Webcam Videos free porn video

This story is the main entry? There are four more first chapters of stories following this tale that may be submitted in full later, individually.

WEBCAM VIDEOS

Chapter One? Modeling for the webcam

Inhaling a deep, deliberate breath she hesitates, glances toward the webcam above the computer, the red light blinking on.  Carefully positioning herself across the stool in front of the dark bed sheet pinned to the wall for a backdrop, the black leather hood covering her head melding to the contours of her face, she stares through the narrow eye slits at her image being displayed across the large screen high-def monitor.

Virtually naked, oiled, having freshly shaven from the neck down, her taut body glistens beneath the lights illuminating down from the ceiling.  Sensing the mask’s scruff lining tightening across her nervous smile, another deep breath and holding it, she catches her every movement from the monitor, watches herself as her torso arches forward, her stomach hollowing beneath her protruding ribcage with each breath.  Raising her hands above her head, bending her elbows, letting her arms stretch upwards, outwards, slowly bow back behind her head, she casually interlocks her fingers behind the mask as she finally takes another breath, to again hold it in as she focuses her image filling the monitor.

Curling her body even further outward toward the computer, forcing her firm breasts to harden even more, jaunt tightly outward as they spread toward her sides, the nubs of her thickening nipples jiggle to a standstill.  Another exhale, another deep breath, still eyeing her own every calculated motion, the movement of her knees, her thighs spreading apart, she hesitates, just briefly, almost teasingly.  Nibbling on her lower lip, again spreading her legs a little further apart as her butt cheeks flatten across the stool she exposes her vaginal area, the smooth, puffy folds of her labia spreading, scraping across the cloth covered surface as her knees point outward in opposite directions.  Seductively manipulating her shoulders to allow her breasts to gently sway, glide back and forth just enough for her nipples to jiggle, she tenses her arms, legs, stomach muscles while deeply inhaling and holding her breath in yet again.

       The full frontal view of herself spread-eagled on the monitor, squatting on the stool seems somehow surreal, her lithe body below the glistening black mask so slim and taut, yet so full busted, her symmetrical breasts standing upright as a matching pair of firm mounds seemingly almost too perfect to be natural.  Another few moments as she flexes her pec muscles, watching her perfectly centered nipples visibly twitch, she finally exhales, allows her fingers to seperate, her arms to slowly slide lower toward her sides as she keeps her chest thrust outward.  Allowing her fingertips to glide across her midsection, one hand to turn up across her ribcage, she cups a breast, lifts the supple titflesh.  Melding, stroking, stretching the firm mound to just beneath the mask’s chin, all the while playing to the camera, she curls, slips the tip of her tongue out of the narrow slit, flicks the nub of her nipple back and forth.  Sliding her other hand on down between her thighs, rotating a fingertip gently across her responding clit, she trembles, feels the stirring in the pit of her stomach, quietly moans.

       The timer blinking toward the bottom of the screen, pacing herself, guiding her stiffening finger provocatively between her spreading labia, scooting her hips from side to side on the stool, her dampened finger disappears from view.  Still pinching her nipple between thumb and fingernail with her other hand, softly moaning through the mask, she plays to the webcam ‘till she realizes there’s just under a minute left.

Again provocatively arching, sliding her hands behind her neck, parting her legs even wider, becoming virtually rigid in her almost spread-eagled position, she stares toward the monitor, smiles beneath the mask at the sight of the tribal tattoo circling her left arm, another toward the side of her left hip as she awaits the countdown to end.

       Time up, slowly standing, stepping toward the computer, flicking the switch off on the webcam, she slips the mask from her face, off above her head.  Another sheepish grin as she hits the replay button, watching the teasingly short video replayed, she plays with the keyboard keys, hesitates, nibbles across her lower lip while contemplating, finally taps ‘send’ on the keyboard.  Seeing the video sent, again her heart pounds as she tries to think, to make sure she can’t be recognized, her site somehow located.  Slowly shaking her head, she realizes what’s done, is done.

