Growing into the Job, Post 550: Sharpening the Weapons: Amelia, p1

Amelia Eklund sat in the glow of her ring light, the only full illumination in the otherwise shadow-drenched basement. It was a clean, finished space - set up as a little apartment for herself:  a bedroom, a kitchenette, a little sitting area - but still a basement. The low ceilings, the touch of chill in the air she fought with space heaters, and the occasional creak of footsteps from the level above when her stepfather's caregivers would move about were all reminders of where she was. The faint hum of the oxygen machine filtered down through the vents, steady, like a second hand ticking towards…something.

On camera, Amelia was radiant. She leaned forward in her chair, bright blonde hair cascading over one shoulder, the tight fabric of her pink neon top barely managing the weight of her chest - her natural bustiness, generous implants, and now the added cup sizes compliments of the Melisssy Effect. Her lips were glossy, her gum clicking softly between perfectly timed smirks. She was at ease, in control, chuckling and cooing at the screen as little text bubbles popped in, desperate pleas and pathetic questions from her digital disciples - her “goblins”.

“You think you want to put yourself in between them?” she purred, voice syrupy and biting all at once as she replied to some request. “You think your goblin meat can handle that? I don’t think so. I think your meat would just disintegrate between my big knockers.”

She checked chat, read the next stream of comments. Omigod men are so fucked up. 

“And you - ‘user 34467’ - you want to actually live in there? In my bra?”

She glanced down at herself, at her chest.

“There might just be room.”

The chat exploded. She chuckled again, but her eyes remained icy, calculating. She glanced at her monitor stats - views were climbing, tips steady. She leaned closer, practically brushing the camera with her chest. “Keep that energy up, you poor things. They want you on here for as long as you can stand it.”

By ‘they’ she meant her breasts. Goblins loved it when she talked about them like that.

At the same time, a shadow stirred in the corner behind her. Amelia didn’t seem to notice, though, and she didn’t turn as the soft LED glow from the ring light continued to bathe her in a clean, camera-friendly warmth. The footsteps from above had disappeared a while ago, and her basement apartment was quiet. Despite the sleek backdrop she’d arranged for her cam setup, though - ivory curtain, velvet desk chair, gold-trimmed mirror - the rest of the space whispered of its history. The HVAC ducts running across the ceiling. The boxed-up holiday decorations behind her curtain. A faded "Go Anteaters" banner still pinned above an old, unused desk stacked with criminology textbooks - a reminder of her useless years of college.

Upstairs, her stepfather slept in his hospice bed. The low hum of his oxygen machine had become part of the house’s soundscape - familiar and dull, like the refrigerator buzz or the quiet tick of the thermostat. He wouldn’t need his final dose of medication for a few hours yet. He’d want to sleep. Amelia was giving him that.

She sat back now in her cam chair, dressed provocatively to keep the male eye but cloaked fully in the confidence of performance. The webcam lens captured her heart-stopping beauty - all manicured curves, golden hair, and eyes that narrowed with the kind of knowing that made her viewers feel exposed.

“ungh youre so beautiful” “mommmy” “please slice something with your nails” “unnngh” “nnnggh ohmygod”

“You boys are really struggling to keep up conversation tonight,” she purred, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. Her tone was syrupy, playful - but underneath, it was barbed. “Is it the outfit? Or is it just…me?”

The screen - positioned just above the camera - flooded with emoji reactions and messages from viewers scrambling to keep up. There were hundreds of them tonight, and they were all paying.

She leaned closer to the lens, her bust front and center, knowing exactly how massive that would make her look. “No, don’t tell me. I already know. You’re weak. I could sneeze and knock you people over. And so submissive! You wanna hand me your wallet, your body, your brain.” A grin tugged at the corner of her lips. “Lucky for you, I make it worth your while.”

It was bravado, sure. But something inside her thrilled, sparked at how easily they gave themselves over. She didn’t know what it was. It wasn't just the rush of money - although the cash was rolling in fast, and there was more every day she did this. No, it felt like another kind of attention, an attention that ran deeper. Like fuel. It was something that tingled her bones.

She adjusted her plump bottom in her chair. The faux velvet clung to her bare thighs in the quiet of the room.

“Who owns you?” she whispered, softer now, right into the camera. “Go on, goblins. Say it out loud. No one’s listening but me. Who owns your squirt?”

