Challenge 02 - Heather and Monica

"It's not quite so simple as that," said Harley. "The membership of the site, those who can interact with our performers, are very select. We know what our performers want just as we know what our members like. We supply a service to our members but we don't expect them to pay for it. For the site to serve its purpose we need them just as much as the performers. So if they want to donate then that's fine but if they don't then that's just fine too." He paused and chuckled as he saw the bewilderment on Heather's face.

"You ain't getting it yet? We got our members but we also have subscribers and sponsors. For a fee, and not a small one, subscribers can watch the shows but can't interact with the performers. Sponsors come in for the higher-level performers. Some sponsor the girl while others sponsor specific shows or activities. You starting to understand?"

Not nearly she wasn't. Why would you pay for something that others were getting better and for free? She shook her head. "I just don't get it."

Harley gave her one of his little smiles as if he knew he had the clinching information still in hand. "This might help. Our members are men and women, rich and poor, local and world-wide. However, they are all verified for two things. First, they all share my taste in women and second they are all from the sort of men and women our performers prefer." With a meaningful gesture he tapped one dark finger onto the dark skin of his hand. "The subscribers and sponsors might share the first but they ain't got the second so they can pony up but they ain't got no chance with any of our girls." He paused again and that smile was still there, a mix of cunning and triumph. "Now you getting it?"

Now she got it. White girls, hand-picked white girls, performed for the pleasure of a Black audience. That was something but far from everything. It was all funded and maintained by white men, white men who could look but not interact, who could desire but knew that they could never touch. This was kink on a whole different level.

"You mean they pay for - nothing?"

Harley laughed out loud this time. "Not for nothing - its what they want. They want to be cucks - you know that word - but maybe they ain't got no wife or she ain't into all that shit. Maybe there's a performer who looks like their wife, or their P.A. or that girl they always fancied who they saw at the coffee shop. Or maybe if they really out there the performer looks just like their daughter. It don't matter to us. The only contact they get is the video feeds and the only contact we want is that sweet, sweet, green. As for numbers. We don't need to advertise but we do keep needing to upgrade the servers. You understand - there ain't no shortage of white boys with deep pockets and black-on-white fantasies. In fact it seems the deeper their pockets the more likely they are to come looking for something like this."

Heather could only gently shake her head again. However, that wasn't because she doubted what Harley was saying to her. The power of kink was eternal and seemingly limitless.

Harley's head moved close to hers so he could speak more softly. "Only one thing better than having a fine, fine, white bitch and that's knowing that some dumb cracka is paying for it all. Maybe only one thing better than performing for the Black man and that's having a load of red-faced white boys knowing that they ain't got no chance with you. Just like them three..."

Heather's glance followed his and she saw the three white college boys up ahead of them, walking the other way along the path. At the same moment Harley's body moved closer to her and she felt his arm around her. His hand found her hip, spread out to encompass her right buttock.

She was careful not to look at the three young men but she knew that their eyes were on her and she knew what they were seeing. A couple. Harley kept holding her close as they walked on and passed the group. Then on a little more as Heather imagined the men turning to watch them, seeing Harley's hand claiming possession of her. Seeing her body leaning into Harley's in willing acknowledgement, It was all just for show of course but that didn't stop it feeling really good, exhilaratingly good.

Harley's arms slipped from around her and he moved back a few inches away from her. His point had been made. Her response to his action had been eloquent. Not that he had been in any doubt - it was only her that had not yet understood.

"So what you think about my offer?"

"I'm not sure. I'm not sure anyone is going to want to watch me." They both knew it wasn't the paying audience she was worried about. It was the men that mattered, the Black men.

Harley gave a little relaxed laugh. "Something tells me that ain't gonna be a problem. One last thing - what name you gonna go by?"

"Name?" She genuinely hadn't even considered that.

"Not much point in the mask if you go by your birth-name. Nearly everyone has a performer name. Belle, GiGi, Layla, Brandy, Hollie - you get the idea. So what'll yours be?"

