Saturday June 6
This journal is NOT about an investigation into some depraved conspiracy. I'm out; I've learned my lesson. After the prolonged legal battles from the Photo Club fiasco, and getting beaten half to death for poking into the Chi Omicron Faculty Brunch, it is officially my policy to stay the fuck out of everything.
So why am I writing? Well, those other journals also ended up being about my sex life, and I miss that part. I've just started seeing a wonderful guy, and so hopefully I'm going to have lots of great uncomplicated sex to write about. Nothing so far, but soon.
The guy's name is Miles. We met at Fry's Electronics two weeks ago: we were both trying to help a confused middle-aged guy who had no idea what sort of graphics card to buy. Miles has long black hair, dark eyes, kind of a wiry build, and a rogue's smile. Clean-shaven. He doesn't have a real job: he's a "streamer". For some reason, thousands of people pay to watch him play video games instead of playing them themselves. He also plays in tournaments, but he says the real money is in streaming. It's weird and I don't get it, but it seems to work for him.
I've decided to go blond for the summer: neck length and still wavy. I thought about trying out some colored contacts - maybe a brilliant blue. I like how I look with photoshopped eyes. But contacts are too much hassle, so I'm sticking with my plain old brown eyes and glasses.
I'm writing this from a house that I'm house-sitting. It belongs to Mr. Demarco. He's a friend of my dad's, and he was my lawyer through the Photo Club ordeal, so I know him pretty well. I like him: he has always treated me like an adult. I suspect that the house-sitting arrangement is more a favor to me than to him, since the house doesn't need much looking-after: feed the cat, water the plants, bring in the mail - that's it. Maybe he knew how hard it was to go back to staying at my parents' house after the independence of my first year at college.
Mr. Demarco's rules were surprisingly lenient - especially for a lawyer: "No more than two friends over at a time, and nobody here when you're not here. Oh, and Lexi: if anything should 'evaporate' from the liquor cabinet, that's fine; just don't try to fill the bottles back up with water."
The first thing I did once I was alone in the house was strip down to my underwear, blast some Rancid on the stereo, and dance around. I know, it's childish, but it feels so nice to be free! I mean, I've been alone countless times in my parents' house, and in the dorm, but somehow here it's different. If Miles can come over tonight, then I'm going to fuck him silly in a giant California King sized bed. Whether he comes over or not, there will be bourbon and skinny-dipping.
Sunday June 7
Mmm, boyfriends are nice.
I gussied up before Miles came over last night. This house has a wonderfully spacious shower with three nozzles, a wood floor, and a wood bench. I can honestly say it was the best time I've ever had shaving my legs.
We cooked up some stir-fry together, and ate it, and then watched a monster thriller on TV. We kissed and held each other during the movie, but didn't do anything overtly sexual. I wasn't scared, but I certainly did enjoy clinging to my guy during the intense parts.
We did, in fact, drink some bourbon during the movie, so I was feeling warm and glowy afterward when I led Miles into the back yard. Without a word, I stripped off my shirt, my skirt, my bra, and panties, and waded into to the pool. Miles just watched me, until I beckoned to him; then he stripped himself and joined my via the diving board. For the next little while we explored each others' bodies while we goofed around.
I did another shot of bourbon between the pool and the shower, where we washed off the chlorine. Well, we did more than that, of course. That was where I took his dick into my mouth for the first time. I was just teasing it to get it ready. I didn't make him come because I knew that Miles had to leave soon, and I wanted him to fuck me. Still, it was sexy as hell - Miles lying on the bench, with my head bobbing up and down on his cock, warm water spraying at us from every direction. I made a mental note to explore the erotic possibilities of this shower in the future.
You know how they say that skinny guys have the biggest dicks? Not true - at least not in this case. Miles' dick was smaller than normal: small enough that I couldn't even deep throat him. I was a bit worried that it wouldn't feel good enough when we got to the actual sex, but I didn't have to wait long to find out.
After a toweling off, we went straight to the bed. Miles put me on my side, with my bottom leg sticking straight out, and my top leg bent. He straddled my leg, and, after wetting his cock in my juices, slid it into my cunt. It felt juuuust fine! "Mmm," I moaned as he stroked in and out.
"God, Lexi, your body is unbelievable," Miles told me. Our positions gave him a great deal of freedom to touch me with his hands. He spent a lot of time massaging my ass - well, half of my ass - while his hips gave me slow rhythmic awesome sex feelings. God, penises are great! But he also touched my breasts, my side, my back - pretty much everywhere.
I could look up at him and touch his chest if I twisted my head and shoulders toward him. It was lovely, in the beginning, looking into his face while our bodies squeezed and pressed against each other. I was probably squinting - my glasses were down by the pool - but Miles didn't complain. Once the feelings started getting intense, though, I untwisted my body, closed my eyes, and clutched a pillow to my chest.
I was moaning hard, and Miles was panting. He was driving his cock into me quickly, stimulating me from the inside, while with each stroke his thigh thumped against my clit. I was so close to coming when Miles moaned in relief and stopped pumping. I reached out my arm randomly and touched his chest. "Almost there - keep going!" I said. He started pumping hard again, and despite his softening cock, he brought me the rest of the way to orgasm. He kept going until my orgasm faded away.
"Okay, I'm good," I panted, and patted his thigh to let him know I was done. When he pulled out his dick was completely flaccid. "So good," I added contently.
"I have to go soon," Miles said as he lay next to me and put his arm around me.
"Stay until I fall asleep?" I asked. "I'm tired." The liquor and the orgasm had conspired to put my body into a cozy, sleepy, safe, comfortable hibernation. I vaguely remembered Miles pulling the covers over us.
I woke up to the doorbell. Miles had sent flowers.
Monday June 8
Last day house-sitting. Oh well - back to my parents' house.
Tuesday June 9
I've been spending the summer volunteering at a church workshop to teach kids how to program. I guess I shouldn't call them kids - they're mostly early teens, not that much younger than I am. But a year at college really makes high school seem like a different life. I'm not the main teacher - just an assistant - but Ms. Bush has more than her hands full with all of the students.
I enjoy talking with the students, something that Ms. Bush encourages. She hopes I'll inspire them: the program is open to everyone, but the main focus is to try to get more girls interested in technology.
So I was chatting with Kelly - about the assignment, and the book she's reading, and maybe a little bit about Miles - when the webcam LED on her laptop came on. "Did you just turn on your camera?" I asked.
"No, it's broken. It just does that on its own," Kelly explained.
"Are you sure it's broken?" I asked. "Are you sure it's not some kind of spyware?"
Kelly's eyes went wide at the suggestion. "How can I tell?" She asked nervously.
"Do you mind if I take a look?" I offered. I spent about an hour looking through Kelly's computer right then, and I found the app responsible. I made a copy of it to dissect on my own time.
The app was a curiosity. It didn't know how to replicate itself - it wasn't a virus or a worm. Presumably it had been installed by some sort of Trojan horse installer. It was written in C#, which just isn't done for this sort of thing. And it was rather shoddily put-together. The strangest part was what it was coded to do with the videos it recorded. It was supposed to put them on a network file share, at an IP address that could only be on a local network somewhere - not the Internet. Somewhere on some network that Kelly uses, there's a machine with a G drive full of video captures of her.
