-𝕱𝖑𝖚𝖋𝖋𝖞- @f1uffysplace - Tumblr Blog

Beginner's Luck

Summary : You joined Dex’s stream as a guest and left with a problem.

Pairing : Camboy! Benjamin Poindexter x Pornstar! reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : porn industry au, pornstar!reader, camboy!Dex, virgin!Dex, switch! Dex, livestream sex, masturbation, exhibitionism/voyeurism, praise kink, mentioned bi!reader, jealousy!Dex, unprotected sex (they are mentioned to be tested and reader is on the pill, but wrap it up guys), filthy but still more focused on reactions/chemistry than explicit anatomical detail??? Dex being embarrassingly obsessed. (let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count : 12.8k

Requested by : anons X X

Notes : I see all your freaky asks :) I will be responding when I can, but in the meantime… enjoy!

You were a pornstar.

You didn’t call yourself an “adult entertainer” in the PR-friendly way. You weren’t an influencer who liked to sell a little fantasy on the side. A pornstar. A well-known one, actually. At least, you were famous enough that husbands and boyfriends recognized you in grocery stores, in hotel lobbies, in nice restaurants, on the street, their eyes going wide and staring at you for one beat too long while their girlfriends and wives stood beside them with absolutely no idea why their man had suddenly forgotten how to act normal.

You were used to it by now.

You always noticed the double takes, to the swallowed panic of oh shit I watched you get fucked by two guys on my screen last night. You were used to awkward little flashes of recognition from men who had absolutely seen you naked and were now trying to pretend they hadn’t watched you moan your co-star’s name into a pillow at two in the morning. Some of them got brave and asked for pictures. Some of them went pale when you smiled back, hand tightening on their girlfriend’s hand, hoping she didn’t recognise you. Most of them just looked away too quickly, as if you were guilty, like their search history had somehow climbed out of their phones and started walking around in chunky mary janes

It didn’t flatter you the way it used to.

Nothing really did, not anymore. You had been in the industry long enough for sex to become work in the most practical, unromantic sense.

You rarely, if ever, had sex without lighting, angles, and contracts. You had to think about testing windows, release schedules, which performer looks good with you on camera. Which one was all hype and no chemistry. Which one looked expensive but moved like they were waiting for applause. You still liked your job. You liked the control, the money, the fact that you had built a name out of everyone else’s desire. But desire itself was harder to come by.

These days, when you scrolled through adult sites, it was mostly scouting.

That was what you told yourself, anyway, curled up in bed in your hoodie with your laptop open, boredly clicking through streamer trending pages like you were reviewing résumés. Pretty girl. Pretty boy. Nice body. Bad camera presence. Too fake. Too loud. Trying too hard. You had seen every version of beautiful by then, and most of it did nothing for you.

Three hours of scouting had done absolutely nothing for you.

Nothing. Not a flutter. It was as dry as the Sahara down there. You had clicked through girl after girl with perfect asses, perfect lighting, perfect lip gloss, all thighs and breathy little smiles, and your only thought had been, great angles, weak branding. You watched a brunette arch her back so prettily it probably made half the site black out, and you just blinked at the screen like you were reviewing tax documents.

Then the men.

A blond with abs so defined he looked carved out of a protein advert. Nothing. A tattooed guy with a nice mouth and no camera presence. Nothing. Some cocky pretty boy calling everyone baby like he had learned seduction from a bad podcast. Absolutely fucking nothing. You had seen bodies. You had touched bodies. You had been paid very, very well to make bodies look better than they were. Sexy alone didn’t do anything for you anymore.

You were about to close the tab when you saw him.

Dex.

Just Dex.

No fancy stage name, no stupid pun, no little devil emoji. He didn’t use an overproduced thumbnail of him biting his lip like he was trying to seduce a ring light. He crossed your screen in a small live window with a ridiculously high viewer count for his production level, and him sitting there in a plain, dim room like he had accidentally wandered into every guy and gal’s dirtiest fantasy.

You hovered over the stream.

He had a big body, broad shoulders, thick arms. He had the kind of build that made your brain go. Ugh. Hot.

Annoyingly hot.

But that didn’t mean anything. Three-quarters of the industry was hot until they opened their mouth or moved like they were waiting for a round of applause.

So, fine.

He was pretty.

Was he good?

You clicked on him.

And then Dex looked up at the camera.

He wasn’t smirking or posing. He wasn’t selling you that lazy, hollow confidence men loved to mistake for sex appeal. Dex looked almost offended by his own arousal, tense and tightly wound, one hand wrapped low around himself… and, Christ, he was blessed enough there to make even you pause.

His jaw worked. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were so dark and focused they made the heat between your legs finally, finally wake up after hours of nothing.

Oh.

You sat up a little straighter.

Well, that was new.

You had fucked beautiful men professionally. You had kissed women so pretty they made entire comment sections lose their minds. You had been under, over, between, worshipped, handled, filmed, edited, marketed, sold. Looking perfect was boring. Experience was overrated. Confidence was usually just choreography.

But Dex looked untouched in a way that did not feel innocent.

The worst part was that Dex was not even doing anything particularly new.

You had seen men touch themselves on camera before. You had seen it polished, staged, rehearsed, marketed within an inch of its life. Men who knew exactly when to bite their lip, when to groan, when to lean back and show off for the lens. Men who had perfected the fantasy so thoroughly there was nothing human left in it.

Dex wasn’t like that.

Dex looked like he hated that he wanted to be watched.

He sat too stiffly, one hand braced on the arm of his chair, the other stroking himself, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. His room was dim except for the glow of his screen, obsessively neat lines and no personality, like he had tried to make the space as controlled as possible because nothing about him was.

He kept glancing at the chat, reading whatever filth people were throwing at him, and every time his eyes flicked over something that got to him, his mouth parted just slightly before he forced it shut again.

God.

You leaned closer to the laptop.

He was trying to be quiet, that much was obvious. He was trying to keep his breathing even, trying to make it look like this was routine, like he was just another camboy doing what people paid him to do. But his body kept betraying him. His throat moved when he swallowed. His thighs shifted open another inch. His hand tightened around himself, careful at first, almost punishingly restrained, like he was afraid of giving too much away.

And you realized, with a curl of heat low in your stomach, that he was still holding back.

Even alone, even with thousands of people watching, Dex was holding something back.

You should’ve been bored. You should’ve clicked away, made a note of his follower count, and sent his profile to your manager like any other piece of potential talent. Instead, you sat there in bed with your pulse picking up, watching the way his hips gave one helpless little twitch into his fist when someone in the chat must have praised him.

Oh.

Your lips parted.

Dex’s eyes went unfocused for half a second, his grip faltering before tightening again, and the sound he made was rough and clearly not meant to slip out. The chat exploded. You could see it reflected in the faint flicker of his eyes, hundreds of people losing their minds because the untouchable pretty camboy had made a noise.

Dex went red.

And then, instead of playing into it, instead of giving the camera some smug little smile, he looked angry. Embarrassed, even. He was turned on enough that he couldn’t hide it and furious that everyone had noticed.

Your stomach dropped in the best way.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you murmured to no one, smiling at the screen.

Dex’s hand moved faster, but not like he was trying to put on a show. It was simultaneously worse and more honest than that. His rhythm stuttered, then steadied, his shoulders tense, his free hand gripping the chair like he needed something to anchor himself to. He kept looking away from the camera and then back again, like he couldn’t decide whether being watched made it better or made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

You had been desired by millions. You had built a career out of being watched. You knew the difference between arousal that was performed and arousal that escaped.

This was escaping him.

And maybe that was why you gave yourself permission to let it happen to yourself, too. Dex was losing control in inches, and you were doing the same in secret, thighs tightening, hips rolling once over nothing, twice, slow enough that you could still pretend it was nothing. You could still pretend you were just watching. You could still pretend you hadn’t started chasing pressure because some camboy with a furious blush had made you feel wanted through a screen.