       Reaching for the salve on her dresser, a couples swabs, rubbing the black greasepaint from her bare flesh, scrubbing the tattoos away, again she has her doubts, glances toward the dresser mirror as she tosses the cotton balls into the waste basket.  Stepping toward her bed after retrieving her favorite sex toy from the dresser, sprawling across the covers, she lays back, thinking of the reaction to her escapade as she spreads her legs, closes her eyes, slides the vibrating toy with a single thrust deep inside her moist slit, replaying in her mind the circumstances that led her to perform for the webcam, how it will be received.

Chapter Two? The beginning? With the day leading up too?

       Friday night.  Baby sitting for her sister, the three year old taking a nap, after checking on her, roaming the hallway, seeing the blue glow from the computer’s ‘on’ light in her brother-in-law’s office, nothing better to do, she slides across his leather chair, flicks the monitor’s switch.  The computer already on, the screen instantly comes to life.  A few searches, glancing across a couple of the host sights, starting to click the computer off, she notices the sites along the bottom, sites not deleted from prior use.  Flicking one, another, yet another, she passes through the obvious men’s domains, sports, weather, more sports.  Again about to turn off the computer as she listens for any sounds from the child down the hall, she flicks onto the last site, his listing of personal favorites.

The domain names obviously adult oriented, surprised, curious, flicking to one, another, she’s incredulous at what’s popping across the screen.  Not just naked women, but bound, disciplined, even worse, much worse, mostly by muscular, half clothed men.  Not able to even imagine her sister allowing such obscene filth on their computer as she eyes one porn image after another, knowing her sister, there’s no way her husband would be allowed to view such sites.  Flicking back to his ‘favorite’s’ page, hearing the car pulling in the driveway, the automatic garage door being opened, she manipulates the keys, hits ‘send’ before turning the computer off as the downstairs door opens.

Spending less then a few minutes chatting, almost eager to get back to her apartment, riding home alone with him, her sister staying with her sleeping child, she senses his flirtations in the past, always with a smile, good natured, just maybe had more serious designs.  Small talk, this time trying to conceal her uneasiness, his peck across her cheek, the palm of his hand across her knee as he parks in front of her building, she can’t help noticing his glance toward her breasts as she slips out the passenger door, shuts it behind her.   Nervous to the point of struggling to get the key in her door, dead-bolting it behind her, going directly to her computer upstairs in her bedroom, shutting and locking that door, flicking the computer on, the seconds seem to take agonizingly longer as she impatiently waits.

       Finally able to run programs as the computer slowly comes to life, flicking the keys, she leans back on her seat as she sees his private page was downloaded, now appearing in front of her on the screen.  Heartbeat escalating, searching down the list, she finds his list of passwords for his sites.  Leaning closer to the computer, glancing around herself from one side of the room to the other, slowly shaking her head at the thought of somehow being watched from through her second story window, again she stares toward the screen, sees the downloads of naked women, the bondage, the humiliation, and the torture.  All victims being women, all good looking, at least she thinks to herself, he’s straight, not into kinky things with men, thank god.  Feeling a sense of embarrassment, yet strangely drawn toward the various, mostly forced poses, the further she enters the various sites, the more she can’t help noticing that more then a few of the models are similar in looks, actually eerily similar to her sister and herself.

       Several sites, all rather universal in their similar sadistic tastes, finally one jumps out above the rest, startling, one that seems to be from some type webcam download.  A view of a naked woman with only a black silk eye mask on facing the monitor, she seems to be hesitantly following instructions as she poses her naked body for the camera.  Somehow familiar, mesmeric, the woman’s appearance, even with the blindfold covering her eyes, could it be? her sister.  Just watching some of the way’s she’s willing to pose uninhibited, the way she’s displaying her naked body’s riveting, embarrassingly stimulating.