Wednesday June 10
I deleted the spyware from Kelly's computer, but told her that it's possible that other computers on her home network might be infected. She was happy to take me up on my offer to come home with her and take a look. I said I had a research paper to write about how spyware spreads, so she would be doing me a favor.
Kelly was happy to let me poke at the stuff on her network, so I quickly identified her mom's desktop as the spot that the spyware wanted to deposit its videos. It was locked, but Kelly informed me that her mom keeps all of her passwords written on a yellow pad in the desk drawer. I didn't tell Kelly that her mom was spying on her. I made busy work until Kelly got bored and wandered off before looking at the G drive.
There was only one file there: a video file. I plugged in my headphones and watched it, mouse pointer hovering over the close box in case Kelly came in at the wrong moment. The video showed Kelly's family's living room. The camera must have been over the fireplace or around the TV somewhere. A teen boy came into the room, took off his pants and underwear, and sat on the couch staring at his cell phone. It didn't look like he knew he was being recorded. He was clearly watching porn. He stroked himself hard to the wet slurpy sounds and moaning coming from his phone.
Once he was ready to go, the boy in the video surprised me. He lay face-down on the couch and worked his dick into the space between the cushions. With a pillow under his chest and his phone in front of his face, he fucked the living room couch. It was weird watching it. For one thing, I'd never seen a guy this young naked before. He was probably 15 - reasonably man-shaped, but there was a smoothness to his butt as it bobbed up and down. His whole body positioning seemed odd, too. It was sort of like watching a guy have missionary sex, but flatter. I have to admit, it did turn me on a little.
For the most part, the boy in the video just kept humping and staring at his phone while moaning, "ugh" over and over. At one point he closed his eyes and muttered, "Oh Pam! Fuck yeah, Pam! Just like that!" Then the girl on his phone started screaming in pleasure. The boy opened his eyes and humped at bunny-rabbit speed for 5 more seconds, and then fell still. He turned off his phone and lay there panting for a few seconds, before getting up, getting dressed, and leaving the room.
The G drive on which I found the video was a removable USB thumb drive. On a whim, I checked for deleted files on the thumb drive. There were a couple, so I recovered them to my own thumb drive for later inspection.
I didn't tell Kelly about what I had found. There were a lot of unanswered questions, and I didn't want her jumping the gun by talking to her parents until I figured more out. I thanked her, but told her I might need to look around a little more. I reassured her that her laptop was now safe, although I wasn't sure that was true.
When I got home I looked at the deleted files that I had recovered. A few were too corrupt to be viewed. A couple were creepy, perhaps, but not horrible: Kelly brushing her teeth in her underwear, or her brother on the phone in swim trunks. But there was one pretty compromising video of Kelly.
It looks like this one was recorded from her laptop on a desk in her bedroom. Kelly started off in pajamas - blue with green hearts and white words of some sort - but she quickly discarded those. Then she moved off camera, and returned clutching a stuffed dolphin, four feet long. She kissed its cheek and said, "Are you ready for me, Jack Sparrow?"
She placed the dolphin on the bed and then climbed on top of it so that the base of the dorsal fin was cutting into her slit and rubbing her clitoris. She whimpered, "mmm," as she sawed her hips up and down the fin, tickling her cunt with the tiny hairs of the dolphin's artificial fibers. Her legs were supporting her whole weight, so her butt was tight, flexing with each thrust. Her waist-length hair bounced around while she fucked her toy. Every once in a while I'd see a glimpse of the side of one adolescent breast, and its stiff pink nipple. She didn't make any noise, but I could tell when she came by the way her butt tightened and her thighs squeezed. After she was done, she threw the dolphin to the other side of the room, put on her pajamas, and crawled into bed.
So it looks like Kelly's mother takes secret videos of her children masturbating. The videos get put on a portable drive, but they don't stay there long. So I guess the next questions are: Where is this drive being taken, and what happens to the files once it gets there?
Thursday June 11
I asked Kelly if I could come take a look at her home network again. She said she's got plans for the rest of this week, but maybe on Monday.
Saturday June 13
I spent the night at Miles' apartment last night. My mom looked like she was going to object when I told her where I would be, but my dad gave her a look - as if to say, "we talked about this, trust me."
Miles and I cooked dinner together again. We had fun working together, but the chicken came out a little tough for some reason. Then we watched a bad time travel movie. At first we both gave it our silent attention, but by the end we were constantly ripping on the plot holes and the characters' stupidity. Some movies are more fun to hate than to like.
When we retired to the bedroom, we took turns removing articles of our clothing and throwing them at each other from ten feet away. It wasn't anyone's idea, really; it just happened.Once we were both totally naked, Miles prowled up to me, grabbing my chin in one hand and my cunt in the other, and he kissed me hard. I was ready, instantly - I didn't need any more foreplay than that.
Miles wouldn't fuck me right away though, and he wouldn't let me go down on him. He insisted on licking my pussy extensively to "prep" me. "Last time I almost didn't give you a chance to come, and I'm not going to make that mistake again," he said.
He had me pretty far along when he decided to bring his cock into play. Just like before, he positioned me on my side and sat on my leg. Just like before, his cock filled my pussy and his thigh rubbed against my outer sex, to remarkable effect. I came probably 45 seconds later, trying and failing to say the words, "Miles, I'm coming." I'm pretty sure he got the idea, based on the giant grin on his face. After that, I just enjoyed being fucked for the next few minutes.
When it was clear that Miles was about to blow his wad, I got playful with it. "You getting ready to shoot, Miles?" I teased. "You gonna fill me with come? How much have you got for me? Have you got a lot? Give me all you've got, sir! Every last drop you can manage!" Somewhere in there he grunted and squirted, but he kept pumping - albeit slowly - for many seconds after. The whole while we were smiling at each other.
Once we were disentangled and Miles was catching his breath beside me, I dipped my finger into my cunt and collected a wad of semen on it. I considered it, holding it in front of both of our faces. "Good start, but I'm going to need way more come than this. You're on an installment plan, mister!" I told him, and licked my finger.
The next morning when I woke up, Miles was already out of bed. I could hear his voice coming from the living room. Instead of dressing in my own clothes, I pulled on my panties and one of his dress shirts, without buttoning it. I know, it's a cliche girlfriend thing to do, but I've never been anyone's girlfriend, and I want to try out these cliches! Miles was at his computer, so I walked up behind him and hugged him, saying, "Good morning, boyfriend!"
Miles' response was a bit bemused. "Good morning Lexi! You're on camera. There are 15,000 people watching." I looked up from the hug to see his monitors. One was playing the video game he's famous for - a turn-based collectible card game. The other showed his live stream composition - the game, and a small rectangle with the two of us, and a bunch of text flying by and a chat room of some sort.
I kind of froze, taking in everything going on on his monitors. Miles spoke again: "As much as I hate to, Lexi, I have to ask you to move off-camera. Partial nudity is against the terms of service - I could be suspended for this."
