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pinkmingi · 4 years

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V.I.P // C. San ~ (m)

Description: A wealthy, rising young star stumbles into your camming liveshow one evening and immediately becomes your highest paying client. Needless to say- that role comes with certain added benefits, including private shows that San has every intention of using to his advantage.

word count: 5.3k

Features: San x Camgirl!Reader, mutual masturbation, cum play (light), edging, being paid for sexual services (i.e. camming) etc.

2:04am. You squinted against the harsh light of your phone screen as it vibrated in your hand.

New Message From:

Choi San- Tier 6

You hated the way your heart skipped a beat, even if just for a moment, when you saw his name flash across the screen. You weren’t exactly surprised, between his work schedule (from what little he’d told you about his work) and the time difference he tended to send his requests at all hours of the night, long after you’d finished your regular liveshow and gone to sleep—yet you always seemed to wake up when he messaged. If just 3 months ago you’d been told that you would be willfully getting out of bed to put on your prettiest set of pink lingerie and reapplying your livestream makeup for a single customer at 2 in the morning—you would’ve never believed them. Then again, 3 months ago there was no such thing as a Tier 6.

*3 months earlier*

“Thank you again to all my beautiful new viewers, I see some of you guys in the chat, don’t be shy say to say hello! I promise there’s no judgement here…” You smiled sweetly, flashing the camera your undeniably charming face that had so many clients coming back to your liveshows on a regular basis—you fulfilled their wildest fantasies and you did it with seemingly no effort.

“I’ve been feeling so restless lately, I don’t know what’s gotten into me—there must be something in the weather here…everything’s making me feel, hmm..needy I guess?” You laughed at the way you spoke so casually in front of an audience of strangers, though many of them were regulars and in that sense seemed less strange to you.

“How’s everyone been feeling lately? Don’t be afraid to open up, I really wanna know.” You smiled as you leaned towards the camera, casually showing off a bit more of your cleavage in the delicate and intricate lace bra that hugged you perfectly. 9.3k viewers, your streams really were growing fast.

Kinkydaddyxx76 (Tier 2) has sent you a donation!

Erenda_903 (Tier 1) has sent you a donation!

Justcurious111 (Guest) has sent you a donation!

Lovemeharddom_ (Tier 4) has sent you a donation!

You smiled to yourself as you thanked the members by name for their donations, it was about the personal experience for many of them, and as regulars of your streams you’d always found it important that they be recognized and treated with special care—it was one of the reasons that your streams had become so popular so quickly, despite only camming for a little over a year you’d acquired a large and dedicated group of viewers who you always made sure to treat with great care and respect. That was just part of the job.

“I’m gonna be wrapping up the general admission stream soon you guys, but don’t forget if you want extra access to the after party live show you are always welcome—I have 5 tiers of access available for my very special VIP members, the descriptions of each are listed on my profile. I hope to see as many of you there as possible, my members know how much I love an audience.” You winked playfully, adjusting your seat on the perfectly made bed, giving the camera a killer view of your legs and booty shorts as you read through the chat one last time before getting ready to log off. Just as you were getting ready to wrap up, however, a series of notifications appeared in the chat.

ChoiSinForMe has entered your cam room!

ChoiSinForMe has subscribed!

ChoiSinForMe is now a Tier 5 member!

You eyes widened as you read the last message again—Tier 5. You could probably count on 2 hands the number of Tier 5 subscribers that you had, it was a pretty expensive and elite level—and those who did purchase that level of subscription had been watching you since practically the beginning. You’d never seen this account on your streams before, he was completely new and already he’d become one of your highest paying clients. Taken aback, you nearly forgot to thank the new account for subscribing, your hands fidgeting slightly as you tucked a strand of hair nervously behind your ear. Who was this person?

“Uhmm, whoa…this is unexpected, thank you @ChoiSinForMe for becoming my newest member, welcome to the Princess Playroom, I hope you’ll enjoy your time here!” You smiled sweetly, still feeling a bit giddy and on edge at the prospect of the new member messaging you—that was a perk of Tier 5 members, they had the ability to private message you, as well as make special requests that lower tiers were not permitted to make.

You had just finished thanking everyone for coming, turning off the stream and sitting back against the headboard of your bed as you started at the computer monitor in front of you. You couldn’t get the strange new account out of your head…you couldn’t pinpoint why exactly, but there was something so sexy to you about the mystery. After what seemed like an eternity of staring at the private message tab of your account, a notification ding sounded through the otherwise quiet solitude of your apartment bedroom. Jumping slightly, you didn’t hesitate to scroll up, unable to contain the intrigued smile that played against your lips as you saw that, in fact, it was from your new subscriber.

New Chat!

ChoiSinForMe (Tier 5):

I’m sorry if I startled you in the live stream earlier

I’ll admit I liked the way your face froze tho

You wouldn’t like to admit the amount of times you read that message over again, overwhelmed with the butterflies you felt in your stomach, and the way your cheeks flushed at the idea that you were getting so worked up over a client. Sure, you’d heard of people camming and getting turned on by the people watching them, but you’d honestly never really experienced that with any one subscriber in particular—they were mostly just nice, slightly older men with more money and time than they could handle. So why did this feel different?

