My dad continued hammering his fists on the door to my hotel room, and I couldn’t muster the strength to pull myself off the floor to answer him. I couldn’t figure out how he knew where I was, or what my room number was. How had he found me, and why, why the fuck was he pounding on my door? I did the only thing I had the energy for after a traumatic week and hours spent pleasuring myself on camera: I cried.
Shame and disgust washed over me like I was standing in the rain but instead of water falling it was disapproving frowns from my father, from my mom, and even my stepmom. I couldn’t look at the cameras, but they were still aimed at my naked weeping. I could hear the chimes that people were tipping me for my performance, and it added to my disgust. How could people be cheering while I broke down and cried after baring my most private soul to them online? How could they be throwing money at my destruction? They didn’t care about me at all; they wanted to watch some girl fuck herself to get off on, and to see break down and flame out dissolving emotionally.
The pounding on the door ceased, and I looked hoping my dad walked away. Then I heard laughter, and a chorus of muffled voices talking. My eyebrows pushed together and I frowned. Why would my dad be here with a group of people? That didn’t make sense. I glanced at the cameras, the dildos on the floor, and then the screen which scrolled the cam room feed. Something was different and not fitting quite right; I took a breath, wiped my face with my forearm and stood up. Since cumming and the door shaking impacts I hadn’t spoken to my audience or the person on the other side of the door. Slow, padding silent as I could I tip-toed to the hotel door, and leaned against the metal.
The eye hole as a little higher than my eyeline, so I perched on my toes to look through. The fish-eye lense was dirty but effective. I could see most of the hallway, and the slumped body of a boy’s pants and shoes next to my door. A crowd of teens or college kids similar in age to me were pointing and laughing. Whoever had been hammering my door was not someone I knew; and it certainly wasn’t my father. Thank god!
Relief flooded through my skin. It was like being told you have an illness that will lead to suffering for years only to be told your test results were mixed up with someone else’s and you’re in the best of health. It felt like I had the energy to fuck myself on camera again with all the rejuvenated enthusiasm of a fresh nap. That excitement and energy faded quickly with the emotional drain from getting kicked out of my father’s house. At least he wasn’t here at the hotel in the middle of the night interrupting my shows again!
My breasts were cold against the metal door; and I had forgotten how naked I was. One of the cameras were aimed at my butt, and I was certain they could see my legs and ass if not my body. I perched longer trying to flex my legs to give them a better view; the fear and self-loathing that caused me to break down spiraled into a sort of exuberant manina after realizing the door knocking were just a bunch of young drunk idiots.
With perky nipples pinching taut by the cold door I spun back to my nest of blankets, pillows, dildos and cameras.
“Sorry about that everyone.” I pinched my tits for the main camera. “I thought it was my dad coming to yell at me! I was so scared!” I lift my chest, then let my breasts drop jiggling them for the camera. Guys seemed to like jiggling tits and I had to remember to keep moving them around. “You probably saw me crying; there was no way I was going to answer the door all naked,” I picked up a camera, “and let him in to see this mess.” I panned the lense across the floor and the rest of the room strewn with lamps in odd places, clothes piled on the floor in a corner mess, and the bottles of lube and dildos in clear view. “It was some drunk guys who didn’t know what room they were in. The guy passed out and his friends are taking care of him now. Oh my god! I was so scared!”
I shoved my hands against my nipples and clutched my tits to my chest. It pressed the flesh wide and gave me some solid cleavage. Someone tipped me.
“Anyways. I’m exhausted. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
I searched the chat box for the highest tippers of the day and gave them a personal shout out, making sure to say their names, and make a note for my assistant to give them a special video free for their generous overall donations. I’d racked up over 4,000 tokens tonight, putting me into the $3,000-$3500 category for one night; for one fucking show!
It was incredible. I checked the time; 2am. I could get online at 10 or 11pm, slowly strip while talking to randoms with energy and enthusiasm, do whatever I planned in advance for tips, then get off with an orgasm (which I’d do anyways) and earn more money in a single night then I ever had in a month!
I bounced up and down, letting my viewers get another minute of good tit wobbling, and bent over for the camera to show my pussy and butt plug. I put up the peace sign, and signed off smiling. Maybe this cam show deal wasn’t so raw and bad as I had thought it was going to be. My dad was an idiot if he didn’t think women touched themselves; a moron if he didn’t think women enjoyed sex too. If I could make this much money online getting naked in a room by myself and playing with toys I would explore on my own anyways, why not cash in?
It was clear. I was going to continue doing shows, and maybe, I might start bringing in some friends to really help me earn. Nights like tonight and three days ago were anomalies. I was going to have to treat this like work and really get motivated maximizing my income. I looked around with excitement, starting to clean up the mess of my reverlry. The dildos would have to be washed (I threw them in the bathtub), the lube recapped, the cameras sanitized, and the sheets cleaned. I got into the shower, and for the first time in the last four days, I bathed with blissful joy unconcerned by guilt or shame. Everything was going to be okay.