       Another short video download of the masked woman, the second one’s much harsher, brutally masochistically painful with nipple clamps, yet just as erotic in its own right with the treatment she’s actually imposing on herself.  The whole thing’s mesmerizing, intoxicating, almost like watching herself performing for the camera, could it possibly be her sister?  Hours turning to early morning as she reviews the short, second video over and over; she’s sure, yet somehow unbelieving who the masked woman is.  Finally ready for bed, eyes burning, exhausted as she clicks off the computer, reaching in the lower drawer of her dresser, rummaging for a couple metal hair clips, retrieving her favorite ‘sex-toy’, it’s time for bed as she lays across her backside, experiments clipping a pin deep across each nipple before spreading her legs, pleasuring herself with the vibrating instrument whirring deep inside her soaked orifice.  Feeling the burning sensations resonating through her nipples, thinking of the video in the darkness of her bedroom, she imagines what real clamps must feel like as her body begins responding, trembling, her womb stirring.

       Moaning, replaying the image of the webcam video over an over in her mind as the vibrator whirs, her nipples ach, swelling inside the flexing hairpins, her naked body twisting, contorting, finally spasms as an explosive orgasm rocks her, followed by a series of unexpected reoccurring ripples.  Rasping breathes, rolling on her side as she painfully slips the clips from her aching nipples one at a time, gripping the dildo with both clenched fists, glancing toward the computer; the thoughts continue to flow through her mind of the first video of the woman posing for the webcam.  Still feeling the lingering effects of her masturbation, she realizes the thought of posing, of displaying herself on a webcam could be exciting, intoxicating, but only if no one knew who she was, and maybe even, even if it was directed toward her brother-in-law.

       Allowing the vibrator to continue to gently whir, still snuggling in a semi-fetal position, thinking of the poses on the video, she closes her eyes, relaxes, thinks of how she could pose too, also how to conceal her identity while doing a video.  Fantasizing, feeling the steady tingling between her thighs, she cups her breasts, gently massages the flattened nipples ‘till falling asleep.

Awakening to the steady patter of raindrops across the windowsill, a damp bed sheet beneath her thighs, the motionless vibrator still burrowed deep inside her, she slowly rolls over, spreads her legs, removes the glistening plastic tube, drops it on the bed as she notices the clock on her radio, nearly noon.  A night spent with the thoughts of the videos, wondering what was a dream, what wasn’t; she glances toward the blank monitor.  Sliding out of bed, a few minutes with the computer, a short list of what she needs, the shower’s quick, the cab’s called.  She’s ready for the quick trip to an adult shop.

       A couple hours later, returning to her apartment, the package in hand, she glances around the room, figures out her plan.  Feeling almost obsessed, nervous yet excited, ripping the brown wrapping open, she feels the supple leather in one hand, the contrasting harshness of the metal in the other.  Thinking of the look on the clerk’s face, the almost lewd, knowing all stares as he rang the items up, his eyes roving as he obviously enjoyed her unabashed embarrassment; she lays the black full face mask on the dresser as she squeezes the Japanese clover clamps between a thumb and finger.

Chest pounding, nervously flicking on the computer from standby, going directly to the second video, she watches the screen as she slowly undresses from her damp clothing.  Following the lead of the blindfolded woman, now convinced it must be her sister, watching her allowing a clamp to squeeze shut across a nipple, raising one of her own clamps up across her own bare breast, she feels the cool metal against her areola, the tongs slipping across the already rock hard nipple as the other clamp sways across her stomach from the short silver chain.

       Sensing the pressure as she hesitantly releases the tension, feeling the metal press into the flattening nub, force it to swell, bulge between the cool steel, she grips her lower lip between her clenching teeth, takes a breath, releases the clamp.  ?Oomph!?  A slight grunt, the instant throbbing of her engorged nipple jiggling from the weight of the clamp dangling, being tugged by the connecting stretched chain, she senses her hips trembling as she reaches for the other swaying clamp.

