I wanted to be into this. I wanted it to be like it used to be—in the beginning when I was just starting out and everything was so new and felt so dirty. I wanted so badly to feel that rush I used to get when I was giving my first private shows—back when I cleaned my whole room for each session, just in case. Now I barely made my bed, even when it was one of my high-paying regulars.

That’s where it was at. That’s where the real money was—the regulars. The men who found exactly what they wanted and would pay good money for it, over and over and over. It made me feel weird at first, partly because I didn’t even need the money. I was on a full scholarship at school and had my parent’s insurance payout, which was more than I could spend in a year if I was partying every night. But I never partied. I never went anywhere. Other than occasionally making it to class, camming was my life.

Seeing my worth skyrocket as the tips rolled in used to have me soaring for days. But lately it just felt like the same thing over and over. And no matter how filthy my sessions got—no matter what I did for the men on the other end of the camera—it didn’t excite me anymore.

I started to imagine that it was the exact same man asking me to do the exact same thing every night, because that’s the way it felt. Most of them weren’t very original at all. They were all ‘Daddy wants you to do this’ and ‘Daddy wants to see his baby’s pretty pink pussy.’ After a while the word Daddy made me gag. Not because I didn’t like it, but because it was an overused word that took the place of anything real—a real force-me-to-my-knees-and-make-me-suck-your-cock experience. And that’s what I’d been wanting. A man to make me feel like I had no choice, even when I wanted to have no choice.

But these men were ‘Daddies’ in name only. Just horny old men with a lot of money and a desire for shaved, teenage pussy.

How could I be so fucking jaded at eighteen? I thought to myself as my eyes flicked over to the chat screen. Well, almost nineteen, really. I’d been at this for over six months now. I started within weeks of freshman year orientation.

Daddyluv

Can you finger yourself for Daddy?

I ran one hand up my stomach, pressing it into my breast so that the soft flesh bulged out on either side, then letting it drop so that it jiggled when released. I was tiny but I had boobs most girls would kill for. The kind that pointed up toward the ceiling when viewed from the front and showed just a bit on either side of my back when viewed from behind.

I leaned forward so that my hand was on the desk, my breasts dangling right in front of the camera. I moved my other hand down my stomach and circled my clit as my eyes flicked back and forth between the camera and the chat screen.

I read each line my ‘Daddy’ typed and giggled or put on a shy act about what I was being asked to do. I was so tired of performing this same act it was almost nauseating. How they could pay for the exact same thing night after night was beyond me.

“There’s not a single new idea on this planet, Ashley,” my friend Sasha told me. “Everything’s been done to death. If you think you’re going to come up with some original act that will shake the world, you’re fooling yourself.”

Sasha had been the one to introduce me to camming. Well, not introduce me to the whole phenomenon, but she was the one that got me out of the mainstream sites with all the assholes and their bizarre demands—like vomiting onto a dildo or pooping in a jar and sending it to the client. Or the dickheads that referred to me as “bb” in the chat sessions. And those were usually the nice ones. Sasha told me about Daddyland, a cam girl site with a very specialized clientele. The kind that weren’t butt-chugging during rush week to get into a frat or telling girls to show their tits. They were a much more refined crowd.

The girls had to be invited to Daddyland by a current babygirl—a word Daddyland used for all of their cam girls. The girls were very heavily vetted, fetching much higher quarter-hourly fees than anywhere else on the internet.

A Daddy could hang out in the public lounge for free—apart from the monthly membership fees— or choose a babygirl and pay in fifteen minute increments. Once he got to know one of the babygirls better, he usually booked a specialty hour-plus session at least once a month.

There were no discounts though. The Daddies didn’t need them. They were all incredibly wealthy men with more money in their off-shore bank accounts than eighteen-year-old girls who were willing to please them for free. They wanted discrete and they wanted immediate gratification.

The catch was we had to look young. Very young. Of course, all the girls were over eighteen. Some were in their mid twenties. But as soon as a girl started to look even a little bit over the age of eighteen or nineteen, she was out. And Sasha was on her way out. She’d been on Daddyland for over six years and, while she still had her own private clients who saw her on a regular basis, her views had been dwindling for the last year.

