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My insides burn hot. My dick swells and my pants become uncomfortably tight. I husk out a rough breath and attempt to readjust myself. Calm myself down.
The view on my phone screen doesn’t help.
Lyra stands directly in front of the camera, completely nude.
Her body leaves me speechless. She’s on the petite side, barely a few inches over five feet, yet she has a curviness to her form that couldn’t be more womanly—pointed breasts with puffy nipples and a flat stomach I bet I can cinch within my hands. Subtly rounded hips and thighs that look silken, and a mons pubis that draws my attention.
She’s shaven, offering me a sneak peek of the plump, beautiful v-shape that is her vulva.
“Damn it,” I grunt, unable to resist rubbing the front of my pants.
Lyra might as well be modeling for me. She reaches into her dresser drawer and then shimmies into a pair of panties. The kind that hugs her hips but covers her up well. The female version of briefs.
Some men would be disappointed. They would hope for a sexy bikini cut or some type of thong.
However, I find itsexierthat she’s wandering around her room in briefs, like she’s comfortable in her skin as she unknowingly teases me.
I won’t deny myself another second. As Lyra attempts to tidy up in her room, picking up piles of clothes, I pull out my dick. My hand wraps around my length and I stroke myself. Perhaps the oddest, most mundane jerking I’ve ever done—I’m getting myself off to the sight of a woman walking around in her panties and a cartoon t-shirt.
But it’s thedetailsthat do me in.
The way her puffy nipples poke through the flimsy, faded fabric of her t-shirt and how her ass moves as she steps around.
I close my eyes and imagine myself in the room with her. I imagine what she’d do if I showed up. If I did what Grady did and invited myself into her room, kissed her on the mouth, let my hand explore the curves of her body…
My strokes grow faster as I attempt to get myself off. I’m tuned into Lyra’s room and out of the physical environment that surrounds me. The abandoned office with its dust laced in the air and stale smell couldn’t affect me less.
My dick throbs in anticipation. I tighten my grip and fist it even faster.
So close. So fucking close.
If only it were Lyra’s hands on my cock. If only it were Lyra’s mouth wrapped around it. Her pussy clenching my girth as I buried myself inside her.
I’m breathing heavily, stroking fast, on the precipice of coming when… I lose it. The climax I’m working toward vanishes, my chest sputtering its next breath.
I lose it because of what I’m seeing on my phone screen. Lyra’s finished tidying up and has sat down at her desk. She’s logged onto her laptop. She’s put on that fucking mask of hers.
The leather cat mask she wears when she’s talking tothem. She knows what she’s doing—though technically they can’t see that she’s in her panties, I’m sure they’re able to see her nipples poke through the fabric of her shirt.
It’s just the right level of tease for her. For her to sexualize herself and garner their interest just enough without offering too much. Without crossing an invisible, unspoken line it seems she has.
Anger surges through me watching her cam show. It goes on for almost an hour.
I log onto the Cyber Fans account I created purely for her and clench my fists at the deluge of crude messages filling up her chatroom.
Men asking her to strip. Men speaking to her like a whore. Men demanding she offer more explicit content.
There are the ones who speak sweetly, pathetically, to her as though she’s their real girlfriend and not a woman who simply wants their subscription money. In some ways, these creeps are almost worse. They’re delusional enough to believe they have a real chance with her.
The entire show is a form of torture I was unaware existed.
By the time Lyra logs off, I’m glaring at her through the phone screen. Howdareshe cam with dozens of strange men mere hours after a lunch date with me!?
Admittedly, she agreed to lunch under the pretense of friendship; however, it feels like a betrayal. I’ve given her a job opportunity she’d never have earned on her own.
Fyodor would slam the door in her face without my recommendation.
I’m torn between staying put and spying some more and giving up my endeavor altogether. Sensibility would dictate I do the latter. I collect my dignity and leave her be. At least for the night. Enough is enough.