"Sorry!" I said as I darted out of view.
I quickly got dressed and ran a brush through my hair before returning to kneel next to Miles' chair. Looking into the webcam, I waved and said, "Hi Lost Boys!"
The chat room conversation was scrolling by faster than I could make sense of it. It seemed like there was a lot of jargon that I had never heard of, but they were clearly mostly talking about me. Miles seemed to follow it, while still keeping his mind on the game he was playing. "Why is she calling you Lost Boys?" Miles said, repeating a question from the chat channel. "She calls me Peter Pan, because I won't grow up and get a real job. If I'm Peter Pan, I guess that makes you all the Lost Boys. Everyone, this is Lexi, my girlfriend."
"He fucked me sideways last night," I added.
"Erm, we need to keep a lid on the language, too," Miles explained.
"Oops," I said.
I kissed Miles on the cheek and whispered in his ear before leaving: "If you can, save the chat log. I want to read what they're saying about me."
Sunday June 14
Miles helped me make sense of the chat log. Several of the viewers thought I was pretty, expressing this sentiment with varying degrees of chivalry. Several of them thought I was an unsupportive bitch, unworthy of dating Miles. Two of them said I was a dead ringer for some comic character I'd never heard of. A couple people wished everyone would shut up about the girl and go back to talking about the game. And one of them insisted I was a porn star.
Miles actually argued with this guy a little after I was gone, but this viewer swore he had seen me in a porn video. He came back later with a URL to prove his assertion. The video that the guy had seen was the webcam footage that Ethan - a boy I had fooled around with in high school - had recorded of the two of us. It wasn't anything too racy - just me fucking Ethan's ass with a flashlight, and then giving him a hand job until he jizzed on my face. I was surprised that the video had found its way onto the Internet, though. Sure, a 4-second clip of Ethan's come-shot had been out there on the net for years, but this was the whole session. This video had been evidence in the legal battles after the Photo Club incident, but the judge had ordered that all copies of it be destroyed. Someone involved in that case - a court clerk, paralegal, or whatever - had violated a court order by uploading the video.
It's not a big deal. It's honestly a huge surprise that anyone could even identify me from the video - it's not like there was a close-up of my face or anything. I wonder how many times Miles' fan had viewed it, to be able to recognize me at a glance? I wonder how many times he came whacking off to it? Miles isn't bothered - he thinks the whole situation is funny.
Monday June 15
I went back to Kelly's today, after having done some research. Plugging or unplugging a USB device leaves log messages on the computer with potentially useful information, if you know what to look for. It turns out that Kelly's mom's thumb drive with the illicit videos is routinely unplugged early on Saturday evenings, and re-inserted again late at night.
I was trying to figure out how to ask Kelly where her mother might be going on Saturday nights without raising any suspicions. I didn't want Kelly saying anything to her mom that might cause her to change her behavior, while I figure this thing out. I met Kelly in the kitchen, not really knowing what I would say, when I saw a calendar on the refrigerator. Every Saturday night, 8:00 to 11:00, was marked "bridge club."
"What's 'bridge club'?" I asked, pointing to the calendar. I tried to make it sound like an idle curiosity.
"Bridge is a card game," Kelly answered, pleased to be able to teach me something. "It's played by couples against other couples, but they're not allowed to talk to each other. It's really hard."
"Cool. Your parents do that?" I asked.
"Yeah. They've got this whole circle of friends that they get together with," Kelly answered. "Why do you ask?"
I made up a lie on the spot: "My parents have been talking about wanting to meet more people. Maybe I'll give my mom a bridge book for her birthday or something."
Wednesday June 17
Miles came over for dinner tonight, to meet my folks. They all seemed to like each other pretty well, although every once in a while I caught my mom looking at Miles as if she were thinking, "So you're the boy who's turning my daughter into a sinner." As if. I wonder if my mom's ever done anal? Maybe some day I'll set up cameras... No, no, I don't do that sort of thing any more. This thing with Kelly's mom is an exception, to protect one of my students. I mind my own business these days. Really. Shut up!
Anyway, my mom totally didn't comprehend the professional video game streamer thing. My dad was intrigued by it.
After dinner, Miles and I went to my bedroom. We didn't want to get into anything too heavy, out of respect for my parents, but he gave me the tickle beat-down of a lifetime. I don't get it: I'm normally not very ticklish, but Miles has this uncanny talent for going for just the right spot at just the right time. I was laughing really loudly. The tickling abruptly stopped and turned into kissing, but we didn't keep at it for too long. We figured the sudden silence might have been freaking out my parents.
Miles said goodbye to my parents and went home, like a good boyfriend should. I chatted with my parents before retiring to my bedroom, like a good daughter should. Then Miles and I got on Skype and got naughty with our webcams.
Saturday June 20
Tonight I took my investigative portfolio to a new level. In the past I've only ever snooped around electronically: email, social media, and file systems. But tonight I wanted to know where Kelly's mom took that thumb drive every week, so I resolved to follow her.
Both of her parents left their house together at 7:45. To my surprise, their destination was a house I already knew: Mr. Demarco's house on Cactus Wren Road. From the glimpse I got of them as they walked to the door, they were a little bit dressed up, but not much. Mr. Demarco answered the door and invited them in. I watched the house for a little while: two more cars parked outside the house, and two more couples went inside.
The sun had set while I watched the arrivals, so I had darkness on my side as I crept around back. The backyard was enclosed by a six foot high adobe wall. I didn't dare go into the yard; instead, I climbed up on some rocks and peeked over the wall, looking into the house across the yard and through several large patio windows. What I saw was an orgy.
The big TV in the living room, and another in the master bedroom, were playing videos that I couldn't make out. There were a lot of flesh tones, so I assumed it was porn.
The guests all started off watching the videos together - some standing, some sitting. Soon pieces of clothing were removed and people started hooking up in various configurations. In the living room, two guys were double-teaming a redheaded woman, while a blond woman stood by and watched, rubbing her pussy and breasts. In the dining room, a couple were doing it reverse cowgirl style. In the master bedroom, a couple were calmly sitting on the bed watching the video. I think they were giving each other hand jobs.
The pairings changed a couple of times. I'm sure everyone got plenty of action, except for the blond woman, who just watched and rubbed herself the whole time.
When it looked like they were winding things up, I crept back to my car, planning to follow the last couple to leave. I figured I'd get their address, look it up online, and maybe that would give me more names to work with. I was doing well following them for a little while, but we got separated at a traffic light and I lost track of my prey.
Monday June 22
I asked Kelly if she knew who was in her parents' bridge club. I said that maybe there were some people that my parents knew, and could ask about bridge. She only knew one of the other couples: the Segars.
Bridget Segar is one of my students. Maybe I can talk her into letting me snoop on her parents' computers.
Wednesday June 24
Bridget agreed to let me come look at her house's computers when I told her that I was doing a research paper about home network security. Her network had a ton of unusual devices on it that I later determined were cameras. Bridget didn't know the password to her dad's computer, but I was able to boot to my thumb drive and copy all of the video files I could find directly from the file system.
