pairing . AdultContentCreator!Scaramouche x OFmodel!Reader
summary . You make premium adult content, profiting off your virgin status, rejecting every disgusting offer in your DMs, waiting for something that feels real. Then, you find that something, Scaramouche. He makes adult content, fucks girls, sends them off, and the cycle repeats. But something about him makes you want to hand him over all your firsts. [MODERN AU]
contains (warnings) . explicit sexual content, being filmed, but obviously consensual, mean scara, dirty talk, degradation, oral, throat fucking, mirror sex, porn WITH plot, overstimulation, too lazy to add more
word count . 14k (i know... i know.)
an . i literally spent ages on making the fake twitter profiles, idk how these ppl in the smau's do it istg. i also had to study, like a maniac, loads of twt corn acc's to make this, so i hope this is good. cross posted onto ao3
You have a dirty secret.
Well… maybe dirty isn’t the right word.
Lucrative.
Thrilling.
Deeply, and I mean deeply embarrassing if anyone you knew in real life ever found out.
You make premium content.
Sex content.
It started after so many failed job searches; it’s so hard to find work in this day and age as a young adult with zero experience. You also attend college, and you know the moment you do actually get a boring, shitty job as a cashier or some shit, you’d want to shoot yourself in the head due to all the stress that’ll come with it.
You saw other girls on TikTok, flaunting their gaming set-ups from DMing creeps on Discord, going on calls with them, masturbating or pretending to, and they get the biggest paycheck of their life.
You’d do that if you didn’t have to go on call with them and hear their gross, disgusting voice.
So you chose the other option, chose to sell your body online, even though, compared to how girls on Discord make money, they don’t have to sell their nudes, just talk on call, you’d rather just record yourself doing lucrative acts.
I mean, why not? You were already broke, stressed beyond any comprehension, already spending too much money on lingerie that no one ever saw.
Now someone sees it, thousands of someones, actually.
It’s practically a job at this point, your real job if you’re being honest.
You lie to your parents, tell them you work at a cafe near campus, and they’re so proud of you. Their hardworking daughter, juggling school and work and still managing to keep her grades up.
If only they knew.
You don’t just do it for the money, even though that’s how it started. Like, yeah, the money is actually insane, more than you’d ever even expect, so much that you've had to open separate bank accounts just to hide it from your parents. But that's still not why you keep doing it.
You do it because it's fun.
You do it because it feels good.
I mean, why wouldn’t it?
It’s fun dressing up all cute, bringing your aesthetic in your videos because the fans love it. Soft pinks, light pastels, lace, ribbons, and so many bows.
You show your face in your videos.
But you wouldn’t ever get caught. Why? Because you wear wigs, cute ones that actually look good and not shitty party city ones, you do your makeup in a way that people on TikTok and Pinterest would call ‘dollmaxxer,’ eyelashes, glossy lips, aegyo sal shimmer forever and always.
You cosplay sometimes, characters from games and anime that your subscribers request.
That’s the thing that sets you apart from a lot of creators, most of them crop their faces out, wear masks, keep the camera angled just so. You’re lucky you don’t have any distinctive birthmarks, tattoos, or anything tying you to the girl who goes to college and buys coffee from the campus Starbucks.
It didn’t take long before you moved out of your college dorm. Roommates are a liability when your job involves moaning loudly on camera three times a week.
Now you have your own apartment, expensive but worth it, a pink sanctuary where you can film without worrying about anyone walking in.
Your content is... specific.
You goon, that’s the word for it, that’s what people call it on the internet.
You slap your face with dildos, letting them bounce off your cheeks, you grind on pillows and plushies, soaking the fabric while you whimper and moan. Sometimes you even sell the pillows you grind on, subscribers love it all.
You drool excessively, letting spit drip down your chin while you suck on a dildo attached to your wall, your eyes rolled back, your tongue out too far.
You make yourself look stupid, brainless, like a toy that exists only for pleasure.
It's fun.
It feels good.
And the sponsors love it.
Sex toy brands send you free products constantly. Vibrators, dildos, plugs, things you didn't even know existed before you started this job. All you have to do is use them on camera, tag the company, and they keep sending more.
What you hate is your subscribers.
Obviously, your content caters to the male gaze. That's the market. That's where the money is.
But god, the men are disgusting.
The comments they leave, the DMs they send, the way they talk to you like you're not a person, just a thing they can say whatever they want to.
You have some subscribers who are women, followers, and mutuals who found you through the aesthetic side of things. They're the sweetest. They leave nice comments, send supportive messages, and actually treat you like a human being.
The men are the problem.
You also profit off being a virgin.
It’s not a lie, you know, some creators fake it, like Sophie Rain. But you’re genuinely untouched.
Never had a boyfriend. Never had sex, never even been kissed before.
The dildos you use on yourself don't change that. Toys aren't real dicks.
It's your biggest money maker, honestly. The virgin thing. Men lose their minds over it. They DM you constantly, begging to be the one to take it, offering obscene amounts of money to fuck you on camera.
You always deny.
Always.
Because even so, even after everything you've done on camera, you want to wait for the right person. You want it to mean something. You want...
You don't know what you want.
But you know it's not some random subscriber with a dick pic in his DMs.
Tonight, you're exhausted.
You just finished filming a two-hour session, one of those marathon streams where you edge yourself over and over until your thighs are shaking and your brain goes blank. Your subscribers loved it. You made more money in those two hours than most people make in years.
And now all you want to do is lie in bed and doom-scroll until you pass out.
You're on your stomach, still wearing the sheer babydoll lingerie from your stream, lacey underwear clinging to you. You’re on your phone, Twitter open, scrolling mindlessly through your feed.
Your algorithm feeds you content from girls like you, with similar aesthetics, similar content. Some of them are your mutuals, creators you’ve befriended through the weird little community you’ve stumbled into. You leave sweet comments on their posts, the kind of supportive girl-to-girl energy that balances out the gross male comments.
You're not really paying attention, just scrolling.
And then something new comes up.
It's a video, a boy, this time, which is unusual for your feed. The algorithm is probably experimenting, testing your preferences.
The boy is skinny, pale, really pale, like porcelain skin. He’s on a bed with white sheets, his face is cropped out of the frame, but you can see his body, lean and so pretty, looming over a girl who lies beneath him.
He's holding her arms above her head.
And he's fucking into her mouth.
You don't scroll past. You don't mindlessly like and move on. Instead, you tap the video to turn up the volume just a little.
The sounds are obscene.
Wet, throat gagging sounds, the girls' muffled whimpers mixing with his soft grunts of pleasure. He fucks into her mouth, slow, at first, almost lazy, then faster, harder.
The girl taps his thigh. The universal signal for "I need to breathe." You've done it yourself, with the dildos attached to your wall, practicing for videos, it’s basic human instinct, you think.
He laughs.
That laugh.
It's mean and amused and condescending, and something about it makes you clench around absolutely nothing.
He doesn't stop. If anything, he goes faster, ignoring her desperate taps, using her mouth like it belongs to him.
Only at the last second does he pull back. She gasps, choking, saliva dripping down her chin, and before she can recover, he's pushing back in.
Your pussy clenches again.
The video is in Japanese, which was obvious mainly because of the body parts being censored and the words coming from his mouth. You don't understand a single word from it, but something about him, about the way he moves, the way he sounds, the casual cruelty of his body language...
You click on his profile.
scaramouche
His profile picture is a boy's pale, slender hand gripping a girl's face. His bio is in Japanese characters you can't read, so you copy it into a translator.
"i'll fucking digest you, one kiss at a time."
That's it. That's all he has to say about himself.
He’s following zero people, fucking dickhead you think, and he has over 500k followers.
Holy shit…
More than you.
You scroll down, his age is listed, 20. He’s 2 years older than you.
Obviously, as any normal person who's about to stalk a stranger's content, you click on the media tab.
Your heart drops.
He shows his face.
Not everyone does; most people don’t want others to recognize them in real life. You didn’t expect to see his face because in the other video, the camera was angled down.
This guy, this scaramouche, he doesn't seem to care.
He's hot.
No… hot isn’t the right word to describe him, actually. He’s pretty, beautiful, even, in a way that doesn’t even seem real.
Dark indigo hair, which could almost be blue or even purple in certain lighting, eyes the same color.
A face that definitely shouldn’t be used on making porn.
