Three days after my dad walked in on me during the climax of my cam show I was in a Best Western Business hotel room. They had the fastest internet connection and were relatively close to my new apartment so I could get a feel for living there. The lighting was terrible though. I had to rearrange the lamps and even explicitly tell the cleaning staff four times already to stop putting them back where they typically were. God, the look on my Dad’s face when he stormed into my bedroom three days ago still appeared at the most random times.
I’d been eating at Taco Bell scrolling through my email messages and I had to drop the phone and put my plate of nachos down. Whatever I’d just read reminded me of a time my Dad and I went to Camelback mountain and hiked it casual like over an afternoon. He had frequently boosted me up, or held his hand out so I could pull on his strong arm. Who knew that a few years later he’d walk in to his daughter’s bedroom, probably to tell me something he was excited about, and find her deep-throating a black plastic cock, on all fours bouncing backwards on a suction cup dildo and getting filmed for strangers online. I sucked down some Diet Coke and lost all appetite for food and social media.
Another time, I was walking across the parking lot from my hotel to Wal-Mart in the adjacent strip mall, and I had a memory running through a series of parking lots running to catch up to my mom on a shopping spree. I think it might have been Black Friday, and my dad was pulling ahead. I called out to him, and his concern and love when he turned back to encourage me to hurry up flooded over me. I remember him scooping me up in his arms and dashing off after mom; they were still together then. Shame made me pull up my hoodie and walk to Wal-mart with my head hanging down fearful that anyone would see or recognize me. How do you get over your dad walking in on you just before you came for tips on video getting spit by dildos?
I showered frequently; before doing shows, after, when I woke up in the morning, and even after eating lunch, or whatever meal I ate in the middle of when I was awake. My whole sleep schedule was blurred. I cried most of that first night after getting out of the Lyft from my Dad’s house to the hotel with two lumbering suit cases full of clothes and products for my hair and makeup. I even packed the dildos and vibrators. At the time I didn’t want to leave them at my Dad’s house as a reminder of what he had to see, and I didn’t really want to take them with me. They had a film of shame and disgust over them like I didn’t wash them off after shoving them into my holes.
My cam shows the last few days had been tame affairs; me in lacy lingerie or in sweatpants and shirts like armor that I removed over time to the right tip amounts. My income was huge the first two days and then precipitously dropping. I bundled my “Dad interruption” video as a pay to watch bundle and it went viral making me another easy $4,000 in sales. If I had the will I could have gone to the porn sites and DCMA’ed my videos for them to take it down, but a forum said it was worth just letting them stay up because it was like free marketing. It was; my channel had more viewers than ever, in large part to my extreme reaction when my Dad crashed into my show and shut it down.
Three days after the incident I was setting up my room for my next cam show and the buttplug, the black dildo, and the flesh suction dildo were on my bed. They were like elephants in the room. I skirted around them, avoiding looking at them, but always aware that they were there. It takes a lot of effort to pointedly ignore something. You have to be constantly aware of it so you don’t accidentally acknowledge it. I thought it was like reverse psychology.
The hotel room had a great set of mirrors; one tall full body one that I could use in my show and the bathroom mirror huge against the whole wall and large bright lights surrounding the top and sides. I felt like it was a perfect set-up for cam shows. I could use the bathroom like a ready green room to do my make up and hair, and with the extra space in the room I could use the floor or the bed.
I found this blue and white ensemble at Wal-Mart and knew it would be perfect for my show. I could slip my boobs out frequently, could play with the garter belts on my thighs, and lift the crotch to the side if someone gave me a special tip.
My camera was all set up on the tripod, my laptop was ready to stream, and I only had to hit “record” before I began. My hair was done up in a crown braid that made me look more innocent than I felt like I was. I could undo it and splash my hair down if I got enough tips. I dyed my hair deep red the day after I moved into the hotel, and I felt like it was punishment in my pain. Like I was sinful; it might not have helped that I enjoyed the new red look, and thought it made my face sexier.
I took a deep breath. Camera ready. Lights behind the camera. Laptop plugged in. Camera plugged in. Curtains drawn. Door locked. Door locked twice; bolt in place, chain there. Good. And toys.
My breath trembled. It was the first night I brought out the toys from when my dad interrupted me.
I had to use them. My viewers had dropped off complaining of boring shows where I only talk and get naked. That I tease with my body and not produce. They wanted more like the videos I’d been doing before. They wanted more videos like I’d done with my ex-boyfriend. Thank god my dad hadn’t walked into one of those where I had let my ex fuck me from behind and put his thumb in my butt. God forbid my dad walked in on a show where I let my ex stick it in my ass for a second before I shouted in pain and fear and leapt away. My viewers seemed to like me getting tortured; up until three days ago that failed anal scene had been my highest paying night and video.
