This Is Who I Am, This Is What I Do

I finished dinner, went upstairs and, after finishing a paper, took a look at my page for the response. The comments were very positive and I posted a nice tier 1 photo of me in the purple outfit with the white top. Also, the competition and the spending was beginning. I was going to see a lot of money. I am giving them what they want, that is why they are paying. No reason to feel guilty or ashamed. I knew that was true, but I was going to have to keep repeating it to myself.

I then set up my glamor site. I realized that finding the time to put up a lot of new photos would take a lot of time, but it would be risky to use photos from photoshoots I used on my actual page. I decided to make it a site that would not be image searchable.. I made it look good with links to certain popular retailers in my area and then had it get pinged repeatedly so it would get a lot of views. I passed the project over to Amy to continue to improve upon overnight. Then I slept.

The week passed pretty quickly. Friday night Amy and I went a few towns over to buy outfits for the photoshoot. Amy was a great help; she has a good eye for fashion and we even got some good deals in the bargain bin. I also found a perfect dress for tier 3 and even some lingerie stuff that could work for tier 4. She also agreed to come to the photoshoot. Madison, the photographer, was great again as always and Amy thoroughly enjoyed herself, thrilled by the praise the photographer had for the outfits we brought. Amy went to put the outfits back into the car while I paid. As Madison handed me back the credit card, she whispered, "You do know she likes you, right?"

"We've been friends since second grade."

Madison frowned slightly, "No, I mean likes you likes you."

"Oh," I said, "I guess I didn't know."

"I hope you both know the rules. However, she has a good eye for a camera and an excellent eye for your body. Also, part of you was performing for her, so do bring her next time. She made it a better shoot."

I blushed. "Was she that obvious?" I didn't notice anything."

"Well, I think she was trying to hide it from you. Her attempts to hide it made me think you might not know."

"Umm, okay, thanks for telling me." I headed out to the car slightly disconcerted. I knew Amy sort of had a thing for me, but not like what Madison had described. I had thought of asking Amy's help with the tier 3 and tier 4 shots, although I had reservations. Now, I decided I would need to do them on my own. However Amy might have been longing for me, as soon as she heard what Madison had said about her eye for outfits and poses, she bubbled with happiness and we talked about the shoot all the way back to her place.

Arriving home, I spent the afternoon curating the site. Amy made everything so much easier. She read all the comments flagging some for my focused attention and others for banning. However, I still was spending one to two hours a day posting my new content and personally responding to comments. This evening I decided on the tier 2 photo to post and set it to auto post tomorrow morning at 11 AM. Amy also came up with the idea of having my site automatically collect comments and my answers for each user in a single text file so I could quickly review prior conversations. It saved me a lot of time and made things feel much warmer and more personal. However, warm, meaningful and personal comments took time to write, quite a bit of time.

Yet, that time was paying dividends. I had about 600 supporters. About 400 were paying the $5 minimum. Another 75 or so were paying $25 and maybe 75 more paying $50. That left fifty elite spenders competing for the coveted top 10% and the tier 4 photo. They could see if they were in the top 10% and bids were inching higher. I had two people already at $1000. They were earlier pursuers of the top 2 positions, but had given up when the price crossed $1000. I had four others in the $6000 range hoping to take top prize. Two of them were my high bidders from last month, Blitzen and, of course, Andy's Hope, which was Andrew's alias on my website.

They could have spent that on a top line prostitute in Vegas and had some change. They could have subscribed to the top 100 porn sites and still have change. I marveled at their willingness to spend. I knew these prices could not continue for many months after this. They pursued what seemed unattainable and they pursued the right, or, in Andrew's case, the need to be first and perhaps exclusive. I have managed to make myself a rare and desired resource which seemed available and just within reach. I encouraged, talked of hope, reminded how little was promised while teasing that more might happen. One of the four current finalists was getting somewhat pushy. I reminded him that dinner was all that he was promised and he should stop bidding now if he thinks he deserves more. I knew he was not going to win, but were he to win, it would be a dinner and very much just a dinner. However, Andrew was exactly where I knew he would be, biding his time in the top four, and everything was going according to plan.