PrincessPlayroom (Host):

It’s nothing I can’t handle, welcome though ~ I’ve never had anyone become a member so quickly after entering my stream before J

His reply was fast, and it sent you into a state of shock almost as quickly.

ChoiSinForMe (Tier 5):

I know what I like. Figured this was the best way to get your attention

I have a proposal, actually—I don’t wanna waste your time, my tastes are specific and I don’t share.

I’m interested in private video calls, noticed that you don’t have that as a feature…but if you’re down to try something like that let me know. The price is…inconsequential.

My name is San, by the way.

You weren’t exactly sure what to say. He was right, that wasn’t something you’d ever offered before. No one had ever requested it before—that wasn’t to say you didn’t receive strange requests because your chat room was filled with out of the ordinary things. But for such a high-paying client to make a request for an individual stream…you weren’t sure what to say. For some reason, you weren’t ready to immediately shut down the request—maybe it was the prospect that this guy, at least from his messages, sounded like he was genuinely ready to pay anything for what he wanted. Something about that confidence made you squirm.

PrincessPlayroom (Host):

That’s certainly a unique offer, you’re right though—that isn’t a Tier 5 perk.

I’m curious though, indulge me in these “specific tastes” of yours, San

You couldn’t help but bite your lip at what he might say, subconsciously squeezing your legs together slightly as you waited for his reply. When your computer dinged again, the message was shorter than you’d anticipated, and very much left you wanting more.

ChoiSinForMe (Tier 5):

I’m not a big texter. Call me on Skype and we can talk.

(XXX) XXX-XXXX

And in case you thought I wasn’t serious—

Xoxo, San

ChoiSinForMe has sent you $1000!

Your heart was pounding in your chest and you could feel heat building in the pit of your stomach—should you call him? Who the hell was this guy, who sent you a grand just for entertaining the idea of calling him? Part of you wondered if something like this was really the smartest decision, but the other half of you couldn’t help but follow the intrigue of it all. This had never happened to you before, sure you had a few higher paying clients but none of them were like this. This man was something new. Without giving your mind time to cloud you with reasons why this probably wasn’t a good idea, you’d logged onto your skype account, connected your camera to the computer monitor and turned it on. Sitting upright on your bed, legs outstretched, you fixed your hair slightly before dialing his number. What the fuck were you doing…was this a mistake? Was he gonna end up being a creep or—the sound of the call being answered interrupted your thoughts.

“You look good like this, Princess.” His voice hit your speakers before his camera came into focus, but you swear if you’d been standing his voice alone would’ve been enough to make your knees a little weak. The instant his camera came into focus, your greatest worry came to life—he was ridiculously handsome. Maybe this was why you’d always preferred streaming to a faceless audience, it didn’t feel real. They were just names in the chat, but him? The man in the black t-shirt and grey sweatpants sitting on a king size bed with his head resting in the palm of his hand as he eyed you with a smirk on his lips…he was doing things to you. He was making you nervous, and you never got nervous over things like this. It’s just work, Y/N…it’s just work. He’s a client, that’s it.

“H-hi, I’m sorry, hah...this is all very new for me. I’ve never had a live conversation with a member before.” You blushed, running a hand through your hair as you watched San’s dark eyes, they never wavered from you as he clearly trailed the length of your body—taking his time as he took in the view.

“I guess I must be special then, hmm?” He smiled softly, leaning back on his hands and giving you an all-too perfect view of how tight his sweatpants already were. For some reason, this gave you a surge of confidence. Sure, he may be wealthy, and he may be getting special treatment, but this was your client. He was paying you, he wanted you—you were in charge. You smiled teasingly as you trailed your hand softly down the expanse of your body, stopping at the hem of your underwear as you casually played with the thin elastic band, biting your lip slightly.

“We’ll see…I’m charging you by the hour, by the way.” San laughed slightly at this, nodding in agreement.

“That’s fair…since you’re on the clock, why don’t you tell me your name?” He wasn’t jumping into any far out requests, even though a twisted little part of you wished he would. If he’d asked to see you undone for him right that instant, however, you might be embarrassed by how wet you’d already become.

“You can call me Princ-“

“Your real name, baby.” He interjected, his face unwavering. You never shared your real name with your clients, even your highest tier members.

“You sure do ask for a lot for a Tier 5, don’t you?” You teased, sliding closer to the camera as you watched his face give way to a sinful smile.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be a Tier 5 then…tell me.” He was breaking down your walls quickly, but the thrill of it all outweighed the reservations and rules you’d made for yourself when you first entered the world of camming—things like not letting a client in too close to your personal life, never blurring the line between customer and relationship, never—

“Y/n.” You blurted out suddenly, trying your best not to get flustered at the way San’s eyes twinkled and his pants grew tighter as he repeated your name aloud, humming in approval at the way it fell from his lips.

“Pretty…” He muttered softly, shifting in his seat on the edge of the bed as he watched your gorgeous frame, how your lace lingerie clung to your body just right and the way your hair framed that perfect face of yours—he was especially entranced by your thighs and the way they spread out perfectly against your plush mattress. God he wanted to watch you in every position imaginable.

