Challenge 02 - Heather and Monica

She knew the reason that tonight felt different. Tonight she wasn't only being watched via her camera. Tonight she had a live audience. George was sat in her best chair in the corner of her room behind the camera. He was enjoying the second of the beers she had bought in especially for him. Just knowing that he was there made every movement seem more exhilarating and provocative. Their screens were means of communication but they were also barriers. Her members communicated via words of text and she was still only an image of shadows for them, however high-definition that image might be.

Not tonight. Tonight George was there in the flesh - representing all of her members. She had a job to do and so she couldn't watch his reactions too closely. However, she knew he was enjoying all he saw. Not that he wasn't behaving himself. He'd taken his over-coat and jacket off when he arrived but otherwise he was fully-clothed.

She pondered that. Was that how he had watched her shows at home? Perhaps - but she doubted it. If a man enjoyed her show then there would be a certain physical reaction, a certain desire to... well... masturbate. No - to wank. It was something that you had to accept early on doing shows. A lot of your viewers were likely to be wanking - at least they were if you were any good at your job. A man watching her show was supposed to get hard, he was supposed to stroke himself off, he was supposed to fantasize about being there with her. She could be outraged and horrified at the prospect or she could accept it for what it was - a tribute to her own appearance and performance. White boys showed their appreciation with US Dollars while her Black men did the same with hard cocks. Some things did not lie. A man didn't need to tell you he found you desirable if his cock was hard. If you pleased an audience like her members, men who had seen many a show by many a beautiful white girl, then you knew the tribute was real. She had to admit that the ego-boost was quite something. It got her blood pumping and her body tingling.

Maybe that was why she felt a little mischievous. That or perhaps the frankly obscene comments about her appearance that were moving rapidly up the side of her screen. Not so long ago she would not have been happy about that but now they just proved that the show was going well. 'MonBBC15' had just sent her a message about how hot she was and so she decided to reply.

"Hi babe - so what would you do if you were here in the room with me?" Immediately after saying it she sent the quickest of glances across to George. She saw him watching her intently and saw him bring one leg over onto the other as he sat.

Monica smiled. She knew why George had crossed his legs. He was excited but nervous about letting her see the bulge in his pants. He wasn't assuming that would be welcome. Monica liked the confident masculinity of her viewers but she also liked the fact that George wasn't taking her for granted. Despite how she had greeted him.

She hadn't quite been sure that he would show up. Apart from anything else it had been a filthy night, the sound of her door-bell had barely been audible over the rain pounding on the windows. She opened the door to George Fitch in a dripping raincoat and holding out a waterproof package. She knew that was her notes and she was pleased that he had taken such good care of them. He had certainly been the perfect choice for tonight's activities.

"Come in - its so wet."

George instinctively came in out of the rain and just like that he was inside and the door was closed. She saw him glance in its direction and suspected he still wasn't sure that this was a good idea. She moved fast.

"Let me take your coat, err. I know everyone at the college calls you George but that never quite seemed right to me. Eighteen-year olds all calling you George and you calling them Miss This or Miss That. Would you rather I called you Mr Fitch?"

George chuckled as if he didn't quite understand her. Well Miss errr..., I mean, you can call me what you like."

She decided to go for it - to see if he was really up for this. She didn't want someone who was half-hearted or reluctant, she wanted someone who would enjoy this as much as she would.

"Then I think I'll call you 'Sir' and please Sir since my show is about to start you should call me 'Monica'. I might be Heather or Miss Cameron on campus but here I am just your little white slut Monica. Would that be OK Sir?"

George's eyebrows raised a little. She could almost see his mind working - deciding. Then he smiled.

"That'll be just fine Monica - now how we gonna do this."

She'd felt the rush of excitement as she realised her plans would really be coming to fruition. This would be by far her best show to date. She had explained the set-up and got him his beers. He seemed surprised that she knew they were his favourites. As if she hadn't seen him given a case every Christmas at College.

