erotica #013: poppy lets her inner kinkster play on OnlyFans

I stared down at my chai latte and took a deep inhale. Chain coffee shops weren’t really my thing, but I’d take a good chai anywhere I could, especially on a drizzly, dreary Sunday like today. My best friend Christie was running behind, and as I sat in a corner chair by the window, I couldn’t help but feel myself spiral over my upcoming monthly bills. Los Angeles was one of the most expensive cities to live in, after all. Part of me wondered if I could continue to do it. But, there are some places you won’t let your mind go, not because they could never happen, but because they’re just millimeters from being your actual reality.

Christie spotted me from across the cafe. “Poppy!”

It had been months since we’d seen each other. She was always my go-to friend for work dates, and today I really needed her creative genius.

“Hi! Here, take a seat.” I gestured to the chair beside me.

She settled in as she opened her laptop. We were both here to dig in on separate work projects, and there was something so comforting about having a good friend close by while I worked. As anxious as I was, I tried my best to cover it with a smile and a little deflection. But no such luck. Christie felt my anxiety immediately.

“Okay, tell me what’s on your mind. I can tell there’s something.”

“See, this is why you’re excellent at your job. You can see right through the act,” I admitted. She smiled, validating her ability to call out the bullshit and cut straight to the truth, then she waited.

“I’m stressed about money, that's all. I feel like I’ve worked so hard this year. I’ve been so creative and so diligent. It just hasn’t been what I was expecting and work is so slow right now.”

“Girl, I get it. I feel like it’s been slow for all of us entrepreneurs lately. What if you picked up a side hustle?”

I had thought about it. “I feel like there are only three things that would be doable. Pick up another writing gig, drive for Uber or… prostitution,” I added in gest.

Christie rolled her eyes and gave me a smart-assy smirk. “You know you’d never drive Uber. Who are you kidding?”

“True.” In all honesty, I was more willing to sell my body for money than drive strangers around to god-knows-where. “I’m obviously joking about the prostitution thing. I mean, I’d never actually do that.”

We were silent for a bit, both fiddling with our computers.

“Unless…” Christie echoed, as if she were inside my head.

I gazed up at her over my glasses with a curious wonder. “Go on.”

“Unless, you didn’t have to actually meet anyone… or actually have sex with anyone.”

“What do you mean? Like OnlyFans?”

Christie shrugged.

She did have a point. On one hand, it isn’t unethical, it’s totally consensual and people will pay for all sorts of things. It doesn’t have to be sex.

“Listen, men will pay for you to fart in a jar and send it across the country so they can feel connected to a woman and get just a little approval of how disgusting they actually are. And who says you have to show your face?”

“Yes, ma’am, you do! And it’d be a shame to keep those assets all to yourself. You are single.”

I felt lit up from the inside. I closed my computer with gusto, packed it into my bag and stood up. “I have to go!”

“Yes, you do, honey,” Christie hollered at me as she started a slow clap while I walked to the door. “Go get that bag!”

The moment I walked in my front door, I sat down at my kitchen table and opened my computer. I was intrigued but I didn’t know the first thing about OnlyFans. I know girls made a year’s salary in two or three months, but I didn’t even know how to set up an account. I grounded myself. I’ve done much harder shit than this. I’ll figure it out. It can’t be that hard.

And it wasn’t. I did some quick research and within an hour, I had my very own OnlyFans page. I couldn’t believe it. I doctored an old picture of myself I’d taken for an ex-boyfriend and filtered it with some deep reds, darkened it a bit, and cropped it to only show my body. My lean torso, full breasts and muscular thighs were all things I knew how to show off if I needed to, and play up with clothing. I took a deep breath and pressed “finish.” It was done. I was going to put up a series of videos of me reading erotica in my lingerie — or topless — always with my face and hair covered. I drew a hot bath and added my favorite bath oil.

As I got ready that evening, I found myself riding the line between disbelief and knowing that I was completely in my element of sensuality, tease and service.

About to make my first few videos, I set the scene. I had it in my head perfectly: one singular chair in the dark corner of my library, me in to-be-revealed layers under warm, delicious red lighting, my face covered by an enormous wide-brimmed hat — like the ones European women wear as they bask under the French Riviera sun. Or, maybe an eye mask.

I set about rearranging some things in my apartment. The chair had to go perfectly in the spot where a deep crimson shadow would provide the perfect canopy of discretion. It needed to be subtle, discrete, simple and secret. I screwed in a red light bulb from a Halloween party I had hosted last year and poof… it gave the instant ambiance I was looking for.

