Ink and lace in Caitlyn’s webcam room

Lady Caitlyn runs a live set from her own room, peeling off one layer at a time until the ink across her arms and ribs has nothing left to compete with. Her figure is full, the tattoos map the whole show, and a toy arrives once she is down to skin.

Webcam work lives or dies on how comfortable a woman is alone in a room, and she is thoroughly at home: adjusting a lamp, glancing at the chat, laughing at something off screen before returning to the business at hand. Nothing is staged for a crew. That plainness gives the solo play its charge.