Whiskey’s still buzzing from the DDLG shoot, my platform soaring at a thousand subs, @X holding steady at twelve thousand faceless, but the world’s getting closer. The kid’s at nursery, and I’m grabbing coffee in town, wearing a tight skirt and heels, when a bloke—mid-thirties, nerdy—stops me, eyes wide. “You’re her, right? From the platform—fuckin’ love your vids,” he says, voice low, and my pulse spikes, a mix of thrill and nerves. I smile, dodge it—“Wrong gal, mate”—and slip away, but the buzz lingers, @X safe but my face out there for subs. Back home, Whiskey’s grinning, “Cheeky fucker—keep it tight, Muffin. Film another, DDLG again,” and I nod, heat flaring, tweaking my settings—locked DMs, no meet-ups.
I set up with Tom, a stocky, gentle guy, at a rented flat, me in a blue ruffled babydoll dress—sheer, short, arse bare—with pigtails, knee-high socks, and glittery flats, curves screaming slutty sweetness, face bare for the lens. Camera’s rolling, and I’m his “little,” giggling as he lifts my dress, easing into me slow, his cock thick and warm, filling me deep while I moan soft, juices slick on my thighs. He ties a satin ribbon ‘round my wrists, playful and loose, feeding me a strawberry, juice dribbling as I suck his fingers, then his cock, deep and sloppy, spit glistening. I’m on my back, legs up, him sliding into my arse tender, the burn lush as I rub my clit, pouting, “Please, daddy,” coming smooth, dripping down my socks. He flips me, grinding into me from behind, my pigtails swaying, coming again, his finish hot inside, spilling slow. Whiskey’s growling, “Fuckin’ lush, princess,” and subs rave—“Best yet,” “So naughty!”—platform at twelve hundred, @X at thirteen thousand, and I’m glowing, dress sticky, privacy locked tight. |
