What Happened During My First Webcam Stream

Hello again. I’m back with something that happened to me this week, and by now I don’t think I need to clarify that I’m real, do I? Although it still makes me laugh that some people doubt it. An ordinary woman, with a boring job and a mind that sometimes wanders into places it shouldn’t. That’s me.

I was planning to tell you about what I experienced recently with another woman, but that story will have to wait. First I need to get this first stream off my chest, because my pussy still throbs strangely when I think about it.

For you to understand why it was so hard for me to take the step, I have to go back. Way back.

When Tomás and I started looking for people to meet, things were different. There were no filters like there are now, no open profiles, and none of the natural ease with which I receive messages today. Back then, when he found a man who seemed interesting, he almost never gave out his mobile number. The only alternative was the webcam.

And I didn’t like webcams at all. Not one bit.

I only did it because Tomás insisted. I would sit in front of the screen with my arms crossed, waiting for the other person to turn his on, and it was almost always a disaster. Men who promised a huge cock and showed a sad little dick the moment they turned on the camera. A kind of blind date, only worse, because there was no way to run away without making it obvious.

“Give it a chance,” he would tell me. “They won’t all be like that.”

“They’re all like that,” I would reply, turning off the camera.

It wasn’t that Tomás failed to do his job filtering them. He did. But back then everything was more of a shot in the dark, and I would have much rather read someone for weeks than run into a stranger jerking off live. Today it’s different. Through the profile I use for this amusement, I receive requests, photos of hard cocks, entire introductions. I can see what I’m going to find before saying a single word. Back then, it was turn on the screen and pray.

I’m telling you all this so you can understand how big what happened afterward was for me.

***

Several of you had been insisting for weeks that I should work up the courage to stream. “Do it,” “you’re going to love it,” “you don’t have to show anything you don’t want to.” I thought about it a couple of times, tossed and turned in bed for an entire night with my hand between my thighs imagining it, and in the end I said: all right. Let’s try.

I also did it out of pride, I confess. I wanted you to know that I’m real, that behind the stories there’s a real person, an ordinary woman who sometimes gets so turned on she soaks her underwear and sometimes simply gets bored in front of the TV. Because yes, I’m going to say it: from time to time I’m horny. From time to time. Not always, the way some of you seem to imagine me.

On the afternoon of the stream I changed clothes three times. Three. As if I were going on a first date. In the end I settled on a loose T-shirt and thin black panties, convinced I wasn’t going to show absolutely anything. That was the plan. Talk, laugh, get a feel for how it worked, and log off.

I turned on the camera with my heart pounding. My hands were trembling a little over the keyboard.

“Hi, everyone,” I said, and my own voice sounded strange to me.

And then they started coming in. Names, greetings, hearts floating up the screen. People who knew me from the stories, new people, questions coming too quickly to follow. I laughed to myself, nervous, and little by little I loosened up.

I loved it. Truly. But please be patient, because it took me forever to understand how everything worked. I don’t know how to create games, I don’t know how to set up the things women who have been doing this for a while do, and I kept getting lost among the buttons. Those of you who were there saw it: I’m not the typical woman who streams and ends up with two fingers in her pussy ten minutes later. That wasn’t what it was about.

Except for one moment. A moment that even I don’t know how or why it happened.

***

In the middle of the stream, without really knowing what I was doing, I clicked something. A button, an option, I don’t know. Suddenly the screen changed, everyone else disappeared, and I was left alone with a single user. The name at the top was an English nickname: MrKane.

What am I doing here alone with this guy? I thought. What did I click? How do I go back?

I spent several endless seconds looking for a way out, laughing inwardly at my own clumsiness. And then I understood. It hadn’t been entirely an accident. He had requested a private session with me, and I had accepted without realizing it.

A private session. Alone. With a faceless stranger.

The first thing I felt was that same old rejection as always, the one from the webcams years ago. My body tensed. But something was different this time, and it took me a moment to realize what. This time I wasn’t there because anyone had insisted. I was there because I had wanted to be. Because I had chosen to do it on my own.

“Hello,” he typed. “Thanks for accepting. Do you mind if I turn on the microphone?”

His tone surprised me. No demands, no rudeness. A simple, polite question.

“No, turn it on,” I typed, and then, with a courage I didn’t know where I found, I turned mine on too.

There was a moment of silence before he spoke. A charged silence, the kind where you can hear the computer humming and your own breathing. I stared at the icon of his turned-off camera like someone looking at a closed door, not knowing what was behind it. I dried my hands on my thighs. I adjusted my hair. Small, absurd gestures for someone who couldn’t even see me yet.

His voice filled the room. Deep, calm, the kind that doesn’t need to rise for you to hear it. In two sentences he told me he was married, that he didn’t usually do this, and that the way I spoke had caught his attention, different from the others. Then he turned on his camera.

He didn’t show his face. I never saw his face. Just his body from the waist down, one hand resting on his flat stomach, a hard bulge already pressing against the fabric of his trousers, and the dim light of a lamp behind him. And yet, I can’t explain it, I liked that anonymity more than any face. It was as if the mystery filled the place of everything that was missing.

“Can I?” he asked, and I understood what he meant.

“You can,” I said, feeling the word come out hoarse.

***

I watched him slowly lower his trousers and take out his cock. Big, thick, already half-hard, with the shiny head peeking out beneath the foreskin. He wrapped his whole hand around it and began stroking it from top to bottom, unhurriedly, the central vein standing out clearly, while he talked to me. And I, who had sworn I wasn’t going to show anything, found myself caressing my tits through my T-shirt almost without thinking, feeling my nipples harden until they pressed against the fabric. Softly. Subtly. Just to accompany him, I told myself. Just that.

