More of this. If you've been following and feel the need to catch-up, read part 9 here. Or, from the beginning, here.
Big boning bonanza was still playing as Celia made her way back to her room. There was nothing particularly sexy about what was playing - Never Comes The Day by the Moody Blues - but that entire album did hold some special memories.
She had left her laptop open on the bed. The light from the screen was the only thing illuminating the room other than her lava lamp. She'd had the lamp since she was seven. Her sister had received the same one but in bright green for Christmas. They'd opened them at the same time and immediately went to plug them in. Turns out they take a long time to actually do the blobby-fun-thing. Both of them had been a little disappointed. Although, after, when they had allowed them to warm up sufficiently, they'd been enchanted by the slow undulations of colour. So, it now stood proudly on her desk, its purple blobs casting weird shadows upon the single bed that occupied most of the space in the tiny room.
It was a shame that her bedroom had become her workspace. There was a time when she felt safe surrounded by all her trinkets. The photos blu-tacked onto her wardrobe, the silly little lights she had placed around her curtain rails, the multiple cushions in which she had made a nest. Those things that she had taken time over to decorate her space now seemed kinda... sullied.
The photos of family and friends staring at her. The pillows which were now used to prop her up offered all the angles and opportunities to hump. Celia sighed. Even the lava lamp had not come out unscathed.
Not that the pillows hadn't suffered enough at her own sweet expense. It was just that now she felt she was always performing. The omnipresent beady eye of the webcam had made it. Different. If her moans weren't loud enough or long enough or if her body wasn't contorted at just the right angle she felt like she was doing something wrong. It was frustrating. Particularly when she was never getting off on the job anyway.
Celia opened the site. Damian still hadn't messaged. Her legs bounced. Instead, she typed out a message to the Instagram guy. There were always other options.
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Read part 11 here.
