The Fall of Judas: Vanity

January 27, 2011

The polecat adjusted his desk chair, pulled over to Ian’s desk for the occassion, then reached up and tilted the camera perched on top of the monitor a little more. The preview on the screen didn’t show his face, but from collarbones to mid-thighs, the image seemed clearly enough in focus. Enough so that he could make out a hint of ribs through his fur if he brought the preview up larger.

He couldn’t make out his heartbeat, though the way it battered itself against his ribcage he almost expected it – against better knowledge – to be thus visible. It was nothing to be nervous about, he tried to tell himself. All he was going to do, really, was jerk off. Maybe take some suggestions while he was at it, but the essence of it was still nothing more and nothing less than that: he was going to sit there, on the chair, which just happened to be in front of the computer Ian was letting him use while the bear visited his parents for the weekend, and stroke himself off. Nothing strange about that, nothing he hadn’t done before.

Well, aside from the exact location. And the fact that he’d (hopefully) have strangers, somewhere out there, watching him. And that he’d be doing it in an attempt to get those strangers to give him money.

It was deceptively easy. He’d done most of his research by keeping an ear out among the student body, until he’d caught the name of a site that sounded promising. The rest had been done an afternoon when he knew his roommate would be tied up in voice lessons, registering for an account and arranging to fax a copy of his ID to them. Now, when he didn’t have to worry about Ian returning early, he logged into his newly-approved account on, trying to ignore how his fingers trembled as he leaned forward in order to reach the keyboard.

The idea was simple. If he did a good job, the viewers would send tips through the site, and the site would forward those tips to his bank account after taking their share out. For now, he tried to ignore that he didn’t have the first idea of what he could do to convince them he was doing a good job. A few deep breaths. A last check that the camera was angled right. Then, he forced himself to click the button labeled “start broadcast” and sat back on his chair when it brought up the site’s newly-opened channel.

A channel where he, Judas, was the star.

He didn’t sit quite straight on the chair, on some level aware that the striking contrast between his black fur and the spotted golden “blanket” that covered his back was just the sort of thing he, as a new contributor on the site, could use to attract attention. Not that his fur was the main attraction, here. He felt his ears flush somewhat, and was glad he’d angled the camera down so nobody but him would be aware of that fact, as he reached down and ran his fingers along his cock. It was surprisingly easy to coax a response out of it, despite his nervousness, and it was just as surprising how difficult it was to ease up on that attention once he was hard.

He needed to draw this out, at least enough for a few people to see it.

The computer chimed a few times, and he glanced over, hand still cradling his hard shaft. A name had appeared on the list of watchers for each of those sounds. An audience. For a moment he had to fight the impulse to turn off the computer and call the whole thing off, before he caught himself. He had to play to the audience; had to play up what advantages nature had given him to make sure he could afford the necessities of life not covered by his meal plan.

He angled his legs a bit further apart as he stroked his cock, trying to give his audience a better view. It was a bit strange, knowing he was being watched, and doubly so for there being nobody else in the room with him. When the computer chimed again, he surprised himself by finding the sound encouraging, exciting. Those chimes were what was going to pay his way, if he could just do this right…

Another sound made his ears swivel around towards the computer; the stereotypical cha-ching of a cash register announcing that one of the users watching him had left him a tip. Moments later, text appeared in the previously-empty chat window:

v nice. lift your foot up on the chair so i can see more

He shivered, feeling his cock twitch in his hand. He hadn’t anticipated finding the attention exciting. But the idea sounded sensible and he would’ve taken the suggestion even if he wasn’t desperate; it wasn’t entirely comfortable to sit with his leg doubled up, but glancing over at the preview he had to admit it framed the action better. With a little bit more confidence, he stroked his erection more firmly, squeezing out a glistening, clear drop that he left for a few moments before smearing it over his cockhead.

Normally, he would’ve made something of an effort to stay still, but there was no Ian here to worry about offending, so he arched his back with all the intensity he’d supressed when discretion had been the only safe bet, grasping onto the chair with his free hand. It seemed like a good idea; the computer announced, twice, that he’d received further tips.

With the money came more comments, more suggestions.

i want 2 see the look on ur face

C’mon, baby, finger yourself for us.

He didn’t lose a beat the seconds he considered the requests before scooting the chair back until most of his body was in view. He let things stay at that for a while yet, pumping his shaft faster in an attempt to drown out the beating of his own heart. Then, tentatively, he reached down with his other hand, starting by fondling his balls before starting to reach lower.

He’d barely tried this on his own, before, and it was probably stupid to attempt it again in front of an audience, even a virtual one, but it was what they wanted to see.

His jaws parted in something even he himself wasn’t sure whether it was a whine or a moan when he started rubbing over that sensitive spot in a probably-foolish bid to loosen it without access to anything to help the process along. Even so, that contact felt nice, and he continued, twisting on the chair as much to make the reach more comfortable as to give his watchers a better view.

Judas couldn’t help it when his eyes slid shut, nor when the combination of that gentle attention under his tail and his hand on his cock grew too strong for restraint. He heard without hearing how someone else arrived to watch as he stroked his cock with no goal in mind but to reach climax, twisted up on a chair that didn’t lend itself much to it and in no state to care.

The smell of his own semen, spattering his muzzle, was stronger than he remembered. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t usually curl up close enough to hit himself in the face, maybe it was just his nerves playing a trick on him. Whichever the case was, trying to wipe it off with the hand that had helped squeeze it out only served to make him more of a mess.

While it was only a spontaneous reaction, born out of frustration, to realizing just how messy his hand was, it was a good idea to lick it clean before touching the computer again.

A very good idea, judging by how he couldn’t accurately count the chiming the machine responded with.

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