Web Whore Episode 1 | Moana Bee

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She is clever, but unfortunately also beautiful.

She has a PhD in philosophy, and no money.

An academic describes where that leads.

For example: in a book. It's not finished yet.

UTIYA exclusively releases a bit of that

Unfinished.

by Moana Bee

“How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so? ”

Charles Bukowski - Factotum

I asked myself the same question a few years ago, and as I couldn’t find a satisfactory answer, I ended up quitting my job. Since then I have somehow managed to struggle along with cleaning and other menial jobs that happen from time to time - causing existential panic almost daily - but I’d rather go on the game than ever set foot in an office again.

In this oppressive mood I cover my old friend Johann with a blanket, roll myself up, and cuddle my back tightly up against his belly. About a hundred kilos of protective flesh hardened by the daily use of anvil and hammer.

"You'd make one hell of a good pimp, dude," I say, as he wraps his powerful forearm around my waist.

"Pimp? What makes you say that?"

"Prostitution would be my last resort if all else fails. I even seriously considered it after college when I couldn't find a job."

"So why didn't you?

"Out of disgust mainly, but morally I would have nothing against it."

"Then something must have changed I suppose, or you wouldn't have mentioned it otherwise."

"What’s changed? I'm still insanely picky about men. If you work for a call-girl agency this might be a problem in the long run, but I’m not planning on it anyway.”

"Then what?”

"There are plenty of hookers out there offering their services on their own, without an agency I mean, and they don't get beaten to a pulp for turning down clients. Well, I thought something like that, but then I’d need a protector. We'd go fifty-fifty, that's fair, isn't it?"

"Of course I'd look out for you, regardless of the cash, but are you sure you really want to? Don't get me wrong, in my eyes prostitution is a profession like any other, I'm just afraid your soul would suffer over time.”

Soul? What soul? I sold mine to the devil long ago. I just haven't gotten any cash yet.

"Do you have any other suggestions as to how I might get my hands on some money?"

He runs his fingers broodingly through his greying, well-groomed beard until inspiration suddenly breaks his silence.

"What about having a go as a Camgirl, seeing as you're already open for sex work?"

"Huh? As a what?"

"As a web-whore, so to speak. There are plenty of sites on the internet for that kind of thing. I came across some recently by accident." Sure. By accident.

"The principle is very simple: you register as a user on one of the platforms, create an appealing profile, and then use your charms to lure in various wankers.”

This definitely sounds a lot less complicated than writing a pointless dissertation on socio-cultural brain-fuck.

"How and what do I get in return?"

"The system deals in tokens, a crypto-currency like Bitcoins. You offer some kind of reward - let’s say for flashing your tits - for a certain amount of tokens. As far as I understand, the money gets transferred to your account immediately. So basically it works like a peep show, but instead of performing in a booth for a bunch of jerks, you do it from the comfort of your own home in front of a worldwide audience."

I try to imagine it, and feel like I’m in one of my recurring nightmares, where I’m walking through a crowd and to my embarrassment suddenly realize that I'm totally naked.

"Listen dude, are you nuts? What about the consequences if someone who knows me finds out about it? Word travels fast, and if pornographic footage of myself appeared on the internet, I could never apply for a normal job again."

Not that I intend to do it, but you never know.

"I get your point, but geo-blocking can protect you against such awkward coincidences."

"You mean you can block whichever countries you want?"

"Right. With just a few simple tricks you can avoid it, but it's very unlikely that someone you know will find you among thousands of broadcasters. And even if they do, who's going to tell?"

"Makes sense actually, masturbation isn't something you usually talk about openly. By the way, have you heard this joke already? Voting for Trump is like wanking – everybody does, but nobody admits it."

He laughs like you laugh when you hear a joke which is as sad as reality.

"If I were you, I'd consider it at least," he says. "It's easy money, and you meet all the necessary requirements. You look amazing for your age, you’ve got a hot body, a pretty face... You could become a sought-after MILF, I bet."

Dr. MILF doesn’t feel especially flattered. Are there no skills which she could be rewarded for apart from belonging to the category of childless ‘Mummys’ you’d like to fuck?