So he had settled in and watched the show but he was still taking nothing for granted. She liked that. 'MonBBC15' suggested he'd have had his big Black cock in her balls-deep by now. That passion and confidence was very attractive in its way but just at the moment she was delighted that she had George. As a performer she still had training-wheels fitted. He would allow her to go at her own pace.

It was time for her Challenge. She weighed up the location of George's chair and decided that they had judged it perfectly.

"Now I have to perform my challenge and it was the Three of Clubs which is, 'Tease a Black man.' Now you now that up here we don't have too many African-Americans and so I guess I could just say that I do that every show." She guessed that was how some performers dealt with this challenge. They just did a show teasing their viewers. "Maybe, though, I might enjoy it more if I made other arrangements. Sir - can you show them what I mean."

George leaned forward and held up one dark hand in front of the cameras. He gave a little wave and a thumbs-up.

'Damn - she got a brotha there!'

'Fuckin A - now we talkin!'

'Told you she too fucking hot not to have a Black boyfriend.'

'Sweet little whitebread Monica been riding nigga D all along? Sure hope so.'

'Harley - Who's your friend Monica?'

She weighed her words. "Sir here has helped look after my building for thirty years. As a result I think that he deserved a treat and that is why I have invited him here tonight. Sir - have you thought about what we discussed? It'll be much better for the show if..."

George had said he preferred to stay out of camera-shot even when she had offered him the mask. Not a lace one like hers but a full Anonymous-style face covering. Now, in the heat of the moment, he seemed to have changed his mind. He stood up and looked himself over. He paused to remove his watch and rings - really the only means of identifying him once he had donned his mask. Then he stepped forward into the camera's range and took his seat in full view of the audience.

'Fuck - how old is that nigga!'

'Brotha got fucking grey hair and a belly on him.'

'No way that bro got a sweet cracka bitch like Monica.'

George read the messages and she could sense him grimacing behind his mask. "I might be a fat old bastard," he said, "but who's here with this fine little piece and who's back home whacking off? Not that I'm blaming you - might have done it myself often enough. Happens to be my first time here but that still puts me one ahead of all you!" He seemed to have forgotten that his voice wasn't disguised - or perhaps he didn't care. He also seemed to have forgotten to hide his obvious desire for her. She liked that and she loved the fact he was proud of being there with her.

"The first time I've ever entertained an African-American gentleman in person and I could not have picked a better one." She moved up to George and carefully kissed his ear. Well, it was that or the mask! "Now are you ready for your show Sir?"

He nodded and she moved quickly into her bedroom to where the first of her outfits was laid out She had practised a little and tried to get her fast-changes down to a fine-art. She was quickly out of her top and leggings and into a long slinky dress which hugged her curves very pleasingly. Her heels took a little more time to get on than the dress.

She walked back into her main room and modelled both for George and for the camera. She walked into vision and then turned and posed to allow every viewer to see her from every angle.

"What do you think Sir?" She finally asked.

"You look damn fine in that dress. Just come here and lean forward." She followed his instructions and stood where he indicated, leaning forward to thrust her backside out towards him. The dress was tight and didn't hide much of anything.

"Oh yeah," said George, "only problem with that outfit is there's too much of it." He gave a thumbs up.

That was her pre-arranged signal to go and change. The next outfit was another dress but this one showed a lot more skin. It was backless, armless and shoulder less, cut high on the hip. Its material formed long drapes down over her thighs and her butt.

"Oh yes - thass what I'm talking about. You come over here Monica, let me show you something."

She went to him and he very carefully, gently even, laid one hand onto her bare wrist.

"Now look," he said.

Monica looked - and saw. His dark rough hand on her smooth pale wrist. She looked and she felt. The warmth and the careful weight of his hand where it met her wrist, skin on skin. She felt it and she saw it.

George spoke again. "You see not everyone in the world is the same. Some of us can see it and some of us can't. That contrast, that what-the-heck-do-they-call-it, when something just looks right. In a decoration or a picture or whatever."

"The aesthetic," contributed Monica.

George gave a little laugh. "Yeah, you see, you the smart one. That's why you know what you looking at."