You could not look away.

Dex was hot, yes, but hot was cheap in your world. His body was good, his face was better, his mouth was pretty in a way that made your imagination wander. But it was the restraint that ruined you.

You shifted again, slower this time, not even thinking about it. The pillow beside you had slipped between your knees at some point, warm from your body, and you tugged it closer with the same absentminded irritation you used to adjust a blanket. Except then Dex’s hand tightened on the screen, his mouth parted like he hated himself for needing it, and your thighs pressed together around the pillow before you could stop them.

You were not scouting anymore.

Scouting didn’t end up like this. Scouts did not sit in bed with their laptop glowing blue over their bare legs, breathing a little too shallow, hips moving in these tiny, thoughtless drags against a pillow. You only noticed when the friction pulled a soft moan out of you, embarrassing in how surprised it made you.

On screen, Dex lowered his head, breath coming harsher now. His hand was moving with less control, his hips following in small, involuntary jerks. He was close. Anyone could see it. He looked almost pained, brows drawn together, mouth open, every bit of him wound tight and shaking with the effort not to be too loud.

Then he looked at the chat again.

Whatever he read there made him freeze.

For a second, he just stared.

Then his eyes lifted to the camera, dark and wrecked, and he said, voice rough, “Don’t call me that.”

You stopped breathing.

The chat must have done exactly what he told them not to, because his teeth clenched, his hand tightened, and the next sound out of him was so fucking pretty it made you desperately hump a pillow.

Oh, he was a problem.

He was a massive fucking problem.

You watched him finish with his head tipped back, trying and failing to keep quiet, one hand still white-knuckled on the chair, his face flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. It was not polished or professional. It was so much better than that. It was messy and furious and needy, and when he finally slumped back, breathing hard, he looked almost offended by his own body.

Like he had lost a fight.

For a long moment, you didn’t move.

Dex slumped back on screen, breathing hard, looking offended by his own pleasure, and you stared at him with your thighs still locked around the pillow. Only then did you realize what you had been doing. Only then did you look down at yourself, at the twist of sheets, at the pillow dragged shamelessly between your legs, and laugh under your breath because, Jesus Christ, three hours of professional scouting had left you dry as dust, and Dex had made your pillow slick and sticky without even knowing your name.

You stared at the screen long after he ended the stream.

Then you picked up your phone and called your manager, Joanna.

She answered half-asleep and annoyed. “This better be an emergency.”

“I found someone.”

“For a video?”

You looked at Dex’s frozen profile photo, his serious mouth, his too-intense eyes, the ridiculous viewer count sitting under his name like proof that you weren’t the only one who had noticed.

But you were going to be the first one who mattered.

“For me,” you agreed, voice still a little too warm. “Camboy. Goes by Dex. Pretty big numbers, no studio work, and only solo stuff as far as I can see. Find him and work it out.”

Joanna went quiet, then, suspiciously she said, “Are you scouting, or are you horny?”

You smiled. “Both.”

Honestly, Joanna was shocked it wasn’t just the former.

He must be special.

—

Joanna managed to get you coffee with him three days later.

Which started very normal.

There was no immediate sexual tension so thick it made the barista uncomfortable. Not even dramatic eye contact over steaming mugs. No gag-worthy you’re even prettier in person that made you roll your eyes and secretly preen. It was just Dex sitting across from you in a corner table, shoulders too broad for the little café table, hands wrapped around a black coffee he barely touched, talking to you about the weather like he had not been the reason you dry-humped a pillow two nights ago.

It had rained that morning. You said you liked the smell of wet pavement when you didn’t have anywhere to be. He said he hated rain because it made people careless on the road. You laughed and told him that was such a depressing answer. His mouth twitched into an almost-smile, like he was embarrassed he had been funny by accident.

Then you told him you used to be a barista.

That surprised him.

“Really?” he asked, and it was the first time his voice lifted with something other than polite caution.

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “I can still steam milk better than half the people in here.”

His eyes flicked toward the counter, assessing the machine like he was genuinely considering whether that was true.

“What about you?” you asked, saving him from the heavy load of the conversation. “Before the camboy thing.”

His thumb moved once against the cup.

“Military.”

Ah.

That made the posture, the exit-scanning make sense. The calm that didn’t feel relaxed so much as trained into him.

“Fair,” you said, letting your eyes drag over him just enough to be obvious.

His ears went pink.

Fuck. Hot.

What you didn’t know was that Dex had almost not shown up.

And because he did not want to. Because he wanted too badly. Because your manager’s email had sat in his inbox like a live grenade, your name in the subject line, your actual name, your professional name, the name he had typed into search bars more times than he would ever admit out loud.

He loved your solo work most, which wasn’t surprising, considering his preferences for doing things alone.

You had no idea how many times you had been on his screen while he was live, in a second tab, your voice low in his tiny earphone while his chat thought they were the ones getting him worked up. And sometimes, sure, they helped.

But mostly, it was you.

Your solo clips were safer. He loved seeing your pretty face going soft with pleasure, with no one else in frame, no one else touching you, no one else making him feel that ugly twist in his stomach. It was stupid. Irrational. Embarrassing. You were not his. You didn’t know his name until two days ago. You had no idea he existed beyond maybe a faceless number in your views, but Dex still liked those clips best because, for a few pathetic minutes, he could pretend you were only being watched by him.

The scenes with other performers were harder.

He watched those too, but it made him mean, jealous in a way he had no right to be, staring at strangers with his jaw tight and his hand wrapped around himself like he could punish the feeling out of his body. He hated them for touching you. Hated himself for watching. Hated most that he still finished.

He knew he was not special for wanting you. Half the internet wanted you. He could see two joggers in the background, whispering in your direction. They’ve probably seen your videos, too.

Dex was no different from them, having spent months as one anonymous viewer in an ocean of them, wanting too much from too far away.

And now you were sitting across from him in sunglasses and a soft sweater, smiling like this was normal.

He asked about your job without being weird about it. Not the gross questions people thought they were allowed to ask because you were famous for sex. He asked what made a good scene, how you knew when someone had camera presence, whether the industry was as overproduced as it looked from the outside. Dex was proud of getting the questions out, considering he had spent an hour that morning practicing in the mirror in the effort to make himself feel like a normal human being.

You told him the truth. Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Sometimes the best thing on camera was a move nobody planned, and sometimes the hottest person in the room became boring the second they started acting like they knew they were hot.

Eventually, though, you had to talk business.

“So,” you said, stirring your drink with your straw. “Usually, before a full collab, I’d do a test screening.”

“I…” Dex’s eyes came back to yours. “I can’t do that.”

You blinked, leaned back. “That’s pretty standard, Dex.”

“I know.”

“You know?” You raised your eyebrows.

“I read the packet your manager sent.”

“Mm,” you hummed, sipping your coffee.

His ears went pink again, but he didn’t look away this time. “I’m not saying no to you. I’m saying no to doing it like that first.”

Oh?

“Okay,” you said, leaning forward a bit. “Then how would you do it?”

He took a second. You watched his thumb move once along the seam of his coffee cup, the only nervous tell he had really given you. He was shy, you realized. Not helpless or naive, but shy in a controlled, locked-door kind of way.

“Let’s do a “test screening” on my stream,” he said, and he looked like he was gonna wince with how needy he sounded.

You stared at him for a beat, then laughed softly. “You want your first collab with me to be on a streaming site?”

“Yes.”

“You know my team is going to call that risky.”

Dex nodded. “Yes.”

“And you still want that?”

His gaze held yours, steady now despite the blush still sitting high on his cheekbones. “If I’m going to collab with someone like you, I want you on my screen first. Not the other way around.”

Oh.

You smiled into your coffee. So there was a marketing bone in his body. Smart.

