Chapter 12: The First Blowjob
The price of “a real one” was negotiated in cold, hard crypto. The chat didn’t just want penetration. They wanted submission. They wanted my mouth. For seventy-two hours, the demand was a single, pulsing word: BLOWJOB.
“It’s the last frontier,” Evan said, not looking up from his analytics dashboard. His voice was clinical, a producer discussing a script. “Solo, DP, they’re physical. This is… psychological. The viewers want to see you serve. The payout is triple the solo.”
I stood by the cracked living room window, watching rain slick the asphalt. “It’s gay as hell.”
“It’s a mouth. On a dick. The body performing the act is female. The market doesn’t classify it as gay.” He finally glanced at me. “But you classifying it that way is exactly what’s going to sell it.”
Drew was quieter than usual, fiddling with a loose thread on the couch. The green-screen cityscape behind him glitched, a silent digital scream.
“Who?” I asked, the word flat.
“Drew,” Evan said immediately. “Smaller frame. Less intimidating for a… first time. And his enthusiasm reads better on camera. Less creepy, more… celebratory. The audience identifies with him.”
Drew’s head snapped up. A flush spread from his neck to his cheeks. He didn’t say yes. He didn’t have to. The hard bulge already tenting his sweatpants was his contract.
The ring lights buzzed to life, casting a surgical brightness over the stained couch. The air grew warm, thick with the smell of overheated electronics and Drew’s cheap body spray. Evan adjusted the main camera on its tripod, then clipped a GoPro to its side for the close-up. “We’ll get the money shot from here,” he muttered, his own breathing slightly too fast.
I wore just a pair of black boxer shorts I’d stolen from my own old drawer. A pathetic flag of protest. My tits were bare, my hair tied back in a severe tail. This was a utility, not a seduction.
“Chat’s live,” Evan said, his eyes glued to the monitor. “They’re hearing us.”
I turned to the camera, my face a slate. “You animals kept banging the donate button until you broke it. So here’s the deal. You want a fucking blowjob? You get a fucking blowjob.” I looked at Drew, who was sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch cushion. “Get your dick out, Drew. Don’t make me ask twice.”
My voice, the command in it, seemed to flip a switch in him. The nervousness vanished, replaced by a performative bravado. He shoved his sweatpants and boxers down to his thighs. His cock sprang free, already fully hard, thick and ruddy against his pale thigh. A bead of precum glistened at the slit.
“See?” Drew said, aiming a shaky grin at the camera. “Told you I was ready for her.”
Her. The word was a icepick in my ear.
I walked over, the floorboards cold under my feet. I stopped in front of him, looking down. From this angle, it was just a dick. I’d seen it a thousand times in the bathroom, in the locker room back in high school. But the context transformed it into an alien monument, a demand. My stomach coiled.
“You touch my head without permission, I bite it off,” I said, my tone conversational.
Drew’s hands, which had been drifting upward, clenched into fists on his own knees. “Yeah. Okay, Tay.”
I lowered myself to my knees. The gritty texture of the rug dug into my skin. The position itself was a violation, a reshaping of our history. I was looking up at Drew’s nervous, excited face, at the stupid gaming poster over his shoulder. My mouth was level with his cock. The musk of him, salty and intimate, filled my nose.
I spat into my palm, not taking my eyes off his. I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, feeling the heat, the throb of his pulse under the skin. It was just skin. Just blood. I repeated it like a mantra. Just a hot dog. Just a fucking skin hot dog.
I leaned in.
My first touch was with my tongue, a flat, deliberate lick from root to tip. The taste was sharp, salty, overwhelmingly male. Drew shuddered, a whimper catching in his throat. I opened my mouth and took the head inside.
The reality of it was a sucker punch. The spongy feel of the glans against my tongue, the slick leak of precum, the sheer presence of another man’s cock filling a hole in my face. My gag reflex clenched, a primal alarm. I breathed hard through my nose, willed my throat to relax.
“Oh fuck, Taylor,” Drew moaned, his head falling back.
I pushed forward, taking more. My lips stretched around his girth. I could hear Evan’s shallow breathing from behind the camera, the quiet whir of the lens zooming in. I moved my head back, then shoved down again, forcing more of him into my mouth. My jaw ached. Saliva pooled, dripped down his shaft onto my hand.
“Look at that,” Evan’s voice cut through, a director’s commentary for the stream. “Look at her take it. Deep.”
Her. Her. Her.
Anger, hot and clean, cut through the disgust. This was my show. My performance. I locked my eyes on Drew’s glazing ones and shoved down until my nose was buried in his coarse pubic hair. My throat opened, swallowed him whole. The feeling of his cockhead nudging into my esophagus was surreal, a deep internal violation. Tears, purely physical, welled and streaked down my cheeks.
I pulled back, gasping, a thick string of spit connecting my lips to his shining dick. “You like that?” I rasped, the words garbled. “You like watching your bro deepthroat you?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I set a brutal pace, bobbing my head, using my hand to twist at the base. It was mechanical, a job. Suck, pull, twist. The sounds were obscenely wet, loud in the silent room apart from Drew’s broken moans and the frantic keyboard clatter of chat notifications on the monitor.
“I’m gonna… Taylor, I’m gonna cum!” Drew’s voice was a strangled shout, his hands flying up to clutch at the couch cushions, remembering my threat too late.
I redoubled my efforts, taking him as deep as I could, hollowing my cheeks. I wanted it over. I wanted the evidence, the final humiliation.
His whole body stiffened. A guttural, helpless noise ripped from his chest. Then the first hot, bitter spurt hit the back of my throat. It was viscous, shocking in its warmth. I didn’t pull away. I held him there, feeling pulse after pulse coat my tongue, fill my mouth. The taste was musky, chemical, overwhelming. My stomach lurched.
When he was spent, twitching, I slowly withdrew. I made a show of keeping my mouth closed, my cheeks full. I faced the main camera, my tear-streaked face stark under the lights. I opened my mouth, letting the thick, pearlescent cum pool on my tongue for the hovering GoPro to see in high definition. Then, with a hard swallow that echoed, I forced it down.
I opened my mouth wide, clean, empty. “Satisfied?”
The chat window on the monitor became a solid, screaming block of animated tokens and emojis. The donation sound played on a loop, a robotic cash register cha-ching that didn’t stop.
I pushed myself up from my knees, my joints stiff. I walked to the camera, reached past Evan, and hit the ‘End Stream’ button. The silence that followed was absolute, ringing.
Drew was slumped on the couch, breathing heavily, his soft dick exposed. He couldn’t look at me.
Evan stared at the now-dark monitor. “The superchat total… it’s more than the last three streams combined.”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, though the taste was cemented inside me. “Good,” I said, my voice hoarse from abuse. I walked towards the bathroom. “Pay the internet bill. And Drew?” I paused at the hallway door.
He flinched. “Yeah?”
“Next time, trim your fucking pubes.”