Chapter 5: The Pitch
The decision didn’t feel like a decision at all. It was a slide. Todd thought about it for three days, a low-grade buzz of anxiety in his skull that only quieted when he was with her, when she’d sink onto him and his mind would go blissfully, violently blank. She didn’t ask again. She just started doing things.
She bought ring lights with his money. “An investment, baby,” she said, blowing a kiss at him from the Amazon box. She cleared a corner of her bedroom, pushing piles of clothes and empty energy drink cans into a smaller, neater mountain. The intent was a physical space now, a fact on the carpet.
Then, on Sunday afternoon, she patted the waterbed beside her, laptop open. Her face was flushed, not with arousal, but with the feverish excitement of a gambler seeing a winning hand. “C’mere. Look.”
He sat, the bed sloshing unsteadily beneath him. On the screen was a dashboard for a site he knew from lonely, shameful nights. The username “Candi4U” was in the top corner. The profile was half-built. The banner image wasn’t her. It was a close-up, slightly blurry photo of his own erect cock, taken from below in her dim bedroom light. It looked like a monolith. Alien. Powerful.
“See? I told you!” she squealed, clapping her hands. “The preview shot! It’s all they need! I wrote the bio and everything.” She scrolled. Your favorite PAWG and her HUGE, SHY DADDY. He’s got a SECRET WEAPON and I take it ALL. Custom vids, live shows, you name it. Ask about the GAPER special!
Todd felt his stomach drop through the waves of the mattress. “You used that picture?”
“Hell yeah, I used it! It’s the product, Todd! Look at the views on the draft already!” She pointed to a number. It was in the thousands. His throat tightened.
“We need a test video,” she declared, shutting the laptop with a snap. “Before we go live. To work out the kinks. You’re gonna be the director, tech guy. Just… put this on.” She tossed a black ski mask onto his lap. It lay there, a void in the messy fabric of her sheets.
The next hour was a bizarre, technical humiliation. He set up her phone on a tripod, adjusted the ring lights until the rumpled bedsheet backdrop was evenly lit, a sterile stage. Candi buzzed around, adjusting her makeup, choosing a neon green thong, talking a mile a minute. “Okay, so you just, like, go for it. But try to keep your head in frame so they see the mask. Maybe hold my leg up here. Yeah. And don’t talk if you don’t wanna, the silent type is hot. I’ll do all the talking.”
He put on the mask. The world narrowed to the fuzzy weave over his eyes, the smell of his own breath. His glasses were off. He was a blind, anonymous creature.
“Rolling!” she chirped, hitting record before sauntering to the bed. She launched into a performance, her voice shifting to a higher, saccharine customer-service drawl. “Hey you guys, so today I’ve got a super special treat, my daddy’s gonna wreck this little pussy for you…”
Todd watched from behind the lights, a technician. This was code. A sequence. Input A leads to Output B.
Then she crooked a finger at him. “C’mon, daddy. Don’t be shy now.”
He moved into the light. The heat from the LEDs was sudden and oppressive. He followed the script. He kissed her neck, his hands on her hips feeling like someone else’s hands. He entered her, and the mechanical act was the same, but the silent witness of the camera lens changed the pressure. It wasn’t just for her. It was for the phantom thousands.
Candi’s performance dialed up. Her moans became shouts, a running commentary of filth directed past his shoulder to the lens. “You see that? You see how deep he gets? Oh my god, he’s so fucking big, I can’t even—”. She was hamming it up, but the sensation was real. Her body clenched around him, pulling him out of his own head, back into the raw, physical truth of their connection. His rhythm broke from its initial stiffness, becoming the hard, driving pounds she craved.
He flipped her onto her back, missionary, the classic money shot angle. Her legs hooked over his elbows, her wide, painted eyes looking past him to the camera, her face a mask of exaggerated ecstasy. The bed rocked violently, its sloshing a percussive backdrop. He was sweating under the mask, his breath ragged.
“You gonna cum for them, daddy? You gonna paint this face?” she panted, her persona breaking for a second into something genuinely hungry. “Do it. Mark me.”
That did it. The vulgar ownership in her words, the sheer audacity of it all, triggered a surge that had been building for days—weeks, maybe his whole life. It wasn’t just pleasure. It was a release of every suppressed, awkward, furious ounce of himself.
He pulled out as she directed, kneeling over her. What erupted wasn’t just a climax; it was a volley, a grotesque affirmation. It striped across her chin, her cheek, caught in her bleached eyelashes. She kept her eyes wide open for the camera, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop, making a show of it.
The phone camera beeped, storage full.
Silence, except for their ragged breathing and the quiet slosh of the waterbed settling. The ring lights hummed. Candi lay perfectly still, a canvas of glistening mess, a grin spreading through the ruin on her face.
Todd pulled the soaking ski mask off. The cool air on his sweat-slick skin was a shock. He blinked, his vision blurry without his glasses. He felt hollowed out. Exposed, even though his face wasn’t on the tape.
Candi finally moved, sitting up carefully. She didn’t wipe her face. She reached for the phone, her fingers trembling with excitement, and stopped the recording. She played it back, the tinny sounds of her own screams and the wet slap of skin filling the quiet room.
She watched for a minute, then let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Holy shit,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Holy. Shit. Baby, we just made our first video.” She turned to look at him, her expression triumphant, possessive, awed. “You’re a fucking natural.”
He stared at the paused image on the small screen: the masked figure, the devastation he’d left on her. Shame flickered, then died, smothered by a deeper, more terrifying feeling. It looked professional. It looked… successful. The buzz in his skull was different now. It wasn’t anxiety.
It was the hum of the lights. The hum of the server where that video would soon live. The hum of something beginning.