up at me expectantly. “I’m going to go freshen up. Could you order me the Village burger with onion rings and a chocolate milkshake? I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure thing,” he says, smiling at me. His smile is pleasant, and it makes me feel warm and safe.

  The restroom is empty when I walk in, and I lean into the mirror, studying my face. I look freshly fucked. My hair in tousled from where Chris’s hands pulled it roughly. I don’t have a brush in my small purse, so I try to straighten it as best as I can with my hands. My make-up is ruined. My lipstick is likely all over Chris’s mouth and neck, but my lips still look plump and red. Kissing will do that, I think to myself. I grab a handful of paper towels and wet them under the warm water, then remove the streaks of eyeliner and mascara from around my eyes. My mind shoots back to just a few hours earlier, when I was putting on my makeup in my apartment. How things have changed. I couldn’t possibly have imag
ined the night would lead to this diner, to this date, for lack of a better word, with Chris. With WildCaptain. I thought it would just be a night on the town with…

  Shit! Kate!

  Feeling like the worst friend in the world, I grab my phone and check for texts, imagining she’s been trying to get hold of me frantically, afraid I’d been slipped a Micky and kidnapped by a group of club kids. There’s only one text from her, sent just a few minutes ago.

  Gray Prada and I are swapping numbers out on the balcony. Where are you?!?!? I feel terrible I ditched you.

  So who’s the worst friend in the world now, I think.

  I start to shoot her text to let her know I’ve left the club, but I pause, because I don’t know what to say. She doesn’t know about WildCaptain, but she does know about Chris, so how do I explain that we’ve bumped into each other. This is precisely why I hate secrets.

  Bumped into an old friend at the club. Come meet us. I think you’ll find this very interesting.

  I add the address for the diner and hit send. The little bubbles indicating she’s typing pop up immediately.

  Hopping in a cab. Save me some fries because I’ll see you soon.

  This is about to get interesting.

  I give myself a once over in the bathroom’s full-length mirror. I try to straighten out my dress as best as I can, but the shoulders and neckline are stretched out and revealing a little too much for my taste. It’ll take a trip to the drycleaners before I can wear this dress decently again. I decide this is as good as it’s going to get and leave the bathroom.

  I’m walking back to the table slowly, observing Chris from a distance. He was bossy as hell in the alley way, but I see him talking to that punk rock hostess and she’s actually smiling at him. I didn’t think her lip rings would even allow that expression. He has a kind look on his face as he talks to her, and despite his obvious wealth and preference for being in charge, I can tell he’s a good man. Years of waitressing have taught me that a person’s character can be judged by how they treat wait staff.

  “Hey,” I say as I get back to the booth. “This looks delicious. It also looks like it could feed a small village.” The table is piled up with the biggest plate of onion rings I’ve ever seen, and my burger looks like it’s at least half a pound of ground beef. My mouth is watering, and as I slide into the booth and wrap my hands around that delicious burger, I decide there’s no lady-like way to eat this beast.

  I notice Chris is having a Rueben, piled up high with corned beef, Swiss cheese and sauerkraut. The grilled sandwich goodness is wafting over to me, and I have immediate sandwich envy. He must notice the way I’m eye-fucking his sandwich, because he asks, “Do you want to trade?”

  “Was it that obvious?” I laugh with a mouth full of hamburger. “How about halvsies?”

  “Sounds like a deal.” He moves half of his sandwich to my plate and I immediately scoop it up, biting into the perfectly toasted rye bread and moaning as the flavor explodes across my tongue.

  “Grank ew,” I say with a mouthful.

  “You’re welcome,” he says. Then he leans in a little closer and whispers into my ear, “It was worth it to hear that moan again. I like that. Very much.”

  I look over to him and swallow, because I don’t want to say what I’m about to say with sauerkraut hanging out of my mouth. “I guess you have lots of ways to make me moan.”

  He is so fucking confident. He is so fucking handsome. He just holds my gaze and winks at me.

  “You’re forgetting something, Weaver,” he says, and I really don’t want to be reminded of anything, especially the elephant in the room, his secret identity.

  “What?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Halvsies means you give me half of your burger. Share,” he says, and leans over me to cut my burger in half and place it on his own plate.

  That breaks the ice, and we fall into easy conversation from there. The conversation comes easily, although the words are pretty muffled because we’re both ravenous and can’t eat fast enough.

  “Really you can’t get a Rueben like this anywhere else but the city,” he tells me. “I come into the city a few times a month, and when I’m lucky to have a break, get away from stuffy business meetings at restaurants like Cipriani, I sneak away to greasy spoons like this.”

  “Oh,” I ask, between bites. “What kind of work do you do? I know you travel a lot, but you’ve never actually told me why.”

  There’s that elephant again. I only know he travels a lot because of our cam sessions, and we haven’t talked about that, not yet.