You understood it instantly, because it was a good branding move.

His whole appeal was the intimacy of his setup, the feeling that viewers were seeing something private slip out of him in real time. A studio debut would make him look like everyone else. But you appearing on his stream? You, the famous pornstar, stepping into his room, like the fantasy had chosen him personally?

That would go insane online.

“Ah,” You nodded slowly. “You want it less produced.”

“Yes.”

“Your audience gets to feel like they saw it happen before the industry got its hands on you.”

His mouth twitched up. “You’re good at this.”

“I’m known for a reason.”

“I know,” he said, a little too quickly. You smiled at that, and he looked down into his coffee like it had the answers to the universe.

Fuck, he was cute.

There was something sweet about how badly he was trying to be professional while clearly not believing you were actually sitting across from him. It made you want to tease him just to see what would happen.

“You watched my work?” you asked lightly.

His fingers tightened around the cup. “Yes.”

“Research?”

“No.”

Your eyebrows lifted. Dex’s face went red.

Oh, that was fun.

You didn’t push him too hard, at least not yet. You just smiled into your drink and let him sit with it. Let him know you had noticed. Let him know you were kind enough not to eat him alive in public, even though you could.

“Okay,” you said eventually. “If I were to say yes, my rules still apply. I need boundaries and a safe word, of course. My manager sees the platform terms and the moderation plan. If I say stop, we stop. If I say cut, you cut. If your chat gets ugly, they’re gone.”

Dex nodded immediately. “I want you comfortable.”

It was so direct that it knocked some of the teasing right out of you.

You studied him for a second. “You’re very serious.”

“I’m trying to be.” His throat moved.

You smiled, smaller this time. “Relax, Dex. I’m not going to bite you here.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth, then back up.

“Okay,” he said, not sounding relaxed at all.

You laughed, warm and genuine. The rest of the meeting went like that. Business, then teasing. Testing requirements, then him asking if you still knew how to make latte art. Revenue split, then you asked if all ex-military boys read contracts like they were defusing bombs. He was shy, yes, but he kept up with you. He got drier as he got more comfortable, answering your little jabs with quiet, deadpan comments that made you laugh harder than you meant to.

By the time you stood to leave, you had already decided that whatever his final offer was, you were going to accept it. Dex rose when you did, because of course he did, and you watched him catch himself almost reaching for your chair.

“Send the room specs to my manager,” you said. “Camera setup, schedule, moderation. All of it.”

He nodded.

“And Dex?”

He looked at you.

You smiled. “Don’t overthink it.”

By the time you got into the car, your manager had texted.

How did it go?

You looked back through the café window.

Dex was still sitting there, coffee untouched, staring down at the table like he was trying to process the fact that you had been real.

You typed back: Good chemistry :)

Which translated to: get the contract through at all costs.

—

The contract came through a week later.

Joanna read it first, then legal, then you, curled up on your sofa with a glass of iced coffee.

It was careful and specific. From platform split, moderation rules, content usage, safeword protocol, post-stream review period. Dex had done his homework like he was preparing for a military operation instead of a livestream.

Joanna called you after. “He’s weird.”

You smiled at the PDF on your screen. “I know.”

The schedule was locked in for Friday night, two months from the initial meeting.

It was prime livestream time, where most people were off work for the week and needed to blow some steam off.

The announcement that he was going to have a special guest went up at noon and started trending by dinner. By the next morning, the comments were already feral, speculating on who the guest could be. The other half were calling the guest “lucky,” like luck had anything to do with it.

By Friday afternoon, your bag was packed like any other shoot: robe, makeup, a backup outfit, your own wipes, your own water bottle, your own little collection of professional comforts that made unfamiliar rooms feel less unfamiliar. You had done this hundreds of times before, with different sets and different performers.

But this time, your stomach kept doing this stupid little flip every time you looked at the address.

—

Dex’s apartment was exactly as clean as you expected.

The first thing you saw was shoes lined neatly by the door, counters wiped down, unopened waters on the coffee table, folded towels stacked beside them, a bowl of mints like he had prepared for a business meeting and a sleepover at the same time. The contract sat printed beside a pen, already signed on his end, with little tabs marking the important sections.

Dex stood in the doorway in a black shirt and dark jeans, barefoot, hair still a little damp from a recent shower. His eyes flicked over you once before he looked away, polite enough to be cute and interested enough to fail at hiding it.

“Hi,” you said.

“Hi.”

You stepped inside, smiling as you looked around.

“You cleaned like my manager was coming to inspect the place.”

Dex shrugged. “Would she?”

“She usually does,” you chuckled, “but you negotiated me coming here alone, so…”

“Then I cleaned the right amount.”

That made you laugh, and he relaxed by about half an inch. He offered you water, pointed out where the bathroom was, showed you the towels and extra robe, and then handed you the final printed contract like this was all very normal.

When he led you to his livestream room, you felt a bit parasocial, which was weird, because you rarely felt that anymore. There’s the table you saw on stream! There's the bed in the background! There’s the chair he jerked—

“The water is in the corner,” Dex said, pointing yet again to another oasis of neatly arranged water bottles.

You nodded and smiled, looking at the countdown stream on his computer. You read the comments, feeling pleased with yourself.

devilcam199999: WHO IS IT?

6polly16: dex with a guest is crazy

starknaked3000: is it a model???

the.raft.wifi: hes probably already nervous lmao

You leaned closer to the screen, amused. “They’re going to be unbearable.”

“They usually are.”

You smiled and he pretended not to notice.

The setup was good. While his room didn't have studio gloss, he had flattering lighting, clean frame, camera angled to catch the bed if he widened the shot, desk close enough that he could cut the stream instantly. He walked you through the kill switch, delay, blocked terms, moderator list, and what to do if either of you wanted to stop.

“You really did your homework,” you said.

His eyes flicked to you, and that tiny almost-smile came back. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not surprised. I’m impressed.”

It was enough to make his face warm while he turned back to the monitor like the settings suddenly needed his full attention.

You liked him. That was becoming inconvenient.

He had a first-timer’s shyness and a professional’s discipline, and the combination was doing stupid chemicals to react like fireworks in your brain.

Before he clicked anything live, he paused.

“Can I ask something?”

You leaned against the desk. “Yeah.”

Dex looked almost embarrassed, but not scared. Just very aware of himself. “Can I kiss you first?”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“To get it out of the way,” he added quickly, then immediately looked like he regretted phrasing it like that.

You laughed. “That is possibly the least professional way anyone has ever asked to kiss me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t want the first one to be for them.”

Oh.

How sweet, asking for one small thing to belong to the two of you before the camera got any of it.

You stepped closer. “Okay.”

He looked pleasantly surprised.

Dex kissed you carefully, almost chastely, one hand hovering near your waist but not touching until you gave him the smallest nod. His mouth was warm and far more polite than anything about the night ahead of you had any right to be. It lasted maybe three seconds. Four, at most. A sweet little closed-mouth kiss that shouldn't have made your stomach dip the way it did.

When he pulled back, you smiled. “That was very respectable.”

His ears went pink. “Was that bad?”

“No,” you said, still smiling. “That was adorable.”

Dex looked like he would rather walk into traffic be called adorable by you, which only made it worse.

You reached up, fixed the collar of his shirt even though you were going to take it off him anyway, and stepped back before you could get too fond of him too quickly.

“Okay,” you said. “Now we work.”

That helped him, and you could see almost instantly, how it whipped the room back into shape.

He nodded and turned to the monitor while you stepped into the bathroom and stripped to change to your skimpy two piece-piece, grabbing your robe from your bag and slipped it over your shoulders. When you got back out, he was checking the countdown settings. The chat was moving so fast now it looked like static. Dex had not even gone live yet, and they were already losing their minds over the idea of a guest.

You stepped into the preview beside him.

There you were, on his camera.