“I know this must be a bit strange for you…why don’t you ask me a few questions, it might make you feel more comfortable. I’ll do the same, hmm? Let’s say, 3.” San suggested casually, rubbing his finger thoughtfully against his bottom lip as you blushed at the fact that you were supposed to be the professional, yet he was guiding the conversation. Laughing softly, you nodded.

“Hmm, someone seems to know what they’re doing, do you do this with other content creators here?” You were laughing, but a small part of you hoped he’d say no. San smirked, running a hand through his dark black hair as he shook his head.

“Is that your first question?” You blushed slightly, rolling your eyes as you nodded.

“Yes.” He smiled.

“No. I’ve actually never done this before either, I’ve always wanted to…but I never really found a person I was…interested in like this before.” He paused as you tried to hold some semblance of professionalism together, nodding thoughtfully as you felt your stomach knot.

“My turn…why’d you agree to try this?” You didn’t have to think long on your answer before you replied.

“You intrigued me, I think something about you was just…sexy.” You loved the visibly turned on reaction that San tried to suppress as the last word left your lips, his hand coming to lay across the inseam of his sweatpants in a half-hearted attempt to disguise what was becoming an increasingly noticeable erection. Clearing his throat, he chuckled softly. You knew what you were doing to him and it was driving him wild far more easily than he’d anticipated.

“How old are you?” You asked back, playing absentmindedly with a fluffy throw pillow on your bed, laying down in a more comfortable and relaxed position now as you felt the chemistry begin to unfold between the two of you.

“I’m 21. Younger than you’re used to?” You laughed softly, nodding. How was he so wealthy and still so young?

“So are you a self-made kinda rich boy, or the old family money kind?” A cheeky grin spread across San’s face as you asked your final question.

“I’m fortunate to have a good job, the details aren’t important but…it’s given me a comfortable life. I try to keep my work and private life separate, I’m sure you’re plenty familiar with confidentiality though…” You nodded thoughtfully as you eyed his broad shoulders and veiny arms, even through a computer screen his incredible shape was apparent.

“Last question, y/n…” He murmured softly, causing shivers to run down your spine at cadence of his honey voice.

“Mmm…” You replied, squeezing your thighs tightly together in a feeble attempt to relieve some of the built up tension this almost stranger was causing you feel. What he said next, however, would send you completely over the edge.

“Are you wet for me right now?” Your body froze as you attempted to collect your flustered self, hating the way he was clearly eating it up as his hand slowly palmed at his fully hard cock through the fabric of his pants, not even trying to hide the large bulge that was begging to be released.

“Y-yes.” You muttered softly, entranced by the way he took control of the situation. He hummed lowly in approval, sliding his hand underneath the waistband of his sweatpants as you watched the outline of his fingers stroke himself. He was ridiculously hot, but you figured he already knew that. You blushed, doing your best to bite back the sinful smile that threatened to flicker across your face as you felt your aching needs growing stronger by the minute. This man was really something if his presence alone was enough to make you falter—but you couldn’t forget, this was your show. Pulling your hair back away from your face and sliding yourself closer to the camera, you flashed him a knowing look as you tilted your head slightly. Your confidence was back.

“Did I say you could stroke yourself already?” Your soft voice echoed out against the speakers of his laptop like honey, and there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in his mind that if you’d been in the room with him this would’ve been the moment where he’d pin you against the wall and dare you to disobey him. Instead, he let out a low chuckle, his gaze low and his hair hanging over his eyes as he slowed the pace of his hand.

“Mmm, it’s cute you think you’re in charge, (Y/N)…Truly.” He wasn’t going to cave easily, you didn’t expect him to. Truthfully, you didn’t want him to. Something about the chase, the push and pull—the rising tensions of the seemingly endless back and forth, it fueled you.

Not backing down so easily, you retorted,

“You can’t even help yourself around me for five minutes—I think that’s proof enough.” San smirked, biting his lip shamelessly as he pushed his hair away from his face. Making eye contact with you through the screen, he watched in enjoyment as your cheeks flushed slightly while his hand tightened around the sizeable bulge in his pants, quickening his movements slightly and raising an eyebrow as though challenging your previous statement.

“I’m paying you to say pretty things and watch me jack off, princess—that doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you have your way with everything…” You could feel your core heating up when he called you princess, it’d always been a favorite pet name of yours. Fiddling with the hem of your panties, you slid a finger just below the waistband as you teased him with the image of what you’ll look like without them. It wasn’t hard to tell his eyes were glued to your body, his eyes dark and filled with lust as you continued to tease him with your words.

“Mmm…my show, my rules. I’m not just gonna sit here and obey your every order, yknow. I’m not that kind of girl, Mr. Choi.” His jaw went slack when you addressed him that way, his mouth hanging just slightly agape as he threw his head back, the prominent veins in his arms showing as he balanced his weight on his free arm that propped him up—his right hand pre-occupied as he continued to quicken the pace of his strokes. You could see the swelling in his sweatpants and you could feel your panties becoming soaked at the mere idea of him finally releasing the beast he was fighting to hold back. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower and more gravelly than it had been before, he was becoming more and more depraved the longer you teased him without touching yourself—without showing him everything he was hungering to see.