While I was looking for passwords in the desk drawers, I found an appointment book that gave me the name of the final bridge club couple: Hurst. I've got a Hurst in my class, too. Small world.
When I got home I looked at the video files I had copied. Most were regular professional porn, but there was one hidden camera recording of Bridget. It takes place in what I assume is Bridget's room. I guess the camera must be hidden on a bookshelf, facing the bed.
Bridget and some other girl came into the room wearing Saint Frances uniforms, and dropped their book bags on the ground. I would have guessed Bridget was 13 or 14, honestly, but if she's going to Saint Frances, she's in high school. Maybe she skipped ahead a year, or maybe she just has one of those bodies. Her braces and candy-colored hair clips certainly add to the impression of youth. Bridget removed her skirt and panties with care, folding them and setting them aside, and then she sat on the edge of an office chair. The other girl handed her a spoon, and a jar of what could only be peanut butter.
Bridget used the spoon to smear peanut butter on her cunt, taking care to work it into the folds around her clit. This was clearly something new to her - her face was beaming with the novelty of it all, and she squealed once or twice as she rubbed the stuff in. "How does it feel?" her captivated friend asked.
"So weird!" Bridget answered. "It's all squishy and sticky! Okay, bring him in." That's when the friend set the peanut butter jar on a high shelf and opened the door to let in a golden retriever.
The dog was obviously excited to be around people. Clearly his first thought was of greeting the girls - probably with licks to their faces. But as soon as he caught the smell of the peanut butter he dove his snout straight in to Bridget's pussy. He eagerly went to work licking her, wagging his tail merrily. For Bridget's part, she slouched in the chair, spreading her legs wide, and let out a sound halfway between a moan and a giggle.
"What does it feel like?" Bridget's friend asked eagerly.
"It's really nice!" Bridget said. Her cheeks were rosy and she was breathing through her mouth.
The whole time so far, Bridget's hands had been moving around aimlessly, as if looking for something to do. Finally, they found a purpose when Bridget dug them up under her shirt and started playing with her boobs. Bridget was wide-eyed, staring at her friend as she began to breath heavily.
"Are you about to come?" the friend asked, astonished. Bridget nodded. They didn't say another word - they just waited for it to happen. A minute later, Bridget used her hands to spread her pussy open, giving her canine lover the best possible access to her inexperienced clitoris. She flexed her thighs and lifted her hips as her orgasm happened to her.
A moment later, Bridget closed her legs, evicting the dog from her muff. She patted him on the head and said, "You're a good boy!" Then she led the dog out of the room and shut the door.
"Are you sure you don't want to try?" Bridget asked her friend. "I bet he'd lick you even despite your period."
"No thanks," the friend said. "That would be just too much weird."
I have to wonder just how common this practice is for girls. I never had a dog, but I certainly remember what it was like to be thirteen and desperately wishing anyone or anything would pay attention to my pussy. I wonder if I would have tried it if I had been given the chance. One thing that would worry me is if the dog got in the habit of poking around in crotches at the wrong times. I've certainly met dogs who do that. Are those all dogs who secretly perform peanut butter-related services for their owners?
Anyway, it seems that multiple adults in this bridge club are making secret recordings of their kids' sexual activity. I wonder if these are the videos that were showing on Mr. Demarco's TVs? I'll have to go back next Saturday with a camera and a long zoom lens.
Thursday June 25
Ken Hurst is one of the kids in my class, and I think he has a crush on me. It wasn't hard to convince him to let me poke around on his household network. He didn't hesitate to tell me the password to the family computer. The video files were hidden - someone had changed the file extensions to ".bin" - but the recent files list from the video player gave me enough info to find them. I secretly made copies to watch at home.
Again there was only one video of the Hurst children. I wonder if there's some kind of rule that the videos have to be deleted after handing them off to Mr. Demarco or something? But anyway, this one was a whopper.
This video took place in a living room - again, a hidden camera, I'm sure. Four high-school aged guys entered, and one girl - Becca Rivers. Becca is Ethan's sister. I used to babysit her a few years ago. She started hating me - I mean really hating me - when she learned about the sexual stuff I had done with her brother. She was eleven years old back then, so now I guess she's thirteen or fourteen. The guys she was with in the video were certainly older than that.
Becca was dressed like a goth slut, rather than the respectable church-going girl that I had known her as. She had on big stompy boots, a plaid miniskirt with a belt covered in chains, some sort of rock band tee shirt, and way too much eyeliner."You said there'd be beer?" Becca demanded.
"Right!" One of the guys replied. He started pulling bottles of beer out of his backpack, popping the caps, and handing them around, starting with Becca. This was clearly not her first beer. Ken left the room and came back with a blanket that he spread out on the floor.
"You ready to get started?" One of the boys asked.
"Let me finish my beer first," Becca said. She seemed indifferent, like super models do in photos that are supposed to be avant-garde sexy. I've never understood what's sexy about apathy.
"Can we see your tits while you finish it?" The same boy asked.
Becca shrugged and took off her shirt. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were still somewhat immature: still pointy cones on her chest that hadn't become fully boob-shaped yet, although there was certainly some meat to them. Each of her nipples was adorned with a barbell piercing. The guys stared and mumbled to each other for a while before one of them tentatively touched Becca's chest. She didn't object, so they all started copping feels, but nobody did anything more adventurous than that.
"Okay..." Becca said, and she put down her beer. She unbuttoned her skirt and wiggled her hips until it fell, and then she took off her panties. Lying on her back on the blanket with a pillow under her head, Becca spread her legs and said, "Who's first?"
Ken took the first turn. As soon as he was naked and in position over her, she put her legs up on his shoulders, and he pushed his cock into her hole. I was surprised at how flexible Becca was: her legs bent so far back when Ken leaned in that he was almost horizontal on top of her. His weight on her legs sort of forced her hips to tilt up into him to meet his thrusts. Ken lasted for about a minute before he was saying, "Oh god, oh god!", as if he was about to drop something fragile and expensive. He obviously came, and then rolled off of her with a blissed-out expression on his face. Becca still looked disinterested.
The next boy stripped down and shooed Ken out of the way, while his friends watched and waited. Again Becca put her legs up on the boy's shoulders. "So tight!" The boy said as he entered her. Becca moaned with obviously fake enthusiasm. This guy lasted about a minute, too. He wore a weird "I'm the greatest" face as he pumped his wad into Becca's pussy.
When the third guy got ready, he looked at her pussy with a bit of hesitation. "Can we get, like, a tissue or something before we go on?" He asked to no one in particular.
Becca replied impatiently, "Do you want to fuck me or what?" The guy abandoned his objections and moved into position, with Becca's legs on his shoulder and his cock pointed at her sloppy hole. As soon as he slipped it in and started pumping her, Becca said to the room, "Can you guys try to make it last? Girls take longer, you know."
