Chapter Three
Pretty Armor
Charlotte
M y long black hair falls over my shoulders as I finish applying my makeup. I've gotten good at this, too good. My transformation is complete; my true self hidden behind a mask of false lashes, smokey eyeshadow, and carefully contoured cheeks.
I slip off my robe and toss it to the other side of my room, out of the view of the camera. The schoolgirl outfit I’m wearing is such a cliche, I know. But it works, and the viewers love it. And when they love it, they pay.
The skimpy outfit clings to my body, hugging my curves in all the right places. Revealing just enough to tease without giving everything away.
My viewers don't just want a show; they want the fantasy. Pulling off this look is the key to selling the fantasy. They crave an innocent schoolgirl. So, that’s exactly what I’ll give them.
To do this, I have to become the character, and that's easy for me because it's exactly who I am. An almost 18-year-old high school senior. But for a little while, I can forget who I truly am and the total shitshow that is my life and just play the part.
I slide into my chair in front of my desk, the black vinyl sticking slightly to the back of my bare thighs.
I move the mouse around on my laptop waiting for the unlit screen in front of me to come to life.
I type in my username, SweetLottie16, and my password when the loading screen of the cam site appears.
I wait for the familiar interface of the site to load, then start a two-minute countdown notifying my followers I’m going live.
I try to ignore the feeling of disgust churning deep in my stomach as I watch a wave of viewers start to trickle in.
Each one represented by a small, anonymous profile picture.
Just a few more days, I tell myself. I’ll be 18 soon, then I can get away from my mother, leave this house and never look back.
I have no idea where I’ll go, but wherever it is, I know I’ll be the Charlotte I choose to be.
Not the Charlotte everyone else forces me to be.
I hate the objectification. The leering eyes reducing me to nothing more than an object to star in their perverse fantasies. A mere tool for their own self pleasure.
But as much as I wish I could just disappear and never do this again; there's a part of me that craves the attention and the twisted sense of empowerment I get from it every time I turn the camera on.
When I start streaming, I'm no longer Charlotte.
I'm Lottie, the online persona I created when my mother first forced me into this work.
Lottie is the armor I hide behind. The only time I feel like I have any control is when I'm wearing my armor. In those moments, I'm not the used, neglected girl anymore; I'm desired and wanted. I command their attention, and they hang on my every word.
The feeling is both sickening and intoxicating all at once. Then comes the shame that creeps in when the camera turns off. The disgust I feel for myself for allowing this to happen.
It's fucked up, I’m fucked up.
I adjust my webcam, making sure it’s at the right angle to capture my every move, then position myself just right on my bed.
I take a deep breath when I see the green dot appear on my laptop screen signaling I’m now live.
My online persona takes over, and the performance begins.
I play the part, all smiles, playful teasing, and seductive glances.
To the world, I'm 'Lottie,' a playful, confident cam girl.
But underneath, the truth is much uglier.
I'm just an insecure, lonely girl, hoping someday someone will want me, Charlotte, as much as they want Lottie.
"Hey there," I purr, a slow smile spreading across my face. I bite my lip and flip my hair, casting a seductive glance at the camera. "Are you ready for some fun?"
Lottie is their fantasy, an escape from their everyday life. She's confident and alluring, the perfect girlfriend. These men want a connection. The illusion that I'm here just for them.
The chat blows up with responses, flooded with desperate pleas and explicit requests.
I thrive on the attention. I bask in their validation, the feeling of being wanted.
It doesn't matter if it's not real to me; to them, I am real.
And with each message, I become Lottie more and more.
I flirt, I tease, I give them what they crave. I give them a dream.
The attention silences the constant whispers of self-doubt.
A momentary distraction from the venomous words of my mother’s insults echoing in my mind.
For one hour, I am free. But when the stream ends, I’m just Charlotte.
A daughter being exploited by her own mother for profit.
Another invisible, unwanted girl, longing for more.
I want to be seen, to matter, to be loved for me, not Lottie.
I earn hundreds of dollars a night to fuel my mother's lifestyle. Another fix is all I am to her. Another drink, another night without thinking about her own miserable life.
My fingers trace the hem of my tiny, white button-down crop top, teasingly pulling the seams apart to allow my bra underneath to peek out.
