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Chapter Four

Storm

Rolling over into my pillow, I groan when my head pounds and nausea turns in my stomach. I knew I shouldn’t have had all those tequila shots last night, but I couldn’t help myself. I don’t remember the last time I let loose in a club and had that much fun.

Lifting my head, I check my bed to make sure it’s empty. Taking someone home is usually the last thing I do, because of work, but if I drink enough, it happens on occasion. There’s no one here, and that’s great news. At least I don’t have to figure out how to kick someone out. Despite what people think, guys can be just as clingy as girls, and I have no preference in who I take home when I’m drinking. The chances of ending up with someone crazy are high.

I should work on making content today or I’m going to start losing money.

Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I pull up the hotel app to order food and then get up to hop in the shower. When I’m clean and dry and dressed in fresh clothes, I take some aspirin for the headache. The food arrives a few moments later.

As I eat, I go through the notifications on my phone, and frown when I realize Gabe never got back to me. I open my email and check that my last one sent. It did. I don’t want to be a creep, but I’m relying on this house. I don’t want to go back to the drawing board, and I’m tired of staying in hotels. It’s getting ridiculously expensive. Gabe’s place is perfect. I really need this.

Shaking my head, I open up my email app and send him another one as a last-ditch effort.

Gabriel,

I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. Moving across the country hasn’t been easy. I just wanted to say that I meant what I said about abiding by the rules. I understand it is your house, and you’d be allowing me to stay there, and I appreciate that. Everything about the house—the space, privacy, and location—are perfect for what I need. And if you need more money monthly, I’m fine with that too. I don’t like being vulnerable, but I’ll admit I’m desperate here. This hotel room is making me a little crazy.

Really hope to hear from you soon.

-Storm

I groan as I hit send. I hate begging for things; hate asking for help at all. But I meant what I said. I’m desperate. I need something easy in my life right now, and that house would be it. Being close to my mother is the best thing. It’s a selling point. Really, the only one I need. If I could live in a cardboard box a block from her, I would. My audience would just have to get used to all my content being outside or in public bathrooms. Hell, that could be something they’re into. I should test it out.

I finish eating, then sit for a minute to figure out my day. I need to visit my mom, that’s a definite. I need to make content. I may need to search for other housing options.

It’s still early, but I’m dragging ass from partying last night and have zero motivation. Making content usually helps with that, so I guess that’s what I’m doing first—even if I still don’t want to.

I open up my website and go through my orders. I have ten that are in the red, meaning they’re due within the next five days. Two of them are due tomorrow. I can get one done now and one done later. Tomorrow, I’ll have to figure out how to get ahead on the rest, before I fall so behind I can’t catch up. I can only jerk off so many times in a day before it just doesn’t work at all.

Opening up both orders that are due tomorrow, I see they’re the same thing. I love when that happens because it makes things easier. Both are a pair of Used and Abused Boxer Briefs. One of my best sellers.

Going to my suitcase in the corner of the room, I pull out the unopened package of underwear, tear it open and take a pair out. I quickly change into them to make a video. I bounce on my feet to jiggle my ass, grab my junk, and shake it around. Do all the shit people love to see, and make sure I record all the good angles. The lighting in this room is top tier, which I love. I make sure to get a flash of my abs, and even tug down the front waistband to show off the root of my dick. People go wild for that.

I set up the phone on the nightstand before pulling off the briefs, my semi-hard dick bouncing free. Laying them out on the bed, I flatten them down so they’re in a good position before going to dig for lube in my bag. I’ve become a master at editing videos, and I find it easier to work from one video rather than multiple, so usually I record my entire process and cut what I don’t need.

It’s been a few days since I’ve jerked off. Typically I do it once a day to keep up with orders and videos. Sometimes more. The thought of making content, of knowing someone will be watching my videos, always gets me hard. Thankfully it’s no different today. I grab my phone, holding it above my dick and zooming in to get a clear shot of the thick vein running along the side.

Flipping the lube open with one hand, I record myself drizzling it all over my stiff dick, then rubbing it in. Below it, on the bed, you can see the underwear just waiting to be covered in cum.

