Challenge 04 - Monica at Carnival

The young redhead sprayed cleaning fluid onto the old-style cast-iron radiator and then used a dry cloth to wipe off both the fluid and any dust. Despite its novelty for her this was not a chore that demanded much of her attention. Instead she was intent on recalling the exact position of her camera, making sure that she leaned forward at just precisely the right angle to allow her Members to enjoy the benefit of the strategically lowered zipper on her top.

Heather Cameron had never been particularly confident about her breasts - always a little sensitive about her body. Was she perhaps a little too bottom-heavy? It wasn't supposed to matter for a modern independent young woman but it in truth every woman knew that it did. Her dating experiences hadn't been great - had any of those assholes ever really wanted her for herself even at the most superficial and visual level? Hadn't they just wanted the status and the money that would come with her?

She understood how that was a big reason why she enjoyed becoming Monica so much. Monica was her alter ego, her online presence, the camgirl performing for her Members and subscribers on the TKB Network. Monica had begun as a means to an end. The route to sources and information that Heather needed for her academic researches. Rather soon, however, she had discovered just how much she loved performing for her audience.

As Monica cleaned the radiator with sweeping arm movements she felt her breasts moving and knew how good that would look to the camera. Her top was a nice dark blue to allow for a very pleasing contrast with her pale skin-tone. There was another little benefit too. As her breasts moved her nipples were kissed by the soft cloth of her top. She had always been somewhat sensitive there and without looking she knew that her nipples would be hard and visible through the thin material.

She had always been dissatisfied by her breasts but her Members seemed to love them. It was very good for the ego, very healing for a girl's self-confidence. Not that it entirely did the job. Over time she had explored the TKB site and seen some of her fellow camgirls. Her co-workers or competitors or maybe both. It didn't hurt to see how others did the job. She knew the numbers - she could see the viewers and subs tallied on the screens. She was aware that, in her section of the site at least, there was no-one that could match Monica for eyes on the screens or money coming into the site. She knew that.

However, that didn't mean she didn't want to improve, to be the best that she could be. She was comparing herself with the other relative newbies. She knew the network had other levels. Girls further along in what Harley, the boss of TKB, called the Challenge. To compete with them she would have to be at her best and she was no longer surprised by just how much she wanted to compete with them.

She listened to what her Members liked. She watched other shows and found what they enjoyed there too. She knew what most Members loved to see. She did her best to provide that and she had some natural advantages. She knew they loved her generous round butt and she knew most loved her red hair, loved it even more as she allowed it to grow longer. If maybe she couldn't provide a 'pair of big ol' white titties' then they seemed happy with what she did have.

It was all about making the best of those natural advantages that you did possess. Monica moved across to where her second camera was set up. She got down on her hands and knees and started to wash down the mat there, moving a pad in circular movements of her hand. She had prepared the show carefully, as always, and she knew just how good this angle was. As confirmation she could feel her breasts moving in her top, almost to the point of escape but never quite.

She couldn't check her screen for numbers watching but she knew that it was time. "Hey guys - glad you could all join me. As you can see I've been put hard at work today. I just have to finish this mat but the good news is that when I do finish I've been promised a special treat." She gave a broad smile into the camera lens and raised her eyebrows. Then it was back to cleaning the mat - which happily really wasn't very large.

After a couple of minutes she was done and got up onto her knees. "Time for my treat." George Fitch, the African-American porter at her college, had been helping her out. Today that meant switching the cameras at the right moment, letting her know when here were enough viewers to begin the main part of the show and, of course, providing the treat. She looked across to him and he rapidly moved to join her. He had been learning as they went too. He took exactly the right position to be perfectly framed on camera while not masking the star of the show.

She was too far away from the screen to read them but she saw comments flying up the right side of her TKB screen. The Members and subs (short for subscribers) knew what was coming and they clearly approved. Monica ran her hands up George's pants, felt the material under her finger tips and then felt the bulge there. George really was the perfect co-star. He never tired of her, never failed to be ready to perform. She smiled up into his face, enjoyed the pleasure and anticipation she saw there.

