Chapter 13: The Creampie Close-Up
The command hung in the air, a charged directive that transformed the room’s energy from anticipation to execution. Aidan’s eyes, still locked with Suki’s in the mirror, softened with a question. A silent check-in amidst the performative chaos. She gave the barest nod, her green eyes dark and willing.
“On the chaise,” Catriona said, her voice a husky thread of sound. She disentangled herself from Suki’s mouth with a soft, wet sound and slid off the stool. She moved to the main camera, her fingers adjusting the focus with a practiced twist. “Aidan, lay her back. Let’s give them the show they paid for.”
Aidan’s hands, which had been a source of such intense, localized sensation, became gently guiding. He turned Suki, his palms warm on her shoulders, and walked her backward the few steps to the low, plush chaise. The velvet was cool against her heated skin as she sank into it. He followed her down, bracing himself above her, his body a welcome cage. The ripped bodysuit was a ruined web around her hips.
“You’re sure?” he murmured, his breath mixing with hers. It was their little secret, this second question hidden in the shadow of his body, away from the microphones.
“Yes,” she breathed, and it was the truest word she knew.
He kissed her then, not the deep, consuming kiss from before the stream began, but something slower, almost solemn. A sealing of a pact. When he pulled back, his expression had settled into a look of intense concentration. He positioned himself, the broad head of his cock nudging against her, slick from his earlier attentions and her own arousal. The pressure was immense, a familiar, stretching burn that made her gasp. He pushed in, a slow, inexorable invasion that forced the air from her lungs in a shuddering sigh. Her back arched off the velvet, every muscle taut.
“God, Suki,” he choked out, pausing once he was fully sheathed, buried to the hilt. He was trembling with the effort of holding still. The stretch was perfect, agonizing, a fullness that bordered on pain before it dissolved into pure, molten pleasure. “Every time. It’s like the first time.”
Catriona’s voice floated over, a commentary that was both clinical and fiercely proud. “Look at that, chat. Look how she takes him. All of him.” The camera on the tripod whirred softly as it zoomed in on the joined point of their bodies.
Then he moved. Gone was the gentle caution. What replaced it was a raw, driving rhythm born of pent-up demand and the explicit permission of the watching thousands. Each thrust was a deliberate claim, punching soft, wet sounds from Suki’s throat. Her legs hooked around his hips, her heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper. The world narrowed to the slap of skin, the creak of the chaise, the ragged symphony of their breathing. She could hear the frantic ticking of Catriona’s keyboard over the blood roaring in her ears.
“They’re going wild,” Catriona announced, a laugh trembling under the words. “The tips are… oh my god. They want the finish. They want it now.”
Aidan’s pace became frantic, losing its polished rhythm, devolving into something primal and urgent. His fingers bit into her thighs. His gaze was unfocused, trained on some point beyond her, beyond the room. “Suki, I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” she pleaded, her own climax coiling tight within her, triggered by the desperate pitch of his voice. “Please.”
With a guttural sound that was half groan, half sob, he pulled out of her abruptly. The sudden emptiness was a shock, a cold void where there had been heat and fullness. Before she could protest, he was kneeling between her splayed legs, his fist working his slick, thick length in fast, tight strokes.
Catriona was there instantly, a smaller camera in hand now, kneeling on the floor beside the chaise like a devotee at an altar. She aimed the lens, her face a mask of absolute focus. “Come on her,” she whispered, not to the chat, but to him. “Mark her. Let them see.”
Suki watched, mesmerized, her own need pulsing, neglected. She saw the tension cord his neck, saw his stomach muscles clench. With a sharp cry that seemed torn from his core, he came.
The first thick rope landed high on her stomach, a startling heat. The second, and the third, splattered across her pubic bone, painting her dark skin with opaque, white streaks. It was vulgar. It was breathtaking. She moaned, a sound of sheer acceptance, as the pulses continued, lessening in force, dripping down onto her slick, parted folds and the clenched, vulnerable flesh beneath.
“Yes,” Catriona hissed, the camera lens hovering inches away, capturing every pearlescent drip as it traced a path through her short curls. “God, it’s perfect. Suki, show them. Show them it’s inside.”
Dazed, Suki obeyed. She slid two fingers through the mess on her stomach, gathering the warm, viscous fluid, and guided them down, pushing her own cum-slick fingers back inside herself. She worked them slowly, allowing the mixed wetness to seep out around her knuckles, dripping onto the deep burgundy velvet of the chaise in a dark, gleaming patch. The obscenity of the act, performed under the unblinking eye of the lens, sent a final, violent shudder through her, a second, silent climax that tightened her insides and stole her breath.
Aidan watched, his chest heaving, his expression one of dazed, satiated awe. He reached out, his thumb swiping through the cooling mess on her lower belly, his touch unexpectedly tender.
Catriona finally lowered the camera. The silence in the room was profound, broken only by the relentless, cheerful ping of incoming tips from the laptop. The clinical LED light felt harsh now, exposing the sweat, the ruin of Suki’s bodysuit, the evidence of what they’d done plastered across skin and fabric.
“Well,” Catriona said, her voice returning to its normal, lighter register, though it sounded frayed at the edges. “I think we can safely say the subscriber decline is… solved.” She stood, wincing slightly as her knees cracked, and walked to the laptop. “We’re at twenty-two thousand live viewers. The VOD replay is going to buy Suki a new car.”
Suki didn’t care about the car. She was still floating, tethered to reality only by the cooling sensation on her skin and the deep, pleasant ache between her legs. Aidan sank back onto his heels, then shifted to sit on the edge of the chaise, his head in his hands. The post-adrenaline crash was hitting him too.
Catriona looked from one to the other, her playful smile fading into something more thoughtful, more real. She walked over, picked up the half-empty glass of bourbon from the desk, and took a swift swallow. “You two were… honestly, kind of magnificent.” She offered the glass to Suki, who took it with trembling fingers and drank, the liquor burning a clean path through the fog.
“I need a shower,” Suki mumbled, the words thick.
“You need about six,” Aidan agreed, lifting his head. He tried for his old, easy grin, but it wavered. What they’d shared hadn’t just been a performance for a camera. It had been a line crossed, a door opened that they all knew wouldn’t fully close again. The cameras were off, but the echo of what they’d created together hummed in the space between them, palpable and new.
Catriona watched them, her sharp eyes missing nothing. She didn’t look threatened. She looked… satisfied. And deeply, incurably curious about what would happen next.