CREEPYPASTA VOL 2

The Captive Camgirl

He’s making me write about what he’s done. Maybe it’s a form of entertainment. Maybe it’s to force me to relive the terrible things I’ve been through. No matter the reason, if you’re reading this, you need to know I am not in control. I’m just his puppet. His slave. He is wearing me.

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I’ve been a camgirl since January 5th, 2016. The first year was lovely, and I say that without sarcasm. I made decent money and developed connections. I networked with other girls and guys and we got to learn the business together. There was little competition among us; it was all very supportive. Sometimes we even collaborated and put on a couples show for our regulars. Clients were happy to pay extra for that kinda stuff.

I learned pretty quickly how to avoid the creeps. The abusers. The ones who’d spam the chat room with requests for dangerous insertions or disgusting, illegal pairings. They could be blocked. Most of the time, they’d move on.

Some were more persistent, though. chewchewchewchewchewchewchew Some masked their IP addresses and used VPNs and did all sorts of other technical things to keep popping up, despite being blocked. It was something we all had to live with.

bite down nicole

One creep in particular, who went by the oh-so-clever handle “Fistington,” terrorized me for almost four months. No matter what I was doing, if I wasn’t in a private session, he’d enter the room and spam some of the most hideous, violent, misogynistic material I’d ever read. I will not repeat it.

My regulars did their best to ignore him, but their own chats and requests would get bogged down by violent spam. I lost subscribers. My income decreased.

On the one-year anniversary of my channel, I’d planned to have a special, public show for my fans and for anyone else who wanted to watch. It was free, and for that night only, I was offering the kind of performance I only give to paying customers: bottomless, mild insertions, etc.

It was all going well. I had a lot of new eyes on me and donations were rolling in. Then that piece of s**t Fistington came into the room and ruined everything. The number of people in my channel dwindled. I didn’t blame them. It’s hard to be turned on when you’re forced to read the types of things he was saying.

As the last of the viewers left, I started to cry. I’d never cried on cam. I’d never had a reason to. I’d been frustrated, sure, but never brought to grief. And all Fistington did was laugh. His “lol”s poured down the page as tears poured down my cheeks.

I closed the channel, wept for a little while longer, and went to bed.

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In the morning, I woke up to an email from one of my regulars. Stephan from Austria. I’d never met him or anything, but he’d been a fan of my channel from the beginning and had contributed over a thousand dollars in donations over that period of time. He made his requests, and while graphic, they were never anything I objected to. Never anything that compromised my dignity.

His email was short and to the point. I’ll paraphrase:

“Nicole, I apologize for the cruelty of my fellow men. Please accept this donation, and expect a gift in your post office box in the near future. I hope you haven’t been discouraged. You are beautiful and deserve happiness. Trust me. Sincerely, Stephan”