Filthy Dirty Normal, Volume 2 Read online

  Filthy Dirty Normal Volume 2

  Lexi Maxxwell

  EROS | A division of Sterling & Stone

  Contents

  Title Page

  Miranda's Webcam Show

  Dorm Room Seduction

  Sarah's Surprising Turn-On

  About the Author

  © 2017 Lexi Maxxwell. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends about it, to help us spread the word.

  For a free ebook and news about upcoming releases, please visit leximaxxwell.com.

  Miranda's Webcam Show

  “No,” said Miranda. “No fucking way.”

  “Come on,” said Chuck. “It’ll be fun.”

  “Fun? Fun is having my tits all over the internet? Fun is having people stop me while I’m out and about, telling me they like the trim of my pubes?”

  “What kind of people do you hang out with?”

  “Forget it. I’ve got some drinks in me, but I’m not that drunk. I knew I should have stayed down in the bar.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  Miranda ran both of her hands down her front, pushing the wrinkles out of her clubbing outfit. This was almost supposed to be a transaction. She needed a release, and Chuck was her go-to guy. And they really should be quick about it, because she’d realized after getting up into the apartment that she hadn’t told Kaylee where she was going, and Kaylee didn’t really know the other girls that well.

  “I’ve got a vibrator at home,” said Miranda. “It doesn’t try and get me to perform in front of its webcam. I’d even go so far as to say that my vibrator doesn’t even have a webcam.”

  “Is that all I am, a vibrator substitute?”

  “Not usually, but if this is how you’re going to be….”

  “Look,” he said. “I know you’re fun, so if you’re worried about being recognized? Here … wear that over there.”

  “So I reject your ‘sex on the internet’ idea, and you counteroffer by asking me to put a bag over my head?”

  “Not the bag. Not the Obama mask either, though I’ll admit that would really make me hawwwwwwt….”

  “See you, Chuck. Have fun with your internet-famous dick.” She picked up her purse and turned toward the door. The music was loud below, in the bar.

  He jumped to his feet and scrambled across the room past her. He picked up a small, feathered Mardi Gras mask that his Obama mask had been wearing.

  “This,” said Chuck.

  “So now I’m fucking you on a webcam while wearing a feathery mask?”

  Chuck shrugged. “Look, we don’t have to. Really, we don’t. I just remembered that you like to have fun, and I thought this might be fun. Remember that time we rubbed each other off on that balcony? Or that time at the pool?”

  Miranda sighed. Chuck was sweet. He was. They even had a handful of years behind them, which had to be the most relationship-y booty call partnership ever. She’d never precisely been into Chuck and Chuck was never really into anyone, but their bodies fit together well, and like she said, it beat a vibrator.

  “I’m not going to try to talk you into it,” said Chuck. “It’s not that important to me. We can just … you know, do our thing. I just thought you might want to be a little nutty, for kicks.”

  She looked over at the computer with the golf-ball-sized camera sitting on top of the monitor. She did like to keep things fresh, and if she was wearing a mask....

  “It’s a little weird.”

  “What’s weird about a bunch of basement nerds jerking off while watching you?”

  She laughed. She twirled the mask on her finger. “Okay,” she said with a smile. “But if we’re going to do this, let’s not do it on your weirdo cam site. Send the invites—” a wicked smile crossed her lips “—to the campus directory.”

  Chuck barked laughter. It was absurd and wrong and stupid, so of course he thought it was hilarious.

  “Including the faculty,” she giggled. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

  “We’d get kicked out,” he said.

  “Nobody would know who it was,” she said. “Maybe it’d even start a campus sensation. I could show it to Kaylee and pretend to be offended.”

  “That roommate of yours? She wouldn’t watch it, would she?”

  Miranda chuckled. “She’s sweet. But she’s not exactly wild and crazy.”

  Chuck laughed. “Okay.” And then, working fast before Miranda could change her mind, he began clicking around on the computer, sending emails to groups and playing with the webcam. Then finally he said, “Ready?”

  She put the mask on.

  Chuck pulled the Obama mask over his own face and said, “Can we put on an X-rated webcam show? Yes we can.”

  Miranda snorted. “Dork.”

  Chuck rotated the webcam toward Miranda. She was glad she looked cute today, even though nobody would know it was her. She wasn’t a pixie, but that’s what guys seemed to like most about her. She had roundness where roundness looked best. She had big, full breasts; when she wore tight tops, she had great cleavage. Places on her body that were supposed to seem deep and inviting seemed deeper and more inviting.

  And besides, she’d been particularly happy with the way she’d turned out from the neck up today. She had the bleached, tanned look of a surfer girl, and most of that would show through even with the identity-concealing mask. “Hot surfer girl” should play well on the internet.

  “Okay. It’s on,” said Chuck from behind the camera. “And look! Two viewers already. Some seriously sad folks out there, waiting by their email for webcam invites on a Saturday night.”