She couldn't say that she'd ever been a particularly sexual person until she'd met Harley. Without meeting him she was absolutely sure that she wouldn't have done some of the things she had done. Like, oh for instance, giving a blow job to a Black man while several thousand people were watching. Like stripping naked for them or flashing her boobs in public or, well, doing quite a bit more in public. The simple fact was that she enjoyed it, she enjoyed the rush that doing such things gave her, she enjoyed the pleasure that her viewers took in watching her. These were performances - something that being Monica allowed her to do. She loved her Members' comments, their praise, their excitement at what she would do next. However, she knew that she wasn't just doing all of this for that. At the end of the day these weren't really just performances. She was doing all of this for real and she was experiencing it all for real and she loved it.

Over time Heather and Monica had become less easy to disentangle. At first she was Heather but also sometimes did a show as Monica. Now it seemed that she was mostly Monica but sometimes had to masquerade as the 'respectable' student and trust-fund girl Heather. She certainly felt more alive and gained more pleasure from her times as Monica - even if she knew that too much of that particular good thing could burn her out.

For instance was it only Monica who undid George's pants and pulled them down to reveal that beautiful Big Black Cock of his? George was unusual in her new life in that he knew just exactly who she was 'in real life'. When he looked down he undoubtedly saw Heather Cameron's white hand stroking the smooth dark flesh of his hard cock, he saw Heather's mouth moving to take him in. He wasn't wrong of course. It was Heather sucking his cock - and Monica - it was every part of her. Her man deserved no less.

How many times had she done this? Did the numbers really matter anymore? The taboos were all smashed irreparably that very first time. George was much less wealthy than her, less socially prestigious by far, he was also decades older than her. Most of all, of course, he was Black while she was white. That wasn't supposed to matter any more either but everyone knew that it did. That was why she had eight thousand white subs avidly watching her at this very moment, dipping into their wallets to tip her show.

George was smiling down at her as she worked on his cock. She decided to try a little something she had been working on. He was beautifully hard and she knew what she wanted to do. She knew just how he liked her to stroke the base of his cock with her hand, she knew just how much suction he liked to feel on his shaft and she knew just how he liked to feel her tongue on the head of his cock. How much would he like all of those things together? She had been practising on her plastic replica of Julius Flint, the African-American porn star, for just this moment. She gave it a go.

"Oh Jeeesus! Oh muthafucka!" He flung his head back, breaking eye contact.

George wasn't generally a blasphemer or a curser and so Monica decided to give him a little more.

"Fuck it," said George. He brought his hands up to hold her head and at that moment he came and came hard. Jet after jet of warm viscous seed shooting over her tongue and filling her mouth. Not a taste that she had craved at first but over time, like most things, you got used to it. As Monica you learned that particular taste was the sure sign of a job done really well.

Talking of doing jobs well she certainly seemed to have got to George. He had forgotten about the camera and so she had to carefully position herself at what she thought was the correct angle in front of the most convenient one. She carefully opened her mouth to show the pool of white cum captured on her tongue. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed. She paused a second or two and then reopened her mouth to show the cum had all gone, swallowed down like a good girl should. Old George had finally got his ass round behind the camera to check the framing but he was still blowing out his cheeks. Monica giggled as she looked into the camera, hearing the chimes that signified donations.

A girl did like to feel appreciated, to feel valued.

***

Heather was shown into the room but found it, as she had been warned, unoccupied. The furniture was what you would expect. A desk with a monitor and a keyboard, a couch ready for patients and a screen folded up in one corner. It was very much the working doctor's office.