The first video with his face in it is him on a couch with a girl. His house is expensive, the kind of expensive that screams old money or nepo baby or both. The girl's face is blurred, but his isn't. He's looking directly at the camera, completely unbothered.
Nepo baby, you decide. Has to be. Some rich kid who hates his mom and spends her money on whatever he wants, not caring about his image or his future or anything.
He probably gets away with it because he's a man.
The video is in Japanese as figured. You watch it anyway, picking up on body language instead of words. The girl looks nervous, shaking slightly, and he sits close to her, petting her hair, touching her thigh. He leans in but doesn't kiss her. Just hovers there, making her wait.
You get bored and translate the description instead.
He calls her shy. Says she just broke up with her boyfriend, saw his content online, and wanted to be one of the girls in his videos. He talks about how he's going to ruin her. Turn her into a perfect little doll.
You don't feel disgusted by it; you don’t even know what you feel.
You keep scrolling.
Ten minutes later, you've gone through most of his content.
He's always in control, always cruel, always making the girls in his videos fall apart in ways that look almost painful. But he also... takes care of them. In his own way. Kisses them while he fucks them. Leaves hickeys all over their skin. Holds them down but also holds them close.
It's confusing.
Probably more confusing for the girls.
It makes you feel things you don't want to examine.
Somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark, you give up pretending you're just curious.
You grab the vibrator from your nightstand, the one you just used on stream, and press it between your legs.
You cum to the sound of his voice.
His moans, the way he laughs at the girls when they beg, the way he laughs even harder when they start shaking from being overstimulated. The things he says in Japanese that you don't understand but somehow feel in your core anyway.
You cum again.
And again.
You're on your third orgasm, trembling and oversensitive, when your phone buzzes with a notification.
A DM.
From him.
Your heart stops.
You stare at the notification, certain you're hallucinating. You followed him earlier, when you first clicked on his profile. You didn't think anything of it; you follow lots of people.
But he followed you back.
And now he's messaging you.
You tap on the notification with shaking fingers, fully expecting to see a wall of Japanese characters you won't understand.
It's in English.
You stare at the message for a full minute in shock. Your brain is refusing to process this, because what the fuck type of coincidence is this?
He looked at your profile, saw your content, your bio, your everything while you were cumming to his own content.
And in your bio, the first fucking line is:
horny virgin
Fuck.
scaramouche:
hello?
i know youre online
i saw you like one of my videos 3 minutes ago
and twitter also shows when people read your texts
Shit.
You forget how annoying this app is, how it automatically shows ‘seen’, when you click on someone’s DM, and there doesn’t seem to be a way to turn it off.
Twitter needs to fucking change that.
Embarrassing.
you:
um… hi?
scaramouche:
there she is
thought you were gonna leave me on read
you:
sorry
i was just surprised i guess
scaramouche:
surprised that i messaged you?
you:
yeah lol
you kinda dont really seem like the type to just dm ppl
scaramouche:
im not
girls usually come to me
You roll your eyes hard in real life. He sounds so egotistical.
you:
okayyy..
so why r u dming me then?
scaramouche:
bcuz i wanted to
is that a problem
you:
no
i mean… IDK… i guess not?
scaramouche:
relax holy shit
im not gonna bite you unless…
unless you want me to
You read that last message three times at the least. Your face is burning, you're still wet from earlier, still sensitive, and this conversation is not helping. You squirm in your bed, sitting back against a pillow and pulling your sheets over you so that you’re more comfortable.
The vibrator, the toy you used on yourself to his videos stares back at you, the stare feels harder than how it felt when your plushies would look at you while you shot videos.
You turn your body away from it and lie on your side.
you:
how did you even find my account
i know you aren’t just scrolling thru your notifications, looking at any any girls profile that follows u
scaramouche:
algorithm duh
you came up on my feed
some video of you drooling on a dildo
In real life, you shove your face into your pillow, embarrassed, before glancing up, thumbs typing.
you:
oh god
scaramouche:
it was cute
very pathetic mostly but cute
i liked it
you:
i don’t know if that’s a compliment or not
scaramouche:
it is trust me
You don't know what to say. You're typing and deleting, typing and deleting, too shy to keep up this conversation.
Thankfully, he talks first, again.
scaramouche:
you know what actually make me interested in you, though
you:
what?
scaramouche:
your bio
the first thing it says, horny virgin
thats real right?
not some marketing bullshit like the other girls on here
you:
it’s real
scaramouche:
fuck thats hot
You stare at your screen, wide eyed, trying to ignore the feeling of your cunt, aching, clenching around nothing…
Because of him.
you:
…
scaramouche:
i mean it
the virgin thing drives me insane
but you already know that from stalking my account
you:
uh, no i wasn’t
scaramouche:
mhm…
yeah sure
tell that to my inbox
stalker tip: try not to like every single post of mine that you scroll past, even though i always get a shit ton of likes, i can see when a mutual likes my post
You didn’t think about it till now that you’re mutuals with him on here, you followed him, and he followed you.
He continues typing.
scaramouche:
its hot thinking about some cute girl who’s never been touched for real
who only knows what it feels like from toys
and whos been practicing on dildos for years without having the real thing
you:
i haven’t been practicing for years
i’ve only been doing this for like… a year tops
scaramouche:
even better
a year of making content
a year of showing off that pretty little body and nobody gets to actually have it
thats so fucked up dont you think?
you:
i guess when you put it that way
scaramouche:
and then i look at the shit you post
"soft girl with soft moans & a tight grip" "wanna b ur brainless toy" "force me to take it"
you srsly write all that and youre still a virgin?
you:
those r just marketing
it’s what subscribers want to hear
you should know this
scaramouche:
is it though?
because i watched ur videos
and you dont look like youre faking it
you look like you mean every dirty word
You don’t have a response for that, because he is actually right. You do mean it, every filthy caption, every desperate moan, every time you beg the camera to use you, you mean it.
You just never thought you'd actually get to experience it.
scaramouche:
so here what i wanna know
with all the subscribers you have
all the men in your comments, begging, offering to fly you out and fuck you on camera
why are you still untouched
you:
because they’re all disgusting
dont u see half or most of them are like 40 yr olds with wives??
plus i dont want my first time to be with some random guy who just wants content
scaramouche:
what do you want then
you:
i dont know
something real ig
someone who actually gives a shit about me
scaramouche:
thats cute
naive
but cute
you:
whats that supposed to mean
scaramouche:
it means you’re in the wrong industry for romance sweetheart
but i respect it
it’s rare nowadays
You're blushing so hard your cheeks could probably boil an egg.
He called you sweetheart.
Sweetheart.
It shouldn't affect you this much. It's probably something he says to all the girls.
But still.
you:
so why r u messaging me if you’re not trying to fly me out or whatever
scaramouche:
maybe i am
you:
oh
scaramouche:
would that be so bad?
you:
i mean yes? i dont know you
scaramouche:
you know what i do
you know what i look like
you know how i treat the girls in my videos
you also know that im more age appropriate than the creeps in your dm’s
thats more than what most people know about each other before they fuck
you:
thats different
scaramouche:
how
you:
it just is
scaramouche:
youre scared arent you
you:
im not scared
im just cautious
scaramouche:
same thing but whatever
i get it tho
random guy on the internet wants to meet up
thats serial killer energy i know
you:
it is a little bit
scaramouche:
fair but for what it’s worth i dont live in japan
so i wouldn’t have to fly u there if you change your mind
i just go to japan sometimes for vids, i actually live in [insert city/town/whereever you live name]
Your heart stops.
That’s where you live. The same area your apartment is in, the same place where your campus is in.
He’s so much closer than you thought.
you:
wait srsly??
scaramouche:
yeah, why?
r u from there too?
you:
…maybe
scaramouche:
holy shit
small world
or maybe the algorithm knows more than we thought
you:
that’s kinda creepy
scaramouche:
it’s extremely creepy
but also very convenient if you ever wanted to meet up
you:
i don’t know about that
scaramouche:
no pressure
just saying the options here
You've spent the last hour watching his videos, cumming to his voice, imagining yourself as one of the girls he ruins on camera. And now he's in your DMs, telling you he lives in your city, offering to meet up.
This is insane.
And also dangerous.