  Miranda waved at the camera. She suddenly realized that she was a little drunker than she’d thought, which was probably why she was agreeing to this. She waved at the camera and said, “Hi, viewers!”

  Yes, she was a little drunk. Just drunk enough to lower her guard and make this seem fun, but not so drunk that she thought she’d regret what she did here later on.

  “Give us a spin,” said Chuck.

  Miranda revolved on the spot, her hands out.

  “Hot,” he said.

  Then he whispered to the microphone on the webcam. “Folks, this girl is a little drunk and a lot horny. She might be willing to take some of her clothes off.”

  In front of the webcam, Miranda moved one arm across her chest and covered her crotch with the other. Demurely, she said, “No way. I’d never do that.”

  “C’mooooon.”

  “Well … okay. But only if they insist,” she said, now twirling a finger in her wavy blonde hair.

  From where she was standing, she could see something happen on the screen of the computer. The viewers — the campus, she thought with a terrible thrill — were weighing in on the chat window.

  “We’re up to fifteen viewers!” said Chuck. “Wow, people will click any link. I need to start working on that computer virus.”

  Miranda watched the chat messages arrive. She was starting to feel less silly and playful, and was moving toward a strange combination of nervous and excited. More nervous, but that could change at any time.

  “Nobody wants to see it,” she said, putting a finger to her chin, pouting. “I’m going to go back to studying. Like a good girl.” She suddenly wished she hadn’t cared about being recognized so that she could’ve worn glasses. And put her hair in pigtails.<
br />
  “Wait! One person is saying he might be interested in seeing you with less clothes on. And another. And another…. Hey, all of them say it. Except for one person who commented on the poster behind you.”

  Miranda was finding her groove. The way people had responded so fast was kind of a turn on. And here she was, holding all the cards. She could make them beg.

  “Oh, I changed my mind again. I really don’t think I could do that,” she said. A hand came to her mouth.

  “Sure you could,” said Chuck, staying behind the camera. “Look. They’re promising not to tell or show anyone.”

  As if on cue, more lines of chat scrolled down the screen.

  “Oh, okay,” she said reluctantly. “If it’s just for us.” She turned around, her back to the camera. Almost as if she were talking to herself, she said, “I’ve never done anything like this before.” Then the webcam watched as her tanned back appeared, broken by the blue straps of a bra.

  She turned around, her hands over the cups of her bra, her cleavage prominent.

  “Put your hands down,” said Chuck.

  Miranda did.

  “Neurocar234 says you look hot,” said Chuck, reading the screen.

  Miranda pretended to blush, turning her head. “Me?”

  He was still reading the screen. “They want you to take off the bra, too,” he reported.

  “Oh, I could never do that.”

  “Is it because you can’t reach? Because I can help.”

  Miranda gave a giggle. “No, silly. I can’t do it because it’s so … naughty.” She was laying it on thick, but Chuck had been right … she was having fun.

  Chuck looked back at the computer screen, being careful to stay out of the shot. “Someone here says he’s your biology professor,” he said. “He says he’ll give you an A if you take it off.”

  “That’s not my biology professor,” she said. Too much of the real Miranda leaking through. She rethought, then tried again in a more innocent voice. “I mean, can he prove it?”

  A few seconds passed. Then Chuck read again.

  “He says his name is Mr. Berringer. He has white hair.”

  That was true, actually. She was taking biology, and Mr. Berringer had white hair. That meant that whoever was on the other end of that chat was either taking biology here or at least knew about Berringer. It might even be someone in her class. Maybe one of those three cute guys who played lacrosse and didn’t care at all about the lessons so long as they received passing grades. The thought gave her a chill.

  “Okay,” she said. “If I can have the A.” She reached behind her back and unclasped the bra, which she then tossed aside.

  An obvious and delightful thought occurred to her: Your tits are exposed to all of these people.

  The idea didn’t shame her, as she’d thought it might. All of those people, staring at their screens, waiting for her to grant their requests — requests which she was free to grant or deny. It made her feel powerful, not out of control or drunk at all.

  “Now your European History teacher is saying that he’ll give you an A if you take the rest off,” Chuck reported.

  “But I’m not taking European History,” she said, feigning confusion.

  “Sorry, he’s correcting himself. He says … he was thinking of a colleague. He’s your English prof.”

  “But my English prof is a woman,” she said.

  “Okay, she’s your English prof.”

  “Why would a woman want to see me without any clothes?” She wished she wasn’t wearing the mask so she could bat her eyelashes for the camera. So much of this role should be face acting.

  “I’ve heard some women like women.” Chuck lowered his voice. “Some women even do stuff with other women.”

  “Oh, gosh,” said Miranda.

  Yes, she was playing up the innocence angle a bit much. But if the chat stream was any indication, the crowd watching didn’t mind. “How many people are watching this?”