Lie. The temperature began to rise, and I knew it.

I leaned back against the chair and let my head fall back for a moment. The room was hot, or maybe it was me. The loose T-shirt brushed against my skin, and suddenly I became aware of every inch of fabric against my body. I could feel my panties getting wet without a hope of stopping it, that hot tug between my legs demanding my attention.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he asked.

And I told him. I described what was going through my head, how it turned me on to see him without really seeing all of him, how arousing it was to share something so intimate with someone I would never recognize on the street. I told him my pussy was getting wet watching him jerk off, that I’d been squeezing my thighs together for a while to calm the urge and it wasn’t working anymore. Every word I said aloud turned me on a little more, as if hearing myself was part of the game.

“Don’t stop talking,” he murmured. “Your voice is the best part of this. Keep telling me filthy things.”

I slipped my hand inside my panties without realizing the exact moment I did it. I was soaked. More than I expected, more than I wanted to admit in front of the camera. My fingers slid between my pussy lips and found my swollen clit, throbbing like a second heart. I bit my lip and began rubbing it in slow circles, letting the pleasure build gradually while he breathed harder and harder on the other side, keeping time with his hand on his cock.

“I want to see you,” he said. “Show me everything.”

I hesitated for a second. One single second. Then I pulled off my T-shirt in one motion, and my tits were bare in front of the camera, my nipples so hard they seemed to point toward the screen. I ran my palm over them, squeezing them between my fingers, and let out a short moan I couldn’t contain.

“Fuck,” I heard him say. “What nipples you have, gorgeous. Pinch them again.”

I obeyed him. I pinched them hard, twisting them until a lash of sensation shot straight down to my pussy. With my other hand I pulled my panties down to my ankles and left them hanging there, without quite taking them off, and spread my legs, resting my feet on the arms of the chair. I showed him everything. My open, wet, glistening lips, my swollen clit sticking out, the entrance to my pussy throbbing, begging for something inside it.

“Look at me carefully,” I said, surprised by my own voice. “Look how wet you’ve made me without touching me.”

“Put a finger inside,” he ordered, his voice growing raspier by the second. “Slowly. Let me see.”

I pushed one finger inside, slowly, and then another. I pulled them out gleaming, dripping, and lifted them toward the camera so he could see them clearly. Then I brought them to my mouth and sucked them, staring straight into the lens, imagining it was his cock I was swallowing.

“Holy fuck,” he moaned, and his hand sped up over his cock, up and down, the foreskin sliding over the purple head. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

I brought my fingers back down to my pussy, and this time I didn’t play around. I began masturbating for real, two fingers thrusting in and out, my thumb circling my clit, my legs spreading wider and wider. The wet sound came through the microphone clearly, an obscene squelch that seemed to drive him crazy.

“That’s it,” he said. “Just like that. Fuck yourself for me. Push both fingers all the way in.”

I pushed them all the way in. I curled them, searching for that spot inside me that makes me lose my head, and I found it. A long, high moan escaped me, and I felt my pussy tighten around my own fingers. His cock was glistening, the tip soaked with pre-cum running down his hand, and he kept pumping without stopping.

“I’m going to come,” I warned him, my voice broken. “I’m coming already.”

“Come,” he panted. “Come with me. Show me how you come.”

I came staring at a camera, listening to a faceless voice, with two fingers buried in my pussy and my thumb crushing my clit. The orgasm shook my entire body, my legs trembled, and a cry escaped me, filled with his invented name, that MrKane that sounded strange and mine at the same time. I felt my pussy contracting again and again around my fingers, expelling hot liquid that ran down the insides of my thighs to the edge of the chair.

And he came almost at the same time, releasing a long, hoarse moan as cum spurted in streams from his cock, white and thick, falling over his hand, his stomach, and the dark fabric of his lowered trousers. I watched him squeeze the tip to wring out every last drop, still moving his hand slowly, prolonging the pleasure.

We both stayed still, catching our breath. I was still sitting with my legs spread, my fingers still inside my soaked pussy, my cheek resting on my shoulder, laughing softly out of pure embarrassment and pure satisfaction at the same time. He had a hand full of semen and his cock was still swollen, throbbing between his fingers.

“You’re the first,” I told him without thinking.

“The first what?”

“The first for this. In a private session. To see me come like that. I don’t even know how we got here.”

I heard him laugh softly.

“Then I’m doubly glad,” he replied.

***

I’ll leave what happened in that private session here. I don’t need to tell you every last detail; what mattered wasn’t what he saw, but what I discovered. After so many years of running from webcams, after so many blind dates I hated, all I needed was simply to do it my way, when I wanted to and because I wanted to.

Whew, thank you, stranger, for that load. You were the first. I hope you read this story someday and recognize yourself in it, even though I’ll never know who you are.

It took me a while to fall asleep that night. Not because I was still horny, since that had already passed, but because of the new feeling of having crossed a line I’d spent years looking at from a distance. Sometimes the things that scare us most are the things we were waiting for without knowing it.

So now you know: I worked up the courage, and I don’t regret it one bit. There will be more streams, I suppose, even though I still have a thousand things to learn. And the next time someone asks me for a private session, maybe I won’t be caught quite so unprepared.

Although, between you and me, part of me hopes I will be, and that the next guy’s cock will be as thick as MrKane’s.

Until next time.