“A good girl?” You smirked, you had him exactly where you wanted him. You had to admit though, he may have had you right where he wanted you as well.

“I’m nothing of the sort.” His long strokes slowed slightly as he began to pace himself, not ready to tip himself over the edge without watching you cum all over your fingers. He could tell you were wet for him and, though he couldn’t be sure, he had confidence that that alone made him stand out amidst your other clients. He’d only just met you, but it only took one look in those sinfully pure eyes to know that he desperately wanted—no, needed—to make you cum.

“And what kind of girl are you then, hmm?” The heat and pressure rising in your core was too much to bare at this point, and you’d decided that the poor man had earned what he was so obviously craving—you. Without another thought, you unclasped the back of your bra, letting it fall to the side as your breasts were now fully exposed for him. A low groan sounded from your speakers and you could tell he was more than enjoying the view. Not finished with him just yet, you slipped your fingers under the hemline of your panties, sliding them down until the lace crumpled around your ankles and you were left completely bare on your bedspread. Spreading yourself out for him to see, you leaned back and slowly slid your hand down to relieve the pressure building up inside you. A low “fuck” hissed out between San’s gritted teeth as he edged his stroking along, the slow pace becoming almost excruciating.

“What kind of girl do you want me to be?” You teased, nearly breathless already as a single finger slid between your soaked folds, easing its way inside you with a few pumps as a small moan escaped your lips. San groaned as his grip tightened around his length at the sound of your pretty moans ringing in his ear, licking his lips as he finally couldn’t take the restrictive fabric any longer. Without hesitation, San yanked his sweatpants down until they were around his ankles where he effortlessly discarded them, his throbbing length proudly on display as a small gasp left your mouth. It wasn’t that you weren’t used to men jacking off to you—but you’d never seen it live like this, and something about it was ridiculously sexy. The fact that this particular client was Choi San didn’t hurt, though.

“I want you to be the kind of girl who rides her own pretty, little fingers until she cums to the sound of my voice. I want you to moan my name…my first name, like you’d give anything to be here riding my dick right now. Because I know you would.” This time it was you who was slightly at a loss for words, biting down hard against the insides of your cheeks as you sucked in a deep breath, nodding as you opened your legs to give him an even better view of your sinful touches. He was right, eyeing the long and girthy member pulsating in his hand you couldn’t help but wish that you had something more to get off to instead of just your fingers.

“Can you do that for me, baby…hmm?” He re-focused his strokes to just the tip of his cock, massaging the head with an unrelenting pace as he dragged the pad of his thumb over the tip, swiveling his wrist ever so slightly as he continued the shallowed pumps. You nodded.

“Mmmm, yes, San. Only if you cum for me just as hard…” His eyelids lowered slightly as his gaze became lazy, a small smile playing on his lips as he nodded, speeding up his strokes as he watched you slide another finger inside of your glistening hole, moaning at the added pressure as your thumb drew circles against your clit, pressing down with gradually increasing pressure to help you relieve the pressure you’d lost from opening your legs.

“Oh I plan on it, princess—now turn around for me. I wanna see that ass nice n’ high while you touch yourself.” You turned around easily, pressing your chest against the mattress and arching your back as your ass perked up, sliding your hand up between your thighs and griding your clit down against the palm of your hand as a couple fingers slid back inside your heat. San’s low groans grew louder and more breathless as his strokes became longer and more staggered, enjoying the view of you bent over for him and fantasizing about the way you’d feel if he ever had the opportunity to bend you over and rail you himself.

“Fuuck, just like that—mmmm, you are a good girl for me, aren’t you?” You moaned at the way his once soft, now raspy voice teased you. Propping yourself up with your free arm you turned your head to look at him over your shoulder, smirking.

“A good girl would beg you to stroke yourself slowly…so slow that you’re almost in pain, begging me to let you go faster and finish yourself off.” San smirked, not always liking the idea of submitting in the bedroom but willing to entertain this small idea for you.

“Does that mean you’re a good girl then? I mean, you are begging me…” You turned yourself back around, sitting in your knees with your legs spread as you leaned forward onto your hands as he watched the rise and fall of your breasts keep pace with your heavy breaths.

“I’m not begging you, I’m telling you.” This time, San listened, allowing you to have your way this once as he slowed his long pumps to a painfully slow pace, already feeling his load building and swelling in his balls as he adjusted himself on the bed, his breathing becoming even more ragged than before. You smirked, biting down on your lip as you took in the sight of his slightly sweaty body and the way his hair clung to the sides of his face from the building beads of sweat. He was completely strung out at this point, his gaze filled with pure lust and his lips barely capable of forming sentences as he threw his head back once again, echoing incoherent slurs of curse words and moans. The action alone was enough to send you over the edge, but you held yourself together as you pumped your fingers even faster inside yourself, your needy moans growing in volume.

“Fuck you look so pretty like that, Y/N….tell me how good it feels…” Screwing your eyes shut as you hit that perfect sensitive spot, a breathless moan escaped your lips as you nodded.

“S-so good…Aahhh, fuck you’d feel so much better, though…” A wide smile spread across San’s face as his eyes remained closed, nodding as he hummed in approval. His cock was throbbing even harder than before, hungry for release as he continued to obey you.