  Chuck peered at the screen. “Holy … one hundred twenty-two.”

  Miranda gave a genuine start. This was getting out of hand. Or, another way of looking at it was that she now held the undivided attention of one hundred and twenty-two people rather than just fifteen. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it to herself, that was fucking hot.

  She turned back around, lowered her skirt to the ground, and stepped out of it. Then she kicked off her shoes. When she again turned to face the camera, her hands back in place, covering her private areas, the only stitch of clothing between her and all these people was a pair of light blue panties with a flower at the waistband.

  Chuck was still watching the chat. He said, “She says to drop your panties too.”

  “No, I can’t do that.”

  Chuck waited for the so-called English prof to respond.

  “She says that if you don’t take off your panties and show her what’s underneath, you’ll fail English class.”

  Miranda faux-gasped. “I can’t fail English! What will my parents say?”

  “She says that’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

  “I can’t have….” She stopped, apparently too flummoxed to continue.

  “Tell me,” said Chuck, playing the good cop.

  Miranda whispered to him, loud enough for the camera to hear. “I can’t have one hundred and twenty-two people seeing my —” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “— my flower.”

  “I understand,” said Chuck. “You shouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. We’ll just shut this down and you can make it up in summer school, hopefully with a different professor.” He moved his hand above the keyboard, in the shot so the camera could see.

  The chat window exploded into new lines of text. All those people, so eager to see my pussy, she thought.

  “Wait!” said Miranda.

  Chuck pulled his hand back.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She grabbed the waistband of the light blue panties and pulled them down her shapely legs and to the floor. She bent at the waist to do it so that the camera would get a nice view of her breasts hanging down, shaking slightly. But then she realized that she should have done this in another, much more dramatic way.

  She hadn’t shown much yet, because her crotch was buried in shadow and hiding behind her swinging breasts. So she grabbed the panties and yanked them back up and on. Then she gave the camera a demure look, as best as she could manage with the parts of her face that were still visible around the mask.

  “I’m shy,” she said. “Nobody but me and my doctor has seen this before.”

  Behind the computer, Chuck held in a laugh.

  Miranda turned around, her back to the camera with her legs planted three or four inches apart. “I need to take them off with my back to the camera so that you can’t see anything. I’m sorry. I just need a moment.”

  This time, she bent forward at the waist exactly as before as she slid her panties down, but now she was doing it with her ass pointed at the camera. Which, of course, gave the camera a much, much better view given that her feet were a few inches apart.

  She stood back up and began to turn around.

  “Hands at your sides,” said Chuck.

  Her hands fell out of their protective positions and she came full circle. She didn’t have any hair below at all — the “trim of my pubes” comment earlier having been a bit understated — and knew that even from a front-on shot, the camera would be able to see the small slit rising from between her legs.

  Her heart was beating fast. It wasn’t true, of course, that only her doctor had seen what she was now showing to the webcam, but it was true that only her doctor and her boyfriends had. And now here she was, showing her most private of areas to a bunch of people she didn’t even know.

  The chat was streaming by faster than she could count the lines. She couldn’t make out what was being said, but could tell that there were a lot of exclamation points an
d words written all in caps.

  “I feel so exposed,” she said to Chuck.

  “Well, if it helps, you’re getting a good reaction,” said Chuck. She looked down and saw that a huge bulge had formed in his pants. So that was one more person who was dying to see what she’d do next.

  “Am I done?” she said.

  “A lot of people are asking you to touch yourself,” said Chuck, reading the screen.

  She gasped.

  “Tell me … Susie,” he said with a sideways smile. “How do you feel, other than exposed?”

  “Tingly.”

  “Tingly how?”

  “I don’t know. Like I’m shaking, in a good way. And warm.”

  “Warm and tingly where?”

  She waved her hand in vague circles around her crotch. “Here.”

  “Where specifically?”

  “You know,” she said. Then she whispered, “Inside.”

  “Show us. With your finger.”

  She slid a finger between her legs — not inside of herself, but resting along the tops of the lips, wedged between her legs. She gave a moan. It wasn’t faked. Nor had been her descriptions of feeling tingly, warm, or shaky.

  “How does that feel?”

  “Good.”

  He pushed the wheeled computer chair toward her. “Have a seat.”

  She sat in the chair, her legs together and to the side. It was a strange way to sit — hiding things when your tits were out in plain sight. And they were great tits, she knew.

  “Now open your legs,” he said.

  She paused before responding. After a moment, the chat stream started to move. “I can’t. That’s private.”

  “But you’ve already done it.”

  The chat stream started to move faster. Seeing it made her feel full and warm between her legs. Such power she held. She decided to test it.

  “I think we should be done.” She said it in her own voice, her Miranda-voice. She said it so seriously that Chuck’s face changed and his eyebrows drew together.

  “Seriously?” he said.

  “Seriously.” Again with the Miranda voice — all business.