  “It’s a family business,” he says vaguely. “I don’t want to bore you with the details. We have offices all across the United States and Europe. I have two brothers. Once my older brother got married and had kids, I took on a lot of his travel obligations. It seemed like the brotherly thing to do.”

  “So tell me, how did Le Bain stack up against the trendy clubs in Europe?”

  He laughs. “Beats me,” he says. “That place isn’t exactly my scene. I prefer to spend time outdoors. Or at home.”

  I’m finding myself filing away every little fact about him. Turning them over in my head like tasty little morsels. Whenever WildCaptain and I chatted, I always imagined where he was, what he was doing, and now, I can get some of those mysteries resolved. Although the biggest mystery of all, I haven’t touched yet. Kate will be here, soon. If I want answers from Chris, I better screw up my courage and start asking.

  “But you came out to Le Bain, tonight,” I say, looking him in the eye.

  “I did,” he says. “Special circumstance.”

  I look at my phone and figure I have maybe five minutes until Kate arrives. If I want to know how Chris found me, if I want to know why he found me, this is the opportunity. I put down my burger and wipe my mouth, trying to inject a bit of formality, a serious tone, into what I’m about to ask.

  “How’d you know?” I ask.

  “I got lucky,” he says, taking my hand. My greasy hand. Shoot. I should have bothered to wipe my them. “After we…well, after, when I came back to bed, I saw you looking at your laptop. The Sugar Girl website isn’t really subtle. The Sugar Girl logo was flashing at the top of your browser page. So that was very lucky for me.”

  He reaches out and strokes my cheek, just once, as if reassuring himself that I’m actually sitting across from him, in person.

  “When we fell asleep that night, I knew I wanted to see you again, but the next morning I woke up and you were gone. I couldn’t get you out of my head. That morning, after you left, I checked the website. And I kept checking. And one early morning, in my office in London, there you were.”

  “But why didn’t you…” I start, but Kate’s sudden appearance interrupts me.

  “What the actual fuck?” Kate says. She is clearly a little drunk.

  “Kate,” I say, in my most patronizing tone, “is that anyway to say hello to our old friend? You remember Chris, don’t you?”

  Chris is ever cool. He just smiles at Kate and pushes over the plate of onion rings in her direction. “Hello Kate. It’s a surprise to see you again. Look at us! The old Paris gang back together again.”

  Kate’s making squinty eyes at Chris, clearly a little confused. I can’t tell if she’s disarmed by his dazzling smile and calm, or his immediate offering of greasy diner food, but she takes an onion ring and nods to him.

  “Quite a surprise,” she says, looking down her nose in her best Inspector Clouseau impression. “What brings you to New York?”

  “Business,” Chris answers. I realize I don’t know if this is true. Was he in New York and finally took the opportunity to see me, or did he make this trip especially for me? “I’m actually in the city for an entire week, which is a rarity for me.”

  “But Le Bain?” Kate probes. “You’re telling me it’s just a coincidence you ended up at the same exact club as us tonight? No offense, Chris, but clubs in the Meatpacking district don’t exactly seem your style
.”

  “You got me, Kate,” Chris concedes, checking his phone and typing out something I can’t see. I hold my breath not knowing where this is going. “Le Bain is not my scene at all, but some clients from Omaha were meeting there tonight, and I had to indulge them.”

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding in. Chris is a pretty good liar. Well, I guess already knew that, didn’t I? It seems that Kate is temporarily satisfied by Chris’s explanation, and I further distract her with some of my burger. My years of college with Kate have taught me that she’s a ravenous drunk. My phone dings on the table with a notification from my Sugar Girl app. I hold it under the table and read:

  Your panties are still in my pocket and your scent is on my fingers. When can I see you again? Alone.

  I shift in my seat as a surge of excitement flows through me. Chris is holding his fingers up to his nose, and where he looked cool and calm before, now he looks deadly serious.

  I type back quickly,

  We’ll talk later.

  His phone pings and luckily Kate is distracted by the remnants of my milkshake to notice these suspicious notifications. Chris looks at his phone and shakes his head, slowly. He mouths, “Not good enough. When?”

  I reach under the table again and type,

  Call me tomorrow. I can find time.

  “That’ll do,” Chris says.

  Kate perks up. “What’ll do?” she asks.

  “The food. I’m stuffed. In fact, I haven’t felt this satisfied in months.” His hand sneaks under the table and lands on my knee, his fingertips lightly resting on my kneecap and swirling small tickles around it. “What about you, Weaver? Did you have enough, or could you use a little more, get really full?”

  “Perfect, thanks,” I say, overwhelmed by his hand creeping up my leg and his double entendres that are flying over Kate’s head. She and Gray Prada must have had a lot to drink. I see her yawning between bites and her eyes aren’t exactly focusing. I think it’s time I get her out of here.