Another week of practice, school work and monitoring and maintaining the site. Amy and I had dinner together at her place while tuning some software and she was baffled by the amount of cash. " You might make $50K in a month. That is ridiculous."

"A lot of people, especially men, do not like to lose."

Amy nodded. Then again, it makes sense. Think of how many people gamble away thousands or tens of thousands. At least here even the losers get something."

She is right. I am earning this.

Saturday was all work on the site, plus the awkward and difficult process of taking the tier 3 and 4 photos as well as the two videos at a rented hotel room. At least the lingerie stuff I picked up worked out well. I thought subscribers would be happy. I would post them in a week. Things were almost ridiculously crazy on the site. Aside from the surprising number of subscribers at $50, I had over seventy above $100 ensuring they stayed in the top 10%. Then I had my two still at $1000 and the two who had dropped out at about $6,000 and $8000. Lastly, Blitzen and Andy competing for the top spot both just over $20,000. I had almost $60K in the bank with a week to go. Casinos, the love of exclusivity, gamblers and hating to lose is the only thing that explains it. Men sure do not make a lot of sense sometimes, but they sure are cute.

I then sat down and prepared the post for next Saturday. They would go up when the clock strikes midnight and Saturday begins. For three of the tier one shoots I was wearing a black business dress and jacket with white trim. The dress fit tight and came down to only 6 inches above the knee. The black pumps I wore brought out my muscular legs under black stockings. The staircase shot had my arms on the railing looking down at the photographer three steps below. My smile is radiant and my blonde hair hangs over my shoulder and you can just see the tops of the stockings. The other set had me in a forest green sleeveless blouse and vest that really brought out my eyes paired with black slacks. The vest was buttoned in two of the photos and unbuttoned in the third. The blouse showed no buttons, but it fit tight making my small breasts prominent..

The first two tier 2 photos had me braless in the green sleeveless blouse paired with a cream chiffon skirt with five or six layers flaring out down to my knees. The first photo I am standing with my left arm up in the air. The blouse, buttoned down the side, has the first button undone and opened up so the side of my breast is fully exposed almost to the nipple, nestled in the green cloth of the blouse. The second shot had the blouse buttoned tight and my back is arched pressing my breasts against the cloth so the shape of the nipples are visible beneath. I smile softly into the camera, my green eyes inviting the viewer to come closer.

The other tier 2 photos introduced my subscribers to my favorite fashion find. It was a white dress that had almost the same pattern as my nightgown, tiny red polka dots covering the material. Although not as thin as the nightgown, the material was not fully opaque. The short sleeve dress came down almost to my ankles, had a moderate V down to the top of my breasts and a slit up the front to my knees. A one inch red belt pulled it tight to my waist and ten red buttons ran down the front from the top of my breasts to my knees. Underneath I wore a red lace bustier and matching high waisted panties. The first photo is taken as a selfie looking down on me with the top button undone. The top of my breasts are visible under the red lace. I smile, happy and comfortable with what I am showing. The second shot shows me with the three lowest buttons undone, left foot on a barstool chair leg brought almost to my chest. The dress covers my right leg, closest to the camera, but my left leg is fully exposed and a thin red line along my groin marks the edge of my panties.

For tier 3 I wanted to work the dress to its fullest. In the first photo I have unbuttoned all the buttons and only the red belt holds the dress closed. The dress has slid off my shoulders almost to my elbows. My arms are crossed just below my breasts holding the sleeves as if I am pulling the dress off. My left leg is turned outward, perhaps as if I myself am about to turn. My eyes look down toward my left hand with a look of innocent introspection, perhaps even pensive. The top of my dress, gathered just beneath the lower edge of bustier, highlights my breasts, cupped, concealed and enhanced in the lace. My hard, prominent nipples press against the concealing fabric, shape clearly defined, but image achingly concealed. Brownish blonde hair cascades down over my right shoulder with its feathered tips laid across the top of my breast and darker blonde pubic hair, trimmed short, but not gone, presses against the red panties, which are presented to the viewer as if on a stage with the open dress being the curtains.