You missed this. The amateur stuff. It's been like, three years since you’ve done it like this.

“Oh,” you said, watching the monitor. “This is going to be good.”

Dex looked at your reflection instead of the chat. “Yeah.”

You smiled. “Ready?”

He took one breath. Then he clicked the stream into place.

“Ready enough,” he said.

The five-minute countdown began.

—

Three…

Dex sat in his usual chair, fully clothed, hands folded loosely in his lap like this was a normal stream and not the first time his chat had ever been promised a guest.

Two…

The chat was already moving too fast.

One…

The waiting screen vanished.

For half a second, it was just Dex. Same room, same camera, same controlled lighting. Same pretty, unreadable face that made people tip just to see if they could crack it. He looked at the chat, then at something off-screen, then back at the camera with his jaw a little tighter than usual.

“Hi,” he said.

The chat exploded just from that.

fluid69: HIIIIII DEX

blipped_and_bricked: he looks nervous oh my god

0nlyCams0fKamarTaj: WHERE IS THE GUEST

mod_mara: Be respectful. Rules are pinned.

Dex read none of it out loud. He never really did when it moved like this. He only glanced at it, then back off-screen, where you were standing in your robe, smiling with your arms folded like this was the funniest thing you had done all year.

They had known about a mystery guest for two days. They had theorized, spiraled, argued, made tier lists, accused him of secretly having a girlfriend, accused him of hiring another camboy, accused him of doing a faceless collab, accused him of lying for engagement. No one had guessed you, because why would they? You had not cammed in three years. You didn’t just wander into camboy streams like a surprise prize.

Dex swallowed.

“I have…” He stopped, jaw flexing like the word was harder than it needed to be. “I have a friend here.”

You almost laughed.

A friend.

You, pornstar-men-recognized, standing barefoot in his bedroom in a silk robe, and Dex had introduced you like you were coming over to borrow sugar.

The chat went rabid.

redline.616: A FRIEND????

hellskitchen_: DEX HAS FRIENDS???

6courtroom9: no because why was that hot

_afterdark: show friend show friend show friend

TIPBOT: @/redline.616 tipped 25 tokens — “for the friend fund”

Dex’s ears went pink.

You decided to save him and ruin him at the same time by moving, showing one bare leg sliding into frame from the side, like you had wandered in by accident. Your robe skimmed high on your thigh. You heard the chat hitch, the delay catching up in a sudden, violent flood of messages.

Dex turned his head toward you.

You gave him your hand. He took it immediately.

That, for some reason, was what made the room feel intimate. Even on camera, even with thousands of people watching, he was going to do this properly.

He pulled you closer, not rough or showy, just a steady tug until you stepped between his knees, face still off-camera. Then he looked up at you, waiting.

You smiled down at him, let the pause stretch just long enough for the chat to collectively lose its mind, then lowered yourself into his lap.

Oh, boy.

pretty-prince: WAIT

pretty-prince: WAIT WAIT WAIT

skull.hour: IS THAT—

starknaked.3000: NO FUCKING WAY

27watch: I KNEW I RECOGNISED THAT LEG

mistermidnight: DEX WHAT DID YOU DO

TIPBOT: @/mistermidnight tipped 100 tokens — “IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?????”

TIPBOT: @/skull.hour tipped 250 tokens — “DEX YOU ABSOLUTE MADMAN”

You settled sideways across his thighs, one arm sliding around his shoulders as if you had sat there a hundred times. Dex went very still under you, almost stunned like his body had accepted you before his brain could process the fact that you were real, warm, and in his lap on his own stream.

“Hi,” you said to the camera.

That was all it took.

616.redline: I KNOW THAT VOICE I KNOW THAT VOICE

kamar-taj404: SHE HASN’T CAMMED IN YEARS?????

catholicguilt: DEX BAGGED A LEGEND???

the.raft.wifi: I WATCHED HER LAST NIGHT

velvet_77jaw: everybody shut up she’s real

blip.checked69: DEX BLINK TWICE IF YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 500 tokens — “WELCOME QUEEN”

TIPBOT: @/catholicguilt tipped 69 tokens — “I am deceased”

TIPBOT: @/goodboycommittee tipped 300 tokens — “I literally had her video open yesterday. Dex you lucky bastard.”

Dex read that one.

You felt it in the way his fingers flexed once at your waist in a tiny possessive twitch. That little reminder that yes, half the internet had seen you, wanted you, touched themselves to you, said filthy things about you. But now you were in his lap, on his screen, while they all watched him realize exactly how many people had wanted what he had his hands on.

You turned your head slightly, lips close to his ear.

“Breathe,” you murmured, sweet enough that the mic barely caught it.

Dex breathed.

The chat saw that too.

slowburnsir: he is NOT surviving this

camdad_404: his hands his HANDS

mod_mara: Do not spam. Tips are not requests unless accepted.

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 150 tokens — “for Dex’s funeral”

You laughed softly, and Dex looked at you.

The second his eyes met yours, the room changed. The chat was still screaming. The tips were still chiming. The screen was still bright with names and numbers and disbelief. But Dex stopped looking like a camboy hosting a special stream and started looking like a man with you in his lap, trying very hard to remember that everyone else existed.

You smiled at him like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“Your chat is excited,” you said.

Dex’s gaze flicked to the screen, then back to you. His hands tightened again, just slightly.

You raised an eyebrow.

He looked flatly at the camera for half a second, then down at where you were settled across him.

“I noticed.”

The chat caught the tone even if they did not catch the whole meaning.

rorschach69: OH HE’S JEALOUS JEALOUS

confessional_3am: that was possessive as hell

guilttrip04: “i noticed” SIR????

billyphobia.16: wait this chemistry is insane

TIPBOT: @/lonelyplanet69 tipped 400 tokens — “for whatever that was”

You should have kept it professional, and to be fair, you mostly did.

You faced the camera again, one hand resting lightly against Dex’s chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. It was very fast. Sweet, actually, if you ignored the fact that the man beneath you looked one good compliment away from blacking out.

“Hi, chat,” you said, bright and calm, like you had not just detonated his entire platform. “I hear Dex promised you a guest.”

The chat screamed.

Dex, poor thing, looked at you like calling him by name in that voice had been an attack.

You smiled wider.

“So,” you continued, letting your fingers tap once against his shirt, “be nice to him tonight.”

You leaned a little closer to the camera, lowering your voice.

“He’s new at sharing you guys.”

After that, you stayed in his lap for a while, letting the audience settle as word spread that you were her. You saw the chat screaming itself into static while Dex tried very hard not to look like he was losing his mind on camera. He was touching you through the robe already, one palm over your hip, the other over the swell of your clothed breast, fingers pressing in like he could feel the heat through the fabric, like he was trying to be respectful and failing in the most beautiful way.

You smiled down at him. “Stand up.”

Dex’s eyes flicked to yours.

Then he obeyed.

Chat noticed.

crosshair__: oh he moved FAST

aim.locked00: SHE SAID STAND AND HE STOOD????

TIPBOT: @/rolle.rbl.ade tipped 200 tokens — “for obedience”

Dex’s ears went pink, but he kept his eyes on you.

You stepped in close, hands finding the hem of his shirt. He lifted his arms before you even had to ask. Disciplined Dex standing there half-submissive in front of his own camera while you dragged his shirt up over his stomach, over his chest, over those ridiculous shoulders, and tossed it off-frame like it didn’t matter.

The chat went wild at the sight of him.

You barely looked at them. You were too busy looking at him.

His chest rose and fell too quickly. His stomach tightened when your fingertips skimmed down the center. His teeth clenched when your nails grazed the waistband of his jeans. He was so still it almost looked controlled, except nothing about the front of his jeans was controlled at all.

Dex was already hard, and not even half-hard from nerves and anticipation. Rock fucking hard, straining behind denim like his body had given up pretending. Like sitting with you in his lap, smelling your perfume, seeing the chat call you a legend had ruined every professional thought in his head.