To his credit, Number Three went at her for several minutes. Slowly, the bitchy scowl that this Becca wore softened, and became something more like the joyful smile of the young girl I remember. She didn't make any noise, but it was clear that she came - at least clear to me. She touched his arm with a measure of tenderness until he grunted and contributed his load to the semen soup in her womb.
As Number Four stripped off his clothes, he said, "Becca, this is awesome of you. Thank you!"
"It's cool," Becca said.
"Hey, do you think I could do you anally?" Number Four asked.
That set Becca off, big time. She stood up and started ranting. "Fuck no you can't do me anally!" She said. "Why am I even here? If you want to do that deviant shit, then you guys can just fuck each other. I'm going home!"
All of the guys were quick to try to soothe her. "I'm sorry, Becca - I shouldn't have asked," Number Four said.
"Yeah, we're sorry! Please stay!" Ken added.
Becca drank the remaining two swallows of her beer as she calmed down. "Got another one of these?" She asked. Number Two gave her another beer from his backpack. Becca took a long drink from the new bottle, still standing, still uncommitted to staying or going. Finally, she put her drink down. "All right, I'll stay. But I've gotta go pee first." She left the room.
When Becca returned, she took another quick swallow from her beer, and then got on her knees in front of the couch. "You can do me doggy-style," she said to Number Four, seeming less bitchy. "But don't touch my asshole." She leaned forward, resting her upper body on the couch.
Becca's breasts may have been immature, but she definitely had a woman's ass. Looking at her from behind, I don't think most guys would have stopped to consider her age. The only hint of youth was the fine fuzzy patch of hair covering her mound.Number Four's erection had suffered since Becca's tantrum, but after a few quick wanks he was ready to go. After a slow and careful entry, Number Four grabbed her hips and started pounding her hard, bouncing her head off of the sofa's back cushions. "Oh god, Becca. Oh fuck, this is good. Is this good for you, Becca?" Number Four babbled.
"Uh-huh," Becca replied. It wasn't sexy, but I think she meant it.
Shortly, Number Four was apologizing: "Oh god, Becca, I'm going to come soon. I'm sorry - I want to make you come, but I can't hold it!"
"That's okay," Becca said. "Does someone else want to take over when he's done?"
Number Four finished hard, smashing his hips against Becca's ass with enough force to move the couch. A string of come connected their bodies as he backed away. Ken wasted no time crawling up behind Becca's ass and taking over. Becca's eyes were closed, but it seemed like she was into it. Ken certainly had more staying power this time around. He was clearly enjoying himself.
Number Four, sitting on the couch a respectful distance from Becca's head, asked, "Hey Becca - is there anything we can do to make this better for you? Do you want some music, or do you want to be touched a certain way?"
Becca's answer was demure almost to the point of being inaudible. "You... could tell me I'm pretty."
All at once, all four guys started pouring complements on her: tasteful things, like about her eyes and her smile, and how they'd been noticing her grow more beautiful every day. Never in my life have I seen a face like Becca had at the moment: it looked like she was about to cry, but it also had a marked effect on her arousal. She moaned girlishly, which drove Ken wild. He fucked her harder. She reached back with one hand, and Ken grasped it with his own. The two came together, each moaning with loud sincerity.
Ken stayed stuck in her for a little while while they both recovered. Finally, he pulled his semi-soft cock out of her pussy. Shimmering liquids covered most of her ass and thighs. "That was good," she said.
The other three boys waited in awkward silence, not daring to ask whether they would get more turns. In a moment, in answer to their unasked question, Becca declared, "You guys can do me again if you want." She fucked Number Two and Number Three on the blanket on the floor, her legs on their shoulders again. The boys kept up their stream of complements, and Becca was more generous with her eye contact and hand touches. She came again with Number Three fucking her. She didn't moan as loudly as the time before, but she didn't keep it to herself either.
For Number Four's second turn, she rode him cowgirl style, encouraging him to play with her breasts. She bounced up and down on his cock, wearing a big smile, while slurping noises and frothy sex juices seeped from her cunt. She fucked herself into a happy climax, and again I thought - somewhat eerily - "that's the Becca I knew." She kept bouncing, smiles all around at all the guys, until Number Four groaned and was finished.
Becca went to the bathroom to clean up. It was clear to everyone that they were done for the day. The guys invited her to hang out, or to give her a ride, but she said she'd walk.
"Thanks, Becca! This was amazing!" Number Two told her.
"Yeah," Becca replied. "Let's do it again some time." With a chuckle, she added, "I am going to be so fucking sore tomorrow."
I don't know where to begin to process my thoughts on this one. I guess I should just go to bed.
Friday June 26
It was hard in class today not getting angry with Ken - especially since he seems to think that we've bonded now that I've been to his house. It's probably not fair to him. I mean, Becca clearly participated in that gangbang voluntarily, and I assume that Ken didn't know about the recording. But I still feel protective toward Becca.
She's clearly screwed up. I wonder if some of that is my fault. Did seeing the webcam footage of me fucking her brother's ass with a flashlight somehow jeopardize her innocence? It's clearly not all my fault: her parents always treated her as an afterthought. She has always been starved for attention. Now that she has a teen girl's body, I guess she's found a time-honored way to get it.
If I'm remembering right, I've had sex seven times, not counting oral. Becca had me beat just from the single afternoon in that video, and that clearly wasn't her first time. She also started much younger than me. I feel sorry for her. I want to label her "damaged". But at the same time, I'm not sure I really should. Maybe instead I should give her credit for going out and getting what she wants. I mean, who doesn't fantasize about getting fucked by a crowd of attractive strangers? What is it that keeps me from doing the same? Fear? Propriety? Self respect? If I did it - like I almost did at Malik's frat house - would I deserve to be judged as harshly as I'm judging Becca?
I wish I could call Becca. I miss her.
Saturday June 27
Last night, Miles and I tried sex like Becca had done in her video: Miles on top of me and my legs on his shoulders. He said I had been acting slutty toward him all night, but I didn't notice a difference. Either way, we went straight to his bedroom after returning from dinner out. I told him what I wanted - "A friend of mine likes it that way, and I want to see what the fuss is about," I said. So we tried it. It didn't really work for us. My legs wouldn't bend as much as Becca's, and it wasn't comfortable for Miles to stay at a diagonal with nowhere to support his weight, so he mostly sat upright hugging my legs. I had no clit stimulation at all, and he wasn't really touching the best spots inside of me. He complained that my pussy was rubbing him wrong, somehow, but I have no idea what that means. He still came, of course; I didn't.
"Are we exclusive?" I asked, cuddling afterward.
"That's... a good question," he replied tactfully. "What's on your mind?"
"Like, if I decided to go out and gangbang a bunch of frat guys, would you still want to be my boyfriend?" I asked. "Or you: what if a dozen pretty fangirls corner you at Blizzcon, wanting nothing more in life than to share their twats with you?"
Miles smirked. "Not to speak ill of my viewers, but I rather doubt that there are a dozen pretty ones."
"Probably just as well," I teased, reaching for his balls to see if I could get him started again. "That would take up valuable convention time."