She knew alright. It had taken her back to the room at Cassius's club. To sitting beside Harley and seeing Cassius and Allie fuck. She had felt the same then. Against all she had been taught she had just known that it looked right, it looked perfect. It was the way it should be. Was it those memories or George's skin on her skin that suddenly sent the wave of passion through her. She didn't know why but she certainly knew that it was a fact.

"You see it girl, I can tell. Heck I won't make you say it yet 'cos you ain't ready. But soon you'll be shouting it from the roof-tops. I know it and I'm thinking that a smart girl like you knows it too."

His eyes were on her, devouring her. She said nothing but she knew that he was seeing deep into her desires and her soul. He knew the truth and he was right - she still wanted to deny it but once you knew your true desires how could you keep denying your true self?

"That dress looks real good on you - you gonna give me that show." George was now sitting with his legs apart. He had certainly given up on trying to hide anything. There was a clear bulge in the front of his pants.

Monica saw that bulge and again felt the pulse of excitement, a very real pleasure at having excited George. So what if he was 'only' an African-American, a college porter, a modern-day servant. He was a working-man, a Black man, a real man and he desired her. There were no honeyed words or fake emotions there was just that raw desire. He wanted her and she thrilled to the fact.

"Shake that fine ass of yours girl. Show them all what a real money-maker can do." There was a little edge to George's voice now, a glint to his eye. She knew that she was the reason for both and she wanted more.

Her twerking technique had been coming along but this was the acid test. Her dress wasn't her usual tight dancing gear but she hoped it did the job. Felt the hanging material pull tight on her butt and then hang loose as she moved.

Her Challenge brief was to tease a Black man and she felt she was doing that just fine. However, she knew without any doubt or hesitation that she wanted more. She eased back towards him and astride him, still thrusting her butt back towards him. Her dress caught a little and then she felt it lifted. George had taken a hand there and she knew he could see her bare butt now, naked save for her string thong. She knew how much he was enjoying it but she wanted to feel it too. She gently dropped her body down a little and gave three little grinds down onto his body.

"Oh fuck," said George, "guys you ain't got no idea how good that feels. We got us a real one here, a prime phat assed white bitch. That right girl?"

"That's right sir," she answered and gave him another couple of grinds, deeper and firmer this time. rewarding him for telling her how he truely felt. George was usually so mild-mannered and softly-spoken, she had never previously heard him curse. Well he didn't look like a downtrodden college porter now - he looked like a man, a man ready to claim what he desired. She loved that she had done that and he sensed the fact.

"Looks like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth but she a hot one for sure. You the real deal tho girl. I see that fine ass good and clear but me I've always been partial to a fine pair of white-girl titties. I know you been hiding them so go find something special for old George."

She was hardly hiding them. This dress had side-boob for days but she knew what he wanted. Back in her bedroom she checked out the other outfits she had prepared. Things had moved along a little faster than she had anticipated. Once George had got into the swing of things it had been like an avalanche coming down a mountainside. She smiled to herself - it was definitely good for a girl's self-esteem. However, it meant she only really needed one more change.

When her fan had sent her the micro-bikini she had been pretty sure that she would never be able to wear it in public. The thong was tiny and you definitely needed to be fully shaved to even think about it. The top was really just a couple of dollar-piece sized bits of cloth with a minimal framework of thin material strands holding them in position. Without being topless you physically couldn't show more cleavage and boob. George was sure to love it and Monica felt her own body react to that realisation. Just at the moment pleasing George was just exactly the thing to please her too.

This time he didn't say anything. His eyes were all over her, his intent devouring gaze eating up every exposed inch of her flesh. As she turned and danced and twerked for him he still said nothing. She didn't care - every glance at him told her that he was enjoying her, savouring her, appreciating her.

Finally Monica stopped her dance and looked straight into the camera. "My challenge is to tease an African-American man. Well I'm going to tease more than one - I'm going to tease all of you with what's about to happen. Bye bye." She blew them a kiss and disconnected her camera.

"My God Monica you are something else." George was laughing to himself. "Thought I might have a coronary back there. Maybe you should have a health warning for old guys like me."