Complete with the diplomas on one wall. The Sorbonne, Oxford and John Hopkins. On the next were charts and illustrations of the human body. Lines of ink showing the muscles and tissue that made up the face, the breasts, the buttocks... On the third she saw a series of smaller photographs. Each showed the same small man in a white coat shaking hands with a succession of visitors. Her eyes flicked over the photographs and recognised almost all of them. There were prominent and wealthy businessmen, politicians and media figures. Then there were others that Heather had seen at her father's social events. The blue-bloods, representatives of old, or old-ish, money.

Above them were four slightly larger photographs featuring four men that had held the highest office in the land. Two from one party and two from the other. At the very top was a single image of the Doctor and another man. The only man in all that wall of photographs who was African-American. This meeting had clearly been less formal. The Black man was laughing and the Doctor had that look that could only belong to a man whose joke had landed perfectly. Heather looked again at that single image. This was the one visitor that she did not know. He was certainly not a young man. Who was he? Why did his image have such prominence? The answer could only be money.

The fourth and final wall, by contrast, had only a single photograph. A man in middle age looked out of the image. His clothing, down to the wing-collar, suggested it had been taken at the start of the twentieth century. There was a notable resemblance with the little Doctor in the other photographs. All of this registered with Heather but the thing that really struck her was the man's eyes. He had to be long dead but, even though filtered through the photographic lens, his gaze could only be called magnetic. It reminded her of the famous image of Rasputin from around the same time. This was a man of power, a man of authority.

There was a gentle cough by her side and Heather had to fight hard not to jump about six feet in the air. Turning she saw the Doctor from the photographs as he smiled at her.

"So sorry to keep you waiting Miss Cameron. I see that you have met my ancestor, quite someone was he not. The reason why we are all here. The first of my family to become a Doctor. A great and innovative Doctor - also an avid student in many other fields. Really a most remarkable man. It gives me pride that these clinics continue his work or, at least, one aspect of it." The Doctor gave her a sly little smile which was playful rather than sinister. Heather would come to know that smile very well indeed.

The Cameron family, of course, had access to the best medical care. However, after a little research, Heather had felt confident to follow Harley's advice and come to the Nikola Clinic - even if it did mean a trip to the Capital. For these matters she felt more comfortable going to a Doctor who hadn't known her since she'd been in braces.

This Doctor Nikola that Harley had arranged for her to see was a new name to her. However, apparently he not only ran this clinic but also four others scattered over the Tri-state area. It had all seemed very professional and efficient when she had arrived and been ushered into his consultation room.

Nikola himself was a small man with a slightly fussy manner and an accent that suggested East European origins overlaid perhaps by an expensive education in England.

"Anyway Miss Cameron may I welcome you to my clinic, the Nikola Clinic. It is always a pleasure to have a referral from my friend Harley. Can I ask - do you have a regular Doctor?"

She had told him and had almost regretted it when she saw his eyebrow flicker in recognition of the name. That piece of information had very definitely placed her in a certain social and economic class. Given the need for medical records a false name hadn't been possible. Would Dr Nikola understand just who she was, more to the point who her family were? If so he did not give her any clue as to the fact. Instead he had merely nodded.

"For some purposes it is perhaps best to have your own Doctor, not to rely on the old family friend and confidant, eh." The words were accompanied by a smile so slyly conspiratorial that she had almost wanted to laugh. She was pleased that she resisted the impulse - Dr Nikola had only spoken the truth after all.

"My clinics, " Dr Nikola had continued, "serve those in need as well as those who can pay. We provide a wide range of services to many who otherwise would go without support. A vital, an irreplaceable, service to our fellow men and women. More specifically we also have our private practice which, if I might be so bold and immodest, is unmatched across the world." The little man's eyes were gleaming as he flung his arms out wide as if to encompass that whole said world. After perhaps a minute in his company Heather suspected that very few could ever accuse Dr Nikola of being modest. Despite that she instinctively liked him.