I scoured my closet for something to wear. Nothing? Lingerie? Panties and no bra? A bra with no panties? Just a hat? Just an eye mask? I decided it didn’t really matter. The point of this experiment was to see what made the most money. As I flipped through my options, my Déjà Vu 18 Cupless Bodysuit + Harness fell from its hanger onto the floor, and just like the cards that pop out during a tarot reading, I took it as a sign that she chose me tonight. My Déjà Vu 18 was the most opulent bodysuit I owned. I mostly hid her away at the end of my closet, only selecting her for very special occasions, but my attitude tonight was more along the lines of, when in Rome…

I set up my camera on its tripod, selected my erotica reading of the night from one of my favorite books, and crawled into the chair. Page 111, Riders Of The Storm, was one of my favorite stories about two strangers riding a train cross-country who get caught in a storm on the East Coast and end up making love on the speeding capsule flickering through the pouring New Hampshire rain. I pressed the “record live” button and took a deep breath and attempted to slow my panic. I’d never gone live on a public platform like this and the last thing I wanted to do was mess up this performance. Was this a performance? Yes… yes, it absolutely was. In the same way that strippers perform or actors perform live theater, this was a type of performance art, I told myself.

The button turned red as I adjusted my blindfold to make sure it was covering my eyes, and braced for impact. I began to read. The first few lines, then the next few. I couldn’t look up to see if anyone had joined but I could hear the little pings that indicated someone had. I continued to read. It didn’t matter how many people joined. This was just an experiment, a very naked experiment. I sat up taller in my chair and allowed the red light to drench me in its safe hue. I sat up taller again and allowed my lingerie to take center stage, my exposed breasts moving as I shifted in my chair. Just read, I told myself. And I did.

By the time I hit the fourth paragraph, I peeked up to see that over two hundred people had joined. At $4.00 per person, I had just earned $800 in 10 minutes. I paused in disbelief, then continued. My nipples grew firm and began to visibly protrude at the sight of that number. My desire to continue reading, to continue performing, to continue serving out my slow voice sex became the most intoxicating desire I’d had in years. I didn’t know if it was the voyeurism or the money that turned me on so much, but my body began to send signals that I couldn’t control.

I read the words “pussy magician,” “cum slut,” “analingus,” and “fuckboy,” with total permission, and as I turned the page to the climax of the story, I could also feel myself climbing up the hot, molten-lava volcano of desire. I followed the pleasure. My words slowed, my mouth began to water, my knees fell open to reveal the snaps of my bodysuit covering my bare vulva.

Without even a thought, my hand traced down the back of my thigh to my center and clasped the corner of the fabric, slowly pulling one snap at a time. My heart raced with each unsnapping, with each centimeter of my kitten revealed to the audience. Not even one soul knew who I was. It was a high I couldn’t explain. To be so public, so alone, so private but also the epitome of an exhibitionist — but on my terms.

Ping, ping, ping!!!! People continued to join. And with each ping my body began to open more and more. My belly began to undulate, my ribs began to swirl in a circular motion as I writhed in pleasure. I tucked one finger into the elastic hip band of my bodysuit and snapped it gently… more pings. I dragged my hand up my torso and cupped one breast and then the other, my nipples, stiff and warm, erect nodes emitting the powerful frequency of woman. More pings! I dipped my fingers into my mouth and sucked, then stroked my stiff tips again.

To be honest, I loved getting myself off. I’d known how to since middle school and I knew what my body liked more than ever in my life. I knew the zing!, the ugh!, the huah!... of my body and somehow it felt like a gift to the world to get myself there so others could see what it really took. Not some performed, overly coiffed, fake act. I was truly bringing myself to orgasm for an audience.

Before I knew it, my hand began to travel between my thighs, but this time to actually touch myself. It was as if someone had given me a permission pill. All of my inhibitions were leaving my body, one by one. Ping, ping, ping!!! I couldn’t tell if it was the people joining my live erotica reading or my pussy speaking to me. Every woman had an on and off switch and I was turned all the way on. I peeked up through my eye mask again… 600 people! I continued to pleasure myself.

With my large breasts still revealed and a book in my right hand, I continued to speak the art of erotica as my body responded. I spread my labia apart with my fingers before inserting my middle finger inside of me, remembering once again that there was a world where women could pleasure themselves in the privacy of their homes, and do so anonymously, expressively and safely while making money, and there wasn’t one single thing wrong with it. I saw flashes and visuals of lightning over the ocean, thrusting muscles, fuck! I want to come! I stopped reading and tended only to my own pleasure. 

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