‘Squirt’. Squirt was the word she’d given it, and it came to mean more than just what it implied, the gross jizz of all these ogling men. It was also the energy that came from each one of them, each time they did it for her, stroked themselves off to her. It was becoming clearer every time she logged on, that there was something else building, manifesting in a heat on her skin, a hum in her chest. She didn’t know what to call it, but she knew it felt good. It was something that fed into her and also, somehow, upwards.

A pause. She smiled again, blessing her viewers with a rare, white smile, shaking her head. “That’s right. You know who owns you. Mama does.”

‘Mama’ It wasn’t just a joke anymore. Saying it sent a strange kind of chill across her skin - one she liked, and one she knew they did too. Dozens of them just ejaculated to it, right then and there - she could feel it, the tingles. She chuckled again, and readjusted her top over her bust.

Somewhere behind her, deeper in the corner of the room and out of the camera’s eye, a shape shifted. Nothing that made much sound, just a breath, a tilt of shadows that threshed like raven’s wings. There was a presence that had been there long enough and had gone unnoticed, but something in Amelia’s posture stiffened for half a beat before relaxing again. She knew who that was. She gave her attention back to the screen, though, the goddess back in her temple.

“You’re going brainless,” she teased her viewers, “I can see it. Every working brain cell just…melting. Dripping out your pathetic ears. You all want to burst all over me so bad.”

She laughed then, a low, dry thing, deeply amused. It wasn’t cruel, not really. More like someone marveling at how easy it all was. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she leaned forward again, filling the frame with herself and checking the new manicure of her long, strong nails. “Tell me you’re broke now. Tell me you’d sell your car for five more seconds with me. Do it. I’ll wait.”

Chat exploded. Behind her, the presence in the corner didn’t move. But the shadows themselves seemed to press in closer.

Marisela how the fuck did you get in here?

She felt the darkness crack a smile, but she returned to her goblins.

Still unseen, Marisela Vazquez sat slouched in an old recliner, half-swallowed by the dimness, dark lashes low over sharply blue eyes. Her heavy boots were kicked out in front of her, fingers idly picking at the frayed stitching on one sleeve of her oversized hoodie. Her gaze was somewhere between impressed and amused, like a tiger watching its cub maul a ball of yarn.

She didn’t interrupt. Not yet. The show was still going. Amelia was good at this. And she was making a crapload of money. 

Marisela watched, her supernaturally enhanced vision able to read the screen from this far away. These men were in awe of Amelia, and it was a fucking trip to watch her manipulate them into giving her more and more and more. Men just couldn’t say no to her. 

“Oh, ‘user9965’, don’t you think I’m worth more than that,” she watched Amelia chuckle, as one of her goblins dropped something in her tip jar - not a small amount. “Why don’t you double it.”

User9965 tipped again, this time twice as much. 

“Double it again,” Amelia commanded, with a flash in her eyes. 

He did. Eighty dollars this time. 

“Again. Double it.”

One-sixty. 

“Double it.”

$320

“Double it.”

$640.

“Good boy,” she purred, feeling him ready, “More.”

$1280. Then that goblin - ‘user9965’ - squirted. She could feel it. 

Sitting back, Amelia chuckled, scanning the chat for her reactions, allowing herself a crooked smile as more responses came through. 

“Take my money too goddess” “show us your nails” “are yr tits biggger than last week?”

Marisela noticed that even the crudest comments didn’t seem to faze Amelia. Eventually, though, when one of the usernames in her chat made a half-sarcastic remark, something about "who relly hold$ the powr here?" Amelia's smile wavered a touch, and something in her eyes cooled. 

From behind her friend, Marisela watched as, below the desk, Amelia erupted her nails. They grew to nearly a half-foot in length, strong, vicious, an apex predator’s weapons. She flexed her hand, stretching tendons, as if readying them for murder. That’s promising, Marisela thought, as Amelia then silently receded the secret, unseen talons back to manicure-length. Still impressive. 

"If you have a brain in your head," the blonde said to her watchers, maybe addressing the one who misspoke in particular or maybe talking to the whole flock, leaning closer and using one razor-tipped finger to tuck a lock of hair behind one ear, "I would advise you not to question a woman’s power over the weaker breed."

Another string of responses flooded in, some eager to please, some apologizing for their gender, others trying to push her further. Her eyes scanned them with a clinical precision. She was learning their tells, learning what responses made the energy spike. Her voice dropped as she filled the camera frame with her lips, neck and chest. Checking the feed, she made sure the goblins could see the outline of her bra under her top. They get crazy for that. 

“You’re all going mindless, aren’t you?” she sneered at them, “Every working brain cell you had is just dripping out of your ears right now. That’s what I do to you. That’s what we do. Mommy melts you."

