Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
With a long exhale, I slide the Spiderman mask over my face and log into my account. Well, I try to, anyway. I’ve forgotten my password, thanks to my hiatus, so I have to do the whole rigamarole to get a new one.
Okay.
Take two.
With my new password confirmed, I log into my account, click into my dashboard, and push the button to begin a livestream. First off, I make some brief opening remarks, including teasing my small audience about some “exciting, new stuff” I’ll be unveiling over the next two weeks. What exciting, new stuff am I talking about? I have no fucking clue. All I know is I’ve got to come up with something new, exciting, different, and dazzling—and pronto—something that sets me apart from all the other creators on this platform who jack off for cash—some of them, as superheroes—or I can kiss my dreams of becoming a vet goodbye.
“And now, without further ado . . .” I pan the camera down to reveal my naked torso and thankfully hard dick and promptly get to work on myself, since that’s what these anonymous people came here to see.
Jacking off in front of a crowd has never been my favorite thing, to put it mildly, but I’ve always managed to get past my initial shyness and rise to the occasion for the greater good. But this time, with everything on the line, I’m finding it more difficult than ever to keep my body on track.
Panicking, I close my eyes and try to imagine the hottest, sexiest porn I’ve ever watched while continuing to stroke my full length with gusto—and to my surprise, the image that pops into my head, unbidden, is the redhead’s gorgeous face. Charlotte. The asshole who’d rather fuck my father than me. What the fuck?
I try to evict Charlotte from my brain and replace her with a celebrity crush. An ex-girlfriend. The pretty woman from the gym who always does deadlifts. But nope, I keep coming back to Charlotte. Not the thing I told her I’d think about when beating off—the look on her face when she saw the tow truck. Nope. I’m seeing her belly laughing with her friend. Doing those silly dance moves. Getting out of her car in that white-hot, white jumpsuit thing. Fucking hell, she was fucking gorgeous in that thing. Holy fuck. When I saw Charlotte in that white outfit, I forgot to be angry with her for a split-second there. By the time I remembered again, my tongue was practically dragging on the street. Or hell, maybe I found Charlotte so hot in that moment partly because of my anger toward her? I don’t know. All I know was the moment felt hot as fuck and infuriating, all at once, and now, thinking about it, it’s making me hard and getting me there.
I keep going. Stroking myself while imagining Charlotte. She’s spread eagle in my bed. I’m eating her pussy like a madman. Making her scream my name and come against my mouth.
My balls tighten sharply.
And here we go. Suddenly, I’m gripped by waves of pleasure. Warmth spurts onto my hand. Success.
I open my eyes and check the tip jar on my screen, hoping I’ve earned some kind of personal best. But to my disappointment, I’ve actually underperformed this time, compared to my personal best from about six months ago. I guess being on hiatus for two months wasn’t a good thing, in terms of staying relevant and keeping the algorithms working in my favor. If I keep pulling this paltry amount with each show, I’d have to whack off thirty times per day, every day for the next two weeks, to pay that twenty grand and be able to negotiate a payment plan for the rest. Not physically possible. Obviously, I need to come up with a new strategy. Something different I can do on the platform that will set me apart from all the other dudes whacking off.
I thank my audience for their generosity, tease them again with something “new and amazing” coming to my channel soon, and log off. After ripping off my mask, I drag my naked ass into my bathroom and take a hot shower, where I wrack my brain for ideas. Something to set me apart. But I can’t think of anything. Nothing I’d actually be willing to do to my body, anyway.
When I first started doing this, I naively assumed the size of my dong would give me an advantage in the market. I’ve been in enough locker rooms at swim practices and meets to know I’m bigger than most guys. But as it’s turned out, there’s more to being successful on the platform than simply having a fit body and big dick. Some guys with smaller dicks than mine do much better because they’re great showmen. Way better than me at talking dirty to their audience. Others are buffer than me. Like, bodybuilder types. That’s not for everyone. Some prefer a fit, leaner physique, like mine. But those swole guys fracture the market. There are even some other superheroes, I’ve come to find out. So, I’m not even special on that score. And my paltry earnings reflect that.