       Hesitating, gently squeezing, removing the initial clamp from her throbbing breast, she lays the glistening chain on the dresser, picks up the leather hood.  Wondering what possessed her to buy the clamps; she makes a decision, flicks the first video back on the screen.  Practically knowing the routine by heart, sitting on the chair, mimicking the screen, she fondles herself, poses, feels the stirring deep inside, decides what she’s going to perform for the webcam.

       The bed sheet for the wall, a stool replacing the chair, centering the webcam, she’s ready as she watches her reflection on the screen.  Feeling more and more a kind of excitement, anticipating modeling naked giving her an unexpected rush, standing, she wonders if she can actually send the video when she’s done.  Time for a long, hot shower, a complete shaving from the neck down, a good massaging coat of body lotion after applying a couple temporary tattoos somewhere on her body to help with the black leather hood to conceal her identity, she feels she’ll be able to work up the nerve to go ahead with her idea. At least make the video for herself.

In a couple hours, her video will be done.

Chapter Three? Stepping up the stakes of posing for the webcam

The familiar leather hood, the grease paint tattoos, she positions the stool in front of the blue sheet covering the wall.  Setting the tray to her left, the implements neatly aligned, sparkling under the lighting, she nervously watches as the timer flicks the webcam on.  Sensing the anticipation, the tingling in her stomach, she begins her private showing.

The second video in two days, this time planned for a few more tense minutes, she glances toward her image dominating the monitor’s screen.  Slowly arching, scooting across the stool, allowing her glistening breasts to sway, jaunt outwards, the enticingly slow spreading of her legs until her waxed pubic mound glistens above her bare slit, she holds virtually motionless in her spread-eagled pose for a few seconds, still teasingly, posing for the webcam with a full frontal nude display, just as in the initial video.

Glancing across the tray through the mask’s narrow slits, keeping one hand behind her neck, she picks up the pair of Japanese clover clamps chained together.  Hardly believing what she’s about to do, she lets one clamp dangle down off her stomach as she presses the other clamp against her hardening nipple.  Starring toward the monitor, slipping her free hand from behind her neck, cupping her left breast, hoisting the firm flesh upwards, the thickening nipple poking out above her fingertips, she squeezes the clamp open, allows the nub of her nipple to slip between the spreading tongs.  Pressing, aligning, allowing the clamp to squeeze shut deep across the engorging nub, her naked body jerks, reflexively responding to the crisp pain, her image noticeably quivering on the screen.

Wondering how her sister, and it has to be her in the brother-in-law’s video, could bear to clamp her nipples, to leave them on for a video lasting over a half hour, she feels the pulsing of her own heartbeat resonating through her chest, the almost searing, burning pain of the metal harshly compressing the engorged nub.

A few moments of allowing the clamp to firmly seat, reversing hands, hesitantly fingering the other clamp swaying across her flexing navel at the end of the chain, cupping her right breast, sliding the opening clamp up across the nipple, aligning, releasing it’s jaws to borrow into that engorging nub, her body again noticeably shutters on the screen as she drops her clenching fists beside her hips, allows the clamps to tug at her stretching breasts, the connecting chain dangling between her painfully compressed nipples.

Stifling a groan, both breasts now pulsing with each heartbeat, she again bows forward as she slides her hands up behind her neck, interlocks her fingers behind the leather mask.  Again referencing her pose by focusing on the monitor, arching, spreading her hips across the stool, a deep breath and she assumes her minute or so of silent stillness.  Finally exhaling, glancing down, again slipping just a single hand from back behind her neck, fingering the chain between her breasts, tugging upwards, aligning, clamping the center links between her teeth as she cranes her neck forward, she assumes the position, interlocks both hands behind the mask , jerks her chin upwards, just as her sister’s pose.

?Ooomph!?  A suppressed moan, her breasts quivering, she stares toward the webcam.