The second tier 3 I have the same dress on, but no bra. In one hand I hold a water glass recently spilled. My right breast presses against the soaked fabric stretched tight. My right hand is under my breast, perhaps in the act of sweeping down and away the excess water with the thumb, as if by chance, just crossing the nipple. The rest of the breast is clear to the eye, the small red dots somehow enhancing its shape. My eyes look up as if in mid-roll as if to say, "Can you believe this?" but the smile shows I am not upset.

Last were the tier 4s. For the first tier 4 I was in the dress, with underwear. The dress is unbuttoned to my waste. I lean forward, dress falling open. My breasts are high and firm; I cradle them in both hands with only my thumbs covering the nipples. The skirt is gathered up past mid thigh and in the darkness of the last half dozen inches a dim image of my vagina, vague, indistinct, but open. I look at the camera with questioning curiosity.

I used the wet dress for the second one.. Wet almost to my waist all along the right side. But now I lay upon the bed, buttons undone, but belt still there. The fabric is pulled tight across my right breast, but no thumb conceals the nipple now easily visible, albeit slightly blurred by the wet fabric. My left breast is almost fully exposed as my left hand pulls the dress aside. The nipple half revealed is hard and erect. Legs spread and the front of the dress parted at the belt with my left knee open and left foot pulled up to the outside of my hip. The red lace panties and short hair barely conceal my lips pressed up against it. My lips are full and open slightly and the pink inner flesh of my pussy beckons.

I was proud of the photos and was confident that they would be well received. I looked back at the far more modest photos from the first month and laughed at how uncomfortable they had made me feel. This being what I do now had truly changed me. The videos were easy. The tier 1 video was of me in the black dress walking into the nicely appointed hotel room.

I smile up at the camera on the selfie stick as I turn from closing the door, "Hi everyone, I'm Andrea. I am feeling a bit self conscious. After all, I know you like my pictures, but I am hoping you like my voice. I come in and place the camera on a shelf looking down slightly at the desk and mirror. You can see both me and my reflection. I look up into the camera as I grab my hairbrush. "I must say I do love my hair. I think of growing it longer, but I find it too much work. At this length it is still a showpiece, but not a bother." I start brushing, letting the tight jacket with its white piping highlight my chest. I put the brush down as I finish and unbutton and remove the jacket. Stretching my arms over my shoulder, I gather my hair up high bringing my shoulders back and letting my breasts press against the black dress. Bringing the hair over my shoulder I braid it letting my viewers admire my neck, shoulders, hands and, of course, breasts.

Once finished, I move the camera so it can see the bed. I walk to the bed and sit down. Crossing one leg over the other I take off the first shoe, letting the viewer admire my stockings.. Then I do the other shoe. I lay down on the bed sideways so the camera can see the length of me, the black translucent stockings showing off my feet and legs. I prop myself up on one elbow. "Thank you, each and every one of you, for supporting me. This has been such a wild and crazy ride, but your support has made it wonderful as well. I started this page talking about hopes and dreams. You all are making my hopes and dreams come true. I do truly hope I am doing the same for you. Thank you so much and I hope you are all here to see my photos and videos next month too!!" The video ends with me blowing kisses at the camera.

The tier 2 video had me in the white dress with the red polka dots with the top button and the bottom 2 buttons undone. When I moved the dress opened so you could see half of my thighs. "Hi everyone. I do really love this dress. Some of you may have seen me in something similar, but I could not wear *that* for a tier 2 video. When I was young I took ballet and although I am no great dancer, this dress makes me want to dance." I put on the five song playlist. I slow dance to "Every Breath you Take" by The Police. I do nothing special, but I felt the dress swirl out on each twirl, showing my legs up to mid thigh and during the dance I felt my hips flow through movements. Next was "All of me" by John Legend. I let the music sweep me into the simple choreography. My movements were maybe a little more seductive, once my hands slide down between my breasts and another time my hands open my skirt a bit more.

