Watch Tracy Ch. 01

Claire doesn't really see the appeal, but perhaps it's not as sexy when you've actually eaten pizza and talked with Tracy. Still though, it's doing the trick. Something about the crop top showing off so much of her torso, something about her gorgeous face, something about the former-social-turned-parasocial relation makes the electricity buzzing within Claire rise higher and higher. Either that, or it's because of the prostheth-o-cock. Either way, the buzzing hammers on relentlessly, she places her feet firmly into the bedsheets and thrusts her hips up as she pushes the member inside her. She rises up once, twice, thrice, for each rise the buzzing intensifies, it feels as if her flesh is vibrating in pleasure, pleasure radiating from her crotch in tune with the harmonic buzzing cockstrument and the sound of the subtle baritones in Tracy's voice. The warmth spreads up through the sides of her stomach and suddenly shoots up through her spine and she archs her back completely, her eyes unseeing, filled with buzzing, she stays like that, then lowers herself barely, before rising again, feeling the muscles in her lower stomach and back contract, further intensifying the pleasure. Then she falls down into the bedsheets. How strange. At some point they've gotten sweaty. She turns off the vibrator and removes it, but continues idly watching her phone.

Tracy sits spread eagle on top of an office desk. She's wearing pink fuck-me stilettos and her ass hangs spent between her knees, reaching down to the height of her toes. On each stiletto a rope is fastened between her heels and the rest of the shoe, and she hangs suspended from the roof, holding on to the rope with her hands. A big pink dildo hovers right under her pussy. In one of her hands she's got a remote. She winks at the camera, sticking her tongue out of the opposite corner of her mouth, and pushes a button. The table slowly rises up into her, audibly whirring, and the cock slowly enters into her, she keeps holding the button as she takes it's head, down, down along the hilt, until her ass-cheeks are pressed against the table and the cock is balls deep inside of her. She rocks a bit in the ropes, gyrating the cock inside her, before pressing the button to rise up, but not completely, stopping halfway up the hilt. She pushes on the ropes with her limbs, and slowly, spins around on the cock, before spinning back, and allowing the table to rise back up into her...

Catie rolls over in bed, lying on her side. How the hell did Tracy learn to do that? Sure, she was always pretty athletic. You two have spent many days in Uni running, advancing forth in the sun, rain, and gusts of leaves as autumn fell, but come on! She didn't know how to to do this Cirque du Soleil shit back then! Right now, she's hanging upside down with the rope twinned around her ankles, facefucking herself as she pushes down on the remote she has placed on the table. At some point it's not sexy anymore, it's just impressive. Meanwhile Catie is just lying there. The bedroom is a bit cold, she notices the hairs on her hands standing on end. She looks over her shoulder, and breathes relief. The window was closed, thankfully. Maybe you should pick up some athletic hobby. That would be something. You could start terrain biking, or something, or run marathons. Maybe that'd make you feel better about yourself, Catie.

Tracy is sitting in a gaming chair. She's got her knees up and legs spread, resting her thighs against the armrests. She's naked, and wires snake over her body, ending up in purple bullet vibrator fastened against her nipples and her clit. Two of the wires disappear into her, one into her pussy, and the other snaking itself into the base of a buttplug. At the left of the screen there is a chatlog, an overlay giving a minimized view of a conversation Tracy is having. It seems to be with some subscriber. She's got the keyboard pinned up against her upper thigh, balancing it precariously as she types. You can visible see the bullets vibrate for each word she types, one vibration in one bullet for each word. In response she twitches and writhes like a marionette. She presses backspace, and navigates to a conversation with another subscriber. Three dots show up in the overlay as they type something to her.

"Writ(h)e me a story, whore," they say, and she eagerly begins writhing it down: "Once upon a time, there was a really slutty bimbo whore who loved to get fucked by big cocks..." - it's not exactly Tolstoy, but in her defense she is very distracted. Besides, if she was writing like Tolstoy she'd cum thrice and she still wouldn't be done describing the protagonist's clothes.

Okay, Catie, you've spent enough time on this. Go take a shower. There you go, Good Girl. Doesn't the warm water on you skin feel good? Doesn't it feel good to rub in the soap into your pliant flesh? She takes a deep breath. That's enough of that. Let's focus. She gathers herself, finishes the shower, towels off and wraps her hair in another.

Then she goes and lies down in bed again.

Her phone has been autoplaying Tracy's videos.

Viewing just one more couldn't hurt, could it?

Tracy snaps the metal panties shut.

"These are special," she says and looks into the camera. Her cybernetic eyes twinkle, and the white circle in the middle of her pink pools flash into hearts, bouncing once, twice, thrice in rhythm with her left eyebrow, before returning to circles. "If you look here," she says and turns to the side. The camera floats down, and shows a small screen on the panties, which says in radiant cybernetic blue: "2:00". The camera flies up, getting a close shot of Tracy's body, the view hanging briefly on her breasts as the camera drone continues ascending, before the view focuses on her face. "These can't be taken off before they've been on for two hours," she says, grinning like a madwoman. "This," she says and holds up a collar, "will read the EEG signals passing through my spine. In other words, it'll be able to tell exactly how much stimulation I need to cum. And then it'll make sure that I don't get it."

She snaps the collar around her neck. In case it wasn't clear enough, a darker metal engraving spells out "EDGESLUT".

"Of course," she says and takes up a bra that looks vaguely like a medieval torture instrument, "we've got something for these, too." The camera drone flies down, again focusing on her breasts. She puts one arm under them, bouncing them rhythmically for the camera, before slipping on the bra and clicking it shut. The sound is ominously loud, and she lets it hang in the air like a premonition.

