It was the third time this week.
A quiet knock, a whisper of “Dad?” and suddenly he was wide awake, the clock glowing just past 1:30 a.m. The little voice belonged to his youngest—bad dreams again. He settled the boy between him and his wife, whispered reassurances, and lay there in the dark, eyes wide open, heart gently racing with the restless edge of a night interrupted.
The boy wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon. Neither was he.
With a sigh, he slipped out from under the covers, padded down the stairs barefoot, and collapsed onto the couch. The house was quiet—just the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of settling wood. He rubbed his face, scratched at his chest through a worn tee, and reached for the laptop resting on the coffee table.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. The usual. News, mindless scrolling, maybe a YouTube rabbit hole. Anything to pass the time. A banner ad popped up on the side of some news site—a woman's silhouette backlit in red light, with text promising “REAL CONVERSATIONS. REAL WOMEN. LIVE.” He moved to close it out, annoyed… but his finger slipped.
The window opened.
He blinked.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of tiny thumbnails loaded in rows. Women in lingerie, masks, fetish wear, or nothing at all, reclining on beds or kneeling on plush rugs. Filters slid down the side: Age, Body Type, Hair Color, Language.
He told himself he’d click once. Just once.
20s… Curvy… Blonde or Brunette… English-speaking…
A profile caught his eye. The thumbnail was simple—classy, even. A soft-lit room, and a woman lying on a velvet sofa in black lingerie. Not skinny—real. Thick in the hips, soft curves along her waist. Her breasts, neither massive nor small, were hugged by a sheer black bra, nipples barely visible beneath the lace. A black half-mask covered the upper half of her face, but her lips… plump, painted with a subtle red, curled into a knowing smile.
Something stirred in his chest. And lower.
He clicked.
Her feed loaded full-screen—smooth as a movie. She was lounging across the couch, her thigh bent slightly, garter strap hugging pale skin. Her movements were slow, sensual but not exaggerated. Her eyes—what he could see—glimmered with playful confidence.
A message box appeared beneath the video.
“Hi, welcome… How are you tonight? What brought you to my page?”
He hesitated. This was insane. He was a married man. He shouldn't even be looking.
But his heart was pounding. Palms a little sweaty.
He wasn’t here to jerk off. That wasn’t what this was. He told himself that. He just… wanted to talk.
Fingers trembling slightly, he typed:
“Hi. Not sure. Couldn’t sleep. Just browsing, I guess…”
He hit send.
She saw it instantly. Smiled. Shifted—slowly—so her body stretched, back arching slightly as she propped herself on one elbow. The curve of her hip was impossible to ignore.
“Just browsing?” she replied on-screen, her voice velvet-soft, a hint of accent curling at the edges.
“Or looking for something you haven’t had in a while?”
He swallowed hard.
She didn’t know him. Couldn’t. And yet…
Something about her tone, her ease, the way she moved—not like a girl desperate for tips, but like a woman in control—made him feel exposed. Intrigued. Hooked.
He leaned forward.
And typed again.
He sat frozen for a second, watching her stretch again—deliberately, languidly—as if she were made of silk and slow jazz. Her legs shifted slightly and he caught a glimpse of sheer black panties, the curve of her ass hugged perfectly by the lingerie. But his eyes darted back up, to her face, or at least what he could see of it behind the half-mask.
Another message blinked on-screen.
“Mmm… you’ve got that look. The ‘accidental click that turned into curiosity’ kind of look.”
He smirked despite himself. God, was it that obvious?
He typed:
“I guess. I really didn’t mean to click anything. Just couldn’t sleep, and now I’m… here.”
Another pause. Then:
“Not really looking for anything. I just wanted to talk.”
There. He said it. Honest. Maybe a little pathetic, but he didn’t care. This wasn’t supposed to be a thing. She was just… easy to look at. And she seemed nice enough.
She tilted her head at the camera, as though studying him. A strand of hair fell loose from behind her ear, brushing her cheek.