This was how I made money now. It was either this or a job at Wal-Mart folding cheap lingerie and helping overweight women convince themselves that sexy clothes were going to get their husbands to fuck them again. It clearly wasn’t the 64oz sugar coke, or the bag of doritos they chowed on while pushing their cart full of pre-packaged food through the store. I shuddered. No. Debasing myself in private for a bunch of online men and women was much better than having to deal with that kind of denial.
“Here we go,” I whispered.
I flicked on the camera, started filming, and bounced on the bed.
“Hello! I’m back!” I knew notifications were going out to people that followed me, “BunnyButtfriend is live! Check her out now by clicking here.” My ex-boyfriend thought I had the whitest “cotton tail” and called me “Bunnybutt” while we dated so I made it my screen name on the cam site. He added the “friend” because he thought he needed to be represented too. I still had a pale rear, but nowhere near as bad when I’d started camming. “Well, today I went shopping and found this lovely…”
Camming was like a performance where you’re always on and have to always be interacting even when the room is dead. I spoke to the camera about my life, about what I’d seen that day, and did my best to give hints about my body underneath, and what I was going to do for a certain amount of tips. My tip amounts today were benign for the beginning levels; 11 tokens for a flash, 13 for a bend over, 44 for 2:00 of pants off, 88 for 2:00 top and bottoms off (in lingerie), and 111 for lingerie squats. At the 2000 token total threshold I’d go naked, and for 3333 tokens in the night I’d use the dildo’s I’d been caught fucking for the first time.
My room filled fast, and only two hours in my guys had got me to 3000 tokens. My heart rate sped up. I had forgotten about the dildos. My viewers were now clamoring for them; the ding’s from tips were almost non-stop trickling in a steady flow closer and closer to 3333. Comments about my reluctance flooded the chat room. I did my best to smile, to brave my smile, but one savvy viewer (a regular) noted that I hadn’t even touched them all day; didn’t mention them, hadn’t even looked at them once during the whole two hours I’d been filming today. He was right; they burned like painful sunlight too close and I had been avoiding them.
Three minutes later the chime went off for my 3333 threshold, and I took a deep breath.
“Well, you did it guys! That was 3333, and you know what that means. I’m going to play with these toys,” I gestured to them without looking at them. “most of you know, but I haven’t used them since. Since, three days ago,” I bit back a sob, “when my dad walked in on my using them in all my holes. I took a deep breath and a long pause.
are you okay?
Don’t worry Bunnybutt! You can do it!
Eat that cock like you’re dad’s watching!!! X)
Take your time; eat the frog, bite the bullet. We support you Bunny!
The chat room was flowing fast and I couldn’t pick out everything. It seemed like the majority were sympathetic, but a few were taking perverse pleasure in my torment. I thought about the moment I decided to open the basement door and take the first steps down to confront my dad after he’d seen me spit by dildos.
They were sticky from my sweating palms, but I flopped them into my lap, and made sure to keep up the brave act for the camera. I waved them in front of my face, slapped them against my cheek, stroked them between my cleavage, and even rubbed the tip of the black one against my clit.
Tips exploded into my wallet; and I knew I was going to make a ton of money tonight. It was the right choice to face my demons head on, and I found particular joy that after three days it was my moment to rise like a phoenix to greater heights after disaster.
Working the butt plug into my ass was easy; I was pretty expert on drawing that process out for the camera. I knelt on all fours with my face turned to the camera making sure that my ass and hips were in the frame as well as my face so they could see the exaggerated expressions while I wiggled it in and out to loosen myself enough for it to enter. When I finally popped it in, I made sure to gasp with wide eyes and pant a bit to amplify the moment. That was always a money maker.
Then I moved to the black dildo. I held it in front of my face, stared at it, crunched my eyebrows, and then looked at the camera.
“The last time I put this in my mouth my dad walked in on me right as I was deepthroating it. I almost had it as deep as I’d ever done before and,” I took a deep breath between sob and whimper, “now I’m going to try and do it again. Don’t worry. The doors are all locked this time.”
Despite my on camera bravery and flippance, I had to shrug to stuff it in my mouth like the first time I pushed a dildo in my butt then put it in my mouth; it requires you to kill a visceral switch in your soul to put your mouth on something that had just been in your ass. I had to silence that part of my soul that cried out the damage I was doing to my daddy when I took that black dildo in my mouth again, the one he’d seen me gagging on, and open up my gullet for it’s wide tip.
The hesitance and screams inside my head faded behind the wall of tip chimes rolling in and all I could focus on was how my token wallet was swelling with cash. Who cared if I was naked and shoving a huge plastic cock down my mouth for strangers to whack off to. Who cared if my dad was ashamed of me. I was making money.