Miles put his hand on my face and got serious. "I want you as my girlfriend," he told me. "I would be afraid of losing you to another guy. But I would also hate to lose you by making you feel trapped. I don't know what the answer is. Let's just promise to talk to each other about it if any temptations or whims come along. Does that work for you?"
"Yes!" I said, smothering him in kisses. And then, "Give me your phone."
He gave me his phone and asked, "What are you doing?"
"I'm entering in a quick response to your instant message app: 'Help! Beset by fangirls. Clothing compromised. BJs imminent.'"
He motioned at my phone so I unlocked it and gave it to him. He entered an instant message preset in mine, too: "Caution! I am being hunted by 3+ hungry penises. Will try to outlast them to affect my escape."
We watched an hour of TV and then had sex again. This time I was on top of him, upright. I rubbed my clit for me, and my boobs for him. We managed to time it so that we came together. I love that man's cream inside of me.
Later today I'll be going to spy on the bridge club again. I couldn't get a hold of a good enough camera, but I borrowed my dad's binoculars.
Sunday June 28
I snuck into the brush behind Mr. Demarco's yard last night, and peeked over the wall when it was safe. They started off with drinks and conversation, while the video of Bridget getting licked by her dog played on the TV. The guests glanced at it sometimes, but they were mostly standing around talking. After that came a video of some teen girl I didn't recognize, hiking up her skirt and masturbating on a couch. Again, nobody paid much attention.
Once the video of Becca's gangbang started, though, most everyone was watching it. The redhead was on the couch, jerking off a guy to each side of her. Mr. Demarco dropped down between her knees and shoved his face in her crotch. The pixie-cut-brunette and the bob-cut-blond woman were standing in their underwear, talking and rubbing their own breasts while watching the video. Sometimes they would touch each other in a familiar but not overtly sexual way. The final guy and the braided-brunette were sitting together in an easy chair, fondling each other.
After a little while, Mr. Demarco joined the standing women. Not long after that, the pixie-cut-brunette was on her back, with her legs on Mr. Demarco's shoulders, getting fucked just like Becca. I guess I wasn't the only one inspired by Becca's performance. This woman was pretty flexible, too. Soon the braided-brunette and her guy got down on the floor right next to them, and started fucking the exact same way. Her legs wouldn't bend as much, but they seemed comfortable with him leaning in as far as her legs would allow. The blond woman watched the two couples, and based on the way she was squirming, I wondered if that alone was making her come.
The blond woman was younger than the rest: she was in her early thirties, while the rest were forty-ish. I'm guessing she's Mr. Demarco's wife. I've never met her, but I've heard the occasional joke about his trophy wife. She was certainly beautiful - hourglass figure with a model's face.
Around the time that Becca was starting on her fourth fuck, the redhead got up from the couch and instead draped herself across the ottoman. Her head was tilted back over the edge, and one leg was lifted while the other touched the ground. Her large breasts looked fantastic stretched across her chest - she must have had surgery for that. I didn't see any tan lines. The pose looked like something straight out of Maxim. Presently, one of the guys she had been with got in front of her and shoved his dick down her throat - like, all the way down. I don't know how she kept from choking, but in and out he pumped, slapping her nose with his balls. The other guy came at her from the other end, running his fingers through her ginger bush before invading her pussy with his cock.
I stopped watching for a while to probe Mr. Demarco's network. I still had my WiFi credentials on my laptop from when I house-sat. Unfortunately, there wasn't much I could do. Any normal PCs he had were powered down. All I could find were three Android phones, three smart TVs, a couple unidentifiable devices, and a dedicated media server. The media server would have been nice to get into - it presumably was the home of the videos he was showing- but it was password protected.
When I started watching the party again, Mr. Demarco and the two brunettes were nowhere to be seen. The redhead was still draped over the ottoman, but now the blond woman was kneeling between her legs making her body shake. The remaining three men were standing around watching, their hard-ons bouncing around in front of them. That struck me as odd. Assuming they had all come recently, shouldn't they have needed longer to recover? These are middle-aged guys, after all. Viagra maybe? Is that how it works?
The blond woman, after finishing her cunnilingus, grabbed one of the guys and lead him to the bedroom. Becca's video was playing there, too, but they didn't stop to watch it. Instead, the guy handcuffed her and positioned her on her knees, face down, on the bed. Squatting over her, he jackhammered her pussy in a decidedly downward vector.
The redhead and her two guys, meanwhile, were trying out configurations for a pussy-and-ass double penetration. They ended up with one guy lying on his back while the voluptuous redhead - facing his feet - lowered her asshole down around his cock. The other guy knelt in front of her, cock in pussy, and she wrapped her legs and arms around him. They looked like a comically imbalanced machine, with all their various gyrations, but I couldn't help wishing that I was there, instead of her.
That's when Mr. Demarco and the two brunettes came out into the back yard. I ducked. Soon I heard splashing and giggling, so I figured they would be in the pool for a good long time. It was time for me to go.
I masturbated twice last night when I got home - mostly thinking about the redhead's DP. Then I did it again, this morning, before church. I'm not the most pious girl, and I can't imagine God really cares about the timing, but I still felt sketchy about that.
I saw Becca at church today, but I kept my distance. She was wearing a modest dress, no makeup. She was socializing with her parents and their friends. To all appearances, she was a healthy, happy, "good kid".
Monday June 29
Okay, so here's what I know: Four couples are secretly recording their under-aged children masturbating and having sex. The adults are then taking these videos to their "bridge club" where together they perv out to them while engaging in various orgy activities. That's pretty bad in and of itself. That probably counts as distribution of child pornography, which I think means serious jail time. But as bad as these parents are, would the kids be better off with relatives or foster families? I don't know. Anyway, any sort of public exposure would scar these poor kids horribly. I remember the look of anguish on Ethan's face whenever the lawyers and judges talked about his video.
Of course, the question of what happens to the videos after the bridge club meets is still unanswered. Do they destroy them after showing them once? Do they keep them to themselves, and watch them over again? It's hard to imagine that they get exciting new videos every week. Or do they publish them to the Internet somewhere? I already know that somebody posted the video of Ethan and me to the Internet. Mr. Demarco is one of about a dozen people who could have done that. Imagine the hell Bridget would go through if people at her school saw her peanut butter video?
I guess I need to dig deeper. I need to find out if these guys are being merely horrible, or actually evil. I guess I need access to Mr. Demarco's computer for that. Not sure how to accomplish that.
After work I met up with Miles to shop for furniture. His apartment is mostly filled with old ratty hand-me-downs, and he decided it's time to own some nice things. I guess he can be a grown up where it counts. Shopping with him was fun.
Tuesday June 30
Today I bought my first set of lock picks.
A couple months ago in school, we had an assignment to give a speech using visual aids. One boy gave his speech about how to pick locks. He had posters showing the internal workings of a pin tumbler lock, and how the action of a torsion wrench holds the lifted pins in place. I couldn't believe how easy he made it sound. After class he let me try it out with his tools and a practice lock he had brought, and with minimal coaching I was able to open it.
Since then, many times I've thought about buying a set of picks of my own, but I never really felt like I had the need. Well, I'm going to start practicing. I'm going to crack into Mr. Demarco's computer one way or another.
