The Biker's Curvy Obsession:Claimed By My Best Friend's Biker Brother

~ ALLISON ~ "Can you turn on a live video and touch yourself for five grand?" I blink once. Twice. Is this real? Like, five grand? Who would pay someone five thousand dollars just to touch themselves when there's free porn everywhere these days? Staring at the screen of my phone, I read Grant's message again. Grant, my webcam client who thinks my name is Willow and has never seen more than my collarbone down , is making a very specific demand. If it were someone else, I wouldn't have taken him seriously. But this guy has been my client for a week, and when I calculate how much I've made from the different photos I've sent him, it adds up to four thousand dollars. And now, he wants a live video? My entire body freezes. No. I can't risk agreeing to a video call. My face might be visible, and what if he's some kind of freak or lunatic who's crazily obsessed with... me? The thought sends a chill down my spine. What if he finds out who I am? What if he tracks me down? Five grand is tempting, but it's not enough to put my identity, my safety, and my entire life at risk. My thumb hovers over the keyboard. Something about the request feels wrong. And mostly because most of the people I've encountered online are a bunch of weirdos. My fingers start typing, No... but then I think about it again. The money would be enough to put down a deposit for Aunt Sheila's surgery. But then again, I could get blackmailed with the video. What if he screen-records me? He could easily upload it to other sites and make even more money from it. Hell, once something gets online, I wouldn't even know how far it had spread. A thought immediately slips into my mind as I begin to type. Me: I'll do it. My face stays off camera, and that's non-negotiable. The typing bubbles appear almost immediately. Grant: Deal. An incoming call immediately pops up on my screen. My heart skips. I head straight to the bed in my one-room apartment and carefully tilt the camera so it only frames me from the neck down, no face, just like we agreed. Then I strip. I peel off my clothes until I’m left in nothing but a matching set of black lace: a thin bra that barely contains me and panties that leave almost nothing to the imagination. I take a deep breath, check the angle one last time, and answer the call. For a moment, I just stare at the screen, wondering if I've made the biggest mistake of my life. From his end, he's dressed in a pair of jeans that hangs low on his hips and a long-sleeved shirt that does nothing to hide his physique, clinging tightly to his broad chest and defined stomach. He's hot. f*****g hot. His camera is angled in such a way his fsce is out of the pictire just like me. “You look f*****g sexier in person than you do in your pictures.” His voice is a rasp, deep and hoarse, sending shivers down my spine. “Thank you...” I don't know what else to say, and somehow, those are the only foolish words that manage to come out of my mouth. There’s a short pause. “Do you have any toys with you, Willow?” he asks. I swallow. “No… just my hands.” “That’s fine,” he murmurs. “I want you to use them. Start slow. Touch your stomach for me first… drag your fingers over all that soft, perfect skin.” I let my fingers glide across the soft curve of my stomach, the place I’ve always tried to hide. “f**k,” he breathes. “Look at you. All that soft, beautiful body… those full hips, those thick thighs. You’re gorgeous. Every single inch of you.” A strange warmth spreads through my chest. All my life, people have called me fat. Ugly. Too big. Boys at school used to laugh when I walked past. Girls whispered about how no one would ever want someone who looked like me. Even family members made comments disguised as “concern.” I’ve spent years covering myself, sucking in, apologizing for taking up space. But right now, this stranger is looking at my body like it’s something worth worshipping. “Keep going,” he says, voice rougher now. “Slide your hand higher. Cup those heavy t**s for me. Squeeze them. Play with your n*****s through the lace… yeah, just like that. You’re so f*****g sexy it hurts.” A shaky breath leaves me. My fingers obey again, squeezing the fullness of my breasts, rolling my n*****s until they harden. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters. “Look at how perfect you are. Soft, curvy and real. I’d give anything to be there touching you myself… running my hands all over those thick thighs, gripping that soft waist while I bury my face between your legs.” My cheeks burn under the heat of his words. No one has ever spoken to me like this. No one has ever made me feel like my body was something desirable instead of something to be ashamed of. “Now lower,” he orders softly. “Push those panties to the side and touch yourself. I want to hear how wet you already are for me.” I push the thin lace of my panties aside with trembling fingers, exposing myself fully to the camera. The cool air of the room hits my already heated skin, making me shiver. “That’s it,” he murmurs, voice dropping even lower. “Now touch yourself. Slow circles on your c**t first… I want to watch those soft thighs tremble.” I do as he says. The moment my fingers brush over my c**t, a soft, involuntary sound escapes me. I’m wetter than I expected, slick and sensitive already from nothing more than his voice. “f**k, listen to that,” he groans. “You’re soaked, aren’t you? All that pretty, soft p***y just dripping for me. God, look at you… those full thighs spreading wider without even realizing it. You’re perfect, Willow. Every soft, thick, beautiful inch of you.” My breath stutters. The praise hits deeper than the touch itself, settling somewhere under my ribs where years of shame used to live. “Two fingers,” he orders quietly. “Slide them inside for me, nice and slow. I want to see how your body takes them.” I obey, pushing two fingers into myself with a shaky inhale. The stretch makes my hips twitch. I can feel how wet I am—how easily my body opens for the intrusion. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “Look at that. Soft, warm, and greedy. You’re taking them so well. Keep going… f**k yourself on your fingers for me. Let me see those heavy t**s bounce a little while you do it.” I start moving my hand, slow at first, then a little deeper. My free hand comes up almost instinctively, squeezing one of my breasts through the lace. A quiet moan slips out before I can stop it. “That’s it, baby,” he encourages, voice rough with restraint. “You’re doing so f*****g good. Don’t hold back those sounds. I want to hear every little noise this perfect body makes for me.” My eyes flutter shut for a second. The combination of his filthy praise and the constant drag of my own fingers is overwhelming. “Scream my name when you come,” Grant orders, voice rough and low. “I want to hear it. Don’t hold back.” My fingers work faster, curling inside myself while my thumb presses hard circles against my c**t. The pleasure builds fast and overwhelming, coiling tight in my lower stomach until I can’t fight it anymore. “Grant!” His name tears out of me in a broken cry as the orgasm crashes through me. My thighs shake violently. My back arches off the bed. Wave after wave rips through my body, leaving me gasping and trembling, p***y clenching hard around my fingers as I come apart for him. I’m still shaking when the last sparks finally start to fade. Dazed and breathless, I reach for my phone without thinking, lifting it higher so I can end the call. For one split second, my face fills the screen. I freeze. Then I squeal and frantically jab the red button, ending the call so fast the phone nearly slips from my sweaty hands. My heart slams against my ribs. Shit. s**t. s**t. I scramble to sit up, still half-naked, when a notification lights up my screen. Payment received: $5,000.00 A second later, another message appears. Grant: That was quite fun, Allison. My entire body goes cold. I stare at the message, my pulse roaring in my ears. He knows my real name. I'm doomed. f*****g doomed. I grab my phone, ready to text him and ask how he knows my name, my mind already racing as I run through every possibility of who he could be... and who I desperately hope he isn't. A typing bubble appears, making my heart race even faster as I stare at the screen, waiting for his reply. And just then, my phone rings, making my heart plummet even further. Staring back at me from the screen is Ethan, my best friend and secret crush of eight years.