Broken Falcon, page 5
I don’t judge. I only occasionally orgasm on camera, but I’m really, really good at making it look like I do. But I have come for Falcon, and that’s one reason why I want to play with him tonight.
And I want him to come too. I want to hear the sounds he makes as he tips over that edge. I would love it if he turned on his camera and I could see him. But he’s never shown any interest in that, and he’s the one paying. His body, his choice.
I’m well aware he probably won’t live up to my fantasies as far as looks and body, but the thing is, I just love the male body in general. The male form is beautiful in all shapes and sizes. The only thing that turns me off is an ugly soul, and I’ve spent enough time with Falcon to know he’s sweet and kind, but there’s an edge of hardness that I think comes from internal pain.
He could be ripped or he could be plump and soft as a marshmallow, and I wouldn’t care. And seriously, given how much I resent having to stay in top form for this gig, I wouldn’t project this misery on anyone.
I hope Falcon eats all the pizza and ice cream that he might crave. And now I’m fantasizing about licking ice cream from his chest. But that’s what this is all about. Transferring my fantasy away from the man I met in real life to the online client.
Falcon: I’m game for a private room if you are. But I don’t want to jump the line. Hank was here first.
Hank: You kids go play. I just wanted to be sure Desiree was okay. It’s not like you to miss a session.
I blow a kiss at the camera. “You know I wouldn’t miss or be late without a reason! Thanks for watching over me. I need angels like you in this business.”
Hank: I’m always here for you, Desiree. Just say the word.
On his way out of the room he clicks the “$50.00 Tip” button. Clients didn’t get much better than that.
Since Thor never chimed in one way or another, I send Falcon the link to a private room and close the main chat for the night.
A moment later, Falcon follows the link into the private room. His camera is off as expected, but his microphone is on.
“What, no charge, Desiree?”
He noticed that I didn’t ask him to drop a hundred up front before we went solo. I’m too hot to risk him deciding not to pay.
“Consider it the long-business-trip discount. I’ve missed you.”
“I think you mean you want to get fucked.”
“Well yeah, that too.”
I hear the chime that means he’s tipped me, and I startle when I see he hit the five-hundred-dollar button.
“That’s quite generous considering this was going to be a freebie.”
“Let’s just say I’ve missed you too. A lot.”
“Where were you?”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me something personal too.”
I debate this offer. It’s a dangerous game. In the end I say, “Never mind,” even though I really want to know where he went. He’s from Alaska, but I don’t know his line of work, so I have no idea where work would take him.
I have an idea, though, which I blurt without thinking. “But I will tell you something if you turn on your camera.”
He chuckles, and his deep, warm laugh just makes me hotter. “No, Desiree. Not yet.”
“Yet?” I’m genuinely hopeful. I want to see him.
“Maybe. When you’re ready.”
He says that with such authority. Like I can’t handle how amazing he is, and this is a turn-on because of the two of us, I’m the successful sex worker. He’s paying me for my time. And yet he has this hot confidence that gets me every time.
I think he’s right too. I’m not ready to embrace how hot he is in real life. I need to work my way up. Built up a tolerance.
Then he does the thing that never fails to turn me on in our private sessions. He takes control. And this is one way in which he’s so different from my other clients. So many of them want me to entertain them.
Which is fine. They’re literally paying me to do that.
But not Falcon. No. He always makes it clear that he’s here to service my needs. This guy must totally rock in bed. And I so want to find out.
“Touch yourself, Desiree. Show me how happy you are that I’m back.”
His voice is deep and clear, and it skips along my nerves. He is ice cream. The treat I’m always denied.
I shift on the bed so he can see everything, but my pose is tasteful—for now. I slide my fingers over the satin of the teddy, moving down, down until my index and middle fingers are between my legs.
I press softly and stare at the camera, letting him see the arousal in my eyes.
“Damn, that’s hot, but it can’t be enough. Not with the fabric between your fingers and clit. Unsnap the teddy. Expose your pussy, and touch yourself.”
I do as he says. I want nothing more. It has killed me to wait this long. It’s been more than an hour since I climbed out of Chase’s vehicle all alone, and I’ve been waiting for this touch with his imaginary fingers, six times a minute ever since.
Usually when Falcon and I play, he makes me go slow, draws out my pleasure with his commands that push me to the cusp over an achingly long time. But he’s been gone for weeks, and I’m ready to combust. It’s not a go-slow combination.
“I want a dildo. I want to imagine you inside me.” I’m breathless as I say this. I’ve used vibrators with Falcon before, but never a dildo, and tonight I want to take things to the next level. But he’s in charge—after all, he’s paying for this fantasy I get to share—so he gets to determine what toys I can use. I add, “Please?” and hope he’s not turned off by dildos.
The pause goes on long enough for me to worry he’ll say no. Leave me desperate and hanging. But I shouldn’t underestimate this most generous of cyber lovers, because finally he says, “You may.”
“What color?” I ask. I don’t want to grab the wrong one and pull him from the fantasy now. I have a full rainbow of options, including several different skin tones.
“White.”
