Felicia Day, Glorified Booth Babe - Part 3

"I'm your host, PhatLewt."

"And I'm Misty Something."

As it turned out, there WAS another way for her to make a living. Though whether or not it counted as better depended on the point of view. to get off the trade floors, Felicia returned to her first love and success, the internet. Who needed conventions when you could stream yourself and make plenty of money?

Except she didn't make money. Her Kickstarters and Patreons failed. Her streams got hardly any traffic after she shut off comments and stopped taking questions due to rampant insults and false accusations. Soon enough, even her old booth babe jobs fizzled out as employers wanted someone 'fresher' and 'newer'. They may as well have said she was a has-been to her face. She almost gave up on her career when she received an unexpected offer to guest star on someone else's stream.

She should have known there was a catch. She sat in it. Dressed as Misty from Pokemon, she hugged the Togepi doll tight to her chest and set about performing the humiliating script tasked to her.

"No Felicia," PhatLewt said. "Misty doesn't have a last name. Have you ever heard of Pokemon?"

Of course she knew about Pokemon. Everyone knew Pokemon. Dogs on the street knew Pokemon because their owners dressed them in goofy Pikachu costumes. At least the dogs didn't have to pretend they liked walking around in something someone them to wear.

"Teehee, that's the one with that cute Zelda boy right?" Felicia giggled and slumped into a dejected fake-smile. "He can ring my Mordor if you know what I mean."

"That's not... nevermind. Today, we're going to play Pokemon Stadium."

Like her booth babe training taught her, Felicia held up the game's cartridge and showed it off with a wave of her hand across the bottom. Unlike her past streams, PhatLewt allowed live comments, and the nearby monitor allowed Felicia to see what his viewers tossed into the chat.

"Flatter than Misty"

"Ur so dumb lol"

"Dat armpit, wanna fuck"

Part of this gig required improvisation based on feedback. Phat hadn't outlined what that meant until she sat in the big comfy chair. Leaning back, she put her arms above her head and gave the pervy commenter a good look at her sweaty, stubbly pits. The chat went wild with a bunch of heart and jaw drop emojis before a mod banned the very person she appealed to.

"Do a flip!"

Some requests she didn't need to answer. Most of the time when space limits made them literally impossible. Others

"Snap your suspenders."

She could do. She stretched her suspenders out and released. The light thwack straight against her nipples brought a short sharp pain that made her wince and yelp. "Ow! Guess I'm not doing that-"

"Again."

Felicia sighed. Pull, snap, wince. Pull, snap, wince. Pull, snap, wince. She carried it out, viewer numbers rising as they tried to push her as long as they could. Finally, Phat interrupted.

"That's enough, Felicia. We're here to play games, not watch you play with yourself."

"I'm sorry, I can't help myself. I need to cummies bad."

She picked up the controller. They started the game. A game she would lose, with a loud "Aww, I lost AGAIN" cry and pout. Every session, she had to lose to him, badly. Mashing buttons, spinning in circles, any route it took to failure, he expected her to take and whine about.

And she was STILL a booth babe. It didn't matter that the booth went from displays at conventions to a pay-by-the-hour room optimized for streaming. She was a babe. She was in a booth. In the end, she had traded one embarrassment for another. One that gave up glamorous and sexy dresses for cheap yellow shirts that made her look almost dumpy. Like she grabbed a knockoff bargain bin Sexy Pojemoms costume from the nearest Halloween store.

A woman with more boobage would have spilled out of the top. Felicia had so little that she lacked any sign of cleavage. Which worked well with the character she cosplayed. But not with her viewers, who just kept going on about it. If this kept up...