Work From Home

Content warning: This story contains graphic descriptions and mentions of adult topics.

Author's note: Sometimes I need to write stuff. It's not always beautiful; at times what I write is ugly. This is probably my ugliest one so far.

As every normal workday, I got up early in the morning, somewhere around 4:00 AM. I did not have to be up at any specific time and could have chosen to remain in bed, had I wanted to. Today, I decided to get up and get some of that dough.

I made my way into my personal office, cracked the blinds open with my fingers, and glanced outside by the window. It was still dark outside, and only the light coming from the parking’s few lampposts dimly lit the surroundings.

We were in the middle of winter, and the sun was not up yet. Even by looking at the horizon, all I could see was a dark, gray sky.

As I sipped on my daily coffee, I saw some snowflakes falling on the ground. Even when hell froze over I enjoyed a tall glass of cold brew, mostly due to its intense flavor, and its bitterness. It was guaranteed to wake me up, no matter what. I would rather have my morning tequila, although I knew I would be having it in a few hours from now.

I took no pleasure in my work, as I did it more because of necessity than a need. I had to interact with clients that ranged from being nice to über asshole. Some of them were rather indifferent and I wondered why they even bothered reaching out to me. Some others were openly insistent on obtaining what they wanted. There were minors whom I had to remove, and couples who were way too friendly. Some of these people even required a restraining order.

Then again, work is work.

My parents always told me, “if you have a passion, do not make a profession out of it. Else, you will end up hating your passion and will be left with nothing.”

I sat down in front of my workstation and simultaneously logged in on a series of adult websites and exchange platforms. I had several windows opened in front of me, their contents spread all over my screens. I had various webcams surrounding my workspace, and each of them served a purpose and offered a specific view.

One of the cameras captured a global sight of me from the side, going all the way down from my feet up to my hair. Another one focused exclusively on my breasts, catching a sight midway between front and side views. A third camera was positioned in front of me in a way to get my chest and upwards, giving the impression of a mugshot. The fourth camera loomed from above my head, offering a top view of my tits. Finally, the last one was located under my desk, pointing directly at my skirt and my panties. People loved the concept of upskirt voyeurism.

For an example of how much this was something sought after, if you googled the term upskirt, you got over 2 billion results:

I took another sip of my coffee and looked around. The cat lay next to me, on the couch. He was asleep, resting on his back, his four paws in the air. Despite all the different camera angles, no one could see I had a cat. Nor could they see what my small office looked like. The whole room was about 8' by 10'. Five feet behind me was a wall, and I installed a retractable room divider for more intimacy between myself and the door. The blinds were also closed, so no one passing by could see what I was doing. Not that there were many passers-by in the area… I lived in a small transbian commune, in a podunk village, located in the White Mountains.

I relaxed to the sound of my cat’s slow and mesmerizing purr. All was quiet. The calm before the storm.

And then, it happened… The first message popped up on my screen. I had the following exchange:

User: Hi 😊

User: My name is Steve and I like trannies

Me: Cool.

Me, off the chat, being careful not to be caught doing my massive eye roll: Here we go. Again.

Messages started pouring in. I looked at the time, it was only 4:30 AM. This meant in some parts of the world, people were now on their lunch break. A lot of them were reaching out simultaneously. They all wanted one thing. And I was going to offer it to them… if they paid the price.

I was bored and unimpressed by all those messages. They very often all began the same way, it was as if people did not know how to communicate. Or maybe they were too shy to interact. Back in the days, such work took place in strip clubs, and people were hesitant to go inside, for whichever reason. Now, at least they had the intimacy of their device.

Most of them had weird nicknames, too. BigDick420, SeX69, 8inchesNthick… I bet they all thought they were clever.

One of the messages I received read as follows: You made me question my sexuality.

Like what the fuck, dude. I’m a woman. One with a dick, yes. A woman, nonetheless.

Despite receiving that type of message often enough, I had to keep them entertained.

I openly mentioned on my profile that I was a tranny, which was crude slang describing a transgender individual. In the world of sex work, these terms were common. Respect is something that did not exist, sadly.

You also witnessed little respect from customers towards sex workers. After all, they were all there to masturbate, rub one off, fap, get off, cum a load, jizz, whatever you want to name it. Some of them were more creative than others about how they did it. I would often get a description of what they did, while at other times I was sent a pic of their junk, asking me if I enjoyed what I saw and if I had fun and if I came. More eye rolls.

Undoubtedly, these pics were sent to me without my consent. I should not be surprised, those guys thought they owned you the moment they spent a fiver.

I received more messages, from other users. One of them asked me, “do you trade pics,” to which I responded, “I am shy, sorry.” This was the truth. I did not even use a real picture as a profile picture. I mean, I could have used a picture of my girl dick, my boobs, or something else that was kinky. Instead, I used an anime cat girl image. And they still thought it was sexy. Go figure.

I would then add, “you can subscribe to a monthly plan if you want to see all my new and past photoshoots.” then, crickets. People did not always want to pay.