And also everything you've fantasized about.
scaramouche:
you dont have to decide rn
im not going anywhere
just think ab it
you:
okay ill think about it
scaramouche:
good girl
You’re too fucking easy, because those two small words makes your entire body feel hot, and you have to press your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure
scaramouche:
you liked that
didn’t you
you:
what
scaramouche:
being called a good girl
i can practically feel you squirming through the screen
you:
get over urself
im not squirming
scaramouche:
liar
you:
shut up
scaramouche:
make me
You’re going to die, literally, actually going to combust right here in your bed, and they’ll find your body in the morning, still holding onto your phone, still blushing.
You need to end this conversation before it spirals into you giving in.
you:
i need to go to sleep
scaramouche:
running away already?
you:
im not running away
im just tired
i had a superrr long stream tonight
scaramouche:
yeah i watched a little of it
u looked all cute
all fucked out and desperate
you wish you had someone there to actually take care of you after, don't you?
Oh fuck do you. So bad…
You wish he was that someone.
you:
maybe
scaramouche:
think ab that too while you’re “sleeping”
you:
you’re insufferable
scaramouche:
really now?
and yet…
you haven’t blocked me
you:
goodnight scaramouche
scaramouche:
scara
you:
what?
scaramouche:
call me scara
only people i like get to use the full name
you:
okay
goodnight, scara
scaramouche:
night virgin
dream about me
You close the app before you can say anything else stupid.
Your heart is pounding, head spinning, and you’re still so wet, still needy, and now you have a name, and a face to attach to all of your desperate fantasies.
You're not going to sleep tonight.
You know that already.
You're going to lie here in the dark and think about him. About his voice that you can only imagine in Japanese because that’s all you’ve heard. About his hands… About all the things he does to those girls in his videos and how badly you want him to do them to you.
But you can't.
You won't.
Because if you meet him, if you let him take your virginity, he'll just add you to his collection. Another video, another conquest. Another girl who fell for his pretty face and annoying pretty and cruel hands.
And then he'll move on to the next one.
And you'll be left with nothing but a video and a broken heart.
You want him. You know that now, with painful clarity.
But you want him to stay.
And you don't know if he's capable of that.
Two weeks.
It’s been two weeks since Scara slid into your DMs, and somehow, against all logic and reason, he’s still there.
You expected him to ghost you.
That's what guys like him do, right?
They message a girl, realize she's not going to put out immediately, and move on to someone easier. You were prepared for the silence, had already started bracing yourself for the inevitable.
It never came.
He’d send you videos, porn videos he found on twitter.
scaramouche:
[video attachment]
this is what id do to u btw
just so yk
you:
oh my god scara wtf
u can’t just send me stuff like that at 2pm
scaramouche:
um why the fuck not?
r u at school or something
you:
yes actually
im literally in the middle of a lecture
scaramouche:
boringgggg
watch the video
you:
im not watching porn in class scara
scaramouche:
coward
It wasn’t always porn that you’d both talk about though, he’d send you other things…
scaramouche:
[image attachment]
you:
lol is that build a bear
scaramouche:
it’s a fucking sanrio build a bear
it’s YOUR fault my algorithm is ruined
now i see this dumb shit constantly
you:
aww
that’s so cute though??
scaramouche:
it’s not cute
it’s annoying
i used to get porn content now i get plushies and dumb pastel room tours
you:
sounds like an improvement tbh
scaramouche:
i hate you
He was also still in the subject of wanting to meet with you, in real life.
scaramouche:
[video attachment]
notice how she taps out at the end?
you:
yeah
scaramouche:
i wouldn’t let u tap out
you:
…
scaramouche:
just saying for when we meet
you:
IF we meet
scaramouche:
when
You clicked on his profile one night, just to check. Just to see if he's posted anything new.
He hasn't.
No new videos.
No new photos. Nothing in the same amount of time he’s been chatting with you.
That's... unusual. He used to post constantly. New girls every few days, new content every week. Now there's nothing.
You're not sure what that means.
But then you notice something else.
His following count. The little number that shows how many accounts he follows.
1
Just one.
You tap on it, expecting it to be private, and it is. But you already know.
It's you.
Out of everyone on this app, all the girls in his DMs, all the creators he could be following... he only follows you.
Your heart does something complicated in your chest that you don’t understand.
You don't mention it to him.
At some point, you both exchanged numbers.
scaramouche:
hey y/n
we should exchange numbers
you:
why…
scaramouche:
bcuz twitter dms r annoying and i wanna text u without the app crashing every 5 minutes
you:
idk…
scaramouche:
im not asking for nudes
well even though you have it all posted already
i just want ur number so we can talk easier
you:
ughh
okay
fineee [number]
scaramouche:
finally
check ur texts
You check your texts and there's a message from an unknown number.
3058291193: hey virgin
You save his contact with a little purple heart emoji next to his name.
You both start texting more now that you both don't have to open Twitter just to message each other. It's nice, fun... but you also want to know more about him.
So one day, you ask.
you:
we’ve known eachother for like almost 2 weeks now
and i barely know anything about u
tell me something ab u
scara:
uhhh
like what
you:
why do u do this content
i mean… you clearly don’t need the money
scara:
the fuck
how do u know that
you:
your house in the vids
ur clothes
everything about u screams rich
scara:
observant now?
yeah okay
my mom is super loaded
shes some corporate bitch who cares more ab her company than her own son
she barely knows i exist
so i spend her money however i want and she doesn’t gaf
you:
that sounds so lonely
scara:
dont psychoanalyze me
or im blocking u
you:
sorry
scara:
it’s fine
ur not wrong
it’s just annoying when ppl are right about me
After that conversation, he started talking more about himself.
scara:
i have a cat btw
you:
wait… rly?
i didn’t expect that
scara:
black fur, golden eyes
her name is kuroneko
it means black cat in japanese
yes i know thats basic shut up
you:
aww thats so cute
can i see her??
scara:
[image attachment]
you:
OH MY GOD SHES SO PRETTY
scara:
shes a bitch actually
hates everyone but only tolerates me
you:
sounds like someone i know…
scara:
fuck off
You find out more and more about Scara. How he speaks Japanese fluently because his mom sent him to international schools growing up. How he lived in Tokyo for three years before moving back here. How he absolutely hates sweets, can’t stand anything too sugary…
except for you…
Tonight, you’re in your bed after a long day of school, you skip filming to talk with Scara like you normally do.
scara:
yk what i dont get
you:
what…
scara:
why u wont let me meet u
you:
ughhh scara
we’ve been over this
scara:
have we though?
because everytime i bring it up you change the subject
or you say you’re not ready
or you make some shitty excuse
you:
scara…
scara:
im srs two weeks we’ve been talking
i message you everyday
i havent posted shit because im too busy thinking ab u and u still wont tell me why you’re so scared
im not a stranger to u anymore, y/n
You stare at your phone for a long time.
You’ve been making excuses, not wanting to give the real answer everytime he’s too close to it.
But tonight, for some reason, you're tired of pretending.
you:
okay fine
u wanna know why im scared?
scara:
duh
it’s what ive been asking this whole time
you:
because you’re going to leave
scara:
what
you:
after you take my virginity and film the video you’re going to leave
and go back to making content with other girls
and im just going to be another video in your collection, another girl you fucked and moved on from
He doesn’t respond, and you keep going.
you:
and i dont know if i can handle that scara
because i actually like you, and i like talking to you all night
and then that’ll all just be over once we meet up
The typing indicator appears, disappears, appears again.
You wait.
And finally…
scara:
you’re so fucking pathetic
you:
wow
thanks
scara:
no i mean it
thats the most pathetic thing ive read
two weeks of bullshit when you could’ve just said that from the beginning
you:
so what? r u going to make fun of me now?
scara:
no im gonna tell u something and you’re going to listen, okay?
you:
okay
scara:
i havent posted in 2 weeks because everytime i think about filming with some girl whos offering in my DM’s, all i can think about is you
and how it should be you
and how everyone else would just be a waste of time
and im the one who reached out to you first when i normally dont
do u understand what im saying?
you:
i think so
scara:
good bcuz thats all your getting
my pride can only take so much
You read his message, over and over, trying to convince yourself that they're real, trying to convince yourself that he likes you just as much as you like him.
you:
okay
scara:
okay what
you:
okay ill meet u tmr after school
u can come by my place
scara:
are you serious
you:
yes im serious
i want to
i’ve wanted to this whole time i was just scared
scara:
and now?
you:
still scared but more scared of never knowing what this could be
scara:
…send me your address
you:
[address]
scara:
ur fucking kidding me
you’re 5 miles away from me
you:
wow really
scara:
i could’ve been fucking you for 2 weeks
you:
scara
scara:
im kidding
kind of..
ill be there tmrw what time specifically
you:
my last class ends at 3… so maybe 5?
gives me time to get ready
scara:
k
ill bring my camera equipment in case yours is shit
you:
it’s not shit
scara:
we’ll see
goodnight virgin
sleep tight, because tmr you’re going to be ruined
you:
goodnight scara
You don't sleep.
