Page 102 of For Pleasure Or Worse

Our inbox was flooded with requests after Vegas. I’d never gone more than twelve hours without checking the messages or updating myself on subscribers, so being gone for two days set us back. I was writing skeleton scripts all day, testing lighting, choosing costumes, doing my solo client requests in between, and faking so many unearned orgasms I was lightheaded. My clit was chafed from the vigor of my wand vibrator.

Immersing myself into my work was the only thing that kept my mind off everything else. But it had to have been a good thing that a week had gone by without a phone call from my parents, right? Every time the screen lit up I had a small panic attack, my lungs seizing and my muscles stiffening. There was no way that level of anxiety was good for my body, being in full fight or flight mode constantly. Part of me wished that if they were going to out me, they would just fucking do it already instead of pawing me around like a toy. But this was probably part of the satisfaction, having something to hold over my head until they felt like kicking me in the cunt.

Slipping into one of Mateo’s long, soft robes I crossed my legs and sat in the computer chair to edit the week’s worth of scripted content we’d filmed. I got to have fun with the pre-filmed scenes during the mixing and polishing process. I always liked the look of the videos more with cuts in time, specific framing, and at least two angles. I could tell a story artistically, make it more eye-catching, the sounds more pleasing, the payoff even grander at the end. When I analyzed the viewership and interaction data,I knew exactly what videos did the best, and could replicate our best performances visually and physically.

For example, our most popular video included zip ties; a sloppy, spit-string face fuck; my tits; and an impressively long cum shot. I was more than happy to find a plethora of ways to reinvent the wheel there if it meant keeping our viewership as happy as they were when that one hit the internet.

I knew I’d never get my sisters toapplaudmy work. The same way I’d never want to see one of them having sex, though I’d absolutely walked in on Camilla with a hand beneath her sheets when she was in high school. I was too young then, but I shuddered at the thought now. It did give me hope, though, that my oldest sister wasn’t as frigid and uptight as I’d thought. She did indeed have a pulse, and sometimes it even thrummed between her legs.

But would curiosity get the best of me if I’d found out one of them had a popular porn business? Would I need to entertain that little piece of my mind wondering what the hell it looked like?

A twinge of discomfort built in my gut, spreading like static on a limb after lying on it for too long. That tingling, gnawing sensation found its way into my ribs, and then my throat, and before long I was scrolling through our recent subscribers, searching for an email I recognized. I found nothing, but they also would have never been stupid enough to subscribe to our page with their real names. If they could even find it.

Their only lead was Matthew and Natasha, and one thing Mateo had done when we first started filming content together was bury the chances of anyone stumbling upon us in a preliminary Google search by manipulating the SEO.

That didn’t sway me from falling down a search bar rabbit hole.

We were lost somewhere in the deep web all thanks to Mateo. The only results I garnered were other couples with similar names, several hyperlinks to that one unethical competitor site, and a barrage of cooking blogs claiming to have the “Easiest, Best-Tasting Italian Meatballs.”

Cracking my knuckles I pushed away from the desk on squeaky chair wheels and dropped onto the bed on my stomach, scooping up my cellphone from the fluffy sheets. My finger hovered over the group chat with my bridesmaids, but after everything that went down I didn’t know how to casually converse with all of them as if the entire wedding party hadn’t self-imploded.

Ophelia’s text chain was pinned at the top of my messages and I clicked into it.

Me

Do you think my sisters are snooping on my page?

Phee

What makes you say that?

Me

Because it’s the perfect ammo to humiliate me

Phee

Is it more humiliating to be the one getting dicked down by your man, or to be the one watching your sister get dicked down by your brother-in-law?

Me

It depends

Phee

??

Me

Maybe they’re watching the one where we’re dressed as Bo Peep and Woody from Toy Story

Phee

The kid’s movie?

Me

Bo Peep and Woody are ADULTS

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