I don’t ask size—some men will specify what they want, but without instruction I always go for my favorite. Not too big. I don’t really like the extra-large ones, but a lot of guys want to see that. They always require lube, and while I’m a hundred percent pro lube, it’s nice when I’m fully aroused and can choose a toy that doesn’t require it. No break in the sexy flow, so to speak.
I settle myself on the bed, positioning myself so Falcon will have a good view at an angle where he can mentally place himself between my thighs.
I want him here with me mentally, if not physically. “Are you naked, Falcon? Touching yourself?”
“Naked, yes. Touching myself, no. That won’t happen until I’m deep inside you.”
The ache in his voice is hot. I slip two fingers inside, then bring them to my mouth. “Do you want to taste me?”
“Desperately.”
I wonder if I’d propositioned Chase tonight, would he have gone down on me? I might miss oral sex more than penetration with a penis, because I have dildoes that aren’t perfect but a decent stand-in. But I have yet to find a sex toy that’s equal to a tongue licking my clit.
I miss giving oral sex too. Hence my earlier fantasy of going down on Chase.
It’s the giving and sharing part of sex that’s so immersive and wonderful. I could have all the pleasure in the world on my own with my toys, but I miss the feel of a man losing himself as I suck him to orgasm. And I miss the same loss of control when bestowed with the same gift.
I run my fingers over my lips, mouth open for the camera so he can imagine his cock sliding inside. I lick my bottom lip.
“What now?” I ask, moving the sex toy between my thighs, on the cusp of my opening. “What do you say before you slide your cock in me for the first time?”
“I tell you you’re incredibly beautiful. That I’ve ached for you from the first time I saw your face.” He chuckles and adds, “And that I’m about to give you the best damn orgasm of your life.”
I laugh at that too. It was a joke, and yet…I believe he can deliver on that promise, considering how hot I am when he isn’t even in the actual room.
But maybe that’s just me giving Falcon too much credit and Chase not enough?
Does it even matter? This is all fantasy. Falcon lives in Alaska, and Chase, well, he and all men who live in the DC area are completely off-limits.
Chapter Five
FALCON
Desiree really is beautiful, but now that I’ve met Eden, I see the even more stunning woman beneath the makeup and wig.
She tries to hide, but I see her. I see the cool woman who was oh so protective of her contact information, but who then reluctantly allowed me to give her a ride home. She’s smart to be so cautious, and I’m glad for it.
And now here she is, on my computer screen, telling me she wants to fuck me. And by me, I mean me, Chase. The Raptor operative she met two hours ago.
That Chase is the new me, and she likes him. Me.
Whatever.
All I know is he—I—am a little darker than the man I once was. Is it the darkness that attracted her?
Because I’m pretty sure old Chase never triggered the kind of reaction she’s showing now.
Desiree and I have played in her private room many times before, but I’ve never touched myself. Never let myself come until after the session is over and I go over it in my mind. I’m all alone and in complete control. No one can share my pleasure or force it on me.
It’s important for me to be alone when I orgasm because then it’s entirely my choice, how I come. Who I think about. What it means for me. It’s a way of reclaiming what Parks stole from me.
Before Desiree, I couldn’t even jack off. I thought Parks had stolen my sexuality completely.
Then I found Desiree and discovered I could come after our sessions. The first time it happened had been such a wild relief. And I didn’t think about Parks once the entire night.
She always insisted I call her Elizabeth and wanted me to treat her like an adored lover. She would get angry if I didn’t, and I think that’s when she started playing with different drug cocktails, some of which trapped me in a kind of paralysis. That was one of the first things I remembered after the chip was removed. So now in my mind I only call her Parks. I don’t even give her the “doctor” address I always used in her therapist’s office.
I focus on the screen, angry with myself for letting Parks have a piece of this moment with Desiree. She’s not allowed here.
Desiree’s room is my safe space, and tonight, I’m going to do something that I haven’t been sure I’d ever be able to do—I’m going to come with her. I’m going to share the moment with her.
She wants me. Me. And she’s thinking about me as she pretends to fuck Falcon, who is also me.
This has to be the most erotic moment of my life, and we’re twelve miles apart, she in her townhouse and me in my suite at the Raptor compound.
Desiree places the dildo between her spread legs and asks me what to do. She likes it when I direct her, and for me, that’s the ultimate turn-on. She lets me have total control with an eager woman who wants nothing more or less than my cock.
A pleasure transaction.
I’m leaning against the headboard of my bed, on top of the blankets, totally nude with my laptop open beside me. I’m hard as a rock, my erection pointing to the ceiling and I haven’t even touched myself yet. This is what Desiree does to me.
I’m so turned on by her open, unabashed sexuality. And I love that she draws the same open energy from me. Eight months ago, before Desiree, I never could have lain on my bed like this and wrapped my hand around my cock as I’m doing now.
On the screen, she’s pressing the tip of the phallus into her vagina, and then she uses her thumb to rub her wetness over the head, preparing it to slide deep.
I run my thumb over the tip of my penis, rubbing the precum over the head, mimicking her movements. Imagining her hands on me.
There are sex toys I could use that attempt to replicate the feel of a vagina. I tried one once and couldn’t use it. At least my hand is living flesh, even if it is my own.