I mean, who would in a situation like this?
You drift in and out, feeling both anxiety and anticipation.
Tomorrow.
It’s happening tomorrow.
After two weeks of texting, flirting, you’re finally going to meet him.
And he's going to take your virginity.
And film it.
And maybe, possibly, hopefully, not disappear afterward.
The next day is absolute torture.
Every class drags on forever.
Every lecture feels like it's being delivered through molasses.
You check your phone constantly, rereading your conversation with Scara, making sure it really happened. Making sure you didn't imagine it.
You didn't.
Your last class ends at 3:07. You're out the door by 3:08, practically running to your apartment.
You do that stupid Cassie routine in Euphoria. Shower, shave, exfoliate everywhere. Everywhere. Moisterize every inch of your body with the expensive lotion that makes your skin feel like silk and look insanely good for the cameras. You do your makeup, lighter than usual, the kind of look that you wear in class, soft and pretty.
Because you asked him over text to blur your face out in the video, that you didn’t want to dress up too much because you dont wanna be in makeup and a wig getting your virginity taken.
He didn’t care, if anything, he loved it, how he gets to see the real you the fans don’t get to see.
You take forever finding the right clothes to wear. You don’t want to wear anything revealing, you dont want to be standing there with your tits out when he walks in. You want… something in between. Cute but not too desperate, sexy but not aggressive.
You settle on a pink bra, lacey, with a little bow between the cups. Matching panties, obviously. A sheer babydoll top over it, soft pink that makes your skin glow.
You look at yourself in the mirror.
And realize something that makes your stomach drop.
Not only have you never been fucked before.
You've never been kissed.
You're getting all your firsts taken tonight.
scara:
omw
And in exactly 20 minutes, you hear a knock at your door.
Your heart is pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears. You walk to the door on shaky legs, peering through the peephole.
He's there.
Real, solid. Not just a face on a screen anymore.
He's wearing a dark hoodie, oversized, with baggy black jeans and chunky boots. His hair is messy, falling into his eyes. He looks grunge, maybe? Alternative definitely. Like someone you'd see at a concert, not someone who makes porn for a living.
He’s also short, taller that you, definitely, but not by much. Somehow that makes him less intimidating.
Somehow, that makes him more real.
You open the door.
His eyes scan you immediately. Up and down, taking in your bare feet, your babydoll top, your face without the usual layers of camera-ready makeup.
"You look different," he says.
His voice, god, his voice. You’ve only ever heard him speak Japenese. You honestly expected him to have an accent or something, but he doesn’t have one, just this tone that makes your knees weak.
You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms. "Good different or bad different?"
"Good." He tilts his head, looking at the top of yours, before looking back down at your eyes and smiling, almost mocking. "You're much shorter than I thought."
You roll your eyes at him, "Says you."
He snorts, shrugging. "Fair enough."
For a moment, you just stand there, both of you, staring at each other. Two people who've shared every filthy thought in their heads, who've seen each other at their most vulnerable, meeting for the first time.
"Are you going to let me in?" he asks, breaking the silence. "Or are we doing this in the hallway?"
"Oh, right. Sorry. Come in."
You step aside, and he walks past you, and he smells good, expensive cologne probably.
You shut and lock your door as his eyes scan your apartment, moving through it.
He sees the pink walls, the LED strip lights set to white because hot pink looks disgusting to you, he sees the collection of plushies on your couch.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters. "It's like a Sanrio store exploded in here."
"Shut up."
"I'm not judging. It's very you." He picks up a Hello Kitty plush from your couch, examining it with mock seriousness. "Does she watch while you film?"
"Sometimes."
"Kinky."
You lead him to your bedroom, and he takes it all in with the same amused expression. It’s even worse than the pink shit outside your room. A huge bed with pink sheets and a duvet with brown teddy bears, plushies everywhere on the bed, fluffy rug on the floor, but what he mainly focuses on is the ring light set up in the corner, the camera equipment you use for your streams.
"Your setup isn't shit," he admits, examining your camera. "Better than I expected."
"I told you."
"You did." He sets the camera down and turns to face you. "Okay. Get on the bed."
Your eyebrows knit, glancing at the bed, and back at him. "Already?"
"Relax." He rolls his eyes. "I'm not fucking you yet. We need to talk first."
"Talk?" You tilt your head, confused.
"Yeah. You've seen my videos, right? The ones where I'm just... talking to the girl before anything happens?"
Well yes and no… you have seen them, but they’re all in Japanese. You never understood a single word he was saying.
He doesn’t wait for a response. "That's the pre-talk. I do it with everyone. Go over boundaries, safe words, what they're comfortable with." He sits on the edge of your bed, patting the space next to him. "Come here. Stop looking at me like I'm going to eat you."
"You might."
"Later,” he says with a wink.
You sit down next to him, leaving a careful gap between your bodies. He immediately closes it, shifting until your thighs are touching. You don’t move away.
"Okay," he says. "I’m not recording this one because most of my fans don’t understand english, so you can say whatever you want. First things first. Safe word?"
"Um... pink?"
"Pink." He nods. "Good choice, the one’s that are easy to remember are always the best. If you say it, everything stops. No questions. No arguments. You say pink, I stop. Got it?"
"Got it,” You say with a nod.
"Second thing. What are you okay with?"
"I... I don't know. Everything? I've never done any of this before, so I don't really know what I like."
"That's fine. We'll figure it out." His hand lands on your knee, casual, like it belongs there. You don’t pull away. "What about what you're not okay with?"
"I don't want my face in the video. Blurred, cropped out, whatever. I don't want people to recognize me."
"Done, we already chatted about that earlier, but what else?"
"I... I don't know. That's it, I think."
He's quiet for a moment, studying your face with those intense indigo eyes.
"You're shaking,” he points out, not taking his eyes off you once.
"I'm nervous,” you say with a nervous giggle.
"I can tell." His hand slides higher, resting on your thigh, just above your knee. "You've really never done this before? Any of it?"
"No."
"Not even kissing?"
Your face burns as you look down, shaking your head. "No."
You glance back up and see something change in his expression, a hungry look like you just handed him so much more then you’re already giving.
"Oh? So I'm your first everything."
"Yeah."
"Fuck." He breathes out the word like it's been punched out of him. "That's... that's so fucking hot. You have no idea."
"Scara..."
"No, I'm serious." He turns to face you fully, one hand coming up to cup your jaw. "You've never been touched by anyone. Never been kissed. Never had someone's hands on you like this." His thumb traces your cheekbone. "And I get to be the first."
You don't know what to say. Your whole body is tingling where he's touching you, every nerve ending lighting up.
"Can I kiss you?" he asks.
"You're asking?"
"First time counts. I want you to remember it, all of it."
You nod.
He leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away. You don't. His lips brush against yours, soft, tentative, nothing like the brutal way he handles the girls in his videos.
It's gentle.
It's perfect.
His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you melt into him. Your eyes flutter shut. Your lips part. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world, like there's nowhere else he'd rather be.
When he finally pulls back, you're breathless.
"Not bad," he murmurs, thumb rubbing at your lip. "For someone who's never kissed before."
You stare at him, blinking slow, fully dazed. Your lips are tingling, actually, your whole body is tingling.
You wonder if he can see that.
"Can you..." You trail off, embarrassed.
"Can I what?"
"Do it again?"
"Yeah," he says quietly, like he was going to anyways. "I can do that."
He kisses you again. Longer this time. So much deeper. His hands tangle in your hair, tilting your head back, and you let him take control because you don't know what else to do.
You just know you never want him to stop.
When he finally pulls away, you're both breathing hard.
"Okay," he says, standing up. "I need to set up the camera."
"Now?" You ask, pouting, wanting him to come back.
"Yeah. Now." He walks over to your ring light, adjusting the angle. "You're going to sit right there, looking all fucked out and pretty, and I'm going to film what happens next."
Your heart is pounding, your lips are all swollen, and your entire body is aching with want.
He's really doing this.
It's really happening.
He positions the camera, checks the lighting, makes sure everything is perfect. Then he turns back to you, and the look in his eyes makes your breath catch.