Of course, I didn't buy the lock picks online. I didn't even shop for them online from my own computer: I did that from a church workshop computer. I bought them from a "spy shop", with cash. I didn't park anywhere close to the store and I avoided looking into the shop's security cameras as much as possible.
Wednesday July 1
Kelly asked today whether I had figured anything else out about the malware I had found on her laptop. I said I didn't know anything more about it, but that she should be safe. I wish I could have told her more, but you know me - I hate to risk loose lips tipping off the bad guys. Sometimes I feel like I should be wearing a trench coat and fedora, and smoking in a dark ally. Except not smoking, because that's disgusting. Anyway, I told her it's always a good idea to put a piece of tape over your webcam when you don't need to be visible, or at least close the laptop lid when you're not using it.
One of Miles' fans drew a picture of Miles as Peter Pan and me as Wendy. It's really good - the artist clearly spent a lot of time on it. It's in full color with detailed backgrounds and everything. The Wendy character has shockingly large breasts for a prepubescent girl, though. I'm not sure where that's coming from - my boobs aren't especially big. I guess it's some kind of unwritten rule about art on the Internet.
Saturday July 4
Okay, so I've mastered every lock at my parent's house, not counting the car door locks - those things are way way too hard for me, and require more specialized tools. So when I went over to Miles' apartment last night I went straight to work on his front door. He was amused at first, but started to feel a bit neglected, so I took a break to blow him on his new couch.
Then I switched to picking the lock on the air conditioner room that he doesn't have a key for while Miles made dinner. I opened it a good ten times before stopping to eat. Then Miles and I fucked - also on his new couch. It started with kissing and tickling, while gradually shedding our clothing. Once we were both naked, I climbed onto his lap and devoured his cock with my hungry vag. We were face to face, smiling at each other and sometimes kissing, both ignoring the garlic on each others' breath. I gyrated my hips in a long slow belly dance around on his thing. Miles held me and stroked my back in a way that was surprisingly intimate. It was so good! I think that was the longest orgasm I've ever had. Miles came too, of course, right at the end of my orgasm.
Then I went looking for more locks to pick in Miles' apartment. I found a padlock and messed with that for a while, until Miles' smack talk became intolerable and I stopped to play a dancing game with him on his XBox. That was a lot of fun. The victory could have gone to either of us, but Miles kept giving me hungry looks and telling me what a turn on it was to see me dancing in my underwear. So then Miles went down on me as I sat on the edge of his new couch feeling up my own boobs.
We watched some TV while I practiced more on the padlock. When we went to bed, at first, I don't think either of us were planning on more sex. But as we got comfortable, I could feel his hard-on throbbing against my butt, and the next thing I knew I was lying on my side getting fucked by my grinning boyfriend. He had to work pretty hard to come again, but that suited me fine: I came twice during his final grunty pounding. He whispered that he loved me as I drifted off to sleep.
In the morning I spent a little time on camera with Miles and his viewers while he played his video game for their amusement. I thanked the artist for the picture of us. I also asked why the boobs were so big. The artist said that the whole reason he learned to draw was to give women big boobs. Several people in the chat channel agreed that it was an improvement.
Today was Independence Day, so Miles and I did the backyard cookout thing with my parents. There was no way I could slip away to spy on the bridge club, but I figure there's a good chance they didn't have their regular meeting anyway. After a couple minutes of watching fireworks from the back yard with my parents, Miles and I snuck off to my bedroom where I blew him. I stuck my finger up his ass while I did it, which shocked him, but he didn't complain. He came really quickly, and I swear he shot twice as much jizz as normal.
So this is what having a boyfriend is like. :)
Sunday July 5
I bought a few types of locks from the hardware store today, for more practice.
I also tried to infiltrate Mr. Demarco's computer again, from my laptop, parked a couple streets away. I could get onto his WiFi fine, but I couldn't find any weakness to exploit.
Tuesday July 7
I did it: I broke into Mr. Demarco's house. I was so scared at first! The first thing I did was make sure nobody was home. I scanned the network from my phone to see what devices, if any, were in use in the house. No computers were powered on, and there were no cell phones connected other than my own. The only devices I found were his media center computer, and a couple unknown devices - probably thermostats or something. No cell phones meant no Mr. or Mrs. Demarco. There wasn't anyone parked in the yard, so no house cleaner or pool guy, either.
I went into the back yard to pick the lock on the back door. The lock opened easily, and the alarm was no problem because I knew the code from house-sitting. I was shaking as I tiptoed around to the computer. My adrenaline was pumping - I was worried that I wouldn't be able to even type. Once I got to the computer, though, I regained my focus.
Mr. Demarco, unlike the idiots in his bridge club, didn't have his password written down anywhere I could find. I tried booting to my thumb drive and accessing his files from there, but his drive was encrypted, so that did me no good. I decided I had to rely on good old plan B: I plugged my USB key logger in between his keyboard and computer, like I've done to many people in the past. I'll have to go back to retrieve it in a day or two, but it will contain a memory of everything typed on that keyboard until then. Hopefully that will include passwords.
I kind of wanted to look around in their bedroom, too. I mean, given the stuff that Mr. and Mrs. Demarco are into, it seems likely that they've got a box full of sex toys or costumes or something, somewhere. I decided I didn't want to take too long, so I just left.
So now I wait.
Wednesday July 8
Fuck fuck fuck! I am so screwed! FedEx just delivered a package addressed to me: a box containing my USB key logger. Two minutes later, I got a text from Mr. Demarco. It said, "I see you got my package. Why don't you come over at 6:30 and we can talk about it. Wear something nice."
What the fuck does that mean? Wear something nice to be arrested? Wear something nice to talk about it and laugh? Wear something nice because I'm going to sell you to sex traffickers? God, I can't even think right now. I need to figure this out before 6:30.
I just got back from Mr. Demarco's. It took me forever to figure out what to wear. If his plan was to blackmail me into sex, he would want me looking sexy. But if he wasn't certain that the key logger was mine, dressing slutty would be like admitting guilt. I decided to go with a church dress - it's pretty, but certainly not indecent. The neckline is fairly low - for church I always wear a camisole under it. This time I didn't, just in case my modest cleavage might be an asset.
I rang the bell at 6:30 and Mr. Demarco invited me in. I tried so hard to play it cool: "What did you want to talk to me about, and why did you send me a key logger? Did you need some technical help or something?"
Mr. Demarco was sipping some dark liquor from a rocks glass. He was still dressed for work: dress shirt, tie, slacks. "Lexi, come on: you're caught," he said. "Look at you, you're trembling. You clearly have a guilty mind."
I stuck to my guns, even though I knew he was right. "I don't understand. What's this about?"
Mr. Demarco showed me a video of me sneaking around in his house. Fuck, why didn't I realize that he would have hidden cameras? All of the other bridge club members had them. Of course that's what the extra devices on the network were! So many warning signs and I missed them all!
"So, Lexi, why did you break into my house?" He asked.