“Talk,” she repeated aloud, her voice sultry but with a warm edge. “That’s cute.”
She leaned forward a little, giving him an eyeful of cleavage, her breasts softly pressed together beneath the lace. It was almost effortless the way she did it, like breathing. Like she knew exactly how to move.
“Well, I like talking,” she continued, fingers trailing slowly along her thigh. “Especially when it’s with someone polite. You wouldn’t believe the messages I usually get.”
Another message popped in the chat box.
“So… what should we talk about? Your day? Your dreams? Or maybe…”
“What turns you on?”
He froze.
The question sat there, bold on the screen. His cock stirred slightly beneath the loose fabric of his joggers—betraying the calm front he was trying to maintain.
He bit his lip and replied:
“I’m not here for that kind of thing.”
And then, worried that sounded judgmental, he quickly added:
“I mean—I get it, it’s just… I don’t know. I’ve never been on a site like this before.”
There was a brief silence—just long enough to make him wonder if she’d moved on, if he’d bored her.
But then, her lips curved again. Not disappointed—amused.
“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” she purred aloud, her voice a purr of silk and smoke. “It’s okay. I don’t bite…”
She paused. Then added with a smile:
“Unless you want me to.”
He rolled his eyes, laughing softly to himself. She was good. Teasing. Clever. Not pushing too hard, but gently turning up the heat, one word at a time.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
He was already in too deep to pretend he wasn’t interested—but still, he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction just yet.
He typed:
“Let’s just talk. For now.”
She raised an eyebrow, nodded slowly… and settled back onto the sofa like she had all the time in the world.
“For now,” she echoed, with a wicked smile. “So tell me… what’s your name?”
He watched as she leaned forward again, cleavage deepening with the motion, her hands slow and graceful as they adjusted the straps of her black lace bra—more suggestion than necessity.
A message slid onto the screen, smooth and unhurried:
“You’ve got quiet eyes.”
He blinked, confused.
Another message appeared.
“I know I can’t see you, don’t worry.”
“But I imagine you watching me, biting your lip, shifting in your seat.”
“Curious eyes. Probably tired. Probably full of things you don’t say out loud.”
He swallowed. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
“That’s… accurate.”
Another beat.
“But really. I’m just here to talk. I don’t even know how this works.”
A soft laugh came through his speakers—low, throaty, and warm.
She shifted slightly, sitting up straighter, the camera catching the way her curves moved with her. The soft bounce of her breasts as she crossed one leg over the other. She picked up a glass of water from offscreen, took a slow sip, her lips lingering around the rim.
Then, typed:
“Of course you don’t. You just found it by accident.”
“Clicked the ad while trying to close it.”
“Signed up just to talk.”
She gave a sly little smile and looked directly into the lens.
“Sure.”
He laughed quietly—embarrassed but not offended. She was right, after all. He could’ve clicked away. But here he was. Staring at a stranger in lingerie, alone at night, his wife and kids asleep upstairs.
He typed again:
“Okay. You’re right. I clicked. I looked. I signed up. But still… I’m not really looking for anything.”
A pause.
“You ever just want someone to see you? Without judgment?”
She read the words. Her expression softened. The playful smirk didn’t fade, but it changed—less teasing, more intrigued.
“All the time,” she typed back.
“That’s why I started camming. Thought it was just for the money. But I stayed for the way men look at me here. Like they see something they don’t get in real life.”
A longer message followed:
“I’m not just tits and ass. Though I am good at showing those.”
“But sometimes, someone comes along and just wants to talk. And that’s kind of hot, too.”
Her fingers tapped something again, then:
“So… tell me something about you I shouldn’t know.”
He stared at the screen. Heart thumping. The room was still dark, the only light the soft glow of her image flickering across his skin.
He considered a hundred replies.
Then typed:
“I’m married.”
She didn’t react with surprise or judgment. Just read. Nodded slowly.