"Ready?"
You're not.
But you nod anyway.
The camera light blinks red.
Recording.
Scara stands at the foot of your bed, fingers going around the hem of his hoodie, he pulls it over his head and your breath catches. You’ve seen his body in videos, pale, and lean, and deceptively strong, but it’s so different in person, more real, more… overwhelming.
It’s also the first time a boy’s been shirtless in your bedroom.
"You're staring," he says.
"Sorry."
"Don't be." His fingers move to his belt, undoing it with practiced ease. "That's kind of the point."
He pushes his jeans down, stepping out of them, and now he's just in black boxers. You can see the outline of him through the fabric, already half-hard, and your mouth goes dry.
He gets on the bed.
The mattress dips under his weight, and suddenly he's right there. He sits in front of you, cross-legged, casual, like he does this every day.
He does do this every day.
Just not with you.
"Come here," he says, and it's not a request.
You lean forward, and his hand catches the back of your neck, pulling you the rest of the way. His lips meet yours, and this time it's not gentle. It’s like he’s doing it for the camera. This time it's hungry, demanding, his tongue sliding past your lips before you can even process what's happening.
You make a sound against his mouth. Something embarrassing. Something needy.
He laughs into the kiss.
His hands are everywhere, your shoulders, your waist, your hips, you can feel his hands at the hem of your babydoll top, "This is pretty," he murmurs when he pulls back just a little, fingers in the lace. "But it's in the way."
He pulls it over your head before you can respond, and a kisses you again, his fingers now at your back, unhooking your bra with practiced efficiency that should bother you but doesn’t.
The bra falls away.
He pulls back from the kiss, and his eyes drop to your chest. You resist the urge to cover yourself, to hide, because he's looking at you like you're something precious. Something he wants to devour.
"Pretty," he murmurs.
"Scara..."
"Shh." His hands come up to cup you, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you gasp. "I'm appreciating the view."
Before you can respond, he's moving you. His hands on your hips, spinning you around, pulling you back against his chest. Your back presses into his bare skin, and his so soft, warm, and solid.
"There we go," he murmurs against your ear. "That's so much better."
One hand finds your breast again, squeezing, palm warm against the soft flesh, rolling your nipple between his fingers.
His other hand slides lower.
Down your stomach, tracing the edge of your panties, where his fingers trace the edge of the lace without going any further..
"These videos you make," he says, conversational, like he's not currently driving you insane. "I've watched all of them. Every single one."
"You mentioned that."
"Did I mention the one where you sat on that vibrator for forty-five minutes without cumming?" His fingers dip below the waistband, just barely, brushing against the sensitive skin beneath. "You were crying by the end. Begging even. And you still held out."
"That was... a challenge. From a subscriber,” you breathe out, trying not to squirm.
"I know… I read the caption." His fingers slide lower, finding your folds, and you whimper. "I jerked off to that video six times. Kept thinking about how pretty you'd look if it was me making you cry. Me making you beg."
He presses his fingers against your clit, rubbing in slow circles, and your hips jerk involuntarily.
"There it is," he murmurs. "Those pretty little sounds. Just like in the videos. Except now I get to hear them in person."
"Scara..."
"Take these off." He snaps the waistband of your panties. "I want to feel you properly."
Your hands are shaking as you lift your hips, sliding the underwear down your thighs, kicking them off somewhere onto the floor. You're completely naked now, pressed against his bare chest, with nothing between his hand and your cunt.
His fingers finds your clit immediately.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're soaked, already. We've barely started and you're dripping all over my hand."
"I can't help it."
"I know you can't, that's what makes it so fun."
He circles your clit slowly, not enough pressure to do anything but tease. Your hips buck, trying to get more friction, but his other hand that was on your breast wraps around your waist, holding you in place.
"Patience," he says. "We have all night."
"Scara, please..." you whimper out, so sweet and so needy.
"Please what?"
"More. I need more…"
He laughs, and it’s that exact laugh from the first video you ever watched of him. The one that made you wet before you even knew his name.
"You want my fingers inside you?"
"Yes." You nod, desperate.
"Such a simple word… You’re going to have to beg prettier than that."
Your face burns, but you're so turned on you don't care about dignity anymore.
"Please, Scara. Please put your fingers inside me. I need to feel you. I've been thinking about it for two weeks, imagining what it would feel like, and I can't... I need..."
"Good enough."
He slides a finger inside, and the sound you make is embarrassing. High, and so desperate and completely involuntary. He's not even doing anything yet, just holding his finger inside you, letting you adjust to the intrusion.
"Tight," he murmurs. "So fucking tight. All those dildos you use and you're still this tight?"
"They're not as big as..."
You cut yourself off, embarrassed.
"As what?" He adds a second finger, stretching you open. "As me? Is that what you were going to say?"
You don't answer. Your brain is going fuzzy, all of your attention is focused on the feeling of his fingers inside you.
"You trained your throat for months," he says, still in that conversational tone, like he's discussing the weather while he finger-fucks you. "I watched you go from barely taking six inches to deepthroating that ten-inch dildo on your wall. Holding it for a full minute without gagging."
His fingers curl, pressing against your front wall, searching.
"Fifty seconds," you manage. "I could only... only do fifty seconds."
"Still impressive." He crooks his fingers, checking your expressions, seeing if he found that spot yet. "But training your throat is one thing. This..." He curls and curls still searching. "This is something else entirely."
He finds the spot.
Your whole body jerks, a broken moan spilling from your lips. He presses harder, rubbing circles against that bundle of nerves, and your vision starts to blur at the edges, your toes curling
"There it is," he says, satisfaction dripping from his voice. "That's the spot, isn't it? That's what makes you fall apart, go fucking blank."
"Oh god. Oh fuck. Scara, I can't..."
"You can." His fingers speed up, pressing harder, faster, and you can’t control the loud moan you let out, hard instictively grabbing at his arm. "You're going to take whatever I give you, and you're going to love it."
His other hand leaves your breast and wraps around your throat instead. Not squeezing hard enough to cut off air, just enough to make you aware of how completely he has you.
"Look at you," he murmurs. "Shaking already. Just from my fingers. Imagine what you're going to do when I actually fuck you."
You can't imagine it. You can barely think. All you can do is feel, the pressure building between your legs, the heat of his body behind you, the grip of his hand on your throat.
He adds a third finger.
The stretch makes you gasp, pain and pleasure blurring together. He doesn't slow down. If anything, he goes faster, fucking you with his fingers like he's trying to prove a point.
"You know what my favorite video of yours is?" he asks.
You shake your head, unable to form words.
"The one where you fucked yourself on that machine for two hours straight. Where you came so many times you lost count. Where you were crying and begging and saying you couldn't take anymore, but you didn't stop." His fingers speed up, fucking into you harder, faster. "You came eleven times that stream. I counted."
"You... y-you counted?" You surprisingly manage out.
"I counted everything." His grip on your throat tightens. "Every moan. Every whimper. Every time your eyes rolled back. I have it all memorized."
His fingers find that spot again, pressing hard, and you cry out, the sound echoing off the walls of your bedroom. Your mouth falls open, gasping for air, and that's when he moves.
His hand leaves your throat, and suddenly his fingers are in your mouth instead. Two of them, pressing down on your tongue, and you suck on instinct, moaning around the digits.
"That's it," he breathes. "Fuck, that's it. That's what I want. Suck them just like that."
You suck. You suck his fingers like your life depends on it, tasting yourself on his skin, while his other hand keeps working between your legs. The combination is overwhelming. Too much and not enough all at once.
"Fuck," he groans. "You're so good at that. All that training paid off, huh? You're going to suck my cock just like that. I'm going to fuck your throat until you can't breathe, and you're going to take it, because that's what you've been practicing for."
The words push you closer to the edge.
"You're close," he observes. "I can feel it. The way you're clenching around my fingers, the way you're shaking. You want to cum so bad, don't you?"
You nod desperately, unable to speak with his fingers in your mouth.
"Too bad." He slows down, keeping you right on the edge. "I'm not done with you yet. I want to hear those pretty sounds a little longer."
You whine around his fingers, and he laughs. "God, you're pathetic," he murmurs, and it sounds like a compliment. "Completely pathetic. And I fucking love it."
He keeps you there for what feels like hours. Edging you, backing off every time you get close, until you're crying real tears and begging around his fingers for release.
"Please," you sob when he finally pulls his hand from your mouth. "Please, Scara, I can't... I need..."
