Chapter 6 The Camgirl
The Camgirl
Grant
It’s nine o’clock at night, and I’m still staring at the white textured ceiling in this borrowed bedroom, like I was going to divine some fucking answers from the random patterns.
It was already Thursday, and all I could think about was the sweet-spiced vanilla scent stuck in my nose since leaving the Masked Merrow.
Never in my life had I cursed my exceptional sense of smell than I did right now.
I couldn’t be certain, since the woman was clearly wearing something to muddle her smell.
From what I remember of Reggie waxing on about when he found my foster mom, Felicity, I had my suspicions.
How he couldn’t stop thinking about her, how every time he caught the barest notes of her scent, it would steal all his attention, and how every female after smelled bland and wholly unattractive…
I couldn’t imagine it before, but I’m living the experience now.
Walking through the club after leaving the office had my nose wrinkling, balking at scents that weren’t offensive when I first wove through the dance floor to meet the alleged club owner.
The place had been packed wall to wall, and the majority of the crowd were shifters.
Mellow blue lights swept through the massive dance floor, catching on globes hanging on chains from the high ceiling.
They gave the impression of bubbles floating to the water’s surface as blue swaths of fabric draped among them.
The aquatic theme carried on to showcase massive fish tanks on the left wall where the booths were set, as well as beneath the gleaming black bar on the opposite side that peeked between the many legs standing in front of it.
Along the far wall that held the metal staircase leading up to the second floor was a massive mural of a vivid sapphire-blue ocean from the perspective of someone standing atop the jagged, rocky cliffs.
It was painted with such intricate detail, it felt like I could walk off the ledge and fall into the churning sea.
The choice of subject seemed off for a nightclub, but it was still a breathtaking piece.
My time in Vegas had felt unproductive so far, which is why I lay here now obsessing over a woman likely associated with the mob that I’m trying to get in with and subsequently screw over on Andrea’s behalf. I needed to get up and do something.
“Damn it!” I hissed. My hands rubbed my face furiously. I hated feeling so out of control with my life. And I hated floundering about in hopes of getting lucky.
If the Masked Merrow lead ended up being a dead end, I needed to have another avenue to explore.
It would be more difficult to track the Red Riot’s association online, but if the girl Frank mentioned did, in fact, live in Vegas and happened to be in sex work, there was a chance she was connected to Red Riot in that way.
Was it a stretch? Absolutely. But if I were grasping at straws, I might as well use both hands.
It was no secret that the Riot was neck-deep in the Vegas sex industry. I had to dive in somewhere.
Starting with the Prey to Play website.
With a tired groan, I shoved up onto my hands and forced myself out of bed. Since I wasn’t planning to sleep anytime soon, I padded to the kitchen to grab a cold brew coffee from the fridge and drifted to the space I had claimed as my office for now.
Of all the streaming platforms I’d encountered—both legal and illegal—I had never come across a more encrypted site than Prey to Play, where Frank’s current target hosted her camgirl sessions every third day.
It would have been logical to wait until I got some sleep to start tackling the website, but that niggling thorn in the back of my mind that always showed up while in the midst of a hacking project spurred me to try and get through its firewall.
So far, I’d had no luck. I didn’t get a very good look at the camgirl from across his desk.
Scrutinizing her picture further, I realized I had seen that mask before…
or at least, someone who had a similar mask.
The woman from Masked Merrow, the one who sat on the club owner’s lap.
The one whose scent bowled me over as soon as I stepped into the room.
That spiced vanilla smell stayed with me, like a ghost who haunted me every waking minute since that shit-show of a meeting.
I dreaded what it could mean to find her scent so fucking irresistible.
My adopted father would go on for hours on how he first met Felicity, sniffing her out in a crowd while he was eating lunch at some restaurant in Seattle.
He said her smell was one he could never forget, burned into his brain from the first time he found it.
I thought he was being a hopeless romantic about the whole thing.
The chances of finding a shifter mate were slim at best, and only through something called pheromone bonding.
It was nature’s way of ensuring mates could track each other down.
Mates were historically known for birthing more than the average number of children, so naturally those bonds superseded common sense.
The implications of getting involved with a woman like that were not something I wanted to consider, especially if she ended up embroiled in the mob I was supposed to be infiltrating.
If that woman from the club turned out to be my mate, I was ten levels below fucked.
The camgirl had a similar body shape to the Masked Merrow woman, as far as I could tell from the scantily clad version posted on her page.
The mask she wore was definitely the same—matte black with the X-shaped eyes and a stitched mouth, all backlit in neon pink.
It certainly wasn’t the typical Halloween store mask.
It irked me that I couldn’t just hack into the site. I didn’t really want to register as a site member, even with all the protections on my own computer, but otherwise, there was no way to get past the very basic front page undetected. All it had were the entry fields for a username and password.
The registration page was just as bare. It didn’t ask for much more than the name on the credit card used to pay for the subscription and a billing address, both things that could be easily faked. Unless there was a verification…
“Of course,” I muttered as the next prompt popped up.
Please enter the dollar amount charged to the card registered.
By the time I got through the sign-in process for that credit card, entered the amount charged—sixty-nine cents, which seemed a bit on the nose—and waited for the loading screen to finish, my patience had almost hit the end of its rope.