“Mmmm, I must be something special if you’re considering riding the dick of a stranger you just met…” His voice vibrating through the speakers made you wish his mouth was around your clit, sucking down hard as he groaned into your tight and aching pussy. You knew it was wrong, and that this kind of attraction to a client was completely foreign to you—but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Mmmff fuck, shut up and cum already.” You breathed out, whining against the sensations of your fingers as San chuckled lowly, breathing a sigh of relief as he finally began to quicken his strokes, feeling the pressures build as he neared his release. You were riding your fingers at this point, your breasts bouncing up and down as you picked up the pace, needy for your own climax as you watched the man you knew hardly anything about turn you on more than anything real you’d encountered in a very long time.

“Shit, Y/N…your body is fucking insane…” San breathed out, his strokes ruthless and sloppy as his hips bucked up to meet his hand, unable to express in words how badly he wished it was you on top of him instead. You moaned, feeling yourself teetering on the edge.

“Aahhh god I’m close.” You whined, curling your fingers up to stroke your pressure points as you arched your back and threw your head back from pleasure. This was all it would take for San to be tipped over the edge, his breathing hitched in his throat as he continued to speed up his needy strokes.

“Cum for me, princess—all over those pretty little fingers. I wanna watch you lick them clean…” With that, you managed a dazed nod before grinding your hips down against your hand one last time, the pressure becoming too much as you finally tipped over the edge and your orgasm ran through your entire body. Your pretty moans were enough to send him hurdling towards his own orgasm as you rode out your high. Breathing slow, you eased your fingers out and made eye contact with the man who’d made you cum with nothing but his voice as he groaned, stroking himself hard. He was ridiculously close, but the moment you bit your lip and slid your soaking wet fingers inside your lips, swirling your tongue around them and licking them clean just as he’d told you to—he couldn’t take it anymore. Thick, creamy white ropes erupted from his cock, covering his thighs and the bedsheet beneath him as he groaned, inhaling sharply and tilting his head back in ecstasy as you moaned yourself at the ridiculously sexy view. Several spurts dripped down his hand as he slowed his strokes, massaging the glistening head of his cock slowly as his eyes shut and he rode out one of the most intense orgasm’s he’d ever felt. Breathing heavily, the two of you were sat in euphoric silence for a moment as you took in the pleasure that was still coursing through your bodies.

‘Fuck…”He muttered out after a moment. You blushed slightly, smiling at the reassurance that he’d enjoyed himself.

“For someone who’s never done that before…you sure knew what you were doing.” He laughed breathlessly, running a hand through his hair as he grabbed a towel from nearby, cleaning himself off lazily as you did the same, smiling.

“Well it is my job…it was definitely something new though.” You teased, winking playfully as San smiled in return.

“So let’s make it a regular thing then.” He blurted decidedly. You gave him a questioning look. Sure a small part of you hoped that you’d get the opportunity to do something like this or more again, but you hadn’t held out hope. You’d assumed he was more of a “one time” client.

“For real?” He smiled, nodding as he slid his sweatpants back on, watching as you sat comfortably bare in front of him, adoring the way you allowed him to watch you.

“Yeah, of course. You had fun, I had fun—well, I had a lot of fun…no one’s made me cum like that in a while.” A small blush threatened to tinge your cheeks, though you crossed your fingers it wasn’t noticeable through the screen as he marveled in the idea that someone as sexy as him was turned on by you. Not sexy enough to get it for free though (at least not yet).

“And the price is…” You teased, taunting him. He smirked, shaking his head as he sat upright, his elbows on his knees.

“Like I said, baby—inconsequential. Get some rest, think it over, ok? Message me when you’re ready to say yes.” His confidence was insatiable, and you’d grown a taste for it. Biting your lip, you nodded slowly.

“And what if I decide a Tier 5 member doesn’t deserve all this special treatment, hmm?” He scoffed lowly as he ran a hand through his hair, leaning closer to the camera despite his voice being barely above a whisper.

“Then make a higher tier. Get some sleep now, ok princess?”

~admin liese

☆Requests Open!☆

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cameronlsummers · 7 years

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1. From the Files of Spook House – #055: The Elevator Game

Hand to God, I really wish he hadn't done it, but Manny knew someone who worked in the hotel. I wish we hadn't decided to rent a room there or use that fucking glass elevator. I mean, we only knew about the Game because of that youtube video of that poor girl about what happened at the Cecil Hotel in L.A. We should have known.

We'd all been through our fair share of weird shit. I figured that we would be fine.

Let me back up.

We were – are – the Spook House Group. Or, when Ronnie and our Fearless Leader are fighting and she moves out for a week or two, Tom insists on calling us the “Spook House Boys.” I don't say anything about it. It feels needlessly exclusionary. I mean, just because Tom fucking Knight is having blue balls, all non-male candidates are excluded?

It's the 21st century. Get over it.

But we are the Spook House Group. And this was the Elevator Game Test.