Often enough, I received messages from people asking me, “is Rubiss your real name?” Yes, yes it was. I told them no, though. I said it was my artist’s name. Yes, I considered myself an artist, an entertainer. This job was no different than a street entertainer.

This one conversation was a bit more interesting. He told me he was working from home, although he was having issues working, mostly because he was a bit distracted. I asked him why, and he responded, “sex can distract.” Of course, it could and it did. He also asked what else I did for a living, in my free time. I was surprised, rarely did I ever get that kind of interaction. Normally, it was all about “spread your legs, play with your dick.” I told him I wrote stuff, short stories, articles for news outlets.

That sure was the naked truth. I wrote stuff and self-published it. Between my various performing acts and my writing, I cleared roughly $20,000 a month. A large chunk of my net income went into cryptocurrencies, which were unregulated digital currencies with high volatility. A tweet by one of the world’s billionaires could send a cryptocurrency spiraling down in the time to say “cat in the hat”… Despite this, the reward was well worth it.

Some described cryptocurrencies as the equivalent of Mary Kay for guys.

It would not be long until I finally retired on all of my earnings. I was 35 and I had done this kind of work most of my adult life.

Earning that money did not mean I only had to work a little and I was done. No. There was research that had to be done into finding appropriate boudoir photoshoots, being on the lookout for new and original clothing, new accessories to try, and so on. These things required proper investments, as I wanted to keep my audience captivated, and coming back for more.

Some of the investments I had to do were also about new computers, cameras, security hardware, alarm systems, even weapons & ammo were included in the lot. It was not uncommon for some people to attempt to locate where I lived. They thought having a private conversation for which they paid for entitled them to a night of sex with me. Some even attempted to kidnap me in the past. I lost count of how many times I moved because of this.

I was juggling through a dozen private conversations, in addition to the lobby. I was two hours into my schedule, and I attempted to respond to everyone in a decent timeframe.

This was in addition to the other conversations I had going on at the same time, elsewhere. I got into random talks with friends and acquaintances. Some of them were about current games we were playing, some were about the number of proteins found in a chickpea serving. Then I shifted my attention back to my paying customers, where I was being sent dick pics, to which I had to find ways to describe my appreciation for receiving them.

The pictures were all taken the same way, the guys all had the same facial expression, the same pose. For what they complained about girls doing duck faces, guys had that pose in response. When they sent their pictures, they thought it was god’s greatest gift to me. Truth is, this one looked like an eggplant, that one like a deformed mushroom. Oh my god,… this one here looked like calamari. An erect dick was not that appealing.

Unless we talked about girl dick. That was the best kind out there.

My profile description stated I was a tranny and looking for a M2F (male to female) transgender individual. I could have said trans woman, which is the proper term, yet people would not have understood. When they surfed adult websites, people called on their reptilian brain to do all the thinking.

If anything, I knew I was not going to interact with another transgender individual on this platform. The only exception to the rule was when talking to an egg. We could tell when we spoke to one. An egg is a transgender individual still stuck in their shell, waiting to crack it, and then become who they were meant to be in the first place.

The other trans girls and I had our discussions on other platforms, such as Instagram and Discord. This here was all about the show, the performance, captivating the audience, letting them desire something they could not have. And the more I told them what I offered is something that was not made for them, the more they wanted to have it.

On one side, trans women were seen as the devil’s spawn, on the other side we were seen as sex trophies. We tried our best to survive in this world where half the population wanted us dead. Cisgender folks saw us as a curiosity, a bit like republicans saw gay people: It was always ok to suck dick and get your ass wrecked in private, yet it was never to become public knowledge. Numerous politicians had their careers blown to bits because they were insecure about their sexuality.

In my case, I also conversed with people from wider horizons, as I covered chats both in French and in English. While I was having a conversation in English with a guy about what he would do to a tranny, should he get to fuck one, I held a more philosophical conversation in French with a guy that told me “sex is hard to resist to,” to which I replied, “sometimes cheese is better than sex.” He then said, “I can watch porno while eating cheese. I can also eat cheese while fucking.”

Oh, touché.

In the meanwhile, this guy told me that he was meeting with a lot of people on the platform, and all went well for him, because “Covid-19 did not exist,” as he claimed. I wondered if I should have asked him if he believed HIV did not exist. You know, backward mentality much. And I caved in. Too bad, I was asking him now.

Well, rest in peace, mate… I told him, “Covid-19 does not exist? Dude, I spent several months sick because of this bitch ass virus. And you are now telling me that HIV/AIDS did not exist, and we did not need to wear a shield while fucking?”

Granted, I loved going bareback. Although I only did it with trusted individuals. The feeling of having a hard cock, going back and forth inside my ass, all while having my hair pulled back, and my tits being groped, that was pure pleasure.

I was not going to tell him any of that. I blocked the user instead. I was not going to lose my time on him. This type of individual was the same as those complaining about not getting many pictures for a monthly fee. They paid the minimum, $5, and then they complained because they only obtained 150 photos. They got more bang for their buck than when they bought a porn magazine.