“Dex,” you said sweetly.

His eyes shut for half a second.

You laughed under your breath and popped the button of his jeans.

27noirsignal_: OH MY GOD

ricochet.004: He’s so embarrassing

redacted-h3ll : everybody act normal.

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 500 tokens — “for that reaction”

The zipper came down slowly.

Dex’s hands twitched at his sides.

“Don’t help,” you murmured under your breath, not loud enough for the mic to catch it.

He froze.

You pushed his jeans down just enough, then his briefs, watching his face while he was exposed to you and the camera all at once. He sprang free, heavy and so obviously neglected that you made a pleased sound before you could stop yourself.

The chat exploded.

You reached for him, but not properly. You gave him the lightest touch, fingertips fluttering over him, barely there, soft little strokes that were more a tease than relief. Dex’s breath hitched. His stomach jumped. His hands curled into fists like he was physically stopping himself from grabbing you.

You touched him again, featherlight.

His hips gave one tiny, helpless twitch into your hand.

“Oh,” you whispered, smiling. “You’re sensitive.”

glasshog_77: DID HE JUST

midnightorbit : she barely touched him I’m crying

goodboycommittee: this is not a stream this is an execution

TIPBOT: @/midnightorbit tipped 250 tokens — “for Dex’s dignity, rip”

You wrapped your fingers around him for one second, just enough to feel him pulse in your hand, just enough to make his mouth part.

Then you let go.

Dex let out a broken little breath, like he hated how much he wanted to chase your touch.

You smiled like a terrible person. “Your turn.”

For a second, he just stared at you. Then his eyes dropped to the tie of your robe.

Dex reached for it carefully, like the silk was a trap. His fingers brushed your stomach through the fabric before he pulled the knot loose. The robe opened in a slip of blue shadow and skin, but you didn’t make him peel it off you. You just let it fall.

The silk slid down your shoulders, down your arms, and pooled at your feet, showing blue lingerie.

It was pretty, almost innocent, if anyone watching was stupid enough to believe that.

Dex stopped breathing.

The chat did too, for about half a second. Then it lost its collective mind.

27watch: she knew exactly what she was doing

devilcam199999: DEX BLINK IF YOU’RE ALIVE

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 1000 tokens — “WELCOME BACK TO STREAMING”

Dex’s eyes dragged over you with a focus so intense it made your skin heat. It wasn’t polished or performative. Dex looked like he was trying to survive you.

You stepped closer, turned back so your ass was facing him, and took his wrist, guiding his hand to your waist.

“Touch me.”

His palm settled against your skin with reverence first, then hunger second. His fingers spread over your ribs, thumbs brushing the edge of the lace. He traced the strap of your bra with one finger, then bent his head and caught it gently between his teeth.

Your breath hitched.

His teeth tugged the blue strap down your shoulder inch by inch, his mouth hot against your skin, careful until your breath shook. Then less careful when he heard it. His lips followed the strap, kissing the place it had marked, and when his eyes flicked up to yours, there was something darker in them now.

“Turn around,” he said quietly, almost embarrassed by his own command.

You did, because fair was fair.

Dex’s hands went to your hips as you faced him again, your chest to his, your ass framed perfectly by the lens in that tiny blue scrap of lace. The chat started moving too fast to read. Tips chimed over each other, bright and frantic, while Dex stood in front you, naked and hard, one hand sliding to your back to steady you, the other moving down over your hip.

Then his hands cupped you, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your ass, spreading you slightly through the lingerie so the camera got the kind of view that made the chat forget how to spell.

catholicguilt: DEX???

soft_dom_accountant: HIS HANDS

the.raft.wifi: THE VIEW THE VIEW THE VIEW

goodboycommittee: chat shut up I’m dying

TIPBOT: @/mistermidnight tipped 500 tokens — “that angle is insane

And that was when Dex realized that the camera had the better view.

His hands paused. His fingers flexed once against your skin. His jaw tightened near your temple, and you watched his eyes flicker from you to the feed, from the feed back to what little of you he could see over your shoulder.

Oh.

Oh, he didn’t like that.

Chat clocked it before you did.

exitwound-17: HE’S JEALOUS OF US

badangle_300: DEX MAD WE CAN SEE HER ASS BETTER THAN HIM

holyshitcam.24: possessive king has logged on

user-51down: he set up the angle lol

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 400 tokens — “for the angle”

Dex’s mouth flattened.

You arched your back just enough to make the view even worse for him and even better for them.

His hand shot to your back, pulling you back against him.

There he was.

Not the shy camboy or the careful professional. Just Dex, tense, jealous, turned on so badly he looked almost angry about it, his arousal hard against you from behind while thousands of people watched him lose the battle in real time.

You looked back at the camera and smiled.

“Aw,” you said, voice soft and sweet. “I think he forgot sharing means sharing.”

Dex’s grip tightened.

The chat screamed.

He bent close, lips brushing your ear.

“They get to watch,” he muttered.

His hands slid lower, possessive and warm, holding you open for one more second before he turned your face away from him.

“But I get to touch.”

Your back hit Dex’s chest, and you could feel the hard planes of his body behind you, the heat of his skin, the shaky rise and fall of his chest, the twitch against your lower back every time the chat said something particularly filthy. He was trying not to react, you could tell, wrapping an arm locked around your waist like he was keeping you in place for the camera and himself at the same time.

He was still jealous.

You could feel that too.

The chat had the front view now. You parted your thighs, your flushed chest, Dex’s big hand splayed possessively over your stomach. They could see the curve of your body better than he could, and it was clearly ruining him in several directions at once.

blindspot-13: this angle is criminal

sector_42seven: she’s so lucky smh

castle50files: DEX YOU GOOD???

TIPBOT: @/badangle_300 tipped 500 tokens — “I could never have his self-control”

Dex’s cheek brushed your temple when he leaned down.

“Tell me what to do,” he said.

It came out rough and almost too quiet. It wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t even a line. It was just a simple request.

Your stomach pulled tight.

Because Dex had his hands on you in front of thousands of people, but he still asked. He still waited. He still needed the words. Even with your hips held under his hands and your breath already starting to shake, he wanted instruction.

You turned your face slightly toward him. “You want me to teach you?”

You felt him twitch again against your back.

confessional.09: yikes

audiofile_6b: oh he LIKES being told

lessonpla.n: teacher voice unlocked

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 300 tokens — “give him step by step instruction”

Dex’s hand tightened over your waist.

“Yes,” he said.

Fuck.

You smiled at the camera, sweet as sugar, and reached back to touch his thigh, just enough to make him feel your fingers and suffer.

“Okay,” you said. “First, put your hand here.”

You guided his hand up your stomach to your chest. Dex followed instantly, palm large and warm as it slid over your ribs. His fingers hesitated at the edge of your bra, then cupped one breast through the blue lace, careful at first, too careful, like he was scared of making you feel like a prop even though the entire point of the stream was showing you off.

You covered his hand with yours and squeezed.

His breath caught.

“Like that,” you murmured. “Don’t be scared.”

Dex swallowed, then did it again, firmer this time. His thumb dragged through the sheer fabric, and circled once. Your hips shifted back against him before you could stop yourself.

His mouth brushed your ear. “There?”

“Mm. There.”

The chat went white-hot.

echo.17room: SHE SAID THERE

9lives_witness: he’s learning in real time

paperclip-666: I’m going to be sick they’re so hot

bigwindow.34: DEX’S HANDS ARE HUGE?????

TIPBOT: @/bad.r0m4nce tipped 600 tokens — “student of the year”

Dex’s other hand moved lower, slower, down your stomach, over the rise and fall of your breathing. You felt the moment his fingers reached the waistband of your lingerie because he stopped again, waiting.

You were going to lose your mind.