"Need what? Say it."
"I need to cum. Please. Please let me cum."
"Okay." His fingers speed up one final time. "Cum."
You shatter.
The orgasm rips through you like nothing you've ever felt before. Your whole body convulses, clenching around his fingers, and the sound you make is somewhere between a scream and a sob. He works you through it, extending the pleasure until you're twitching and oversensitive.
Then he pulls out.
You collapse against him, boneless, breathing hard, shaking. You've made yourself cum hundreds of times on camera, but it's never felt like that.
"Good girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "That was beautiful."
Then he pushes you off.
You land on your back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe. Your whole body is tingling. Your cunt is throbbing. And he's not done.
You hear the rustle of fabric, of something hitting the floor.
You lift your head to look.
He took off his boxers.
And his cock… is big.
You've seen it in videos before, sort of. Japanese censorship laws meant he always had to blur it, pixelate it beyond recognition. Sometimes he got lazy with the editing and you can almost make out the shape. But you've never seen it clearly.
It's bigger than you thought.
You’re almost an expert at dildos, which translates into dicks. You’re able to tell how long they are just by a glance, and you’d estimate his is about 8 inches, at least.
"Fuck," you breathe.
"That's the plan."
Your hand reaches out before you can stop yourself.
You wrap your fingers around him, feeling the weight, the heat, the way he throbs in your grip. It's nothing like the dildos you've practiced with. It's warm and alive and so, so real.
You’d never use dildos again if you had the real thing everyday.
"Eager," he says, but he doesn't stop you. Just watches, eyes dark, as you stroke him slowly. "You're supposed to be a virgin."
"I am a virgin." You look up at him, voice almost tired, still recovering.
"Could've fooled me." He lets you touch him for a few more seconds, then grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away. "But I didn't come here to get a handjob."
He comes closer, positioning himself between your legs. You spread them automatically, making room for him, and he settles into the space like he belongs there.
"This is going to hurt," he says. Not a warning. Just a fact as he rubs his cock slowly against your folds, almost teasing.
"I know." You say, anxious, but just wanting to get the hard part over with already.
"You might bleed."
"Wait really? I thought that was a myth…" Your brows knit, getting distracted way too quickly.
"You could,” he says, not dwelling on the subject further, “And I'm not going to be gentle."
Your breath catches, you nod slow. "I know."
He grabs one of the cameras he'd set on the bed earlier, angling it down between your bodies. The other cameras are already positioned around the room, capturing everything from multiple angles, but this one will get the close-up.
The money shot.
"Any last words?" he asks, almost mocking.
You shake your head, rolling your eyes despite the whimpers you’re letting out, feeling his cock, warm, heavy, just resting ontop of your cunt. "Just... do it. Before I lose my nerve."
He smiles, cruel and so adoringly beautiful at once.
And then he pushes inside.
Easing in? Not his style at all. He slides all the way to the hilt in one smooth thrust, and the scream that tears from your throat is unlike anything you’ve made before.
It hurts.
It hurts so fucking bad.
You feel like you're being split in two, like he's too big, too much, like your body wasn't made to take this. Tears spill down your cheeks, and you grab at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
He doesn't stop.
He starts to move, slow but not gentle, pulling out halfway before pushing back in. The camera in his hand stays steady, like he’s a pro at this, documenting everything, while his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise.
"There it is," he breathes. "Fuck, there it is. That's what a virgin feels like. So fucking tight. So fucking perfect."
"It hurts," you whimper. "Scara, it hurts..."
"I know." He leans down, still moving, still fucking you, and his lips brush against your cheek. "I know it hurts. But you're taking it so well. Such a good girl."
Tears are streaming down your cheeks. He notices, and instead of stopping, he leans down and kisses them. His tongue traces the wet tracks on your skin, collecting your tears, tasting your pain.
"So pretty when you cry," he says against your cheek. "I've always thought so. All those videos where you make yourself cry from overstimulation. But this is better. This is real."
He keeps moving, slow and deep, and gradually the pain starts to fade. It doesn't disappear completely, but it transforms into something else, a burning fullness that makes your toes curl.
"That's it," he says, feeling you relax around him. "There you go. Starting to feel good, isn't it?"
You nod, biting your lip.
"Use your words."
"Yes," you manage. "Yes, oh god, yes..."
He speeds up.
The camera is still in his hand, still recording, but his attention is on you now. On the way your face changes, pain melting into pleasure. On the sounds you're making, those sweet, cute moans that you're not even trying to hold back anymore.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he says, voice rough. "Two weeks of watching your videos, imagining it was me inside you instead of those stupid toys. And now I'm finally here. Finally fucking you for real."
He changes the angle, and suddenly he's hitting his cock deep inside the spot that makes your vision blur. You cry out, back arching, and he does it again. And again. Finding that spot and abusing it mercilessly.
"That's the one," he says, satisfied. "Found it, again. You make the cutest fucking face when I hit it."
"Scara... Scara, I'm gonna..."
"Already?" He laughs, mean and delighted, hitting that spot again, again, again. "We just started. You're really that easy?"
"I can't help it... it feels so good..."
"Then cum." He fucks you harder, faster. "Cum on my cock like the desperate little slut you are. Show the camera how good I make you feel."
You cum so hard you see stars.
Your whole body convulses, walls clenching around him, and you're pretty sure you're screaming but you can't hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears. He fucks you through it, doesn't slow down at all, and when the first orgasm starts to fade, the second one is already building.
"Good girl," he breathes. "That's my good girl. One down, how many more to go?"
He loses count somewhere around the fifth.
"Up."
His voice cuts through the haze of pleasure, and you look up at him, dazed. He's pulled out, leaving you empty and aching, and he's sitting back on your headboard, cock still hard and glistening with your slick.
"What?"
"Come here." He grabs your hips, hauling you up, and suddenly you're straddling him. His cock presses against your entrance, and you whimper. "I want you to ride me."
"I don't... I don't know how..."
"Mhm, don’t worry, I'll teach you." He guides your hips, lifting you up, positioning his cock at your entrance. "Sink down. Slow."
You sink Inch by inch, feeling him fill you up again, until you're fully seated in his lap. The angle is different like this. Deeper. You can feel him in places you didn't know existed.
"Now move." His hands are on your hips, guiding you. "Up and down. Just like that. Find your rhythm."
You start to move. It's awkward at first, clumsy, but then something clicks and suddenly it feels amazing. You're in control, setting the pace, taking what you need.
"That's it," he murmurs, watching you with dark eyes. "Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me what you've got."
You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder, and grind down onto him. He groans, hands tightening on your hips, and you feel a surge of power. You did that. You made him make that sound.
You're so close to him like this, chest to chest, his breath on your lips. It feels intimate in a way you weren't expecting. More like making love than making content.
"Kiss me," you whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate, he kisses you, deep and filthy, tongue sliding against yours while you ride him. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer, and for a moment it's just the two of you, the cameras forgotten.
Then, he breaks the kiss, as if remembering what it is you both are supposed to be shooting.
"Faster," he demands.
You go faster.
You bounce on his cock, chasing the pleasure, and he watches with heavy-lidded eyes. One hand slides up your back to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back, forcing you to look at him.
"Pretty," he says. "So fucking pretty. Taking my cock like you were made for it."
"Scara..."
"You know how many girls have been in this position? How many have ridden my cock on camera?" He yanks your hair harder, and you moan. "None of them felt like you. None of them were this tight, this wet, this desperate."
"Please..."
"Please what? Use your words."
You whine, grinding even more desperately. "Please... harder... I need..."
He laughs, and then he flips you.
One second you're on top, the next you're on your back with your legs over his shoulders and he's fucking into you so hard the headboard slams against the wall. The angle is brutal, hitting deep, and you can't do anything but lie there and take it.
"This is what you wanted, right?" His voice is rough, strained. "To be ruined? To be fucked so hard you can't think straight?"
"Yes," you sob. "Yes, yes, yes..."
"Then take it. Take all of it."
He cums inside you.
You feel it, hot and thick, filling you up as he groans and shudders above you. His hips keep moving, fucking his cum deeper, and you cum again just from the feeling of it.
When he finally pulls out, you're a mess. Cum leaking from your cunt, tears drying on your cheeks, whole body trembling with aftershocks.
He looks down at you with something like satisfaction.
"We're not done yet."
Content like this calls for lots of positions being changed, different ways you both fuck, constantly moving, constantly trying different things.
