Chapter 55 Roni
Roni
@SIMPleSimon: Simon says do a sexy dance on camera.
My outfit starts with a sheer white lace bralette, delicately embroidered with floral patterns which skim over my freshly moisturized skin.
The cups are semi-transparent, offering just enough coverage to tease, and the underbust is trimmed with a ruffled pink satin ribbon tying into a playful bow between my breasts.
I’ve paired it with a high-waisted micro skirt made from bubblegum pink vinyl.
It’s extremely short and glossy, clinging to my sizable hips and just barely raising the tops of my thighs.
Underneath, one of my favorite pairs of white silk panties peeks out.
Its laced, satiny edges are adorned with a tiny pink heart charm at the lace band.
I’m wearing a new set of white over-the-knee fishnet stockings, held up by pink velvet garters clipped into a matching white garter belt.
My heels are sky high, patent pink with ankle straps, giving my legs an elongated, though still plump, doll-like look.
My cherry on top is a pink choker with a dangling silver heart and a pair of white fingerless gloves trimmed in lace.
My dark hair is styled in soft curls providing an elegant contrast to matching pink bows, adding to a cheeky, good-girl-gone-naughty vibe.
Or at least I hope that’s what he’ll find.
In the soft glow of my studio lights, I move slowly, deliberately, each step a quiet exhale.
Each sway of my hips a celebration of the softness I wear with pride.
The white lace clings to me like a vapor, and the candy-pink vinyl sticks to my hips like sticky-sweet syrup.
I’m wrapped in contrast. Delicate and bold.
Elegant and a little wicked, and I love the way it feels.
My hair tumbles over my shoulders in loose black curls, silky and heavy, brushing against my skin with every movement.
The pink bows tied into my curled hair bounce as I turn, playful and just a little bratty.
I glance at the camera and let eyes do some of the talking. I know what I look like. I know what I’m doing.
My heels click softly against the floor, lifting me, shaping me.
I feel powerful in them. Balanced. Intentional.
When I turn, the silver heart on my choker catches the light.
It glints like a secret I am not quite ready to tell.
My gloved fingers trace the path of my curves.
Not to invite. Not to provoke. But because it feels good to be in this body.
In this moment. I dance because I want to.
Because I can. Because there’s something freeing about being seen exactly as I am. Strong. Soft. Unashamed.
“I am not my imperfections…”
@SIMPleSimon: What do you say we go camera to camera?
I’m stunned to see his message when it pops up with another $100 tip.
But it makes me smile, because he’s been so adamant this isn’t something he’ll do.
Before I have a chance to respond, his webcam flickers on, and I see a silhouette appear.
Perfectly set in shadow. Leaving me unable to see his face.
“Well, hello there,” he says with an aged and weathered tone.
“Aren’t you all dark and mysterious?” I give him a little smirk while continuing my dance for him.
“I thought this would be more personal. I simply needed to find a way to disguise myself. I went with old fashioned shadows.” He chuckles. “Maybe someday I’ll have my tech specialist install some deepfake software to tweak my face. For now, this is me.”
“Thank you,” I reply simply. “I don’t know why, but I do like it more.
It does feel like we’re a little closer.
You can still see as much of me, but I also know that I’m hearing directly from your mouth when you speak.
You’ll be harder pressed to filter your thoughts.
I throw him a sassy grin, hoping this is headed somewhere bigger. ”
“I’ve got to say, this outfit is—” he lets out a long, rapacious growl. “You’re so fucking sexy. The way everything clings to you while you move—” He tilts back, trying to keep his next guttural reaction from the microphone.
“Don’t do that,” I say, waving my finger at the camera. “If you’re going to moan for me, Simon. Moan for me. I think I’ve earned it.”
He eeks out a submissive sigh which catches in his throat before acknowledging, “Understood.” His voice dropping half an octave.
My hips continue their hypnotic figure-eight pattern, the vinyl of my skirt catching the soft glow of the lights with each rotation. My eyes strain to penetrate the inky darkness on the other side of the screen, searching for any hint of his features in the shadows.
“Simon says, remove your bra.” The command escapes his lips with a sandpaper rasp, the words hanging between us like smoke. Our little game continues, but he hasn't mentioned anything about my dancing, and I don't know whether it's okay to stop because, well, Simon hasn't said.
I continue torquing my hips in slow, deliberate circles as my fingers find the delicate clasp nestled between my breasts.
The lace scratches gently against my fingertips as I work it open.
The bralette falls away from my skin, the cool air of my studio stinging my newly exposed flesh before it hits the floor with a whisper.
“Simon says,grab your tits.” And I do, cupping their weight in my palms, feeling my nipples harden against my fingerless gloves. Still swinging my hips in a mesmerizing rhythm. Still giving him unwavering eye contact as the pink vinyl catches the light with each movement.
“Simon says, sit back down.”
I extend one stiletto-clad foot behind me, hooking the edge of my chair and dragging it forward without releasing my breasts from my grip.