She kneels down, bringing her face to the height of the camera again. "Come on then," she says. She starts walking, the camera follows the visage of her ass, and she falls down into her bed. A big red button lies next to her.

"Here I go," she says and slams it with a closed fist.

Catie slides her finger tip up along her hip, ending the movement around her belly button, before sliding it back down again. Would it really hurt to go again?

An icon pops down from the top of her phone's screen. The words hang next to it like a death sentence.

"Tracy is typing a message..."

What the fuck? Catie gasps in panic, and sits up in the bed. She grabs the duvet and covers herself, as if seeking protection. Calm down, Catie. It's probably just a random coincidence. It's not that strange that an old friend wants to hang out.

"Tracy has sent a message."

Catie's finger hangs over the icon. Should she click it?

Yes. She has to know.

The screen loads.

"You're just gonna watch me fuck myself without saying anything?"

Fuck.

"I recognized your email (Thinking emoji) U know, the one you registered with?"

Should she type anything?

"Ur in my top 100 viewers, you know that? (Surprise blushing emoji) That's how I saw your email."

Catie just stares. What could she possibly respond? It's probably best to ignore her. It's too late. Can't salvage this. Best step on the phone, burn down the house, and register on a boat bound for foreign shores. Go whaling, or something. Catie puts the phone down on her duvet, and leans her head back against her bedroom wall. Fuck.

And then the phone rings.

"Tracy is calling..."

Oh fuck, okay, pick it up. Just pick it up.

Catie puts the phone to her ear. "Hi," she says. Tracy doesn't respond, but Catie can hear music bleed through her mic. It's some kind of bubbly synth pop. It might be intentional.

"You know you don't have to pay to see me naked, right?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You could just ask or something. It's a bit transactional subscribing to my porn feed when we know each other, don't ya think?"

"Look, I'm sorry. It's just, I found you randomly, and I had to check if it was you. And, uhm, then I kinda just didn't stop checking..."

"You got a crush or something, babe?"

"Well, maybe I do... You've changed a lot. You look really good, Tracy."

"Damn right. You wanna meet up?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Okay. First you've gotta make it up to me, though."

"Yeah, sure, of course. What... "

"You gotta put on a show for me, babe. It's only fair, right? I've been entertaining you an awful lot lately, haven't I?"

"Oh, I see..." Is she really going to show of her body on camera? But why not? It's only Tracy, right? Just because she's super hot now doesn't mean that it's not the same Tracy. She's seen her naked before. Besides, didn't it seem like Tracy was having a lot of fun? "Sure. I'll turn the camera on."

The camera feed establishes. Tracy is lying on her stomach in front of a mirror. She's naked, but not showing anything in particular, other than her feet, which she's raised up. The camera appears to be in her eyes. "Hey cutie," she says. "Take of the duvet."

Catie shifts, putting her legs together in front of her pussy, and tosses the duvet to the side. She immediately feels the cold air on her breasts, but that's not the reason her nipples are hard.

"Nice... Damn, I've missed those."

"Something else you've missed?"

"Yeah. I've missed how cute you are when you are blushing."

Catie instinctively brings her fingers up to her cheek, making her only look more meek and abashed.

"Spread your legs for me, babe. Do something I'd do in my videos."

Catie raises an eyebrow and says: "Something like this?"

She shifts, putting the weight of her body on the balls of her feet, as she brings her knees out to the side. She has to catch her balance, wildly waving the camera, and she hears Tracy giggle, before she manages to balance.

"There," Catie says and smiles, giggling too. "You do this move a lot, don't you? I'm just lacking some pink stilettos."

"I don't think you need the stilettos. Fuck, you look good."

"Thanks," Catie says and smiles awkwardly.

"Don't be shy, babe. You're hot as fuck. You wanna touch yourself for me?"

Catie brings down some fingers, and starts rolling them in circles just inside of her labia. She's so wet her pussy glistens in the light of the phone.

Tracy giggles. "Good girl. You're really liking this, aren't you? Were you always this obedient?"

"I don't think you ordered me around like this before."

"Maybe not. But I'll order you around plenty now. Turn around and show me your ass doggystyle."

Catie does. The camera is probably upside down or something, she's just sticking it backwards. "You see?"

"Yeah. Good girl. Slap it for me."

Catie balances awkwardly with her face against the sheet, and slaps her left ass cheek.

"Come on, babe. Not like that. Harder. Slap it properly. Like I would've done it."

Catie brings her arm up, and slaps herself as hard as she can. The clap resonates through the room, the sound only breaking for her moan. The flesh hit by her palm is visibly whiter than the rest of her ass, soon to be a red slut-mark. Unprompted, Catie brings her arm back and slaps herself again, promptly contracting her core and shifting forwards in the bed, dragging her face against the sheets.

"Good girl," Tracy says in a singsong voice.

Catie brings the camera around to her face, and turns around. Some spit has gotten on her lip, and her hair is messy and all over her face. She looks like she's been properly fucked. "So, what do you want me to do now?" Catie asks, and bites her lip.

"You still live in Townschestershire?"

"Yeah."

"Come over. I want you bad," Tracy says and bites her lip. "I'll send you my address."

"Okay." Catie kisses the camera. She almost feels silly, but then she sees Tracy get up on her knees, locking eyes with herself in the mirror. She drags some of her hair behind her right ear, before leaning in and kissing the mirror passionately, dragging some of her cybernetic fingers over it's surface. She leans back, and stares deeply into the mirror. "I'll see you soon," she says and hangs up. Almost immediately an address pops up on Catie's screen.

How did she get so lucky? Fuck, Tracy is so hot. Especially with the way she was looking at her, or, well, herself, but symbolically she was looking at Catie. And she wants her! Catie squeals, and clutches the phone tight against her chest with both hands.

There's no time to wonder. She best get going.