The Hotel at 43rd and Broadway was the site. It's built around a huge central atrium that puts vaporwave music in mind. A lot of big leafy plants and some fountains, and down on the bottom there are tables and a carpeted area that look like the world's most upscale food court, tiles done in dark rich browns and deep red accents. There's a tiered fountain in the middle that looked like it was made in imitation of Spanish Mission architecture. Its spacial vocabulary was a postmodern imitation of the Country Club Plaza – world's best high-rent strip mall, – which was a corporate bastardization of Seville, itself an imitation of Roman architecture done with the Arabic and Gothic alphabets on baroque stationary.

Copy of a copy of a copy. The mannequin in Jean Baudrillard's grave was spinning.

In the middle of this atrium is a bank of three glass elevators. You need an elevator with at least ten stories for the Elevator Game. That's the first requirement.

The second is a Participant or Player. I insisted on the term “Operator” for our internal terminology, because whoever yells the loudest about such things tends to get their way and I preferred it's sound. So the second requirement was the Operator, me: Jules Ng Miller.

No non-player was allowed on the elevator, so we were doing it at 4 AM, an hour after the last bar in Westport closed and all the out-of-town visitors had holed up in their rooms.

To play the game you start at the first floor and ride the elevator to the following floors in the following order without exiting it until the end.

Fourth. Second. Sixth. Second. Tenth. Fifth.

At the fifth floor (according to “the lore,” by which I mean “the internet,” and more specifically, I mean “the Korean-language page we got this information from and plugged into Google Translate”) a “beautiful young woman” will get on the elevator. You're not supposed to look at her or speak to her, or else she might “keep you forever.”

I know. I cringed, too.

At this point, you press “1” and one of two things happen. If the elevator descends, you get off at the first floor and walk away. If, instead, it ascends, you get out and walk around: at this point, you're supposedly in another world. To get back, you return to the exact same elevator and punch in the order in reverse. You've got to leave so that the woman isn't there when you return.

I'm the subject. The Operator. With me here are Tom Knight (Fearless Leader; Camera 1, 5th floor,) Veronica “Ronnie” Wagner (Second-in-Command; Camera 2, 1st and 2nd floor,) Manuel “Manny” Rojas (Off-duty paramedic; Camera 3, 4th and 6th Floor,) and Franklin “Frankie” Fallon (resident skeptic; Camera 4, 10th floor.) Veronica and Manny move between the different floors as I move up and down using the stairs. The idea is that someone can see me every time I stop and I give a sign that everything is okay. We record it so that there's a record of the whole thing.

It's just some dumb internet shit, but it's tied up with that whole thing that happened in L.A. a couple years back. I'm kind of haunted by it, but I don't really show it to the others. Tom would make fun of me, and the other two would feel awkward. That girl could have been my cousin. Maybe not a sister. I never knew my family, so I guess I've just got this phantom limb thing when it comes to people who vaguely resemble me.

She was supposedly doing this thing before she disappeared, only to be found a month later in the water tower on top of the Cecil Hotel.

I began to wonder if this was a race thing as we were about to start.

I mean, we had drawn straws, but they had just conveniently chosen the guy who looked most like the person in the video. The random element didn't really help me get away from that.

“You okay?” Veronica asked, pointing the camera at me.

I looked at her, at the projecting lens of the camera, then back at her. She was watching me through the range-finder, and the whole thing was honestly a bit alienating. She wasn't paying attention to me but to an image of me, an electronic simulacrum created out of bits and pixels.

Ronnie worked in a call center, and could turn on the charm when she had to. She never did when she didn't have to, though. I could understand that: she had to dress up in slacks and a blouse for work, she had to raise the pitch of her voice, she had to smile. When she was with us she dressed in jeans and a tank top under a flannel shirt, she spoke in a husky voice, and she never smiled. Manny and Tom worked in health care, but if I had to pick one of us for surgeon material, it would be Veronica Elma Wagner.

“Just nerves,” I said.

She paused.

“Makes sense. You think anything is going to happen?”

I shook my head as the door opened.

“No. Just feels like bad luck,” I said as I stepped in.

“What do you mean?” she asked, adjusting the focus.

No way to back out of it, now, though. I hit “4.”

“Like I'm making fun of a dead person.”

Part of me was gratified that she looked up at me as the door slid shut.

I took out my phone and hit record on it before sticking it in my breast pocket, lens exposed. I turned to look out the window, mugging the camera Manny was holding like I was on “The Office.” After a second, I gave a tired “thumbs up,” signaling “all clear.”

Manny didn't live in the house anymore. His room had become my room, and he had washed his hands of things for almost six months, but he still worked with Tom and was eventually dragged back in. I liked him. We weren't friends, or anything, but he was just magnetic: handsome, reliable, charming. Good to have around. I felt bad that he was spending a late night with a bunch of assholes like the Spook House Group.

Once the doors opened, I waited a second and then hit “2.”

Veronica had just gotten into position, having run up from the first floor. The door dinged open, and I gave her the “all clear.”

When the door closed, I hit “6.”

Third…

Fourth...

As I passed Tom on the fifth floor, I flipped him the double bird. I could see the son of a bitch just laughing.