"You don't seem so old," she moved back to him and dropped a hand next to the bulge in his pants, "and you certainly seem to be all in working order. It was a great show tonight and I know it was you that inspired me. I think, perhaps, you deserve a reward."

She saw how much he wanted it but all he said was, "You sure? I mean, I don't want you doing nothing you don't want to, nothing you'll regret I mean."

"The great benefit of Monica also being Heather is that she doesn't need to do anything she doesn't want to do." She reached her hand to his belt. "The question is do you want your reward Sir?"

"Fuck yeah," was all George said.

She dropped to her knees between his legs. Her fingers weren't overly used to undoing a man's belt buckle and even less when it came to the pants themselves but she managed it. George shifted his weight so that she could pull his pants down his legs. She carefully folded them and placed them to one side.

That bulge just looked bigger with only a pair of jockeys semi-concealing it. She knew this was a big moment. It was nothing like when she had been with her white boyfriends. She moved her hands up to the waist-band of his jockeys and saw that amazing contrast of the pale skin of her arms and the deep dark skin-tone of his legs. She felt the strong pulse of excitement go through her whole body. This was nothing like anything before - this really was the beginning of a whole new chapter.

"Hold on one moment," she paused as he spoke. He reached up and removed his mask. "I don't want this between us."

She smiled. He was right. This wasn't for any camera. This was for the two of them. She took off her own lace disguise. There was no play or dissimulation needed any more. This was reality, a man and a woman.

She had been an observer back in Cassius's club. She wasn't an observer now. These were steps you couldn't retrace. Her inner Heather was telling her all of that but it didn't stop her from smiling up into his face as she gently eased down his jockeys. The camera might be off but Monica was very definitely still in charge and from this time on that was just how it was going to be.

Her show had certainly done the trick. He was hard and ready for her. She didn't hesitate. She gently took his cock in her hand and stroked it, marvelled at its warmth and texture, thrilled again by the contrast in their skin-tones.

"This is a beautiful cock," she said and was rewarded with his laugh.

"Hardly," he said.

She looked at it again and then into his eyes as her hand continued to gently stroke him. "But it is. Truly beautiful. I've had boyfriends before but they couldn't match up. Maybe in size but not in..." She paused, struggling to put it into words. She lowered her head and kissed the head of his cock. "This is a man's cock, a real cock. It looks strong and powerful and potent. They were pale and weak, like they were just boys. Even if they were just as big they didn't have..." Again she was struggling.

"They didn't have what you wanted and needed."

Her eyes met his again as she nodded. They understood each other. Now it was time to leave words behind. She took the head of his cock into her mouth, tasted him and felt the excitement course through her veins. She wanted to please him, to satisfy him, to make him remember her. However, she couldn't pretend to any great skills or experience in this department. She paused again. "Is that good?" she asked.

His hand gently found the back of her neck and very carefully pushed her back down. The message was clear. She began to suck his cock properly, moving her mouth and stroking him with her hand at the same time. George would never challenge Julius Flint or Cassius for size but that was rather a relief. She tried to relax, tried not to let her nerves get the better of her. Nervousness meant a dry mouth and that she did not need.

George's hand eased its way up to the back of her head and very gently took charge. Not forcing her, not demanding anything of her. Just guiding her, setting a pace, showing her what he wanted from her. She felt the nerves leave her, felt the saliva in her mouth.

"Yeah baby, that's real good. Now use that tongue of yours sweet thing, you was made to worship that Black dick."

She heard his words and knew. Even as she sucked and licked him, trying to bring pleasure to every part of him. Even as she cupped his heavy balls in her hand, feeling their weight. Even as she swirled her tongue round the head of his cock and looked into his deep and hungry brown eyes. He had truly seen into her soul, he truly understood her. Until tonight even she hadn't been sure, had maybe even wanted to fight it at times. She was sure now and she didn't want to fight it any more. This was who she was, Monica was who she was. Not an act but the reality. She might be Heather too at times but she would always be Monica.