It sounds disreputable, allowing financial distress to justify the receipt of sexual favors.  And nowadays, it’s a guarantee to get your name into the newspapers.  But, really, hasn’t the female used her allure as a means of getting what she wants, since time began?  And if everyone is an adult, exercising free will, is it so bad? 

My story begins when I (I’m Eric) shared the second bedroom of my rented townhouse with a college classmate of mine, Bill.  Before too long, Bill decided to have his girlfriend move in with him.  I didn’t really mind.  The girlfriend, Jordan, was a very pretty brunette, with a curvy figure, firm breasts, and a cute, solid behind.  And that body was often on display as she liked tight jeans and form fitting clothes.  Jordan wasn’t a college student as we were; she worked in town at a florist shop.  She didn’t make much at the shop, so her moving in made financial sense.  Bill’s parents made sure his share of the rent and utilities was paid each month.

Jordan wasn’t an exhibitionist, but she was comfortable moving about the house braless in just a long t-shirt, with panties underneath, or sometimes in skimpy pajamas.  It was like she was one of the boys.  I’ll admit I lusted after her, but she was Bill’s, so I got my satisfaction from watching her lovely figure go past.  But we moved in different circles; she had her work, her own friends and I didn’t see much of her apart from her living in the house with us at night. 

Things changed when Bill had to move out.  For a variety of reasons, he switched to a community college back home.  Jordan asked to stay – in truth, she had no place to go.  I questioned whether she could afford the rent, but she insisted she’d make it work.

And she did.  In the beginning.  But then one month she could only pay a portion of what she owed.  And she was short on the utilities the month after that.  I’m sure she felt bad not carrying her weight.  Then the pressure increased, as the couple that owned the floral shop cut her hours, in a cost saving measure. 

Jordan was in a dilemma.  There are always some jobs available, like working in a fast-food restaurant, but they pay poorly.  Jordan needed money.  She came up with a twenty-first century solution.  She opened a web channel, which featured video of her in her bedroom.  She’d wear tight clothes, and seductively flirt on screen and answer guys’ questions.  Her paid subscribers could mail in cash and request more skin than she normally showed.  And presumably she complied.

But there’s competition out there, and her paid subscriber base was small.  Jordan was candid about what she was doing, and I commiserated with her on how slowly she was adding new viewers.  One day she asked me why I wasn’t a subscriber.

“Jordan, I get to see you all the time,” I replied.  “I don’t need to go to a computer screen to look at you.”

“Aren’t you interested in seeing more of me?” she asked.

 “Of course, you’re a beautiful woman,” was all I said.

“What would it be worth if I made breakfast tomorrow, topless” she asked.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said.  This was awkward. 

“I need to do something. I know rent is due, and I’m still short.  Let me make it up to you.”

  “I don’t know,” I said.  “No, that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

We didn’t say any more, but the next morning, Jordan was cooking eggs for the two of us bare breasted.  Firm, lovely breasts, not too small, with a brown colored areola around the nipples.  Her breasts were large enough to sway as she moved, offering a seductive pre-taste of how soft they must feel. 

“Good morning,” she said to me cheerfully.

“Hi.”

Jordan chatted on normally, about how hard it rained last night, about some silly show she’d seen on TV.  Completely nonchalant.  I tried to respond in a similar vein, but my heart was racing.  I’ve seen women’s breasts before, of course, but in a romantic situation.  This casual nudity was a jolt, and strangely erotic.  I was a voyeur, and loving it.  I sat across from her during breakfast, trying to look her in the eyes, but always conscious of those breasts staring at me. 

After breakfast we both got dressed and started the day.  Nothing was said about her exposure.

Later that evening, Jordan handed me her share of the rent.  It was half what she owed.  I made no comment. 

Curiosity was getting the better of me, so I logged onto her webcast using a newly created email account, so she wouldn’t know it was me. That night, when she went into her bedroom, I hurried into mine to catch her broadcast.  She was dressed in tight fitting clothes, with a blouse showing the swell of her breasts.  She read a letter from a subscriber, answered his questions, and chatted with viewers about her day. 

“And guys, I love to expose my body.  This morning, I made breakfast for my roommate topless.  He’s a really cute guy, but the poor fellow was drooling over his eggs, trying to keep from staring.  It was such fun.  Maybe one day I’ll do it for you loyal viewers.”