He was getting a kick out of this. He was such a juvenile piece of shit. I don't get why Owen kept putting him in charge of these tests. Probably just the shouting. Tom could argue for hours over minutiae and there was no getting him to shut up about it. Force of personality, my ass. He'd known the other three since high school, and I got the feeling that he'd just eroded them, worn them down until they didn't have the will to put a stop to it.

It must have to do with his height, I figured. Even Veronica had an inch or two on him, and he was the type who would never really pack on that much muscle or fat, so he had the personality of a bantam rooster on speed. All twitchy and looking to establish dominance.

That's unfair. It's also true.

Unlike the rest of us, Tom hadn't been scarred by the weird shit. He'd been empowered by it. He'd become convinced of his own importance, deriving meaning from it. Then it had slipped from his life, retreating from it like some woodland creature running away from the light of a forest clearing. He wanted it back, and didn't understand how traumatized the rest of us were.

Our worst moment mapped on to his best, and he couldn't put himself in our shoes. He was all about this. That's why he was leader, I imagine. He wanted it. He wanted it, bad.

I lowered my hands and looked at Manny just getting in to position as the door dinged and opened to the sixth floor. I raised my hand and gave a shaky thumbs up.

The silence was getting to me. Elevators were stressful places. It was a machine whose sole purpose was to get you from one place to another, and I spent all day, every day, driving.

The door closed. I hit “2.”

Wave to Ronnie there.

Up to “10.”

This was the longest period of largely unobserved travel. I shouldn't have been nervous about it. The eyes of my housemates – well, housemates and Manny – were bothersome when present, but I just felt anxious when they weren't watching. There was no winning, really. There was no way to get comfortable.

Maybe I could get off. Maybe I could trade with somebody.

No...no...we had drawn straws. That was the protocol.

I gave Frankie a thumbs up at “10.”

The big, blonde ex-goth waved back at 10. He was how I knew the rest of these people: we had worked at the same pizzeria for a long period, and I had moved in just after I left in the most spectacular fashion. He had jumped ship shortly after in solidarity, switching over to manning the grill over at the Westport Flea Market, where he was stoked about the fact that he worked in the same building as the former site of Bob's Bizarre Bazaar, a shop operated by Kansas City's most famous serial killer, Bob Berdella. I wonder if the serial killer fascination was what had led to him being a goth kid, if it has been nascent in the good Catholic school boy he had once been. Had he been watching Silence of the Lambs in the wilds of the Southwestern Suburbs, thinking about Ed Gein while biking around the cul-de-sac? Or had it been an outgrowth of that subculture? A perverse fascination that he had developed after the torn ACL moved him from football to theater?

I guess I'll never know.

He waved back.

Absentmindedly, I hit “5.”

The elevator descended.

When the door opened, I turned sharply away, looking out the window at Tom, who was narrating something into his camera. Someone else had gotten on the elevator. Tom grinned and gave me the thumbs up.

The beautiful young woman from the internet had stepped on.

Ꚛ

Tom spoke low, directly into the microphone: “Young, Asian woman getting on the elevator...”

He squinted. “I think? I can't tell her age…Wait! Shit, that's because she's far away, not because she's – ”

He trailed off.

“She looks pretty well-dressed? Like put-together? The sort of clothes you would wear to a job interview. Like...one of those dresses that's worn over a shirt, leaving only the collar and sleeves out. She's got a white shirt on.”

The walkie-talkie he had in his breast pocket crackled, and Manny spoke.

“Shirt or blouse?”

“What's the difference?”

“How loose is it?” Manny asked.

“I don't know! It's pretty far away.”

“Let's just call it a blouse.”

“Okay, fine,” Tom said. “Blouse, then. She also looks like she's got some panty-hose on.”

“Also, the dress you're talking about is a jumper,” Manny said.

“How do you know so much about women's clothing?” Tom asked.

“Hey, I've got hobbies you don't know about. I don't hang out with you guys all the time.”

“I think he means that he just pays attention,” Veronica said.

“Yeah, Manny's pretty observant,” Frankie added.

“Shut up! This isn't important,” Tom said, and waved, gesturing to Jules for continue.

Slowly, Jules swallowed and shook his head.

“He's refusing to continue. I can't believe it,” Tom said.

“Hey, we've got confirmation. Lady just appeared out of nowhere, right?” Frankie said. “Can't we just call this one?”

“I...I think? She might have?”

“Were you not paying attention?” Veronica asked, barely hiding her exasperation.

“I'm going to call him,” Tom said.

He ignored the walkie-talkie for a moment and pulled out his phone, hit the contact information for Jules, and raised it to his ear.

Jules pulled out his phone, looked at it, and sighed. It was a visible, dramatic sigh. He looked over at Tom, made direct eye contact, and touched something on the screen. It went to voicemail.

“Son of a bitch didn't accept my call!” Tom complained.

He almost missed the woman say something. Almost missed Jules go rigid and fight the urge to look at her.

Jules reached over and hit “1.”

The elevator didn't move. Its lights flickered. Tom wrinkled his nose as an unpleasant smell assaulted his senses. An electric buzz seemed to emanate from it.

There was a pained screeching noise as the elevator shot up to the tenth floor far faster than it should have. Jules fell down, but the woman remained standing.

“Fuck!” someone shouted.