She felt put on the spot. "I don't know - what about... Monica?"

Harley considered a moment and then nodded. "Not bad, not bad at all and not a duplicate. Monica it is and so from now on, for me and everyone else on TKB, Monica is who you is."

Harley held out a hand and Heather took it. He brought his second hand up to surround hers in dark flesh. His smile was one of content satisfaction, of a job well done.

"I brought a set of kit along here for ya. Set the system up like it says. We'll have a trial in a couple of nights time and I'll tell you some tricks of the trade. Meanwhile, I'll bet your first month's money that you will draw plenty of attention. Deal?"

***

She couldn't pretend to be a technical genius but setting up the camera and linking it to her lap-top had proved surprisingly easy. The trial session had taken only a half an hour with Harley advising on her room set-up, her camera angles and showing her the chat and verification systems. It had seemed odd to sit in front of a screen showing her own face. Once they had ended their phone link she also had to get used to communicating by voice with words appearing on the edge of her screen. She saw in the left-hand bottom corner the figures 1/0. She already knew that meant 1 member and 0 subs watching. There were questions that had been nagging at her. What was she supposed to do and what was she supposed to wear? They were to the fore in her mind.

'Don't sweat it Monica. Just be yourself. Be ready at 8 on Thursday.'

She laughed to herself at that. He called her by a fake name and then told her to be himself. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing though. Heather had certain restrictions. Monica could perhaps cut loose a little.

***

'Hey babe u looking fine!'

'Wanna move back a little so as we can see a little more. Cos we needing to see it ALL!!'

'Likin' you in that top & looking forward to seeing u without it.'

'Do luv me a white girl with fine titties.'

'Word on the titties man - this girl is blessed.'

'An in factuals them babies look like naturals. Fucking FINE!!!'

'Best thing about good-sized natch titties is they get real nice and ripe when the bitch is knocked up and then, once she got her little nigga, a trip to the Doc and she back nice and firm and bigger than ever.'

"Shit dude - you scare the girl off. Play it cool you hear.'

'Girl look too white-bread for what we wanting. Fuck it - hope she don't disappoint cos she as good as any for a long time.'

'Don't harsh it fucker - this girl NEEDS to do the challenge. May die of disappointment if she don't.'

'H - Up to her bro - up to her. But she even better in the flesh. Take it from me.' At least she knew who that one was - it was Harley. The other comments all seemed to be from different people and were scattered with various emojis and memes, a few of which were hardly obscene at all.

'You been holding out on us big man - this fine bitch already road-tested?'

'H - No - I ain't seen no more than you. This one's only been with white boys so far.' Heather's eyebrows rose reading that one - she could guess what the reaction would be.

'Poor bitch - don't she know where the real actions at.'

'Wasted on dem crackas - its a sorry thing.'

'So girl why u here if u a cracka's girl?

The comments had been appearing in the top third of the right-half of her screen. A series of screen-names meaning absolutely nothing to her. Each comment remained on screen for a minute and as the volume of comments increased or decreased the section of the screen showing them spread vertically. Below it was a second section where other comments flew past - almost unreadable at the best of times and totally so when the upper section expanded and cramped their space. That didn't matter. They were the subs chatting among themselves. Occassionally Heather would catch a comment or a word but she knew that the larger brighter comments of the members were the ones she had to pay attention to and respond to.

Except of course Heather did not respond. Everything she did on cam was done as Monica. It had seemed common sense to assume a new identity but there had been more behind it from Harley's point of view. Selecting a new name was part of the process. Performers took a new name and from that moment, consciously or sub-consciously, they were building a new persona. The woman on camera was a role that the performer played, a role seemingly distinct from their 'real lives'. Except of course that, with the best ones at lest, the role would expand and expand until it WAS their real life. Harley had seen it happen before but he could not arrange or ordain it. That had to come from inside the performer, a true self previously kept hidden and suppressed could burst forth and express itself. You couldn't predict these things but Harley had seen a look in Heather's eyes back at Cassius's club. Allie had seen it too, recognised it. There was a lot more to this girl than just her white-bread exterior.