Feeling the tenseness of the clamps painfully tugging at her nipples, another shallow grunt, slowly lifting her chin a little higher, the chain dragging upwards across both sides of the cheeks of the mask, she takes a breath, cranes her neck further back, pulls at her bulging breasts.  Able to watch the monitor, feeling the piercing, burning sensations resonating through both areolas, her breasts stretching higher as the engorged nipples force the clamp’s tongs to fluctuate, spring partially open, clamp shut, drag across the darkened nubs, she inhales, exhales, tugs, inhales, exhales, tugs again, now grunting with each forced breath as her fingers clasp together, fingernails digging into the backs of her hands.

The clamps forced to jaunt upright, the chain stretching, breasts bulging upwards, the searing pain explodes through her left breast as that clamp finally springs free, jerks, swings outward, smacks down across her bellybutton.  Another grunt, another jerk of her mouth, her clenching teeth gnawing on the chain as her right breast stretches up near her shoulder, a sharp twist of her head, another harsh jerk and twist, the second clamp finally tears away from the chaffed nipple, flicks up across her shoulder.

?Ooomph!... Aaaggghhh!?

Her grunts muffled by the mask’s narrow slit, the chain still clenched between her teeth, she rasps for breath, struggles to hold her pose as she again focuses on the monitor, the image of her naked body glistening, trembling as her breasts sway to a standstill.  A deep breath, another, and another, the pain’s excruciating, piercing as she glances down at her reddened, chaffed nipples, her areolas turning a light purplish shade, pulsing with each heartbeat.

Letting the chain drop from her lips, the clamps clanking across the stool, onto the floor, another deep breath, closing her eyes, feeling the dampness spreading across the inside of the mask from her welling eyes, she blinks, glances toward the timer at the lower corner of the screen, holds her pose for the remaining minute and an half.

The cam clicking off, dropping her hands, cupping her aching breasts, the nipples too tender to massage, to even touch, she slips the mask off, wipes her eyes, tosses the clamps and chain back on the tray.  More lotion, cotton swabs, the tattoos hastily scrubbed away, again sitting on the stool, playing back the video, she tries to cup her breasts but senses the raw pain again as she glances toward the monitor, still her nipples too sensitive to touch as she watches the replay of them being stretched, torn by the metal clamps.

Allowing her arms to drop down toward her sides, rest across her hips as she spreads her legs, her hands reflexively slipping between her thighs, she can’t help focusing on her naked image flashing across the screen.  The surprising dampness spreading across her fingertips as her fingers press into the moist slit, her bodily fluids oozing, drips across the stool as she slowly rocks back and forth, plunges her fingers in just a little deeper.  Feeling the stimulating sensations deep inside, the tingling, the churning in her womb as fingers from both her hands begin to burrow, pump into her stretching orifice as she watches the sparkling chrome clamps on the monitor ripping at her stretching nipples, she feels her body trembling, listens to the sounds of her own rasping breaths, senses the rumbling of an approaching orgasm pulsing, spurting, then finally exploding just as the replay on the monitor shows the clamps tearing away from her naked breasts.  Struggling to remain balanced on the stool, twisting back and forth as her thighs spread further apart, her breasts bouncing, swaying, smacking together, she arches forward, exhausted.

Overwhelmed from the reenacting of the second video, again the brief few steps to the bed, laying across on her back, gingerly cupping her sore breasts, she thinks of the new video as she curls up, closes her eyes, contemplates sending it to her brother-in-law’s computer.  Slowly stepping back to the computer, almost reflexively connecting to his site, hitting the send button, she shuffles back to the bed, lays down, rocks herself to sleep, to more disconnected dreams of what she’s becoming addicted to doing to herself.

Again daylight.  Even more rain tapping across her window, she awakens, rolls on her back.  Drawn toward her computer, sliding out of bed and squatting on the stool naked, in moments she again gains excess to his site.  Scanning to the webcam section, her pulse picks up a beat as she notices there are three new additions to the original pair.  Opening the newer files, sure enough the first two are of her, almost like the original two, both bodies so similar being abused in the same ways.