“Under,” you told him.

His fingers slipped beneath the thin blue strap at your hip, and your thighs parted by instinct.

Dex went still behind you, his breathing now unsteady. You could feel him trying to stay controlled, trying not to rut helplessly against your back while he touched you, trying not to make this about how badly he wanted to lose his mind just from being told what to do.

“Lower,” you whispered.

He obeyed.

His fingers slid down, cautious, feeling the pool already gathered there, and the sound he made was almost inaudible. The mic caught just enough that the chat turned feral.

static.8pm: DID HE JUST MAKE A SOUND

mercykill_27: HE’S GONE

witnessbox.6: she’s literally teaching him and he’s dying

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 1000 tokens — “for Dex’s education”

Dex’s forehead dipped against the side of your head. “Show me.”

You slid your hand over his, guiding two of his fingers higher, positioning them exactly where you wanted him. “Here. Not too hard. Keep your fingers flat.”

He rubbed once.

Your knees nearly buckled..

Dex felt that too. His arm around your waist tightened immediately, catching you, holding you up before the audience could even see you falter. Miss international pornstar, can’t be embarrassed like that in front of an audience, right?

“Like that?” he asked, voice wrecked.

You nodded, then remembered he needed more than that. “Yes. Small circles, Dex.”

He did exactly what you said.

Small, slow circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, fingers slick beneath the lace, his other hand still cupping your breast for the camera like he couldn’t decide if he wanted them to watch or wanted to cover you from everyone. His thumb moved again, firmer now, and the combination made your head fall back against his shoulder.

Dex stopped for half a second.

“No,” you breathed, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t stop.”

He started again instantly.

The chat screamed.

panicbutton.23: DON’T STOPPPPP

sweetspot_808: he immediately listened lolol

kneesweak.4am: he is so obedient I’m unwell

goodboycommittee: Dex looks like he’s going to pass out

TIPBOT: @/panicbutton.23 tipped 700 tokens — “DON’T STOP FUND”

Dex’s fingers kept moving, slow and slick, learning the rhythm by how your body answered. When he pressed too hard, your hand tightened around his wrist and he eased off. When he drifted too low, you corrected him with a gentle, “Up, baby,” and his whole body shuddered behind you.

Baby ruined him.

You felt it in the hard twitch of him against your back.

“Oh,” you laughed, but it came out broken. “You liked being called that?”

Dex’s mouth pressed to your shoulder.

His silence was answer enough.

The chat caught the shape of it even if they missed the words.

catholicguilt: SHE CLOCKED HIM

velvet-raw: he is not beating the needy allegations

goodboycommittee: DEX BABY FOCUS

TIPBOT: @/soft_dom_accountant tipped 250 tokens — “focus and concentration, babe”

You rolled your hips into his hand, showing him the pace you wanted. “A little faster now. Don’t chase it. Let me grind against your fingers.”

Dex made another sound then, rough against your skin, and did exactly that. He held his hand firmer, letting you move on him, letting you use his fingers while his palm pressed you open under the thin lace. His other hand squeezed again in time with the movement of your hips.

It was filthy.

Worse, it was intimate.

There were thousands of people watching. The chat was flashing too quickly to read. Tips were chiming. The room was bright with the glow of the screen and the sound of strangers losing their minds. But all you could feel was Dex behind you, his breath hot at your neck, his fingers doing exactly what you told him because he wanted to be good for you more than he wanted to look in control.

“Good,” you whispered.

Dex’s hips jerked once against your back, and you made a lewd sigh you haven’t made in a long time.

0nlyCams0fKamarTaj: GOOD?????

skull.hour: praisekinkunlocked

slowburnsir: this is insane chemistry

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 1500 tokens — “god bless”

Dex read it, and felt his whole body lock.

His fingers faltered for one second, not stopping completely but losing the rhythm, and you knew exactly why.

You smiled, cruel and warm at once.

“Don’t look at them,” you murmured. “Look at me.”

His eyes dragged away from the chat to the monitor, to the reflection of your face tipped back against his shoulder, your mouth open, your body moving against his hand. He looked wrecked. Blushing, jealous, and so focused on your pleasure that the whole audience might as well have vanished.

“That’s it,” you said. “Right there.”

Dex’s fingers moved faster.

Your hand flew up to his wrist, not to stop him, just to hold on. His mouth found the side of your throat, and you felt him twitch again, harder this time. “Dex,” you gasped.

His voice was hoarse. “Tell me.”

You clenched around nothing.

“Keep going. Don’t change anything. Don’t you dare change anything.”

He didn’t.

For all his jealousy, all his almost-frantic arousal, Dex could follow an order beautifully. He kept the pressure perfect, the circles tight, his hand steady while you rocked into him, your breath breaking into little sounds you couldn’t dress up for the camera even if you wanted to.

And then you realized distantly, that you weren’t performing.

You were just naturally losing it while Dex was touching you exactly the way you told him to.

soft_dom_accountant: she’s actually gone

the.raft.wifi: HIS FACE. LOOK AT HIS FACE.

goodboycommittee: oooo

TIPBOT: @/slowburnsir tipped 800 tokens — “good instruction-following”

Your thighs started to tremble.

His arm locked tighter around your middle, holding you upright against him, his fingers never stopping. “Like this?”

“Exactly like that.”

“You’re close.”

It wasn’t a question.

You laughed, but it cracked into a moan. “Don’t sound so proud.”

“I am.”

Oh, fuck.

That should do it.

Heat snapped low in your stomach, pleasure cresting hard and fast because he sounded proud, because his hand was perfect. Your head tipped back against his shoulder, your hand clamped over his wrist, and you came on his fingers.

Dex held you through it.

He didn’t stop too soon and didn’t get greedy. He didn’t panic when your hips jerked or when your thighs shook. He slowed only when you told him to, easing you down until you were gasping against his chest, body loose and hot and humiliatingly satisfied.

For a moment, the chat was just chaos.

27noirsignal_: HOLY SHIT

lonelyplanet69: Men take notes.

catholicguilt : the praise kink economy is thriving

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 2000 tokens — “WELCOME BACK INDEED”

Dex pulled his hand out from under your thong slowly.

You felt his fingers leave you and shivered.

Then you looked at the monitor, at his face, at the furious blush on his cheekbones. At his dark eyes locked on your reflection. At the way he held his wet fingers slightly away from your body like he didn’t know what to do with the evidence of what he had just done to you.

You smiled, and licked his finger to clean him up, making a show of it for his already feral audience.

Dex’s eyes went black, because you teased him too much.

You should have known better, honestly. Dex had already been wound tight before you ever sat in his lap. So maybe it was your fault when he finally broke.

You were still catching your breath, knees unsteady, your blue thong damp and shifted crookedly beneath his hand. The chat was still feral.

redacted-h3ll : SHE CAME FIRST

glassjaw_838: I’M NEVER RECOVERING

midnightorbit: he looks like he’s about to snap

lonelyplanet69: someone check on him

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 2000 tokens — “GOOD BOY DEX”

Dex read that last one, and felt him freeze.

Then you laughed, and made it worse by looking back over your shoulder. “See that? They think you’re a good boy.”

His hand closed around your hip, and it wasn’t gentle this time.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Dex bent you over before you could finish the thought.

One second your back was against his chest, his arm around your waist. The next, your cheek was pressed on the desk, your eyes turned toward the monitor, your hips angled up, Dex behind you with both hands on your ass like he had finally stopped caring about looking composed.

The little blue thong was in his way.

Dex stared at it for half a second like he wanted to kill it.

Then he hooked his fingers under the thin strap and pulled it aside.

The stupid thing stayed stretched over one hip, pretty and useless, leaving you exposed for him and the screaming, frothing chat that had no idea they were watching the exact moment Dex stopped being manageable.

devilcam199999: OH MY GOD

goodboycommittee: DEX?????

exitwound-17: THIS IS NOT A DRILL

TIPBOT: @/goodboycommittee tipped 1000 tokens — “lmao she’s flustered”

He was skipping steps.