Heather knew nothing about that. She just knew that from her first time in front of the camera for a real audience she felt different, felt strangely liberated. She knew that as Heather she could only be disgusted by some of the comments, outraged by the men's objectification of her, angered by some of the terms used, perhaps even scared by the men's desires for her. Their comments were intense, sometimes REALLY intense. It was easier to read them as Monica, to perform as Monica, to BE Monica.

Why had she picked Monica? She had no idea. It had just seemed to leap into her mind at her meeting with Harley. Besides it was as good as any other wasn't it? She'd done a school project once years ago on names and their meanings. Of course she couldn't remember anything much about it now. She certainly couldn't remember what Monica meant - at least she didn't consciously do so.

She was wearing her exercise top and three-quarter leggings as advised by Harley. Her audience had got a good look at her, at least in so far as her mask would allow, but now they needed some sort of show.

Harley's suggestion had been obvious and wise. Something that she did as a matter of course, something she could do without feeling self-confident about it. She set up her timer, stood up and then began a gentle warm-up. In thirty seconds the timer would sound and she would begin the first of her exercises. Just a half of her usual program but enough to send a message.

The bell sounded and 'Monica' took up her position, began her half-minute of narrow squats. Her exercises soon took her 'into the zone' but this time it was different. She was well aware that she was being watched, could see the comments scrolling up the big screen of her computer. In her rest periods she could quickly read a few, feel the blood in her face as she took in their comments about her body, her breasts, her backside. The men liked what they saw. This was exercise and also performance. In the gym that was Heather but here she was Monica. Even doing the same things there was a big difference.

Heather worked out to keep fit, to look and feel good. Monica was working out for the pleasure of her men. They enjoyed watching her and even more they enjoyed knowing why she was working out. She was working out to look good for them. A sudden thought flashed through her brain. 'I'm working out to be worthy of them - because my men deserve the very best I can be. I want to please them.' She kept stretching her muscles as she processed that thought. Maybe tomorrow she would set it aside and understand once more that she was only doing this as a means to an end. Maybe.

She'd moved closer to her screen now so she could read the comments more easily. She was certainly pleasing her audience. Just that they wanted her to ditch the mask - and the clothes. She felt the breath catch in her throat and not only from her exertions. Could she do that?

Another message appeared on the screen.

'H - Mask ain't hidin nuthin but her ID. She real fine under there. Today she needs it but soon who knows. Maybe we set a bounty on it - or make it part of the challenge.'

They liked that idea. Just at that moment Monica was amazed to discover that she liked it too. Once the camera was turned off, when she was Heather again, it would probably be different but the adrenaline was flowing through her body now. She felt good and she wanted her audience to feel good.

She looked down at the bottom corner of the screen and saw '22/57'. That meant 22 Members and 57 Subs were watching. Just watching her work out! That was crazy!!

'H - Anyone wanting to take out a guaranteed sub to Monica can do so from now. Usual rules and conditions apply.'

She'd get used to seeing that at least once every show. Harley acting like a carnival barker - calling up the contributions from her viewers. Just like the hat going round for a piece of street theater or the plate going round at church. It wasn't just about the money though. If they were ready to pay then that would be some kind of tribute wouldn't it? She imagined what Harley would say about it.

"Girl you fine enough to be a Black man's bitch. White boys want to see that then the mutha-fucka's gotta pay."

Monica smiled to herself as she finished the last of her third set of exercises. One thing was for sure she wouldn't be seeing any of the money from this first month. Harley had surely won his wager.

***

It turned out not to cost her too much. The first month of a girl on TKB, three shows a week, were free anyway. Little tasters to let the customers see what was on offer and to let the performer find out if this whole thing was for them. Monica didn't really care about that. She was having much too much fun. She loved watching the men react to her, she found that she loved being the center of their attention. It really amazed her how much she enjoyed it. It was an exhibitionist side to herself that she had never really suspected. Or perhaps Heather had never had it, perhaps it was a part of the new her, a part of Monica. Monica was much less self-concious, less frightened of making a fool of herself, less worried about how people might react. Monica wasn't afraid to show off a little.