After probably your 14th orgasm of the night, you’re on the bed, propped up on your hand when you suggest, "I want you to fuck my face."
He pauses in the middle of repositioning the camera, eyebrows raised. "What?"
"The first video I saw of you." Your voice is hoarse, wrecked from moaning. "You were fucking that girl's throat. Making her choke. I want... I want you to do that to me."
"I remember that video." He sets the camera aside, turning to look at you with renewed interest. "She tapped out three times and I didn't stop."
"I know."
"And you want me to do that to you."
"Yes."
He smiles slow, and the look he gives you is predatory.
"Lie on your back."
You position yourself how he wants, your head close to your pillows, looking up at him. From this angle, his cock looks even bigger, hard again already, glistening with your combined fluids.
He stands over you, cock in hand, and taps it against your lips.
"Open."
You open your mouth, and he slides in.
You've practiced this. Months of training with dildos, learning to relax your throat, to breathe through your nose, to suppress your gag reflex. But nothing could have prepared you for the real thing. The heat of his cock, the weight. The way he pulses against your tongue.
He slides in slowly at first, letting you adjust to the angle. But then his hips start to move, and slow goes out the window.
He fucks your face.
There's no other word for it. His cock slides down your throat, cutting off your air, and then pulls back just long enough for you to gasp before plunging in again. The sounds are obscene. Wet, gurgling, choking sounds that would embarrass you if you could think about anything besides the cock in your throat.
"Fuck," he groans, falling foward, his head falling down onto one of your pillows. "Your mouth feels amazing. Better than I imagined. You really did train for this, didn't you?"
He keeps going, humping your face with desperate little thrusts, and the sounds he's making are nothing like the controlled, mocking ones from before. These are raw, unfiltered. Almost vulnerable.
You start to choke for real. Your hands come up, slapping against the backs of his thighs, the universal signal for "I need air."
He doesn't stop.
Instead, his knees move, pressing down on your arms, trapping them away from trying to signal for anything. You're pinned now, completely helpless, unable to tap out or push him away.
"There we go," he groans. "That's better… no tapping out, no escaping. You just lie there and let me use your throat like the good little fuckdoll you are."
He picks up the pace, driving into your throat over and over. You can't breathe, can barely think, your vision starting to blur around the edges. Your thighs rub together, desperate for friction, and he laughs.
"Getting wet from choking on my cock? Fuck, you're perfect. Listen to that sound." He thrusts particularly deep, and you gag violently. "That wet, sloppy, choking sound? That's the sound of your throat being trained by something real."
Just when you think you might pass out, he gets up from your pillow and he pulls back. You gasp for air, chest heaving, drool and tears covering your face.
He gives you five seconds.
Then he's back in your mouth, fucking your throat like he's trying to break you.
"Gonna cum down your throat," he grunts. "And you're gonna swallow every drop. That's what good girls do, right? That's what you always say in your videos?"
You try to nod, but you can't move. You just lie there, throat open, accepting whatever he gives you.
He buries himself deep and cums.
You feel it pulsing down your throat, hot and thick, and you swallow on instinct. He holds himself there, grinding against your face, riding out his orgasm, until finally he pulls out.
You gasp for air, coughing, drool and cum running down your chin, your whole body trembling.
He looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
The positions blur together after that.
He fucks you from behind, face pressed into the mattress, ass in the air. He fucks you on your side, one leg hooked over his shoulder.
Then, he lifted you off the bed like you weighed nothing at all. Your back hit the wall hard enough to knock the air out from your lungs, and you could already feel his cock pushing inside.
"Wrap your legs around me," he orders, and you obey, ankles locking behind his back, thighs squeezing his waist. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, and you cry out, nails raking down his shoulders.
"Fuck… Good girl." His voice is strained, arms flexed as he holds you up, and you can see the slight muscles in his forearms working.
Every thrust pushes you up the wall, your back scraping against the plaster. It hurts, you can feel the friction burning your skin, but the pain just makes the pleasure more real.
"You know how many times I've thought about this?" He fucks up into you, brutal and deep. "Having you pinned like this. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Just taking whatever I give you."
"Scara..." Your head falls back against the wall, eyes rolling. The angle is hitting something inside you that makes your vision blur.
"That's it." He shifts his grip, one hand sliding under your ass to support you better, the other coming up to wrap around your throat. "Look at me. I want to see your face when you fall apart."
You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed, that perfect composure finally cracking. He looks almost as wrecked as you feel.
"You're so fucking tight like this," he groans. "Squeezing me so hard. Like your body doesn't want to let me go."
"It doesn't," you gasp. "I don't. Please don't stop, please..."
"Couldn't stop if I wanted to." His hips snap forward, driving you up the wall, and you swear you see stars. "You feel too good. Took one look at this tight little cunt and knew I was fucked."
The hand on your throat squeezes, cutting off your air just enough to make your head spin. Your legs are shaking, your arms are shaking, everything is shaking, and he just keeps going, fucking you against the wall like he's trying to leave an impression of your body in the plaster.
"Cum for me," he demands. "Right now. Let me feel you pulse around me."
You don't have a choice. Your body obeys him without your permission, clenching around him as the orgasm rips through you. He fucks you through it, pace never faltering, and when you finally go limp in his arms, he's still hard inside you.
"Good," he breathes. "Now let's see how many more we can get out of you before your legs give out completely."
More and more positions blur after that one, and at some point, you’re on your knees, carefully placed on your soft rug of course.
You're grateful for that, the soft rug. You've been down here for what feels like hours, jaw aching, lips swollen, looking up at him while he holds the camera and watches you worship his cock.
"Eyes up here," he says, tilting the camera down to catch your face. "I want them to see those pretty eyes when you choke."
You look up at him through wet lashes, his cock heavy on your tongue. He's not moving, not yet. Just letting you hold him there, drool pooling in your mouth, waiting for permission.
"You look good like this." He traces the outline of your stretched lips with his free hand. "On your knees where you belong. Mouth full of cock. Barely able to breathe." His thumb wipes at the drool running down your chin. "This is what you were made for, isn't it?"
You try to nod, but it's hard with your mouth this full.
"Don't answer that. It was rhetorical." He starts to move, slow shallow thrusts that make wet sounds echo through the room. "I already know the answer. I've seen you practice on those dildos for hours. But they were never enough, were they?"
He pushes deeper, hitting the back of your throat, and you gag around him. The camera catches everything.
"Plastic can't compare to the real thing." He pulls back, lets you breathe for half a second, then pushes back in. "Can't feel you choking. Can't hear the sounds you make. Can't watch the tears fall down your pretty face."
Your eyes are watering. You can feel the mascara running, can feel how messy you must look, but he's looking at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"Take it deeper," he instructs. "Show me what you learned."
You relax your throat, let him slide further, until your nose is pressed against his stomach and you can't breathe at all. The camera is right there, capturing the way your throat bulges around him.
"Fuck." His voice cracks, almost breaking from the feeling of your mouth. "Fuck, that's perfect. Hold it. Hold it for me."
You hold, five seconds… ten… fifteen. Your lungs are burning, tears streaming down your face, but you don't pull back. Not until he does it for you.
"Breathe."
You gasp, sucking in air, and he taps his cock against your cheek. Once. Twice. Leaving wet marks on your skin.
"Open."
You open, and he slides back in, and the cycle starts all over again.
You both switched rooms at some point, change of scenery, and you led him to your bathroom.
He'd bent you over it the second you walked in, said something about the lighting being "fucking perfect" and grabbed his camera from the bedroom. Now you're pressed against the marble, watching yourself in the mirror while he fucks you from behind.
"Look at yourself," he orders, one hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head up so you can't look away. "Look at what I'm doing to you."
You look.
Your reflection is a mess. Makeup smeared, hair tangled, mouth hanging open as sounds spill out that you don't recognize. Behind you, he's a study in contrast, composed and controlled, watching your face in the mirror while he drives into you.
"You see that?" He pulls your hair harder, forcing your back to arch. "That's what a ruined virgin looks like. That's what I do to girls who think they can resist me."
"I didn't resist," you gasp.
"No." He slams into you, and you watch your own face contort with pleasure. "You didn't. You spread your legs and begged for it. Desperate little thing."
The angle is brutal, every thrust pushes you into the counter, the edge digging into your hips, but you can't look away from the mirror. Can't stop watching the way his cock disappears inside you, the way his face tightens with pleasure, the way your body moves with each impact.