It was supposed to go on for much longer than this before this happened. The contract had been very clear about the intended sequence: strip each other, handwork, oral, teasing, breast play, then penetration if both performers confirmed continued consent. But it had also been clear that the sequence was not a binding script so much as a guideline, and that both performers could improvise as long as the safeword system remained active, respected, and immediate.

Your safeword was milkshake.

You hadn’t said milkshake.

You had not even come close.

What you said instead, when Dex pressed himself against you from behind, was, “Oh, fuck.”

Dex froze just long enough for one last thread of professionalism to drag itself through him. His hand slid up your spine, grounding. “This okay?”

Your fingers curled against the desk.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed l immediately. Then, because he was Dex and needed the final bullet point checked off before he lost his mind completely, you added, “Keep going.”

The sound he made was almost a laugh in relief.

You pushed your hips back a fraction, and that was when Dex lost it.

His hand locked around your hip, the other braced beside yours on the desk, his body folding over you just enough that his mouth brushed your ear. You could feel him shaking, not exactly with nerves, but with the force of wanting you so badly that restraint had become physically painful.

His voice came out wrecked, and much too honest for a man with thousands of people watching.

“Ready to watch your favourite pornstar take my virginity?”

For half a second, your brain went completely blank.

Wait.

What?

Then Dex pushed into you all at once.

Not elegantly with practiced timing, and not like a performer hitting a mark or giving the camera the perfect angle. He shoved into you like his body had been waiting so long it refused to negotiate anymore, and the shock of him punched the air straight out of your lungs.

Oh, Dex was big.

You knew that. You had touched him. You had wrapped your fingers around him and thought, somewhat smugly, that you understood exactly what you were dealing with.

You did not.

Because seeing was one thing. Feeling him split you open from behind, hard and curved just right, was another thing entirely. He hit somewhere deep and bright, the kind of spot that made your knees buckle even with the desk under your hands. Your mouth fell open. No sound came out at first. Just a broken little inhale while your body tried to process his size, the stretch, and the fact that Dex had just announced to a live audience that you were taking his virginity.

The chat went nuclear.

exitwound-17: VIRGIN?

holyshitcam.24: Dex is a virgin?!

the.raft.wifi: EXCUSE ME

catholicguilt: THIS IS HIS FIRST TIME?????

audiofile_6b: OMG SHE JUST TOOK DEX’S VIRGINITY LIVE

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 3000 tokens — “ABSOLUTELY CINEMA”

You would have laughed. You really would have.

Except Dex moved. And every clever thought in your head went straight out the window.

His first thrust was clumsy. Too deep, too eager, too much. His rhythm stuttered because he clearly didn’t know whether to chase his own pleasure or watch yours, and somehow that made it hotter than anything scripted could have been. You had been fucked by men who knew exactly how to look good on camera. Men who knew their angles, their timing, their marketable groans. Men who could make sex look expensive and still make it feel like absolutely nothing.

Dex did not know how to make it look good.

Dex only cared about what made it feel good.

And fuck, did it.

He found that spot again by accident, then gripped harder when your whole body jolted under him. His hand tightened on your hip. “There?”

You were too fucked out to be dignified. “Yes. There. Again.”

He did it again, harder, and your arms nearly gave out.

echo.17room: inexperienced but effective

paperclip-666: chat I think she forgot us

TIPBOT: @/echo.17room tipped 1500 tokens — “for beginner’s luck”

You did forget them.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t performing in front of a camera. You weren’t making sure your face looked pretty when you moaned. You weren’t arching for the best light or thinking about whether the angle sold the chemistry. You weren’t managing another performer’s ego, not timing your reactions, not pretending someone was better than they were because the scene needed it.

You were bent over a camboy’s desk while he fucked you raw and messy and half out of his mind, and the only thing your body cared about was the way he kept hitting that spot, the way he learned from every sound you made, the way he adjusted not for the camera but for you.

His inexperience made him greedy. His obsession made him attentive. His jealousy made him filthy.

Every time the chat screamed about your body, Dex pulled you back harder onto him. Every time someone tipped for the view, his hand slid possessively over your ass like he was reminding them they could watch all they wanted, but they could not feel how tight you were around him. Every time you moaned his name, his rhythm broke.

“Dex,” you gasped.

His hips stuttered.

He folded over you, chest against your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you up while he kept fucking into you in rough, uneven strokes. His mouth found your shoulder, teeth grazing skin, not quite biting, just desperate enough to make you clench around him.

He swore into your neck.

Dex, who had been so careful. Dex, who had asked to kiss you before the stream because he wanted one thing to belong to the two of you. Dex, who had printed contracts and arranged water bottles and checked the kill switch twice. That Dex was gone now, this Dex had no idea how to want halfway.

bad.r0m4nce: this man is having a religious epiphany

static.8pm: she broke him

mercykill_27: no he broke HER

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 5000 tokens — “BEST STREAM ON THIS SITE”

You saw the messages blur across the monitor.

You didn’t care.

You could barely keep your eyes open.

Dex’s hand slid under you, fingers finding your sensitive spot between your legs again with frantic focus. He remembered what you had taught him, remembered the pressure, the small circles, except now he was fucking you while doing it and his hand was not nearly as steady as before.

You laughed, or tried to, but it came out as a moan. “Yes. Fuck, yes, just—don’t stop.”

He was determined while his hips kept snapping into you, making your body go loose and frantic at the same time. His breathing got harsher against your neck. His thrusts lost what little rhythm they had and became closer to instinct.

He was close.

His whole body changed, going tight behind you, arm locking around your waist, forehead pressed to your shoulder like he was trying to hold him back. It was an embarrassingly short time, and he knew it. He made one ruined moan into your skin and you clenched around him helplessly.

“Fuck,” Dex choked. “I’m—”

You should have said something professional. Something about pacing, control, stamina, the stream, the plan.

Instead, knowing you were religiously on the pill, you pushed back into him and whined, “Inside, please.”

The chat became unreadable.

the.raft.wifi: WHAT

sweetspot_808: SHE SAID WHAT

lonelyplanet69: DEX DO NOT DIE

TIPBOT: @/mistermidnight tipped 2000 tokens — “Lucky Girl”

Dex’s hips snapped forward once, deep and helpless.

You felt him empty himself in you.

His whole body shuddered, pulsing deep, his grip bruising-tight for one second before he caught himself and loosened like even mid-orgasm he was terrified of holding you too hard. He buried his face against your shoulder, shaking through it, breathing your name like he had no idea the mic could probably hear every broken piece of it.

And that should have been the end of it.

Except the feeling of him filling you, the heat of it, the broken little sound he made, the fact that Dex had lost his virginity inside you live on stream and was still rubbing your clit like the only thing he knew how to do was follow your last instruction….

It sent you over too.

Your orgasm tore through you so hard you actually cursed, hips jerking back against him, thighs shaking, hands slipping on the desk. Dex held you up through the whole thing, still making those ruined little sounds every time you clenched around him.

You were feral.

For a long time, there was no acting at all.

Chat was losing its mind.

kamar-taj404: THIS WAS HIS FIRST TIME. HIS FIRST TIME.

blip.checked69: she is NOT performing anymore

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 10000 tokens — “HISTORY WAS MADE”

Dex stayed inside you for a moment, breathing hard against your shoulder, his arms around you like he had forgotten the stream existed too.

Then, very quietly, he asked, “Good?”

Your laugh came out wrecked.

“Good,” you echoed, voice hoarse. “Very fucking good.”

Dex smiled into your shoulder and stayed folded over you. One of his hands was braced on the desk beside yours, the other wrapped around your waist like he had forgotten he was allowed to let go.