She knew this day was coming, though. She’d been planning for it for years—socking away as much of her earnings as possible. She told me she had enough in the bank right now to retire on, if she moved to a small beach town in Mexico. But I knew she was leaving with one of her daddies. She was leaving to be the, most likely, secret girlfriend of a very wealthy older gentleman.

Daddyluv

Come on, Ami, finger yourself for Daddy

Not only were Daddyland’s babygirls screened and investigated, the clients were too. Daddyland was a very exclusive club. The fees were higher because the standards were higher, and because the clients were able, and very willing, to pay. Some of the clients thought that the higher fees gave them certain perks, like actually dating and fucking the girls, but most of them understood that the high fees were for complete anonymity and convenience. And for getting exactly what they wanted during a session.

They ranged from men in their late thirties up to grandpas in their seventies, many of whom couldn’t be bothered with finding legit camgirl sites online, let alone the babygirl of their dreams. So they paid a fee to belong to a site that catered directly to them, and an even higher fee to keep their babygirls happy.

This was one of the main draws for me. When I started, one of my main concerns was my boyfriend—and his creepy friends—finding out about what I was doing. I was in my freshman year at a private collage and the thought of being outed by some campus assholes was a very real fear.

The irony of the situation was that my boyfriend and his friends had given me the idea in the first place. I was over at my boyfriend’s dorm room and he and his friends were streaming a game on Twitch. My boyfriend’s roommate, Chad, owned the channel and he would stream for about six to eight hours a day. Whenever someone left a tip over fifty bucks, Chad would say their name and do some fancy-ass move with his avatar.

While I was there one day, bored out of my skull while everyone watched Chad play some damned game, Chad did his little move when someone left a big tip, then my boyfriend called him a filthy cam whore. I was kind of shocked because I had actually been looking into camming for a couple weeks—checking out different sites and reading about how to get into it. But I hadn’t told anyone.

I was even more annoyed with Chad’s response: “I’m no cam slut, dude! I don’t show my junk to any old pervert!” Then the idiotic conversation that followed about bitches that will do anything for money. I was so disgusted by them that I left and decided right then that I was going to become a cam girl. I figured I’d hate myself a lot more if I sat there and listened to their bullshit than I would for actually doing the very thing they claimed was so filthy. As far as I was concerned, it was those boy’s attitudes that were disgusting.

It was insane to me that the world was so willing to consume porn, but when the porn became too real—when they found out you were one of the ones that made them come—you were suddenly garbage. Worse than garbage—a criminal. You were stealing from them somehow by getting paid to show them your pussy.

I’m sure everyone’s heard the horror stories of groups of rabid guys who outed some cam girl they’d been jerking to—going so far as to drive them to another college in another state just because they had the audacity to show their own pussy online. How those assholes justified their actions was beyond me, but once the accusations started, everyone—even other girls—wanted in on the witch hunt. I was going to make sure nothing like that ever happened to me.

Daddyland was perfect because there was no way any of my classmates could possibly afford it—and no way most people could even find it. You couldn’t just do a search for it online. You had to know either a client or a girl on the site in order to know that it even existed.

I continued to circle my clit, my slick juices allowing my finger to slide faster and faster over my sensitive nub. I moved my eyes up to the green light on the camera that was clipped to the top of my laptop screen, but kept my face tilted down. I knew that made me appear to be looking up at the man on the other end of the video session and I knew this particular Daddy liked that a lot.

Daddyluv

If I give you an extra five-hundred will you finger yourself, baby?

I continued to circle my clit, then grabbed my left breast and twisted the nipple, letting out rhythmic high-pitched gasps while I continued to look into the camera.

I wasn’t going to stick my fingers inside my vagina for this guy. He knew where I stood on that, but he was just like all the others. They always wanted to push you to see how far they could get you to go—and to see what they could get out of you.

Daddyluv

Please, Ami. Do it for Daddy

That attitude did absolutely nothing for me. I didn’t want to hear a man practically beg. I wanted a man to make me feel like I had no choice but to do what I was told. And Daddyluv was not that man.