The wheels glide silently across the floor as I lower myself onto the cushion, the vinyl of my skirt squeaking slightly against the leather seat.
My gaze remains locked on the lens, unblinking and intense.
The kink comes quickly now, his confidence growing with each obeyed command.
“Simon says spit on your tits and rub it across your nipples.”
I gather saliva on my tongue, letting my head tilt back slightly before releasing a gleaming strand that lands warm and wet between my breasts. I spread it with trembling fingertips, working it in slow circles around each areola until they shine in the soft light, waiting for his next order.
“Simon says pinch both of your nipples, and hold them until pain starts to creep in.” His voice is throaty through the speakers as I catch my lower lip between my teeth.
My fingertips, half-exposed by the gloves, circle the darkened flesh of each breast before pinching the hardened peaks.
I twist slightly, feeling a jolting current shoot down my torso.
The sharp, exquisite sting makes my breath catch.
I squeeze harder, watching his shadowy silhouette lean forward, tugging until the line between pleasure and pain blurs into a delicious haze, making my thighs tremble.
“Simon says stop everything you're doing.” My fingers release instantly, blood rushing back to the tender flesh. A gasp escapes my parted lips as my chest heaves, nipples now flushed crimson and jutting proudly in the cool studio air.
“Simon says roll your seat back and put your feet, parted, up on your desk.” My skirt squeaks again as I push myself backward. The pink material rides higher, exposing the delicate lace edge of my panties beside the diamond pattern of my fishnets.
My heels click against the polished surface as I position first one foot, then the other on the desk's edge. The garters stretch taut against my thighs, and the metal clasps catch the light as I spread my legs wider. I’m exposed and powerful all at once.
“Simon says open and chug the beer you brought with you.” The unexpected command makes me arch an eyebrow, but I reach for the sweating brown bottle beside my keyboard.
The glass is cold against my palm as condensation seeps into the fabric of my glove.
The metal cap gives a satisfying hiss as I twist it off.
Now I'm sprawled back in my gaming chair, the pink and white leather still warm and yielding from the dance, my body buzzing with the slow burn of movement and attention like electricity humming beneath my skin.
My legs are stretched long and boldly parted at his imperative intent.
My thighs, flushed from exertion, press into the padded armrests just enough to spill softly over the tops like cream.
The cold beer bottle in my hand sweats. Droplets of condensation trails between my knuckles as I bring it to my parted lips. The first sip is perfect. Cold and bitter with a hint of craving. The carbonation fizzing against my tongue grounds me.
My chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, still covered in my own spit now drying in translucent trails across my flushed skin.
My long black hair falls around me like a silk curtain.
The cute pink bows have started to slip just enough to look intentional rather than disheveled.
The studio lights cast a seductive glow across my skin, turning sweat to diamonds, glinting off the delicate silver heart pendant at my throat and catching the curve of my smile. Half contentment. Half defiance.
I shift in the chair to feel the way my body settles when I let go of the performance and slip into the comfort of being fully myself.
My fishnets dig slightly into the soft flesh of my thighs where they're pressed against the armrests.
There's power in this stillness, in the unapologetic spread of my legs and the easy pleasure of doing exactly what I want, how I want.
I pull the bottle up to my lips, cool droplets trickling down my wrist, and offer the most demonic smile I can muster.
My lips curl back, just enough to reveal the edge of my teeth, before pressing the glass into my mouth.
The bitter taste hits my tongue as I tip my head back, my hair draping down the chair, until the amber glass is vertical.
The cold liquid rushes down my throat in audible gulps.
Foam spills from the corners of my mouth and trails down my neck, pooling in the hollow of my collarbone before dribbling between my breasts.
“Fucking hell,” he curses, and I hear the creak of wood straining, knuckles whitening as they grip the edge of something. His desk? His chair? I can't tell, but the sound of restraint breaking sends electric pulses straight to my core.
“That was quite a trick,” he says, his voice still low and ragged with appreciation. “Your husband is a lucky man.”
I tilt my head forward after I've drained the last drop, my throat still burning from the rush of carbonation.
The empty bottle slides from between my pillowy lips with excruciating slowness.
My tongue traces the glass rim in deliberate circles.
I hollow my cheeks slightly, creating just enough suction, when it finally releases, the pop surges through the microphone like a promise.
“Now.” He pauses, his breath audibly catching.
The shadow of his silhouette shifts forward, his outline tense with anticipation.
“Simon says pull those lace panties to the side, using only a finger, and let me see how wet you are. But before you touch your pretty pink clit, Simon says tease yourself. Circle around it, barely grazing the hood, until I can see you trembling. And while you do that—” his voice fractures slightly, “—take that bottle, still glistening with your saliva, and trace it across your nipples until they harden again.
When I can see your thighs quivering, when your breathing gets tattered and desperate, Simon says ease that bottle into your dripping cunt, inch by torturous inch, until you're stretched around it.”