       Flipping to the fifth entry, again it’s the original ‘model’ posing.  Watching, shaking her head in disbelief, she stares at the sight of the woman being suspended by her breasts, twisting, slowly turning in front of the webcam.  Crude, yet again riveting, unable to take her eyes from the monitor, her heart pounding in her chest she notices the hand scrawled message on the cardboard surface partially concealed from view.  Finally able to read the short message behind the swaying body, she cups her own breasts, squeezes, massages the firm mounds as the video continues on, and on.

       Knowing the depth of torment she felt with the clamps, the sight of the ropes embedded so deeply into those breasts, the way they’re stretching upwards from the revolving body, she can’t imagine the pain involved in the latest video.  Still caressing her own breasts, seeing tears for the first time dripping from the model’s cheeks, the sense of her own frustration, of her own humiliations’ shared with a warped anticipation of what it must feel like, how long she could handle being suspended by her own breasts, to video it, to let someone else see it afterwards.  Breathing heavy, stomach churning, the sense of the dampness between her thighs, she realizes she’s going to need to find a way to hang a rope from her ceiling before evening.

Chapter Four

Balancing on the stool, staring toward the cam camera as the final seconds tick down, she inhales a deep breath.  Cautiously lifting a knee, even more vigilant with the other as she tiptoes, nervously lifts her ankle upwards, she finds herself slowly rotating in mid air, the pair of ropes going from lax to taut stretching down from the ceiling fan, creaking as they burrow deeper into the bases of her contorting breasts.  The pain somehow even much harsher then expected, her head tilting back as her chest arches toward the ceiling, the black mask concealing the tears almost instantaneously forming from her welling eyes, she clenches her fists behind her back, fingernails curling, digging into her palms as she nibbles at her lower lip.

       Catching a glance of the monitor as she ever so slowly twirls in a looping circle, her naked body suspended above the floor by her breasts, her image on the screen from the thighs upward, she struggles not to try to locate the stool again with her feet, to end this painful venture prematurely.  Grunting to herself, having tightly bound her breasts, tugged, lifted on the looping ropes with her hands just as an experiment earlier in the day, the actuality of feeling the harsh consequence of actually being suspended by her breasts for this short broadcast is almost overwhelming.

       Turning to her calculated breathing for some sort of relief, a deep breath, holding it, trying to remain motionless with her knees bent, her toes nearly touching her thighs, her naked body slowly arching to a virtual standstill facing the monitor, she squints through the mask’s slits, the ropes twisting just in front of her face, her already purplish breasts engorged, swollen to practically twice their normal size.  Again the digital timer toward the lower corner of the screen blinking, thankfully a shortened setting for performing just a hopefully shocking tease, she focuses on the countdown, for the cam to shut down on its own as she senses the ropes tightening with every agonizing second ticking by.

       Imagining even trying to mimic the newest video, to hang by her breasts for anywhere near the time that the other model, possibly, probably her sister has, she again tightly clasps her fingers together, white knuckled, behind her back, willing herself not to grab the ropes, to stop the webcam.  Slowly swaying back and forth, the ropes creaking, breasts contorting into purplish mounds, she feels the dampness, wetness across her covered cheeks.  Knees continuing to bend, her feet pressing, scrapping across the rear of her thighs, trembling, grunting for breath, again and again, she glances toward the monitor, struggles to finish as the seconds seem to take minutes, minutes to hours.

       At last, the sound of the cam clicking off, letting her feet drop, shuffle to find the stool as she reaches up, frantically grips the ropes; she finally locates the wooden surface with her twitching toes.  Untying, hesitantly unwrapping her bluish breasts one at a time, the excruciating pain tearing through the aching flesh as blood again flows through her chest, the relief’s just as overwhelming as the aches finally slowly fade.  Stepping from the stool, cupping, massaging her discolored globular mounds, again she senses the urge to playback the brief video, to watch her self inflicted torture before sending it. 

End Part One