“But, Daddy,” I looked into the camera with a sad, pouty face. “You know I’ve never had anything inside there before. I can’t do that. It’s so naughty.”

I sat back down in my chair and read the chat box, then put my hands to my face and pretended to be embarrassed. “I can’t do that, Daddy,” I squealed, shaking my head with my hands over my eyes. “I want to be a good girl for you, but I can’t put my fingers in there.”

I looked up into the camera and gave my best cute, shy-girl smile and bit my lower lip. Then I slid my hand down to my clit again and stared straight into the camera.

“I can put my finger my bottom for you,” I said with a shy smile. “Would you like that, Daddy?” My eyes skimmed the chat where he typed the obvious answer. Yes, he wanted me to finger my asshole.

I knew at this distance the client had a good view of my crotch and my face, so I spread my legs wide and gave him a good eyeful of my glistening pussy, then slid the middle finger of my left hand through my pussy juice and to my asshole. When I started to slip it in, I furrowed my eyebrows like I was worried and bit my lower lip. I knew that made me look even more like an innocent little girl who was close to coming, but just didn’t understand what was going on with her body.

Of course, he ate it up. He kept telling me to come for Daddy and I whimpered the words he wanted to hear.

“I’m coming, Daddy! I’m so close!”

But I wasn’t close to coming. I wasn’t anywhere near coming.

I made a bunch of high pitched moans and gyrated my ass while I continued to circle my clit and finger my asshole, then threw my head back and gasped for breath for a couple of seconds. When I looked back up into the camera, I kept my eyes half closed and said ‘Look what you made me do, Daddy’ with a big, sleepy smile. I knew that got them off, the idea that I came directly because of their presence, even though it was just words in a box on my screen.

But they bought all of it. Even the fake orgasms.

I felt like I’d fallen into a pattern, though. My orgasms had all become almost exactly the same and part of me was afraid that they all knew. But I tried to remember the wise words that my friend Sasha told me. “There’s a reason people keep paying for the same things again and again, Ash. They want something specific and they know you can give it to them. They get to participate in their own fantasy. End of story. Don’t argue with human nature—or the tip jar.”

So even though these men—my daddies—got the same show every time they logged into my chat room, and even though my act rarely varied from an almost scripted scene, and even though they could get virtually the same thing with hundreds or thousands of other girls (with the finger fucking, I might add), they stayed with me. They wanted me. They paid for the reliability of what I gave them, and they believed that I was their little virgin girl. But most of all they wanted to believe that they were special to me. That it was their presence that made me come. It was my job to make sure they believed all of it.

“Oh, Daddy, you always make me come so fast!” I said to the camera. “Maybe next time I’ll put my fingers inside myself for you. I really want it to be you that pops my cherry,” I said with a giggle while I pushed my breast together with my arms.

The whole orgasm and everything that led up to it may have been an act, but the virgin talk was not. I really was a virgin. Technically, anyway. If you’re someone that believes that a girl’s body is her own and her sexuality belongs to her, then you probably wouldn’t consider me a virgin. But if you’re someone who believed that a man’s cock was the only thing that could take virginity away from a girls body, then I was absolutely a virgin. I had stuck things inside myself—tampons, vibrators, my fingers—but I wasn’t about to tell that to Daddyluv. I had an act to keep up and I had my own rules. And there was only one person on Daddyland I broke the rules for.

BigSir.

He was one of my regular clients. I saw him every single night. That was pretty normal in the beginning of a client/cam girl relationship. They couldn’t get enough of the new girl so they were willing to pay a lot for even fifteen minutes of your time. But I had been camming for BigSir for over two months and still had a nightly appointment with him. It was set for 10 p.m., and he would ping me so that I knew he was in the chatroom. But really, I was always waiting for him well ahead of ten o’clock.

If ever there was a cam girl who was in love with a nameless, faceless box of text, it was me with BigSir. He was everything I’d ever dreamt of, and even though I had no idea what he looked like or what he was like in real life, in my head—and during our sessions—he was perfect.