"This is my favorite part," he says, meeting your eyes in the reflection. "Watching you watch yourself get fucked. Seeing the exact moment you realize how pathetic you are."
"I'm not..."
"You are." He reaches around, fingers finding your clit, and you cry out. "You're dripping all over my cock, moaning like a whore, watching yourself get ruined, and you're going to cum just from seeing your own fucked-out face in the mirror."
He's right, way too fucking right. Because watching yourself, watching him, watching the everything being reflected back at you… it’s pushing you toward the edge faster than anything has.
"That's it," he murmurs, rubbing your clit in tight circles while he fucks you. "Watch yourself cum. I want you to remember exactly what you looked like."
You cum with your eyes locked on your own reflection, watching your face go slack with pleasure while he groans and spills inside you.
The mirror fogs up from your breath.
He doesn't pull out.
"Again," he says. "I want to see it again."
At some point, you end up with him sitting against your headboard, your body draped across his lap. His fingers are in your ass, slicked with lube, stretching you open while you whimper into his chest.
"You've never done this before either, have you?" he murmurs, working a second finger inside you. "Never had anything in this tight little hole?"
"No," you gasp. "Never."
"Jesus Christ." He crooks his fingers, finding a spot that makes you see stars. "You really are a virgin everywhere. Completely untouched. And now you're all mine."
"Scara..." You can barely form words. "It's too much..."
"It's not enough." He adds another finger, 3 now, and you cry out. "Not nearly enough. I'm going to ruin every part of you before this night is over."
He keeps you there for what feels like hours, working you open, making you cum over and over until you're crying and begging and promising him anything if he'll just let you rest.
But the position that stands out most is the one where he's fucking you face down into your mattress, deep and slow. His mouth is on your neck, your shoulder, your jaw, kissing and biting and marking you as his.
It feels oddly passionate for sex content.
"You feel incredible," he murmurs against your skin. "Better than anyone I've ever had. Tighter. Warmer. More responsive."
"Scara..."
"I love how you say my name." He bites down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, hard enough to bruise. "Say it again. I want everyone who watches this to know exactly who's ruining you."
"Scara. Scara, please..."
"Please what?"
"I don't know." You're crying again, overwhelmed. "Just... more. I need more."
He gives you more, more thrusts, more of everything, until you're shaking apart beneath him, cumming so hard you see white.
He kisses you.
A lot.
More than he does in his videos. You've watched enough of them to know that he's usually detached, controlled, focused on the camera and the performance. But with you, he keeps leaning in. Pressing his lips to yours, or to your neck, or at your breasts, anywhere he could find.
"Intermission."
He pulls out, leaving you empty and aching, and collapses onto the bed beside you. You're both breathing hard, covered in sweat and other fluids, and you've lost count of how many times you've cum.
"I need a minute," you manage.
"Take five." He rolls onto his side, propping his head on his hand, watching you. "You've earned it."
You lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember your own name. Every muscle in your body aches. Your cunt is sore, your throat is raw, and you're pretty sure you have bruises in places that bruises shouldn't be.
You've never been happier.
"Here."
You turn your head, and see him holding out his hoodie, the one he was wearing when he arrived.
"Put this on. I can see you shivering."
You hadn't noticed, but he's right. The sweat is cooling on your skin, making you tremble. You sit up, wincing at the soreness between your legs, and pull the hoodie over your head.
It's a little big on you. Soft and warm, and it smells just like him.
"Better?"
"Yeah." You look down at yourself, almost drowning in his clothes. "I look like a little kid."
"You look like you're mine."
The words hit you somewhere deep. You look up at him, and he's watching you with an expression you can't quite read.
"Lie back," he says.
"What? I thought we were taking a break."
"We are." He pushes you gently onto your back, spreading your legs, and you let him. "But I've been wanting to taste you all night, and I can't wait anymore."
He settles between your thighs, his face inches from your cunt, and looks up at you through his lashes.
"Just relax. Let me take care of you."
His tongue drags through your folds, and you gasp, hands fisting in the sheets. He's not trying to make you cum this time. Not yet. He's just... tasting. Exploring. Licking up the mess he's made of you, cleaning his own cum from your cunt with gentle, thorough strokes.
"You taste like me," he murmurs against your skin. "Like us. Fucking delicious."
He eats you out slowly, lazily, like he has all the time in the world. His tongue circles your clit, dips inside you, traces patterns that make your toes curl. And the whole time, you're lying there in his hoodie, feeling more cared for than you've ever felt in your life.
When he finally makes you cum, it's soft. Gentle. A slow wave of pleasure that washes over you instead of crashing, leaving you warm and boneless and completely content.
He crawls back up your body, kissing your forehead before settling beside you.
"Fiftieth orgasm of the night," he says. "New record?"
"Definitely a new record."
He laughs, it’s not the mean laugh from before, it’s something softer, something real.
When it's finally over, you're barely conscious.
Your body feels like it's been taken apart and reassembled wrong. Every muscle aches. Your throat is raw from screaming. You can still feel him leaking out of you, cum dripping down your thighs.
He tucks you into bed. Actually tucks you in, pulling the covers up to your chin, smoothing your hair back from your face. Then he climbs out, reaching for his jeans.
You watch, dazed, as he pulls his jeans back on. He starts gathering his cameras, carefully placing them in his bag, and something cold settles in your stomach.
This is it. The part you've been dreading. The part where he leaves and goes back to his life and you become just another video in his collection.
"Are you leaving?"
Your voice comes out small, scared. You hate how vulnerable you sound.
He pauses, camera in hand, and looks at you. "Do you want me to?"
The question hangs in the air. You're still wearing his hoodie, still lying in your bed, still feeling his cum leaking out of you. And he's asking if you want him to leave.
"No." you whisper. "I don't want you to leave."
No pretense. No games. Just honest, raw need.
He puts the camera down.
You barely have time to process before he's climbing back into bed, pulling you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you like he's afraid you'll disappear.
"Good," he murmurs into your hair. "Because I didn't want to leave either."
His hand traces patterns on your back, soothing. After everything he's done to you tonight, the tenderness almost makes you cry again.
You tilt your head up to look at him, and he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is different from before. No heat, no desperation. Just soft and slow and achingly tender.
He tilts your chin up and kisses you.
When he pulls back, you chase his mouth.
"Needy," he murmurs, letting you kiss him again.
When you finally pull back, letting you both get some air, you can’t help asking, "What are you going to do after this?"
"What do you mean?"
"After this. After tonight." You trace patterns on his chest, avoiding his eyes. "Are you going to post the video and move on? Find another girl to film with? Go back to your life like this never happened?"
He's quiet for a long moment.
"Is that what you think?"
"I don't know what to think. That's why I'm asking."
He catches your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his eyes.
"If I don't leave," he says slowly, "if I keep coming back here, keep filming with you, keep... spending time with you outside of filming... this stops being just content. You get that, right?"
"What does it become?"
"Something else." His thumb traces your lower lip. "Something more."
"That sounds like you'd be my boyfriend."
The words hang between you. Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can feel it.
"Is that what you want?"
You're quiet for a moment. Not because you don't know the answer, but because you're scared to say it out loud.
"Yes."
The word is barely a whisper.
But he hears it.
Not a smirk. Not a mocking grin. A real, genuine smile that transforms his whole face, makes him look younger, softer, almost innocent, something just for you.
"Good," he says. "Because I'm pretty sure I've been so far gone on you since that video you posted with that stupid Hello Kitty pillow."
"It's not stupid."
"It's extremely stupid." He kisses you again, soft and sweet. "But so am I, apparently. For falling for a girl I met on the internet."
"You fell for me?"
"Obviously." He rolls his eyes, tone almost sassy, but there's no heat in it. "Why else would I follow only you? Why else would I stop posting? Why else would I spend two weeks texting you instead of finding someone else?"
"I thought..."
"You thought wrong." He pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin. "I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to."
I don't want you to."
"Then I won't."
You lie there in silence for a moment, processing everything that's happened. The long sex. The confession. The fact that you apparently have a boyfriend now, one who makes porn and took your virginity.
It's insane.
It's perfect.
"Scara?"
"Yeah?"
"I think I might love you."
He's quiet for way too long, and your heart plummets. But then his arms tighten around you, and his voice comes out rough.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I think I might love you too."
You fall asleep in his arms, wearing his hoodie, with his cum still inside you and his heartbeat steady under your ear.
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