"For today, of course, we must consider the third aspect of my clinics' work. You know perhaps that we have the most effective and admired sexual health strategy in the whole world, that we have had representatives of more than sixty countries attend to learn from the Nikola clinics? How we can serve two of the most deprived areas in the Western world and yet have produced results better than even the most optimistic of experts had dreamed. How the Nikola Strategy has been proved both brilliant and correct!"

Heather had read about people puffing out their chests with pride in old books. She had never actually seen anyone do it until she had met Dr Nikola. She had to be careful not to smile too much. Someone as delightfully pompous as Dr Nikola could easily take offence.

His words raised questions however. Health care could not be distributed without considerable expense. Even health advice required a budget if it was to be effective. All those pictures of visitors made more sense now. She wondered how large a donation it took to get your picture on that wall.

"You think of money." The Doctor's eyes twinkled. "Our friends assist us and we also help ourselves. Something to be proud of, yes?"

"Oh absolutely," agreed Heather. It was quite something.

"It also makes us experts in some matters that others ignore. We can advise regarding certain, er, lifestyles. This began as part of our Taylor Foundation work but now also we take referrals from Harley and certain others. And so we are here!" There was that smile again. "To be clear and responsible I state that certain lifestyles bring certain risks, certain potential consequences. Our advice and support can ameliorate these to a large degree but not perhaps entirely. It is good to understand that." There was no smile now.

Heather nodded. Of course there was risk - but there was risk in just crossing the road. You accepted the risk because you wanted to see what was on the other side. Perhaps because you needed to be on that other side. "I understand," she said.

"I will brief you on testing, monthly while an active participant. Also on means of minimising risk. Of course sometimes there is conflict with a lifestyle but even so there are certain measures that can assist. You will have heard of PrEP and of HPV or hepatitis vaccines for instance? We are always at the cutting edge of such research and then treatment. On a more standard level we can of course also supply protection or birth control as required. We try to be a one-stop shop for those in this, er, lifestyle."

Again that little hesitation. The little Doctor had twice carefully chosen that word. It was not a bad choice. A catch-all that could encompass a lot of ground. From party girls to swingers to sex workers. A non-judgmental word.

"Naturally the expenses can be covered by Foundation funds as part of a program if the participant..."

Heather knew what the Doctor was hoping for. "I can pay my own way. My shows are very successful."

Doctor Nikola smiled. "Ah yes - your shows..." The slyness crept back into the smile and Heather knew that the Doctor was very well aware of just who she was. That she could pay easily even if she had never done a show. "I thank you for your support. It will free up money for treatment of those less fortunate. Of course all of our donors, on whatever level, have the strictest confidentiality in all respects. On this you have my word, the word of a Nikola." The little Doctor's chin rose a little with pride.

Once again Heather managed to avoid a laugh that would have been very unfortunate. She liked the little man and, perhaps more importantly, she believed him.

***

Heather had no doubt that Doctor Nikola's time was valuable, also that it was expensive. He gave thirty minutes of that time to briefing her, to advising her, to making arrangements for testing and medication. He booked her in for a full physical and also made arrangements for vaccinations ahead of her proposed trip. Only then did he lean back in his chair. "Do you have any questions Miss Cameron. About my advice or about our clinic?"

She had been thinking about those diagrams on the wall. "You mentioned that you also perform private practice. What exactly is the nature of that private work?"

Nikola steepled his fingers. "Again - an area where discretion is not merely required but is mandated. I have a very prestigious client base - most of whom the public have no idea make use of my, or any, assistance. I do not over-speak if I humbly acknowledge that I am unmatched in my skills in certain elective surgery."

"Cosmetic surgery," said Heather.

"A common misconception," corrected Doctor Nikola, "that this work is purely cosmetic. It can be essential in certain high-profile fields for clients to present a certain image. More crucially our work can play a role in correcting body dysmorphia in many patients. In more usual cases it may provide confidence where confidence was lacking - I have seen this more often than you can imagine Miss Cameron. I have seem the greatly beneficial results of my unparalleled skills!"