I logged into Vixen’s page, where she was already well underway for tonight’s session.
It took a moment to get my bearings, but the layout was simple enough.
Her screen took up the majority of the page, with a chat box running along the right side that had two buttons at the bottom—‘tip’ and ‘request private call.’ She seemed to be reading whatever was in the chat, a hypnotic bass-driven dub-step playing low in the background on her end.
This time, she was in a pink, frilly babydoll lingerie top and high-cut underwear with white ribbons tied on either hip.
She sat on the edge of the same bed in her profile picture with her left foot tucked under her opposite thigh to offer an enticing peek.
The crotch of her lacy panties barely covered anything between her legs.
Every other line in the chat window was someone tipping one dollar, five dollars, ten dollars, and there were a couple of fifty and one-hundred-dollar contributions. The rest of the comments were lewd and extremely descriptive, provocative things the other attendees wanted her to do.
“You’re not being very creative tonight, no offense,” she commented playfully. Her voice was obviously changed with some kind of modulator. “I may have to go shop my stash and find some toys to play with on my own.”
It was painfully clear that Vixen was baiting the group, and about twenty of them took it hook, line, and sinker. The chat exploded with all sorts of emojis and explicit comments on what they wanted her to do.
Find your biggest dildo and sit on it.
Go get the anal beads again!
I want to see you splooge alllll over the camera like a bad girl.
Stuff all your holes, baby girl.
I was getting secondhand embarrassment from watching what these people were typing.
Is this what Frank spent all his nights doing?
Was he in this session right now, making the same kind of raunchy comments to this woman?
My lip curled in disgust at the litany of demands that were, honestly, not even that creative.
My bet was on half of these users being guys hardly out of high school, with severely lacking sex lives.
I wasn’t a prude by any means—I was known to partake in some filthy comments during sex—but knowing these men were throwing out suggestions like this without being able to read the woman’s reactions felt selfish and wrong.
If I thought my partner felt the least bit uncomfortable, I’d stop immediately.
Not only could the chat not see her face for feedback, but the added pressure of being paid to entertain these fucked-up requests was disgusting to me.
Not for her, for the ones who thought it was okay to say things like ‘rip yourself open on a big dick’ with no repercussions.
Didn’t she have moderators or something?
And why was I getting so worked up over all this?
Vixen leaned back onto her palms. The pose pushed her breasts out to almost spill over the top, leg kicking like she was bored. Her head tilted, letting the bubblegum pink curls fall over her shoulder in an enticing cascade.
“Hmm,” she hummed. “I guess it’s just me and the dildo tonight. What color are we thinking? Red, blue, or green?”
The chat flooded with answers again, but the majority was very obvious within a few seconds.
Vixen chuckled. “Red, huh? You kinky fucks, of course you’d pick that one.” She rose from the bed and moved out of frame, leaving the members in the chat to run rampant with their excitement. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time she used this toy.
After a few moments of rummaging around off-screen, she came back with full hands.
One held a bottle of lube, and in the other…
I physically recoiled from the sight of it.
The thing looked like less of a sex toy and more of a torture device.
The shaft was easily as long as her hand from wrist to the longest finger, and it was covered in silicone nubs that looked too long to be comfortably shoved anywhere delicate.
She put the monstrosity down to squeeze a pile of lube into her palm and proceeded to spread it along the dildo.
Watching her hand run up and down, it was obvious those nubs had little give to them.
My stomach did a flip thinking of where she was about to shove that thing.
My gawd that’s so hot!
Do you like pierced dick, baby?
I can’t wait to hear you cry on that thing.
You’re such a whore for pain, aren’t you?
You’d be so hot if you were twenty years younger.
The chat comments were getting progressively more graphic, but that last one stuck out the most. I barely caught the username before it scrolled by to make room for more comments—richbro95. Because of course it was.
I knew going in that there would be all sorts of creeps on this site, but just the few demands I glimpsed made me lose what little faith in humanity I had left.
Who else willingly watches a woman on camera do whatever depraved fantasies they throw out?
I doubted anyone on this page had a significant other, and if they did, I felt sorry for their partners. This kind of fucked up was just…
I had nothing against sexual kinks. I even partook in a few of my own.
What I couldn’t fathom was all the obscenities and crude gestures thrown at this woman, even as she did what the majority asked.
Calling a woman a whore for doing something sexual that she’s getting paid for was just wrong.
Vixen rose up onto her knees, running her hand down her stomach on its way down to unsnap the buttons at the crotch of her lingerie.
The chat didn’t seem to bother her. I should close the window.
I should remove myself from this shit-show.
But I found myself mesmerized, watching her brace the base of the dildo against the bed and slowly lower herself onto the tip.
I’m not even sure I blinked in the last two minutes.
The soft cry, even modulated through her mask, was enough to break me. It didn’t sound like a cry of enjoyment.
My hand flashed to the top of the screen, slamming it down so hard it may have cracked.
I didn’t know if it would log me out of the cam site or if it continued to charge me by the minute, but frankly, I didn’t care.
Those raunchy comments had seared themselves into my brain, and I was going to need a gallon of bleach sloshed inside my skull to rinse them from my memory.