“What –?” someone else began

After a moment, Frankie spoke: “Uh...guys, the elevator is full of smoke.”

The elevator began to slowly slide down toward the first floor. There was an uncomfortable ratcheting noise that accompanied it down.

“I'm only seeing one silhouette,” Manny said at the sixth.

“First floor,” Tom said.

“How do you know it's…?” Frankie asked.

“First floor,” Veronica said, backing Tom up.

“Right,” Manny said.

Tom broke down the tripod, pulling the camera free after a second and began to head for the first floor, taking the stairs down. Veronica was already ahead of him, but he figured he would be second to reach –

Manny passed him, carrying his camera by the tripod, and Tom cursed under his waning breath.

In the lobby, Veronica was filming the woman from behind a planter, peeking the lens of the camera out around the planter. Manny was crouched next to her behind the same planter, completely hidden from the woman's view.

Tom walked right past them, and began to film the woman, walking around her slowly and steadily. Her black jumper dress was worn over a cream-colored blouse, all of which fit well enough that someone more knowledgeable than Tom would assume that it had been tailored to fit her. She was about as tall as Tom was, with most of her height in her legs. The cold white smoke around her feet began to dissipate, revealing that she was wearing flats. Tom wondered if Manny would want to explain the difference to him.

She noticed the movement, and turned to look at him.

“What was that about?” she asked. “Do you know?”

She had a pronounced accent, but spoke confidently and clearly. English might not be her first language, but she had been speaking it long enough to have a firm command of the language, Tom assumed.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Tom said, training his camera on her.

She looked at him, down at the camera, then back up at him.

“You're filming me?” she asked, confused and dismayed.

“You bet your ass. Our friend just disappeared and you stepped out of the elevator he was in. So unless the Elevator Game is some elaborate gender-swap ritual and you're Jules – in which case, you look a lot better as a girl than as a guy, I mean, just saying – then – ”

Veronica, having set down her camera, stepped in and cut Tom off.

“Tom? Shut up. How many times do we have to tell you to be more careful?”

Tom turned to look at her, uncomprehenidng.

She stepped between Tom and the woman, almost blocking his view with the camera lens. Tom tried to correct, Veronica grimaced at him, and then used one finger to push the camera away to not record the woman.

“I'm sorry about him,” she said. “He was never the same after he stopped huffing glue, you know?”

“I never – !” Tom began to protest.

Manny took Tom by the shoulders and pulled him back a step.

The woman nodded slowly, and her posture relaxed. Veronica took a step closer, but didn't invade her personal space.

“If you could return our friend,” Veronica said, “we would be very grateful.”

The woman cocked her head to the side.

“Your friend? Oh! The man from the elevator. He slipped away, I won't be able to find him.”

Veronica slumped slightly.

“Oh. Right. Sorry to bother you.”

“It's okay,” the woman said. “I'm just a bit turned around. I think I got into a liminality without realizing it.”

“Liminality?”

“Liminality. Heterotopos. Thin place.”

Veronica nodded slowly.

“A place that is part of two or more spaces. A...crosshatch?”

“I think I understand.”

The woman looked at Veronica appraisingly. Her large, dark eyes put Veronica in mind of a cenote, an unexpected yawning well in the surface of the earth.

“You seem like you might,” was all the woman said.

“Can I ask who you are?” Veronica asked.

“Forgive me,” the woman said. “I don't really give out my real name lightly. To explain myself simply, I'm a...hmm...a traveler, a seeker.”

She reached into a pocket sewn into the side of her dress, and pulled out something that looked like a cigarette case: aluminum-shiny, with an embossed bit of cursive text on it – “CABIN FILTERS” – and opened it up. She pulled a business card out of it, on which was written:

Ms. 5

SEANCES * CARTOMANCY * PALMISTRY

KC-0057-665-93

“Is this a phone number?”

“What? Of course it is.”

“What are you searching for?” Tom asked, cutting in.

“Something I don't think I can find here,” she said regretfully.

“You're being awful evasive,” Tom muttered.

“And you're prying,” the woman said, an oddly satisfied smile on her face. “So in the Prisoner's Dilemma of politeness, let us both defect.”

Tom blinked.

“...What?”

“I must get back to my search. This is a dead end.”

Franklin rounded his corner and raised his camera just as the woman climbed back aboard the elevator. She bent down, studied the panel, and held down two buttons while pressing a series of others in a particular sequence.

She looked back at the group. Frankie zoomed in on her face.

“Be seeing you,” she said with a smile.

The door closed. The lights flickered. A strange, pungent smell wafted in cold waves from the elevator doors before the car rose with a pained shriek.

“What the hell is that?” Tom said, coughing.

“I don't know,” Veronica said, waving the air in front of her face.

“Kind of like...it smells like how it would smell if cinnamon could rot,” Manny said.

“Seriously, what the hell was that?” Tom asked.

Veronica sighed.

“The first confirmed incident in like...a decade?”

“Guys?” Franklin said, holding his nose.

“What?” Tom said.

“Where's Jules?”

A moment of silence followed.

“Fuck,” Tom said, quietly.

#kansas city gothic #comeback city #rough draft #original content #my writing #Kansas City

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