#71: Finally Alone

Having the house to herself for the weekend left Krysta to do as she pleased in the living room. Given the size of her roommates' personalities and selves, Krysta typically retreated to her bedroom for peace and quiet. Now alone, she reclined on the couch in her sleeping shorts and a tank top, reading. Her phone chimed next to her. 

Krysta placed her bookmark and set her book on the end table. She secured her phone to the mount attached to the far side of the coffee table, elevating it slightly to flatter her jawline. Confirming she was adequately centered in frame, Krysta made a final adjustment to her hair, then sat back and waited.

How do you usually begin?

She adjusted her glasses—always her first move—before cheating her body to the side to display her profile, shaped beautifully by the spaghetti-strapped gray cotton tank top. She leaned inward, presenting the view of her prodigious cleavage, and held the pose for a few moments.

What do your fans like?

Krysta took a deep breath, again testing the thin fabric. Her fingers traced her curves from her belly, over the swell of her bust, to the base of her neck. She tickled her upper chest, sending ripples downward.

Are they as soft as they look?

Pulling her hands back to the sides of her ribcage, Krysta pressed forward, kneading the billowing flesh beneath her palms. She then pressed in and up, creating an eruption of cleavage. "What do you think?"

Can I see them?

For a moment, Krysta gave no visible reaction. She tugged at the fabric of her top. "I just bought this, and it fits me so well. Are you sure you want me to take it off?"


"I did offer to entertain you, after all." Reaching her arms down and across her body, Krysta took ahold of the bottom hem of her shirt. She slowly drew it upwards, letting her breasts progressively slip into view. Eventually, they dropped free, hanging just low enough to graze the table, but not rest on it. Tossing her shirt aside, she shimmied her shoulders, launching her chest into mesmerizing motion. Her coy smile turned into a stifled giggle.

You're adorable

Krysta sneered playfully as she rubbed the undersides of her breasts, before scooping them into her arms. The abundance of bosom jostled and jiggled as she rocked back and forth. Their upper slopes grazed her chin.

Looks like you've got your hands full!

Krysta grunted as she readjusted her grip, hamming up her efforts to wrangle her payload. She abruptly gave up the struggle, letting breasts drop to the coffee table with an audible thunk. Noting the abundance of tit compressed between her chest and the wood surface, she pressed down, letting her boobs spread out on the table beneath her.

Impressive. Now surprise me.

Krysta turned her back to the camera; the outer swells of her chest still visible on either side of her. Leaning against the table edge, she slowly bent backward until her shoulder blades met the tabletop. Gravity took control, and her breasts gradually flowed towards her chin, but she caught them before they could drop into her face. With gravity working against her, she played with various poses, maneuvers, and angles while smiling playfully to the camera.

That was amazing. Thank you.

"My pleasure." Krysta bowed her head slightly, raising it with her eyes narrowed into a gentle glare. "I had better not see this posted on the internet later."

I wouldn't dream of it.

"Okay...I trust you. Until next time" Krysta blew a kiss and waved with one hand while cradling her breasts with the other arm. The recording indicator on her phone switched off, ending her stream.

It had been a pain configuring her phone camera to stream through her computer, as well as programming the text messages to appear on cue with her performance. If her tips were any indication however, it was more than worth the effort. Couch sessions typically earned more than those filmed at her desk, but not as much as the bed videos. Regardless, she'd set a new single-stream personal best across the board.

Krysta pulled her laptop from under the table and double-checked the video had backed up to her cloud server. She opened her private database that auto-imported the video length, time, and date information, merging it with vitals pulled wirelessly from her smart scale. She logged her clothing, confirmed her cup size, and added content tags: roleplay, hairdown, livingroom, coffeetable, fakeprivateshow

Her phone buzzed on the table next to her. 

Krysta groaned, cursing her solo weekend commitment to sobriety, though it was unlikely to help her with this particular problem. Alcohol made her more lazy than horny and was more likely to lead to her pissing the day away binging The Great British Baking Show than getting laid. She was about to call Whitley and demand to speak to Julie when she received another message.

Krysta stared at the screen, waiting to feel something—excitement, romance, desire, anticipation, anything. Instead, she felt little more than low-level anxiety. 

Krysta waited a moment before finally sending a confirmation and tossing her phone aside. She leaned forward onto the coffee table and dropped her head into her hands. Finally, with a resigned sigh, she searched her and Whitley's correspondence for Koga's number.

God, please let it be psych.