There are a lot of odd people in this world, and though I have no interest in buying anyone’s jizzed-on underwear, I’m glad other people do. These right here are my money-makers. For $250, you get my cum-stained underwear and the video of me dirtying them. Add $50 and I’ll moan your name during orgasm. In order to be eligible to buy any of my personalized items, you have to be on my gold tier sub list, which is $50 a month and limited to a hundred spots—all of which are taken.

I don’t offer many physical products and allow only three sales a week so I can keep up with them. But they go as quickly as they’re up there, and most of the time it’s the same people ordering them. I can understand wanting a pair of cum-briefs—but why do you need ten? I’m not judging, not at all. People should embrace their kinks and sexual desires. These people are the reason I make six-figures a year. I’ll do just about anything for that.

The rest of my income comes from monthly subs or people buying one-time videos or bonus content. Honestly, I make more money than I know what to do with. And maybe if I didn’t spend so much of it, I could buy a house outright and not worry about credit, but growing up the way I did makes me careless with money.

The 100k I put on Gabriel’s application is far from the truth, but if I told the guy what I really make, he’d probably think I was a drug dealer.

Okay, back to focusing on my dick…

I watch myself through the camera. Something about it turns me on. I’m a voyeur, there’s no doubt about it. I enjoy watching myself. Slightly narcissistic, maybe. Really like watching others, which is why I went to sex clubs often back when I was on the east coast. Hooking up with actual people has never been my thing. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good fuck, but watching is what I like most. Watching and waiting, torturing myself until it’s the right time to give in to the release. That’s the fun shit.

My hand begins to shake as I get closer to orgasm. I allow myself to let out little grunts and groans, and when I get close, I rasp out a “fuck, I’m so close.” Neither of them paid for a name drop, so they aren’t getting one for free.

The videos they pay for are good; I make sure of it. They get what they pay for—that’s important to me. I want my subs happy and coming back… and also just coming. Everyone deserves orgasms. I jerk myself faster, knowing any second I’m going to unload all over these underwear.

A low groan of satisfaction leaves me, along with a curse, when I fall over the cliff. My eyes fall closed, but I snap them open to make sure I’m recording the right angles. Thankfully, I am, and I catch every rope of cum landing on the black briefs and even what overshoots and lands on the comforter. I work myself through my orgasm and squeeze out the last drops of cum that I wipe on the underwear. I keep recording as I smear the rest of the cum in. When I’m done, I clean myself up, get dressed, and send the video to my email so I can edit it later.

Since I have two of the same order, I won’t have to make the content again, I’ll just jerk off on the underwear and send them a different version of the video I just recorded. The thing about doing this kind of work is being smart about your time. I can’t be locked away all day just jerking off. That would get tiring. Which is why I put limits on myself.

Even though I don’t make content as frequently as some of the other big creators, I make just as much, if not more, money than them because of what I offer. I take requests for free from fans. They want something specific? I deliver. I do a monthly giveaway that allows three different winners to choose what I do for bonus content—and they get it for free. Interacting with them is what makes me my money, so I do that as often as I can. Not to everyone, but to enough people that they know there’s a chance they could be next. They’re engaged and wanting more.

I have a big mix of fans. All genders, many ages. Single. Married. Poly. I’ve seen it all. The only thing I care about when it comes to my work is that they don’t fuck with me in real life. I have shown my face in videos, but I try to avoid it. So they could find me, but it hasn’t been an issue yet.

I’ve done adult content for a long time and didn’t always make a big deal about not showing my face. Years ago, I was up in front of the camera with no shame. But since then, I’ve grown up and bulked up. Which keeps them all guessing. That’s cool. They can guess and wonder and talk about me all they want. Just don’t come knocking on my door.

I fold the underwear and put them back in my suitcase before wiping up the cum that made it to the sheets. I’ll have to package them up and mail them out by tomorrow morning if I don’t want to be late. Editing the video will have to be done tonight to make sure their videos get emailed to them on time too. For now, I need to go see my mother.