I run my tongue over my lips, my gaze fixed on the camera.
I know how to play this game. I arch my back, a soft moan escaping my lips.
I hear the digital chime of incoming notifications, and tips begin flooding into my account as my body becomes their virtual playground.
DarkKnight12: That's it, Lottie. Keep going .
I bite my lip, and smile when I recognize the username. He's one of my regulars, always generous with his tips and eager for a private show.
"Oh, you like that?" I tease, already knowing the answer. I let my fingers dance along the hem of my skirt, slowly pulling it up my thighs, baring my skin inch by inch.
DarkKnight12: Mmmmm, fuck yeah I do.
DarkKnight12: But I want more.
“How many hearts are you going to send me, baby?” Every heart he sends equals one dollar, and I can make a pretty penny from just this one interaction. Even more if someone asks for a private show.
DarkKnight12: As many as it takes, beautiful. Just keep doing what you're doing.
“You’re going to have to do better than that.” Hearts start floating up my screen, tips from other viewers wanting me to keep going.
DarkKnight12: 125 and you give me a show.
“You want me to put on a show for you? Give me what I want, and I'll give you everything you want.”
Rising to my feet, I slowly loosen the knot in my shirt just below my breasts, drawing out the moment as I wait for DarkKnight12 to send his payment. Sure enough, the notification chimes, and hundreds of tiny red hearts appear on my screen.
I let the shirt slide off my shoulders revealing the red lace bra that had been hidden beneath.
Slowly, I pull down the zipper of my skirt, shimmying the snug fabric down my hips before letting it pool at my feet.
Left only in a red lace bra and matching panties, I sink back onto the bed, kneeling before the camera.
“Is this what you had in mind? ”
DarkKnight12: Spread your legs for me.
I hesitate for a moment, acting shy, but then slowly I part my legs, exposing the small strip of red lace between my thighs.
DarkKnight12: That's my girl.
I bite my lip, waiting for his next request.
DarkKnight12: I want you to touch yourself. Imagine I’m there with you and it’s my hands on your body. Go slow.
“Like this?” My eyes never leave the camera. I trail my fingers down my stomach, slowly just like he wants. Slipping my fingers beneath the elastic of my panties, I focus on the sensation as I begin to circle my clit with my fingers.
DarkKnight12: Just like that. Make yourself feel good.
His words spur me on, and I feel my body responding.
I let out a soft moan as my fingers continue to move.
My breath catches in my throat and my hips begin rocking in time with my fingers.
I feel my arousal seeping through the thin lace fabric of my panties.
I know they're all watching, their eyes fixed on the growing wet spot between my legs.
My cheeks flush, but I don't look away from the camera.
I want them all to feel like I'm doing this just for them.
I slide my fingers down, a small gasp escaping my lips as I push two fingers inside my pussy, curling them just right to find that sweet spot.
My hips begin to move faster, rocking against my hand as I fuck my fingers.
I grind my clit into my palm, seeking more friction, more stimulation.
I'm so turned on my hand is soaking wet.
I know they can hear it, the squelching sounds of my fingers moving in and out of me.
The sensation sends sparks of pleasure through my body.
My moans grow louder, filling the room around me.
"Oh, God," I cry out and my body tenses, every muscle coiled tightly. " I'm—"
DarkKnight12: That's it, babygirl. Come for me.
I shatter. My body breaks apart into a million pieces as my orgasm takes over. My back arches, my thighs squeeze tightly together, trapping my hand between them. My fingers curl, gripping the sheets trying to anchor myself as my body convulses.
I open my eyes, trying to catch my breath, as the chime of notifications grab my attention.
DarkKnight12: Fuck, baby, that was amazing.
Wild.24-7: That was so fucking hot.
Young_Buck69: Round 2?
The chat is flooded with praise and requests for encores. But the feeling of being wanted and a little less alone quickly fades. In its place, the familiar shame begins swirling around my mind, whispering that I'm nothing but a whore.
I wonder if anyone will ever truly see me. The me under all the makeup, the skimpy outfits, and the moans. And if they do, will they want the real me? Just Charlotte. The girl beneath the pretty armor.