As "Starting Over" by Chris Stapleton began I move to longer flowing movements in time with the sway of his guitar. I pick up the camera and danced with it as if dancing with someone a foot taller than me. It was Andrew with whom I danced with in my mind. I pictured how he looked down into my dress and I made sure the camera caught the glimpses of cleavage as we danced, my shining green eyes meeting the camera lens the entire time. Then "Red" by Taylor Swift started.

"Red, one of my favorite colors," I whisper into the camera and unbutton a second button on my blouse. I dance, the song taking me. In the making of the video I had felt the soft cotton of the dress sliding across the red bustier, but I was looking up. Now, I was looking down through the camera lens catching glimpses of breasts concealed in red lace. At one moment my hand moves up almost in a slow goodbye, shoulder forward and the camera is tilted, coming in from the high left giving a perfect shot of my small firm breast, nipples barely hidden beneath lace.

The last song, Dusty Springfield's "Son of a Preacher Man" started. My hands play with the collar of my dress and run along the outside over my breasts. I lip sync the seductive lyrics. About halfway through I drop to the bed and lay back, camera held above, "A song that makes me want to do more than just dance." I run my free hand up from my knee opening up my skirt. The cloth slides higher over my bare thigh, as my finger tips graze and caress my skin. The edge of the red lace panties come into view. The upward progress stops and I slide down the top of my thigh to my knee and then back up, crossing over onto the dress up my belly and across my breasts until my fingers find the third button. I undo it and use my fingers and thumb to part the dress so the bustier enclosing the insides of my breasts are open to the viewer's eyes. I close my eyes and roll my head enjoying my own touch as the song winds down. The song stops and so do I. "I know, what a place to stop; I almost forgot this was tier 2. Maybe I should think about a tier 3 video for next month."

Watching the videos, I did not love the production value. However, who could I possibly hire as a camera person? Madison, my photographer, does not do film and Amy, well Amy was the only other choice, and I simply don't know how comfortable that would be for either of us. Regardless, I could worry about that next month. I was done with work for the day.

On Sunday I reserved a nice hotel room and a table at an expensive seafood restaurant in NYC; Andrew loves seafood. I kept thinking of what he might wear to dinner, what he might wear under what he wore to dinner. I wondered what it would feel like to touch his chest, to feel him grow firm against my stomach, to feel his tongue on me and in me, to feel his fingers in me and to feel him cum in me. I masturbated twice to him that day. And he was actually paying me to do this. Power, I do have power.

However, I had a few doubts. I never expected it to get this expensive. Blitzen had dropped out before, and I expected him to do so this time long before it went over $20K. I thought I would try to tip the scales at least a little bit. Blitzen, as was his want, often posted private comments to my pictures of him caressing me, placing himself into the scene of the photo. They were romantic rather than brutish and I liked them.

I opened his latest comment he put on yesterday's photo of me. It was from one of those first photo sets of me in the black tank top with the white drawstring under a white dress shirt with tight jeans beneath. I lounge on a couch, one leg over the arm, other leg sprawled wide. The dress shirt is half unbuttoned, showing the tank top beneath; I am lost in a book. Throughout the last two months I have encouraged his comments, and they had progressed.

"I sit between your legs, turned sideways with my elbow leaning on the couch mere inches from the zipper of your jeans. My other hand strokes your thigh draped over the leg of the couch. You continue reading, but I continue stroking, lazily and unpredictably yet inexorably higher (or lower) toward the warm center of you. I feel your legs tremble slightly and I know now you are only pretending to read. I turn to face you and now both hands caress your thighs starting at the knees with a random creep upwards. You moan and your head falls back, any pretense of reading is gone.

" Now my hands, with purpose, slide up with firmer pressure along the inside of your thighs. I feel your hips rise slightly to meet them. They reach the very top of your legs and slide up along the edge of pressing into that hollow between your stomach and your legs. Then, across the top of the tank top they find their way to your belly button. I pause and smile at you; my fingers slide down to the button of your jeans. Once its undone, I fold the fabric back and gently kiss you in the little V formed by the open button just above your zipper. I sit back and smile at you again, softly. You smile back, close your eyes and lean back waiting patiently, but expectantly, for where my hands will go next. To be continued, perhaps, one day soon."