I was stunned.  She enjoyed it?  And was I really drooling?  I lay in bed watching her.  Seeing her on the screen made her more desirable.  Scores of guys were watching her, hoping for a glimpse of her curves, to hear her girlish voice, her laugh.  I observed her every day, but now I was becoming fixated on her.  My hand moved to my penis, casually rubbing it as it twitched in my pants.  This delectable girl was just in the next bedroom.  And she thinks I’m cute.  And she owed me a lot of back rent.  I stroked the penis until I ejaculated, wondering where this would all lead. 

It led nowhere until the utility bill came in.  When I handed it to Jordan, she slowly looked at it, then said, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t have the money.”  Then, “Shall I cook breakfast for you tomorrow?”

I nodded.  And it became agreed.  She was topless when I got up the next day.  This time, I didn’t try to hide my gaze.  I luxuriated over her shapely breasts, and hungrily watched her bend to get a pan from a drawer, the breasts swaying as she did so.  She was fully at ease with this nakedness; I was drunk with her beauty.  Then she dressed, and everything was back to normal.

But I was not back to normal.  I watched her on the computer screen at night, hoping for a comment about me, her cute roommate.  But nothing.  So I sent her an email (from that new account).

“Jordan, how come you don’t talk about your roommate anymore?  Is he still ogling your breasts at breakfast?  How come you and he don’t get it on like healthy adults?”

She responded that evening.

“I got an inquiry from an anonymous viewer, asking about my roommate.  You’ll remember that I’ve made breakfast for him, topless.  Yes, I still do it on occasion.  His eyes get wide when I do.  What is it about you men and breasts?  And anonymous asked why I haven’t hooked up with this roommate. 

"Well, I wasn’t going to reveal this, but since you asked.  I had a dream the other night that the roommate slipped into my bedroom while I was sleeping.  He quietly pulled the sheet off me, and carefully unbuttoned my pajama top.  My breasts were exposed.  He massaged them with both hands, while I (still sleeping, mind you), began to moan.  His hand crawled down my stomach, and hooked the elastic of my pajama bottoms.  As he began to slide them down, revealing my mons, I awoke, shaking.  Some dream, huh?”

Was that true?  I knew Jordan liked to “embellish” her stories, to keep the viewers excited.  She’s never revealed anything like that to me.  All this was making me very frustrated.  Sexual feelings go into a semi-hibernation when one is in a dry spell, but they roar back as soon as one is re-exposed.  Jordan’s sexualized presence was teasing me, reminding me of what I was missing. 

Then the monthly rent was due.  I waited for her to approach me, as I knew she would. 

“Hey Eric, I’m still not making much off my website.  Can I make breakfast for you tomorrow?” she asked.

“Well, I don’t mean to be uncharitable, but I’ve already seen your breasts.  But not your bottom.  Is it asking too much...?” 

“You greedy little bastard,” she said, but with a smile.  “You want to see my bush?”

I nodded, meekly.  I was ashamed to be asking, but the voyeuristic tension was killing me.  And this was costing a lot of money.  I needed this.

She was nude the next morning.  Making pancakes this time.  Light auburn hair, trimmed but not shaven, covered her vulva.  I could slightly see the lips of the vagina as she turned and moved.  Her bare round backside was beautiful as she cooked at the stove.  If I had been stirred by her breasts, her now fully naked body sent electricity through me.

I could hardly eat the pancakes.  She noticed.

“Like what you see?” she asked.

I numbly nodded.

“So why are you still dressed?” she asked.  “Maybe I like to look too.”

I moved toward her, my erection pushing out my pajama bottoms.  She unbuttoned the pajama top and slid it off my shoulders.  I grabbed her around the waist, while she pulled the bottoms down, exposing me.  I was like a tiger let out of a cage.  We fell to the floor and I pressed my body against hers.  Those breasts were as soft and inviting as I had imagined.  I rubbed my hand over her sex, as she dug fingernails into my back.  I didn’t even feel the pain.  I entered her and didn’t last long.  I exploded within her; the tension finally released. 

“I’m sorry I came so quickly,” I apologized.  “I’ve been lusting after you for so long that I couldn’t control myself.”

“It’s okay,” she said.  “Next time will be better.  And this is great content for my webcast tonight,” she added with a smile. 

And it was.  I was watching from the next room.  The story turned me on all over again.  

What began as sex and lust developed into more.  I finally talked her into giving up the webcast.  The idea of men across the internet salivating over her body was off-putting to say the least.  And she doesn’t need more subscribers.  She has just one now.  Me.  Isn’t that all any girl needs?