Which was just as well.

The night before her second show she was called to the Porter's Lodge. George Fitch was on duty and saw her coming - a smile on his aging Black face. It amazed her that old George hadn't retired long ago - he had to be pushing sixty-five. It had never occurred to her that maybe the College Night-Porter didn't get paid enough to retire early.

"Miss Cameron - there's a package for you. Came Special Delivery."

She returned his smile. After all what did good manners cost. "Thanks George - I appreciate it."

"No problem Miss Cameron."

She turned to leave with her attention on the package. Meanwhile George's attention was subtly but most definitely on the girl's swing of her hips and her fine rear end. Didn't do to get caught looking but fuck it sometimes a man couldn't help being a man! He'd always thought she was a fine girl but over the last few months... Maybe it was his imagination but she just looked better and better. Thic in all the right places. Damn but she could fill out them pants! He felt a stirring - seemed she could help him fill out his pants too! Old George chuckled to himself. Made him a damn old fool didn't it. He collected some papers and got back to work.

***

The parcel turned out to be clothing and a note.

'Same show - this outfit. H'

She examined the clothes more carefully. It didn't take long because there wasn't much of them. A rather skimpy crop top and a string thong, There were also a pair of what appeared to be scarlet booty shorts with a note attached.

'Giving you these - but you know what the members want to see.'

She had a pretty good idea so she compromised. She started out in the crop top and booty shorts. Half way through she felt 'in the zone' and ready for some fun. she asked if they'd like to see her thong.

'H - Hold hard. Put a bounty on that. How much to lose the shorts baby?'

She quickly grasped the idea - this was a money-making operation after all. But how much? Ten bucks? No, not ten. Was a hundred too much? Probably - but she could always offer a discount later. "A hundred," she said.

She turned back as her timer sounded. Time for her next exer...

A large symbol flashed on her screen. 'BOUNTY RAISED.' It had taken, what, five seconds?

'H - Money's raised so lose those shorts Monica.'

It was so much easier as Monica, as the cam-girl. There was no need to hesitate or consider. She could just give her men what they wanted. She turned her back to the camera and gently eased her tight booty shorts down to reveal her toned pale round butt cheeks. The string thong meant she wasn't nude or anything but it still felt really daring and exciting.

There were 30 members and 129 subs watching. All the members were posting their comments and they were all along similar lines. They loved her phat white ass. Monica looked back over her shoulder and wiggled her butt for them.. They took that as encouragement.

'Fucking hot little bitch.'

'She fucking needing it - been denied it too long.'

'That fine whooty needs to be backn up ta my Big Black Dick.'

'Made for the Black man - sure as sure as sure.'

'How much to lose that thong - show us that pretty little pussy?

Monica turned and leaned forward to read the comments. There was a little more to the front of the thong but still not much. She'd had to trim down there and be real careful locating the thong to cover herself.

"Maybe - but maybe not tonight," she said with her sweetest smile.

She wasn't sure how they'd take that but it went down well enough. Maybe because they already knew what she was just now realising. This was too exiting, too exhilarating. She loved this much too much. In time she'd be giving them what they wanted. That had become a fait accompli in her mind without her ever really needing to think about it.

'Yo slacking girl - got a routine to do.'

So she did - and if staying decent in the crop top had been a bit of an issue then keeping the thong in place was a major concern! She knew they were all watching and hoping for that slip, that camera angle, that costume malfunction. However, she got through it. They'd be getting what they wanted but giving freebies wasn't part of the game.

***

After the show she chatted on the phone with Harley. He was real pleased. She asked him if she should have asked for a bigger bounty.

"Nah girl you a natural. Pitched it about right. Ain't a precise science. Thass why we keep the Challenge on a scale. Keeps it simple."

She wanted to ask about 'the challenge' but didn't. Instead she asked what she should do next.