“Do you like dildos?” I ask, curious if it’s the same for her, but still a necessity for her job.
“Sure,” she says. “I mean, it’s not as satisfying as the real thing, but still enjoyable. Especially when you’re the one telling me what to do with it.”
I’m under no illusions that she has singled me out as a favorite client, but still, her words are pleasing.
She places the dildo at her opening again and waits for me to tell her to insert it, but I don’t. Instead, I say, “Before I fuck you, I want to go down on you.”
She sets the dildo aside and grabs a vibrator shaped like a tongue.
“Put it on the lowest setting. Tease yourself, but lightly. Not enough to satisfy you, because I’m running my tongue over your clit but not sucking. Not stroking hard. I’m playing with you. Getting you wetter and wetter. Driving you mad as you ache for hard licks from my tongue.”
She follows my instructions and barely lets the vibrator touch her.
“I slip my tongue inside you and thrust as deep as I can.”
She inserts the vibrator and lets out a soft groan. I know she likes the feel of the vibration inside her, even on the lightest setting.
I imagine a future moment in which I’m really in bed with her and we have all her toys at my disposal. I know exactly how to drive her wild.
Of course, that can never happen between us, but still, it’s a perfect fantasy made stronger by the fact that today I met Eden.
Later, when I replay this session in my mind, I’m as likely to see Eden in my fantasy as I am to see Desiree.
I’m not sure if that’s wrong or not. After all, I didn’t seek her out, even though I knew she lived in the area because she’d worked for CamDames’ DC headquarters. I could have found her easily. Mothman wouldn’t have batted an eye if I’d asked for his help in finding her, given her past association with the website.
But I didn’t. Meeting her tonight was pure accident on my end. I don’t feel bad about not telling Eden that I know who she is. I’m pretty sure that would have freaked her out and exposed her secret online job to a coworker.
Should I feel bad that I’m here now? In her private room? Would she want to know it’s me?
I’m at a loss with this ethical dilemma, and it’s not exactly something I can get advice on.
No one knows about Falcon or my regular visits to Desiree’s site.
I shove those thoughts aside. I’m not doing anything wrong, and neither is she.
She keeps playing with the tongue-shaped vibrator, and I tell her to stop. She’s ready for me, and I’m desperate to be inside her.
If this were real, I’d be sliding on a condom right now.
Someday, maybe I’ll get to find out what that’s like—the condom ritual when hot and ready and eager. I vaguely remember it from my pre-Raptor days. I remember enjoying when a partner rolled it on for me. How sexy it was to include the condom as part of foreplay. Now I can’t bear the thought of letting a woman have that kind of control over my body.
I want to be touched, but how do I keep control? This is yet another reason I can’t have sex with a partner. Not yet.
Maybe I should practice with condoms. Retrain my brain.
But not tonight. Tonight, I’m bare and so hard, I could pound nails.
“Falcon?” Desiree says, her voice almost pleading.
I realize I’ve been silent too long. I’m not telling her how she makes me feel, which is something I know she likes, since she can’t see me. “I was just thinking about how hard you make me. Touch me, Desiree. Run your hand down my cock.”
On the screen she touches the silicone penis as instructed, and I take myself into my hand, just like she’s doing. This is the first time I’ve done this with her, and I’m so deep in the fantasy, I let out a low groan.
Desiree’s eyes pop open and her face is flushed, pupils dilated with arousal. “Are you touching yourself, Falcon?” She runs her hand down the phallus, holding it at just the right angle so I can pretend it’s me in front of her and not a camera.
“Yes.” I mimic her actions with my hand.
“Am I right in thinking you’ve never done that before? With me?”
“You are,” I say.
“Why is tonight different?”
Because I saw you tonight, and you said you wanted to fuck me.
Of course, I can’t say that, much as I want to. “Because I’ve missed you these last six weeks. And tonight, I can’t wait. I need to fuck you now.”
In my pre-Raptor sex life, I never spoke like this to a partner. At least, I’m pretty sure I didn’t, but it feels right for the new me. It turns me on, and I can tell it turns her on too.
“Slide your fingers inside,” I say. “Are you wet for me?”
She does as commanded, and her thumb brushes her clit. Naughty girl. She really can’t wait. “So wet.” Her voice is breathy.
“Put the tip of the cock inside you, but don’t slide it deeper.”
She does, and I wrap my palm around the tip of my penis.
She holds it expectantly, and finally, I say, “Take me deep,” and thrust into the circle of my palm as she pushes the dildo as deep as it will go.
Watching it slide inside as I do the same with my hand is more intense than I’d imagined it would be. But then, I’ve been priming myself for this for months, so of course everything is heightened.
“I’m going to fuck you deep and slow at first,” I say.
She obeys, moving the toy in a sensual rhythm. I copy her timing. Another groan escapes. I feel an intimacy with her that would be missing if I’d done this months ago.
The intimacy drives me wild because I still feel safe—which was impossible for me before now.
I’m feeling, really feeling. And I don’t just mean the pleasure sensations coming from squeezing and stroking my dick.