You blinked at the monitor, still dazed, because the thing that kept replaying in your head was not the stream count, or the tips, or the fact that Dex had just fucked you live so messily that you had forgotten to perform.

It was the virgin thing.

It was genius, not telling beforehand to get a real reaction out of you.

Technically, he hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no contract clause that said a performer had to disclose previous sexual experience. You were tested, asked for consent, boundaries, yes. Experience level? No. Virginity was a construct anyway.

You knew all that.

You believed all that.

And still…

He had given you something he had never given anyone else, and even if that should not have mattered, even if you were too professional and too sex-industry literate to get sentimental about the concept of virginity—

Fuck.

It mattered.

It mattered enough that you should have known from the way he strictly did solo stuff. The way he had asked to kiss you before the stream because he didn’t want the first one to belong to the audience. The way you had to talk him through touching you.

Your fingers flexed against the desk.

“Dex,” you said finally, voice wrecked.

He hummed against your skin, barely enough to be a real answer.

You smiled, mean even like this. Especially like this. “Do you want to show chat?”

He went very still.

He understood what you meant: wanna zoom the camera on proof that you just made a mess in me?

It was standard, really, at this point. Shots like that were in high demand.

The chat saw your smile and started moving so fast the text blurred into light.

slowburnsir: SHOW CHAT WHAT

camdad_404: pleasepleaseplease

pretty-prince: DEX YOU OWE US

TIPBOT: @/skull.hour tipped 3000 tokens — “for the reveal”

Dex lifted his head.

His face was beside yours in the monitor, flushed and wrecked, hair mussed, eyes dark. He looked at the chat, at all the names begging, all the tips chiming, all the strangers who had watched you take him and still wanted more.

Then his mouth flattened. “No.”

Before the chat could even properly react, Dex reached past you and cut the stream.

The screen went black, and the sudden silence was so sharp it made you giggle.

Dex turned you around immediately, hands careful now despite everything, flipping you to face him and lifting your ass up to sit you on the desk against him. You were still laughing when he kissed you, almost desperate, then gentler when you kissed him back. His mouth was clumsy, like he had just realized the entire internet had seen him lose his mind over you, and now all he wanted was a part of you that belonged to neither camera nor contract nor chat.

You gave it to him.

Several, actually.

You kissed him until his shoulders dropped, until his hands stopped gripping like he was afraid you would vanish, until the frantic edge of him became almost shy again.

Then you blindly reached for one of the towels he had stacked nearby and tugged it underneath you, muscle memory.

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t tell me you were a virgin.”

Dex looked at you for a second, still breathing hard.

Then, with the driest, most infuriating little tone, he said, “Well, I’m not anymore.”

You laughed so hard you had to hide your face against his chest.

Dex’s arms came around you properly, one hand smoothing over your back, the other resting low at your hip like he was still half-convinced touching you was a privilege he had to earn. He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then your mouth again, slower, like now that nobody was watching, he could finally stop performing control and simply be greedy.

Eventually, you pulled back just enough to smile.

“Okay,” you said, still close enough that your lips brushed his when you spoke. “Now did that convince you to make a video with me?”

Dex’s eyes changed.

It was subtle, returning to himself with a terrifying piece of certainty.

“I want an exclusivity contract.”

You blinked at him.

For a second, you genuinely thought you had misheard him, because there was possessive and then there was whatever the fuck that was.

He had just lost his virginity on livestream. He should have been dazed, maybe overwhelmed. Maybe asking whether the stream had gone well, whether the numbers were good, whether Joanna would be happy, whether the audience liked you with him.

Instead, Dex looked at you like he had found the one clause in the entire industry he cared about.

“Exclusivity contract,” he repeated.

Your mouth opened, then closed. “Dex.”

His hands tightened. “You never fuck another performer but me again,” he said, quiet and absolute. “Got it?”

Oh.

You had negotiated worse things than this with men who thought violent jealousy was part of the brand. You knew the difference between a possessive bit for the camera and a man who meant it so deeply it was probably a walking red flag.

See, a performer should not feel this possessive after one stream. A new collaborator shouldn’t look at you like every booked performer on your calendar was an affair.

You had been in this industry long enough to know when desire became entitlement, when chemistry became control, when a man started mistaking access for ownership.

Except Dex had not acted entitled to you.

Dex had wanted you so fucking badly, and still,he had still waited for every yes.

And, more than anything, he had made you love the job again.

Not in theory, not in the marketable, “I’m so lucky to do what I love” way you said in interviews when people wanted you to be grateful and sexy and easy to digest.

Dex had made you love it again.

He had made the camera feel electric again. He had made being watched feel intimate instead of routine. He had made you forget your angles. He had made you forget the chat. He had pleased you to the point that you stopped performing in front of an audience that had paid to see exactly that.

You should have been more alarmed by him.

Instead, you kissed him, and he made a low sound into your mouth when you bit gently at his bottom lip.

His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer like he had been waiting for you to argue so he could convince you with his mouth. You let him. You let him kiss you like the contract was already signed, like he could sear your loyalty into his skin if he touched you carefully enough, desperately enough, possessively enough.

“Not even women?” You asked, almost innocently. “Guys usually like it when I—”

“No.”

Your thighs pressed together before you could stop them.

“If I’m gonna fuck you for a living,” he continued, “I’m not sharing.”

Oh.

Well.

That was inconveniently hot.

You should have told him that was impossible.

You should have told him exclusivity cost money, career-shaping money. That your name was a brand, your schedule was booked months in advance, your team would have questions, your existing scenes had deposits, clauses, penalties, timelines. That adult performers did not simply get claimed by the first beautiful, obsessive camboy who managed to make them orgasm on camera for the first time in a very long time.

Instead, you pouted.

“But I have a threesome schedule with Frank Castle and Matt Murdock next month.”

You watched every part of him shut down with jealousy. His mouth flattened. His eyes sharpened. His hands flexed on your waist like he could feel Frank’s name on one side of you and Matt’s on the other and wanted to drag you physically out of the hypothetical.

“Cancel it.”

You bit your lip, delighted. “Dex.”

“Cancel it,” he repeated.

“It’s already booked.”

“I don’t care.”

“There are contracts.”

“I’ll pay the fee.”

You blinked.

He did not say it like a joke. Like if there was a cancellation penalty, fine. If there was a buyout, fine. If Joanna wanted numbers, fine. Dex would find the number, calculate the cost, send the wire, and erase the booking from existence.

And God help you, you were into it.

“You can’t just buy me out of my own schedule,” you said, but you were smiling.

Dex’s eyes dropped to your mouth.

“I can try.”

You laughed, and he kissed the sound right out of you.

It was less shy now. Still controlled, but there was confidence in it that had not been there an hour ago.

His fingers slid up your back, into your hair, holding you where he wanted you while he kissed you harder. You let him for a second, then two, then long enough that the towel under you shifted and you had to laugh into his mouth again.

“You’re so cute.”

Dex frowned. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” You kissed him, smiling into it when he tried not to respond and failed. “That’s why it’s cute.”

His mouth chased yours when you pulled back.

You let him have another kiss. Then another. Then you cupped his face between both hands, still laughing softly, still stupidly charmed by the fact that Dex’s first post-virginity business decision was apparently to remove the entire rest of the industry from your schedule.

“Send the exclusivity contract to Joanna,” you murmured against his mouth.

Dex kissed you again.

You kissed him back, biting gently at his bottom lip just to feel the way he shuddered.

“And we’ll talk.”

His hands slid around your waist.

“Talk,” he repeated, like he didn’t believe either of you would be doing much talking.

You smiled.

“Mm-hmm. Professionally.”

Dex looked at you. Then at the black screen where his chat had been cut off mid-hysteria because he had decided the aftermath of your pleasure belonged to him and him alone.

“Right,” he tilted his head. “Professionally.”

—end.

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