Her followers were erupting in the chat. Behind her, Marisela didn’t move, but her shadows themselves seemed to press in closer to watch, and Amelia figured she’d twist the knife a bit for her dark observer’s benefit. 

“You’re all betas and you’re weak,” she continued, “You praise me, you praise us…”

At that, Amelia paused, considering the fact that a good number of these goblins knew who her friends were, knew where she worked, and knew the towering brunette she worked with. She would play that card from time to time, and decided on it now - admittedly, it gave her a strange, tingly thrill:

“You praise her, don’t you? You don’t look up to anything in this world besides her, and us. Women. We are your goddess and nothing can compare to us.“

Fuck…that was big. Just the hint of a mention of Melissa made much of her audience come. Squirt squirt squirt you little goblins. 

“yes u are goddess” “bigger bigger bigger” “im cumming for her!!” 

“EVERYONE ZTOP NOW ITS A TRAP”

She watched chat with her wry smile. There were some that still seemed disobedient, even defiant, particularly this ‘user06334’ doofus, the one that typed in all caps. “You think you can resist us? Get away from us? You can never escape us.” She could feel it herself; a new zealousness had gripped her. Amelia was generally pretty proud of her ability to remain unflappable, keeping her distance from the madding crowds and a casual approach to this whole “women are taking over the world” thing. But here on cam she would, on occasion, feel some inner floodgates open. “Once you’re here and you're our little goblin, there’s no getting away from us. We own you. Your wallet is ours. Your car is ours. Your home is ours. That thing in between your legs and every squirt it makes is ours. Everything is ours. You should all know this by now. “

As Marisela, behind Amelia, stood, and took her first step, Amelia became even more bold. 

“I consider this Goblins Anonymous,” she told her audience, “You know how alcoholics go to meetings to help with their addiction? You cretins come here so your addiction can get worse…”

“Wait whats tht behind her?” “who is that?” “It’s a ghost” “its a fukking DEMON” 

“You’re all in a hole that you can never get out of and I hope that you’re aware of that.” 

There was a dark presence over her left shoulder, still shadowed but approaching. Amelia either didn’t notice or at least she didn’t let on that she did. She did smile, though, and knew it was time to wrap up. 

“All right," she said sweetly, stretching her arms above her head, twisting her torso the way she knew would give the chat a mind-ending profile, something to remember. "That's enough worship for tonight. Remember to leave your tips.” She then blew a kiss, leaned forward - being sure to fill the screen with her bust - and clicked a key.

The webcam light went dark.

The room paused.

Amelia sat in silence for a few seconds, then reached for a bottle of water and took a long sip, her posture still poised like she was on camera. Slowly, though, the tension began to slide from her shoulders. She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples with both hands, releasing a quiet sigh. The energy in the room hadn’t gone away.

"Marisela, how the hell did you get in here?” she said, without even turning her head. 

Behind her, boots scuffed softly against the basement carpet.

“Who me?” said the dark presence - tall, lithe, pale of skin and inky black of hair - stepping into view. She looked relaxed, dressed casually in her oversized hoodie and black tights, but her eyes were sharp. “I have my ways. I’m sneaky like that.” 

“Well, welcome to my little cave,” Amelia offered, taking another sip of water and finally swiveling in her chair to face her coworker. “First time at the Eklund residence, right?”

Marisela nodded, wordless, the bright blue of her gaze flicking upward. “Who’s the guy in the bed up there?”

“Yeah.” Amelia didn’t bother hiding her weariness, and gave a small scoff, “That’d be Barry. My stepfather. Sleeps through most of the days. And nights. He’s sick.”

Marisela nodded once. “I figured. He looks sick.”  She watched as Amelia stood and crossed to her vanity, taking a makeup wipe to her face. She saw how her eyes met her own reflection - the heavy lashes, the flushed cheeks. “And you live here, in the basement, with him upstairs?” Then, in the mirror, Amelia looked at Marisela. The person staring at her felt strangely distant from the girl who she’d seen kiss the camera minutes ago.

Amelia didn’t respond.

“I didn’t know you two were close,” Marisela said casually, folding her arms over the undeniable weight of her chest.

“We’re…not.” Amelia peeled off one lash, then the other. “He married my mom when I was in middle school. She died last year. Cancer.”

“And now you’re taking care of him.”

Amelia’s jaw tensed, but she kept her tone even as she considered her life for a moment. “I didn’t say that.” 

