It was that time of night for me: I had some free time and I was horny, so I logged back into Olivia’s Boudoir for some quick action. I’d been tuning in on and off for weeks and really enjoying what I saw. It stunned me that so much was available for free, but I guessed that so many people had paid accounts that they could afford to let gawkers show up and look around. More than a few times, I seriously thought about shelling out the cash to get intimate with some of my favorite women on the site. But not yet.
Who looked good, was the only question. I scanned the five-by-five grid of thumbnails, all featuring pictures of beautiful women in various states of undress. Not all of them were actually the girls—I mean, many of them were shots of the girls who were performing tonight, but a few of them chose nice pictures of models or other women instead. There was usually a good reason for that: the women performing were not very attractive, and they wanted to attract customers somehow. But how did they deal with the disappointment a customer felt when he was expecting a slender, tanned butt in black lace, only to find a tremendous, shapeless, pallid and flabby pair of thighs with a thick and hair crack staring back at him from the screen?
I’ll tell you how: these unlovely women were more likely to reveal much more to the casual viewer. If you could get past the mono-brow and the greasy, stringy hair and the dull, uncomprehending eyes, there was a lot of intimate womanhood waiting for you. I saw a really hopeless fat girl from South America once, she was bent over and poking her ass at the camera. Her lumpy ass and hips weren’t really appealing, but with one hand she was spreading her labia wide open to show a glistening wet and pink channel in the midst of all that pale, flabby flesh. In her other hand she clutched a tiny man, someone who looked like an older gentleman with graying hair and a paunch. He was completely naked but only the top half of him stuck out of her fist. He was screaming, a real look of terror on his face, but his arms were pinned so he couldn’t defend himself when she jammed him over and over into the multiple layers of her moist and lavish pussy. She really stabbed herself with him, too, greedily shoving him into her cunt, which was so large and loose that he was largely uninjured in the assault. Stab, stab, stabbing him into her pussy, then she’d pull him out and he’d look at the camera and plead for help, and in he’d go again. I watched it for about five minutes, hard but unable to cum.
Eh, that wasn’t what I was looking for this night. I knew who I wanted tonight: there was a Ukrainian woman I’d had my eye on. She called herself LoveKissFuck and she was (she claimed) 26 years old, though behind all that thick makeup I would’ve placed her about ten years older. She had a perfect body and wore a very nice-looking lace bustier in royal blue and black. The Ukrainian girls all seemed to have access to expensive clothing, and they usually sat in what looked like an expensive living room. I wondered what was up with that: were they a “kept woman” for some mobster or high-powered businessman, making some money on the side when their guy wasn’t around? They all looked like models, I swear: perfectly styled blonde hair and nice lingerie, perched on some antique couch with a huge portrait behind them.
The only thing that unnerved me was their dull, glassy stare. Colombian girls liked to dance, Honduran and Venezuelan girls were usually singing when I tuned in, and American girls… well, they were almost always crack-whores who talked a lot. They ranted at the webcam, yelling at all the people who came in, insisting they were experienced and knew a lot about the world, complaining about their boyfriends or ex-boyfriends, just ranting and frothing about bullshit and pausing briefly to mash their tits together or flash their shapeless ass at the cam for a moment. Then back to the self-important and drunken ranting about how all their decisions were good ones.
But Ukrainian women had no facial expression. I found LoveKissFuck online, opened up the free chat window and expanded it to full screen: there she was, beautiful and soulless. I couldn’t see the tiny guy with her, maybe he was in her lap or seated beside her on the couch. LoveKissFuck sat perfectly upright with rigid posture, golden blonde hair spilling like a waterfall over her thin bare shoulders, her thin upper arms running off-camera as she typed away to other potential customers. Her facial expression never changed, though: her huge blue eyes rarely blinked and her broad smile seemed carved into her face. You know in photography, how people identify bad models by saying their smile never goes up to their eyes? I never understood that until I saw my first Ukrainian woman. Her smile was frozen in place, the upper row of teeth just visible between two dusty pink lips, the corners pulled back as if by fishhooks, and her huge beautiful eyes looked like they had nothing to do with her grin. They just sat there, staring away at an angle, at her monitor next to the webcam, never blinking, never creased with a grin or arched with disappointment or anything. As beautiful as LoveKissFuck was, the expressionless effect was downright creepy.
And then she brought the little man into the camera. LoveKissFuck set her keyboard aside and scooted back on the velvet antique couch. In her right hand was the tiny man, a young guy with brown/black hair and a stern expression; her left hand picked up a remote control, which she used to zoom the camera in closer to her and angle it up to focus on her bust and head. Her huge, glassy eyes turned to the camera, her cold and empty smile flashed for the viewers, and she held up the little man beside her cheekbone. He waved, almost a salute, and she shook him in her fist as though waving with him.
Her lifeless expression, completely devoid of warmth, never changed as she turned her face to him—her eyes staring dead at the webcam—and opened her jaws to let a long, writhing pink tongue unfold and fall out from her lips. I stopped breathing for a second, just imagining what she could do with that tongue! It was so long! She grinned without humor and let the tip of her tongue flick at the tiny man’s feet. Abruptly he broke out into laughter and hammered his tiny fists against her index finger where it wrapped around his chest. She tilted her head left, then right, always flickering the tip of her tongue around his feet, and he was unable to squirm out of her bony fist. She finished with licking her lips very sensually for the viewers, then sucked her tongue back up and returned to her frozen, warmth-less grin.