In my side conversations, I had a paying customer, a yee-haw bible-belt cowboy. He confessed he never fucked a tranny before, and he very much wanted to do so. I asked him what he would like to do to one when that opportunity would happen. I asked him several questions, yet I tried to keep it short with him, as his answers were also noticeably short, barely a few words each. His answer lacked imagination: “I want to fuck her hard in the ass.”

Sure thing, Mr. Cowboy. I reminded him he could do that with another girl, or even with a guy. I also suggested that he could suck her off, she could fuck him, she could also ride his dick while he bites on her nipples, lick some whipped cream off her tits, you know, be creative… no response.

I believed this man was either inexperienced or extremely insecure about his sexuality.

Then, I continued to talk with Mr. Philosophy. It was interesting because while we talked about sex, we also joked about some of that stuff. We were now talking about glory holes and how you never knew on which dick you would fall on… Mr. Philosophy was very generous with me, sending me several tips. I guess now was the right time to drop in some more personal information about me, more specifically about the length of my dick, its girth, if I was circumcised, that kind of stuff.

I looked at another window I had opened on my station and saw I received several messages from a new user! And… they’re in the spam folder! I rejoiced because I knew I would see something really out of the ordinary.

That was sarcasm, in case you did not know.

Those messages were a few videos this user sent of himself. He seemed overly attached to his dick… He tied up the foreskin of his dick like a bag using a little rope and moved it around like it was a catfishing pole. I will be honest, it was ugly as fuck. I preferred dicks that were cut. Heck, my girldick was cut and I liked it.

He then asked me if I had planned on sharing this video with my friends, on Twitter and Instagram. Hell no, I refused to even reply to him. The videos got A+ for originality, and he got an F for effort.

I looked back at the other conversation I was having and saw the time. It was almost time for my break, time to wake up my partner. I must say, I was getting aroused by all these talks. I was having a natural boner, one I did not have to force. It was one of those things guys really enjoyed seeing.

I did not know yet how I would take care of it. The thing was, I could not take care of it now, as I did not want to lose interest in having those conversations. It was all fun and games until you came… Some days were better than others.

I finally went to wake my partner up. She started getting ready for her work schedule at that time. Since this was a commune, we lived with several other partners each. We all worked from home, and my partners were supportive of what I did for a living.

We were sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a coffee, asking how each other was doing. She was still sleepy and had a headache that required caffeine to douse it. I was starting to feel tired from my work and was considering ending my day sooner than anticipated.

I eventually went back to work, and by 1 PM, was done with my day. I needed a cat nap.

Some days were indeed better than others. I woke up from my nap at 3 PM. My partner was not feeling any better, so she came for a nap on her lunch break. I took the opportunity to stay with her for a while, snuggling under the blankets. The cat was with us. After a while, I came to the conclusion I would not earn extra sleep today.

I took the opportunity to shower, eat up a bit, and exchange with another partner of mine. I had another cold brew and was back in front of my computer. As I was assembling my hair into a ponytail, and putting my glasses on, I started looking at new material to invest in.

As I was deep into my research, I heard a knock at my door. I froze for a moment and asked who it was. No one ever knocked at the door. The girls here all messaged each other when we were busy working.

One of the girls told me there was this weird-looking man at the door, with a delivery package for me, and I had to sign for it. The man refused to have anyone else sign for it, as they required age and ID verification.

I was not expecting any deliveries, any mail whatsoever. Everything I ever ordered was shipped to mailboxes.

I looked at the security camera and saw an individual, all clad in black, holding a box in one hand. I could not see what his other hand was holding. I could not see the vehicle they used to get here either. I got cautiously curious and grabbed my pistol. I made sure it was loaded and headed to the front door.

After a brief moment of hesitation, I opened the door, hiding my weapon behind it. The delivery man turned around and I saw his face. I grasped.

The man standing in front of me was someone I had obtained a restraining order against. I had no idea how he found me. Did he use some dating or fucking apps like Grindr and MeetMe to find me? Used triangulation as means to geolocate me?

It would not be the first time. There were many chasers and admirers who would go to great lengths to obtain something in a non-consensual way. They did not care. All they wanted was one thing and there were few ways to stop them.

This particular individual had previously tried to lure me into a hotel room and rape me with his buddies. He somehow managed to get bail and find where I lived.

He looked at me, grinned, and said, “Surprised, honey? We are finally together again. You were a hard one to locate. Now, we can finish what we started.” He started pulling up his other hand, revealing the gun he held.

I had a chill going down my spine, and I knew I was in danger. There was no turning back. I was not going to let myself get killed, or worse, kidnapped and raped, by some incel.

I swung the door open and shot first. I hit him several times in the torso and he collapsed almost immediately, dropping his weapon in the process. Some of the girls saw what happened, both in person and through the security system, and came rushing to see if I was okay.

I knew I was finally safe from one individual.

I took out my cellphone and called emergency services: “Hello, I would like to report I killed a man…”

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this story are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Story © Eve F. R. Kirchner