“You didn’t have to.” Marisela walked slowly past the desk, trailing her fingers over a stack of sliced-up Gorgie cans; they looked like they’d gone through a shredder. “Still. Feeding him, arranging for visiting nurses, making sure he doesn’t rot in his bed. That’s care.”

Amelia dropped the wipes into the trash. If she was shocked by the dark girl's perceptiveness, her grasp of the situation, she didn’t show it. “It’s duty.”

A beat passed. Then:

“I don’t have to like him to make sure he doesn’t choke to death in the living room.”

Marisela tilted her head, examining the blonde from behind, maybe seeing something in her that she hadn’t seen before. “That’s noble.”

Amelia let out a small laugh - bitter, not amused. “It’s…I dunno. Unfinished business.”

“I get it,” Marisela nodded. Silence filled the space again, thick with unspoken truths. Marisela let it sit a moment before stepping closer. She stopped beside Amelia, watching her reflection now instead of her directly. “He also has the stink of a predator about him.”

Amelia tightened, bristled. Then she sighed. She didn’t know how much she should tell the darkling Marisela. The girl had it out for men who preyed on women, and Barry might just fit her bill. She didn’t like the guy but was Amelia ready for that? No. But the idea did light a Stygian little spark inside her, when she thought of what this man had been to her. 

“Yeah, there was some…inappropriateness when I was younger. Roving eyes, too many hands. I saw pictures of me when I was fifteen on his phone. He’s basically a fucking lech. That’s why I went to Irvine, for school. To get as far away from him as I could. But, out of respect for my mom, rest her soul, here I still am.” The blonde fluffed her hair out, pushed stray locks over her shoulders, considered the man’s fragile condition. “Hopefully it's his last days, honestly.”

Marisela nodded, sensitive enough to know Amelia did not want to talk about him any more, but also understanding that this was good information she could use for later. File it away, maybe it’ll help sharpen the weapon.  She turned her head, letting her gaze settle back to Amelia’s cam station again, the monitor standing dark. Then she looked back to Amelia, who was rubbing some moisturizer into her hands.

“I noticed something,” she said. “While you were talking to them, all those guys online, you weren’t saying ‘me.’ You kept saying ‘us.’” She let the word hang a moment. “Like... who owns them. Who they belong to. ‘Us.’”

Amelia turned, quirking a brow as she dried her hands on a towel from her vanity. “Yeah? And?”

Marisela’s voice was soft, but curious. “Why ‘us’?”

Amelia hesitated, then sat back, the edge of the vanity creaking under her new 190 lbs of weight as she turned the thought over. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “It just feels right. I mean, sure, they’re logged in to see me - but it doesn’t feel like it’s just about me. Not anymore.”

Marisela nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. Chrome and silver jewelry in her ear caught the light. 

“It’s like…” Amelia continued, chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek, “when I say ‘we’, I’m talking about something bigger. The others. Melissa. Lakshmi, Aubrey. Randi. You. All of us. There’s this...thing, this presence that’s always behind me, or, like, in me, when I’m on camera. Like it’s not just me they’re feeding.”

“Feeding?”

“Yeah. What I draw out of them - it’s not just money. It’s some weird-ass, like, energy.” Amelia turned to face her dark friend. ”I guess I’m like magic or something now.”

Marisela smiled, just barely, running her tongue over her eye teeth. “The hive feeds in a lot of ways. Some softer. Some darker.”

Amelia scoffed. “I guess you’re one of the darker ones.”

Marisela chuckled. She hadn’t been out hunting tonight, but later she would be. “You’re not far behind.”

Amelia went still. Her arms went to fold over her bosomy chest - defensive, but not dismissive. “Let me guess. You came here to talk about that, didn’t you?”

“I came to, like, offer you something,” Marisela said, voice low. “Training. Understanding. A way to sharpen the edge you’re already, like, honing.”

Amelia didn’t respond immediately, but felt the razor blades of her manicure dig into her palm. She studied Marisela’s face, trying to read her - but there was no pretense there, no masquerade. Just certainty, commitment, and maybe something else…like recognition. Marisela knew Amelia had a purpose, one that was slowly coalescing. 

“Training, huh? Like you did with Stephanie?” Amelia asked, calling up the name of their blonde, gym-bunny friend, who Marisela had brought along on a revenge-filled killing spree at a local college dive bar last weekend. “You want to ‘show me a few things’?”

“Sure.”

“You’re serious.”

Marisela nodded once. “Deadly.”

A long pause passed between them.

Then Amelia, slowly, let her arms drop. She glanced upwards, at the ceiling, heard the thrum of the oxygen machine. “Tell me what that means…”

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