Her skeletal fingers slowly uncoiled from around the tiny man’s body and, with the thumb and forefinger of each hand, she pinched his arms and held them spread. His back was to the camera so we could only see his tiny, muscular butt—dude was in pretty good shape—and he was suspended before her face. Under his armpits I could see her enormous, glacier-blue eyes staring at the camera, unblinking and unconscious, and she opened her jaw again. Out came the long, writhing tongue, and it slithered all over the front of his body. The tip poked around the left side of his head, then trailed down to his right side, and then it snaked up between his thighs. He was no longer entirely hanging from his arms, as her tongue widened in thickness, sliding between his legs, and supporting him. He rode it pretty much like a horse, his tiny thighs clutching it as all those hundreds of tastebuds ran over his cock and balls. The end of her tongue rolled around his back and sides, lapping him up very slowly, and his legs began to twitch, his hips began to buck. I could just imagine what he was sensing, her hot, wet tongue squirming between his loins and rubbing over his cock. Oh man, I wanted that. I stared very hard at the screen, watching this little man hover before her enormous, gorgeous model’s face, her unrealistically long tongue squirming with a life all its own, running between his thighs.
He couldn’t hold her, of course. He tried to clamp his thighs around her thick, slick tongue and she easily pried his legs apart. He tried to lock his ankles beneath her tongue, to ring her tongue with his strong, miniature legs, and she only tensed her tongue to break his grip. She guided his hands to the side of her face and, with her pinky fingers, pulled two locks of her long, straight golden hair forward for him to grasp. He clutched them and her hands fell back down off-camera: LoveKissFuck wore this little man like a mask, his chest pressed to her nose and his arms stretched just below those large, inhuman eyes, her large tongue writhing between his thighs, rubbing his buttocks, the tip of her tongue seeming to massage his spine.
It was clear he was going mad from desire. Commentors were telling her to let him cum already: they misspelled very simple words and struggled with English phrases, all telling her how hot she was and how they wanted to be her little man, the run-of-the-mill stuff, but some of them pleading to let him reach orgasm. His head was thrashing back and forth, his arms trembling to hold himself up by her hair, resting on her perfect face, as her tongue teased him mercilessly. He tried to grind his hips into her but she always pulled away and pushed him just to the side. Yet her face never lost that empty, vacuous expression, as though her thoughts were a million miles away and no part of her was present at all. She never blinked, even as he tugged those fine-spun flaxen locks over her gaze. Her grin never sagged or faded, never got broader or even twitched, no matter how long she teased him there, lapping at his balls. Sometimes her upper lip pushed out and stroked his thighs and cock, as though she would have kissed him if her tongue weren’t in the way, and he cried out with desire. I felt so bad for the little guy, to be so surrounded by that beauty and that sensuality, never able to achieve release.
Then her large, round, dead eyes flickered to the side and words appeared on the screen: she was typing. She was asking for $20 to let him cum. Not even to go into private mode: she would show everyone his little orgasm on her wriggling, sensual tongue if she could raise $20 in the next five minutes.
Five minutes! That was pretty steep by any standard. People could only donate in three-dollar increments, so seven people would have to cough up their cash for this. And they would, but it would take a longer period of time than that. I mean, yeah, maybe 20 of us were watching right now but everyone (like me) was a bunch of cheapskates, here to see what they could for free. And that poor little guy was writhing and bucking, trying to shove his cock under her upper lip or grind his balls into her stimulating tastebuds, trying to do anything to finish himself off. By her expression she didn’t even look like she knew what was going on, but she was demanding $20 for his climax.
A couple guys pitched in immediately. I didn’t have a paid account so I couldn’t donate anything. Other guys, even those who hadn’t paid, were swearing at everyone else to give their money to her. They did that. It was stupid and annoying, but that’s the kind of person a place like this attracted. Anonymous people under pseudonyms cursed everyone out, demanded that they front their cash and see the little guy blow his wad all over the Ukrainian model’s tongue. His little legs kicked in the empty space before her cheeks as he tried to shove his manhood into her broad, pink, grinning maw.
And sure enough, five minutes counted down and only $12 had been raised. I would’ve been stunned if the $20 actually manifested, but $12 was pretty good. An Iranian user asked if that was good enough. LoveKissFuck’s eyes flickered as she read his words, then they turned back to the cam. With the tiny man hanging in front of her face, she shook her head to indicate it was not. He swung back and forth, his little butt wagging before her lifeless grin. An automated message popped up, saying that everyone who had donated would be refunded since the goal was not met. At least that.
Then one skeletal hand rose up from the bottom of the monitor, and LoveKissFuck sucked her tongue back in between her perfect rose of white and even teeth. Her thin, knobby fingers wrapped around his body and gave a gentle squeeze, prompting him to release her hair. It fell back, smooth as silk, and rejoined her perfect, golden mane. The webcam pulled back and showed her upper body and head, where she sat on the antique couch in someone’s living room, her other hand with the remote briefly in view before she set it down again.
The man was twisting at the waist and waving to us with both arms. It looked like he was saying something. LoveKissFuck’s expression never wavered the entire time: no disappointment, no laughter, nothing. She just stared unblinking at the webcam, tilted her head slightly to the side, opened her jaws and stuck the little man’s torso between her dusty rose lips.
Two rows of perfectly white and even teeth abruptly snapped shut. Bright scarlet blood spurted all over her lips, up to her cheekbone. It dribbled in a thick stream over her chin and down her throat, running to her lingerie. She never blinked once, not even when she jerked her head back to snap his spine. LoveKissFuck stared emotionless at the webcam, blood dribbling down her jaw, that horrifying grin frozen on her face, with the torn waist of the tiny man poking out of the top of her bony fist.
I logged out. I was never going to visit LoveKissFuck again, and I was definitely not interested in masturbating tonight.
Photo by Avi Richards on Unsplash
Aborigen 