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Dennis had a ritual, of sorts. This ritual took place every Saturday afternoon, some time in the hazy hours between lunch and dinner. He would leave his tiny apartment — with stains and cracks in the walls and rent so high he could barely afford it — and he would walk.
The exact route of his walk changed week by week — most weeks, he would meander through the patches of greenery that fought the weather to stay on the right side of yellow, eyes turned to the sky when it was clear, or to the pavement when clouds gathered oppressively overhead. The weeks he looked forward to the most, though, were the ones where he managed to scrape together enough spare change to justifty paying a visit to the small bakery a few blocks over and buying one of the discounted, slightly stale pastries. His favourites were the apricot danishes, though they usually sold out long before he could get his hands on them. Something about the sweet-sour taste was grounding and comforting, exactly what he needed before starting his job.
That wasn't to say that he didn't like his job. A source of income was a source of income after all, especially when he could do it from the relative comfort of his room. He was just a little bit tired in the hours before and after a stream. The after could be justified — getting himself off was hard work on a normal day, doubly so when having to account for the camera and his viewers — but the before perplexed him. Some sort of… pre-emptive aftercare perhaps? He was never the best at taking care of himself in general, so maybe his pre-stream ritual was some subconscious way of making sure he at least got some fresh air in.
As the clock ticked closer to dinner he returned home, thinking about what might entice his viewers this week. What might make them donate just a little bit more money. If he earned enough he might even be able to afford something other than cheap, frozen meals and instant noodles heated in the barely-working microwave that came with the place. He'd do anything for something fresh, really, though it wasn't as though med school did anything but send him further into debt.
Dennis ate quickly before laying out his chosen toys for the week on the chair he used to prop his laptop on when he filmed. He didn't have a large collection, exactly, but what he had was of as good a quality as he could afford — a couple of dildos of varying sizes, a vibrator, an anal plug, lube, and his mask.
The mask was a staple in his streams, black and red PU leather covering the lower half of his face in a way that was akin to a muzzle, obscuring his features in a way that didn't prevent him from speaking or making noise. He didn't like to show his face on camera much, especially not on streams — too much could go wrong, and he could only think of his ma's lectures about the permanence of the internet. The thought that she or anyone from Broken Bow might see him and recognise him? It was enough to send him spiralling. So no, no face on camera, nothing above the neck if he could help it. But for custom videos? With an extra fee? He could be tempted.
He'd do something fairly simple tonight, he thought, grabbing a mid-size dildo and a vibe. He'd ride the cock, calling out the names of his donors if they paid enough, letting them pretend that it was them he was fucking. He'd even let the highest donor decide when and how he could cum, if they let him at all.
With everything set, he adjusted the white sheet pinned to the wall to make sure it wouldn't cast too many odd shadows while he streamed, and stripped off his clothes until he was left only in his boxers.
As the clock turned to 9pm, he took a deep breath and clicked 'go live' — it was time for F4rmPup to stream.
Robby had a ritual.
He'd get home from work, shove whatever takeaway was left in his fridge in his mouth (pausing only to warm it up if it was particularly egregious in taste or texture), drink a lukewarm beer and collapse in a pile of limbs onto the couch. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he'd even get some sleep in. If he was really lucky he'd even be able to jerk off somewhere between all that excitement.
It was on one of those really lucky nights that he stumbled across the 'Up and Coming' page of some porn site — the kind where you could "subscribe to individual creators, tip their streams, or even commission private videos" as the 'about us' page declared. It was getting late, closer to 11 than 10pm, and he wanted to cum tonight, even if it was just a mediocre one.
Scrolling through the feed, one preview caught his eye — a young man, not a boy by any means but not anywhere near his own age, caught hovering above the tip of a silicone dildo. F4rmPup the page said, streaming "FUCKING YOU UNTIL I CUM — IF YOU LET ME!" It was better than anything else he'd seen so far tonight, and the boy in the preview was cute enough, as much as anyone could be cute with just their torso showing.
He clicked on the stream and fumbled for his earphones while it loaded, unwilling to let go of his dick with his other hand. And rightly so, because the little punched out noises of the boy in front of the camera were too much to resist. The young man was trans, this much was clear, what with the pretty pink cunt dripping onto the blanket under his knees as he begged to be allowed to use the vibe he clutched, still buzzing, in his hand.
"No," came a donation, $5, "but fuck yourself harder."
"Ye-hs sir, thank you-uu." F4rmPup rode harder, whining with each thrust. It was like he couldn't help himself but beg as he did, little punched out 'please's and 'fuck's working their way past his lips. Robby was instantly enthralled.
He scrolled down further to read the rules for the challenge tonight. It was fairly simple all through — if he donated $5 or more he could tell F4rmPup what to do with the vibe and dildo he had, and the leading donation at the end of the night could decide whether the boy could cum, as well as how it would happen. The current leaderboard placed the most recent donator in the lead, a measly $50 spelling out the course of the streamer's evening.
That wouldn't do, Robby thought, pulling up his bank details. The boy deserves enough for a proper meal and treat at least.
Almost before he realised it, the $200 donation was showing up on the screen in front of him, his username front and center.
F4rmPup paused for a moment as the donation registered, before vigorously thanking the man.
"Fu-uck. Thank you so much-h MedMike70 for the dona-ation. And for the permission to touch my cock."
Saying this, the streamer lowered the vibe to his dick, shuddering and shaking almost immediately, begging once more. It was almost nothing for Robby to send another couple hundred, attaching only three words to the message — you can cum.
And cum he did. Almost as soon as the camboy read the message his whole body froze up, a statue demonstrating perfect ecstacy. The nose of the mask tipped down, revealing a smattering of freckles under the streamer's eyes as he panted and panted, riding the waves of his orgasm with shaking legs and body.
The stream was silent as F4rmPup caught his breath and shifted off the dildo, turning his back to the camera and leaning down to allow his viewers to see his red, wet, and dripping cunt.
"I, uh. I think that's where I'm going to leave it for today." He said, shifting back on his heels and turning back around. "Sorry for, uh, cumming so quickly and without warning. Thank you to everyone who donated and especially to our new viewer and head of the leaderboard MedMike70. Goodnight and goodbye — see you all next Saturday at 9pm. Remember new videos come out every other Tuesday."
With that the stream's screen turned black, red 'live' button now greyed out, and Robby was left staring at his own reflection in the laptop.
He looked down at his lap and realised he came without even noticing it, too caught up in the other man's obvious pleasure. He confused noticed that he didn't even have that overwhelming sense of guilt he struggled with after a wank.
What was it about this camboy in particular that made him feel good after an orgasm?
What was it about him that made him spend $400 in an instant, just to see the boy cum?
What was it? And how could he make sure it happened again?
Robby fell asleep on the couch that night, laptop open to the screen thanking him for his new subscription.