“Thought you might be.”
Then:
“That makes it better.”
Her gaze flickered, and then the corner of her lips lifted into another smile, the kind that suggested she knew exactly what was running through his mind. She leaned back, casually adjusting the strap of her bra again, and just enough of her chest shifted for him to notice. Her movements were languid, seductive—but not too obvious.
She read his last message, the quiet honesty about being married, and without missing a beat, typed:
“I knew. You have that… look.”
“The one that says ‘I’m here, but I shouldn’t be.’”
“It’s cute.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was here for a conversation, right? Not to be steered into something he couldn’t quite control. She was clever, and she knew how to keep him on the hook.
“I’m just talking,” he typed back.
“What’s the deal with all of this though? This site, I mean. Are people really just looking to talk?”
He could hear the hint of laughter in her voice as she spoke:
“Oh, honey. You think it’s all just innocent chatting?”
“I think you want to believe it’s just chatting.”
“But it’s never just chatting. Not for me anyway.”
She shifted her body on screen, drawing attention to the curve of her waist, how the garter strap brushed against her skin as she casually crossed her legs. It was all so slow, deliberate—she knew exactly where his eyes would fall.
“But I like to keep it interesting. Keep you guessing. For now.”
“Tell me, though… What are you wearing?”
The question landed with a sharp jolt to his pulse. He swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of the sweatpants clinging to his legs, the shirt that felt too tight across his chest. There was a reason he hadn’t turned on the camera; he wasn’t sure if he even wanted her to imagine him.
Still, he couldn’t help himself. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
“Just sweatpants and a t-shirt,” he typed quickly.
“Nothing special.”
She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she seemed to take her time—her gaze never leaving the camera, as if she were holding a silent conversation with herself.
Finally, she typed:
“I bet you could make it special.”
“You could do more than just watch me, you know.”
Her words were smooth, almost honeyed in tone. She knew how to play that line—not too bold, but bold enough. Her fingers ran along her neckline, adjusting the fabric just enough to expose a bit more skin, and she slowly, deliberately, licked her lips.
“Do you like what you’re seeing so far?”
He typed, fingers trembling slightly:
“Yeah, but it’s just a screen. I don’t know how to… do more than watch.”
She tilted her head, that same mischievous glint in her eye, even though he couldn’t see it. He felt it, though. Through the screen, through the silence. He could almost hear her smile.
“You’d be surprised what we can do with just words.”
“I can take you places with just my voice. And a little imagination.”
“Want me to show you?”
His mind was racing. The more she talked, the more he found himself caught in her rhythm. She wasn’t rushing him. She wasn’t demanding anything. She was just there, waiting for him to make the next move.
“What does that even mean?” he typed back, trying to hold onto his composure.
A playful, teasing laugh filtered through the speakers.
“It means I can make you feel things you didn’t know you could feel. Just from here.”
“From the way I look at you. The way I talk. The way I move.”
“I can make your body respond without even touching you.”
She stretched her legs out slowly, the movement showcasing the delicate curve of her calves, the hint of muscle beneath soft skin. She gave a small sigh, a sound so innocent and yet dripping with the promise of something more.
“You’d be surprised how much your body can tell me.”
“The little things. The way your chest tightens. The way your breath quickens.”
“I’m sure I can feel it already. Through the screen.”
His fingers lingered over the keys, pulse racing in his throat.
“I don’t know if I can keep talking like this,” he typed. “It feels weird. But… I’m still here.”
She read the message, and for a moment, didn’t respond.
Instead, she moved her hands down the side of her body, tracing the curve of her hip, her fingers grazing the fabric of her lingerie just enough to send a small shiver down his spine. The act was subtle, but somehow, it was everything.
Finally, she typed:
“You’re here because you want to be. Don’t deny it.”
“So let’s just keep talking. I promise… you’ll like where it leads.”
She leaned back against the sofa, her legs crossing at the ankles, and waited for his response.
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