"Sounds tempting, but I'm still not particularly fond of the idea of lolling around scantily dressed in front of a webcam."

"You don't have to, on the contrary. As far as I've observed, the girls who show less are the most successful. The trick is basically to get your clients into booking you for an individual session.”

“Individual session"?

"Yep, private show as they call it. You're temporarily booked by some Peeping Tom so he can jerk off alone with you. In the meantime you're away from potential punters, but in return you get a certain amount of money credited per minute. That way you're guaranteed to make a profit, and if you're smart, you'll delay his climax as long as you can."

"For coming across these sites by accident, you know rather a lot about them."

"Hey, really, I only look occasionally because it’s interesting."

"And what exactly do you find so interesting about it?"

"Well, it's fascinating what incredible amounts of money are being moved about here, and the technology behind it behind all," replies the engineer. "Using Bluetooth remote control you can, for a fee, make a sex toy vibrate in a pussy in Hawaii all the way from Oslo."

Unthinkable for this homespun MILF, my only knowledge regarding achievements in the field of applied libido is limited to a battery-powered, waterproof vibrator and its two manual deputies: an ordinary dildo made of stiff latex of a more modest size, and its huge, flesh-colored double ended brother. My puzzlement grows while Johann keeps listing Apps which allow the interactive configuration of naughty games simultaneously, high-performance devices for stimulating the clit which you could use to mix up a bucket full of concrete, and all sorts of similar tools that make me feel like an antiquated retiree in my ignorance.

"What about having a look on the computer yourself?"

Yawning, he lifts himself off the sofa, and shuffles over to his desk all cluttered with stacks of paper, folders and leftovers. The dusty screen is now tiled with rows of thumbnails with extremely explicit content of performers in pairs, in threesomes or even in small groups. Hetero, gays, lesbians, hermaphrodites, grannies and grandpas, daddys, mummys, uncles, aunts, cousins. Punks, dominatrixes, subsmissives, pregnant women, nuns, nurses. Yellow, brown, white, black, albino. Fat and thin, beautiful and ugly. Fully pierced and tattooed. And feet, over and over - painted, dirty, unappetizing feet. And cocks of course, in all sizes imaginable, in hands as well as in all other available orifices. And even more boobs; round, flat, saggy, pert - crowded in together, these nourishing organs there to satisfy any desire. Everywhere ultrasharp close-ups of dripping pussies - bushy, partly or completely shaved. Out of some of them hangs a neon pink rubber tail, I point at it and glance quizzically at my buddy.

"This is the sensor of the Lovense, the toy I was telling you about," he explains. "It's linked to a remote control which regulates intensity and duration of the impulses."

The reasonably credible convulsions are emphasized by reasonably credible moaning, the volume of which decreases or increases depending on the size of incoming payments. Like an auction where female genitalia are bargained for - as if my gender hasn't been struggling for centuries to free itself from the role of childbearing, helpless, secondary object.

"Ick! Could we switch chat rooms please?"

Without following any particular criteria, next we hop onto the bed of a beautiful brunette in fancy underwear, like out of a Victoria's Secret commercial. Delicious in all respects, with her sensual features: slender, long legs like an encore after her super hot curves, and her timeless bedroom eyes vaguely remind me of old-school divas, such as the likes of Hedy Lamarr. Unfortunately she doesn't seem to be gifted with a similar IQ, our Twitcherella. Her voice is hollow and childlike, whimpering whenever she thanks her fans for their generosity. Oh! Oh! Thank you! she squeaks, no doubt moved by sincere appreciation, and keeps twitching along with her pink velvet rat’s tail.

"And? What do you think about web-camming?" Johann asks, holding out my coat in an exemplary manner when I say goodbye. "Could you imagine doing it?"

"I’d have to think about it properly, but at least it’s reassuring to know there’s the option. Thanks for the advice, I might go for it, before the bailiffs come for me."

Actually, I don't have to think too much about it, I tell myself while carefully descending the steep stairs - there’s no way in the world I would do something like that.

To be continued.

"Approach"