He didn't know that I knew about the bridge club. Maybe if I didn't mention that, I might not seem like a threat, and he'd let me go. "You know that video?" I answered. "The one of Ethan and me that the judge ordered destroyed? Someone posted it to the Internet. The whole thing. I wanted to find out who did it. It made sense to start with you." I tried to act ashamed on top of scared. It wasn't a stretch.
"Hmm," he said contemplatively. "Didn't it occur to you to just ask me? This... Breaking and entering is a pretty serious crime. We're talking real jail time."
"If it was you," I argued, "you'd obviously deny it, and then interfere with my efforts to get at the truth. If I could eliminate you as a suspect, though, I thought I could get you to help me investigate the others."
Mr. Demarco nodded. "I see your reasoning," he said. "I didn't do it. And you broke the law. This is a big deal."
"So what happens now?" I asked. I wasn't shaking quite as hard any more, but my body still felt pretty out of control.
"Now, either I can call the police, or we can try to work it out among ourselves." His gaze shifted quite obviously to my cleavage as he said the last part.
"And that means...?" I asked.
He sighed. "You know, Lexi, I always enjoyed working with you. I didn't have to treat you like a child. Let's not start patronizing each other now."
Busted and blackmailed. Maybe if it had been someone else's house, I could have gotten away with probation. But Mr. Demarco is a criminal lawyer: he knows the system, and he knows the people. If he wanted me to serve jail time, he could make that happen.
What else was there to do? I stepped up, dropped to my knees, and unfastened his pants. There was no sound except the clinking of ice as he sipped his cocktail.
Mr. Demarco's dick was completely flaccid at the start, but it liked being touched, and grew to full size quickly. I had expected, being an older guy, that it would take him longer. The overall size of his cock was maybe a little bit bigger than average - all and all a good size. But what surprised me was the size of his glans. It was much longer, fuller, and angrier than any I had ever seen. It really did look like a helmet - a comparison that I've never really appreciated before.I licked all around it several times before sucking the menacing little thing into my mouth and getting to work on his shaft.
He still didn't say anything as I serviced his cock - I only heard the clinking of ice as he smugly drank his scotch or whatever. I could tell I was getting somewhere with him, though, as the muscles in his abdomen or legs occasionally tensed.
I started rubbing his balls and I noticed that they were smooth. As if reading my mind, he said, "My wife appreciates a smooth scrotum. Go ahead and give them a suck if you want." Curiosity more than anything else motivated me to engulf his ball sack in my mouth. I kept stroking his shaft with my hand, of course. I couldn't believe how soft the skin was. I found myself thinking that sucking on balls was actually fun when they're not covered with nasty hairs. Mr. Demarco groaned.
I figured he was about due to shoot, so I went back to mouth-fucking his cock head while wanking his shaft. With a little luck, I thought, this blowjob would soon be over and the slate would be clean again. Mr. Demarco groaned some more, and put a hand on the side of my head. He groaned louder; his balls tightened. I mentally prepared myself to swallow his load. Then at the last instant he pulled out and shot his wad in my face. Come covered my glasses, cheeks, and lips. A little dripped down on the top of my boobs.
I sucked the last little bit of semen out of his tube and licked it clean. I tucked it back into his underwear and buttoned his pants. I was done, I hoped.
"Excellent," Mr. Demarco said. "Let me have a look at you." I stood up.
"Take off your dress." I pulled it up over my head, being careful not to get come from my face on it.
"You're a beautiful young woman, Lexi," he said, walking in a circle around me. He grabbed my ass as if testing it.
"I'm more than that," I said with a hint of defiance. At least I wasn't shaking any more. The concentration of giving head had smoothed out the adrenaline buzz.
"Yes," he said. "You're inquisitive, fierce, and intelligent. Those attributes, too, are part of what makes you sexy."
"Here, clean up and get dressed," he said, handing me a bar towel. I wiped off all the come from my face and put my dress back on.
"What time do you work tomorrow?" He asked. Without waiting for an answer, he added, "Why don't you come by around 7:00 tomorrow morning. No need to dress up this time." He opened the door for me, and I left.
So I guess it's not over. I guess this is my life now. I can't believe I was willing to risk this much. I think I need to cry.
Thursday July 9
I wasn't sure what to wear when I showed up at Mr. Demarco's house this morning. He had said not to dress up, but I tossed it around in my head, over and over, looking for hidden meanings. I ultimately decided to go with a tank top, shorts, and sneakers - exactly what I would have worn if I weren't meeting him.
He answered the door wearing only gym shorts. I had never noticed before, when spying on his orgies, how ripped he is: six-pack abs, big biceps, square jaw - he's actually a very good looking guy. And he's smart and - aside from the blackmail thing - nice. He had clearly just been working out.
"In the future when I'm expecting you, come right in and wait for me here," he said. "The door will be unlocked."
He looked me over. "Absolutely lovely," he said. "This is the real Lexi. That dress last night didn't suit you. If you ever dress up for me again, I'd like to see Nightclub Lexi." I just stood there quietly, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. I'm not usually shy about my body, but I could feel my arms closing in around myself protectively.
"Let's go take a shower," he said, and lead me into the master bathroom.
He started running the water, and he took off his shorts. His dick was in a half-chubby state. Was that from anticipation? Exercise? Something about showers? I guess there's a lot about guys I still don't know. He gestured for me to take off my clothes, too, and so I did. I left my glasses on the counter, and then we stepped into the shower.
I really didn't mean to, but I flinched when he touched my shoulder. "Just try and relax," Mr. Demarco said. "Would it be all right if I washed your hair?"
"Yeah," I said.
He wetted my hair with the hand-held shower head, and then started rubbing shampoo into it. He massaged my scalp and ran his fingers through my hair gently. It was surprisingly soothing. By the time he had rinsed all of the shampoo out, I was pretty relaxed and feeling - at least in part - like I actually wanted to be there.
"That's better," he said, touching my shoulders like a lover. He ran his hands up and down my front, his now fully erect cock poking my back. God damn it, I thought to myself, I'm not supposed to like this. I'm not supposed to want it. But I did want it.
"Have you ever had anal?" Mr. Demarco asked.
"Once," I said, "but the guy was a real jerk about it. It was a bad experience."
"Let's see if we can do it right," he replied.
He had me lie face down on the bench. Warm soothing water was pouring down on me from every side. He spent some time just working his hand up and down my butt crack and squeezing my cheeks, just to get me comfortable with being touched there, I guess. Eventually he slipped a finger into my butt hole. It must have been lubed, because it went in easy. I moaned once as he began to stroke it in and out.
"So far so good?" Mr. Demarco asked.
"Yeah. Feels nice," I answered. A part of me was mad that he was being so nice about this.
He added a second finger, and I think he started to drive them deeper. "Do you think you can come like this?"
"Yeah. I like it." I answered again.
He added a third finger. I felt pretty stretched out, but in a good way. He also started rubbing my pussy lips with his other hand. "Are you ready for my cock?" He asked.
"Yes," I answered, but that was a lie. The real answer was fuck yeah!
He had me stand up, and he took position sitting on the bench. I was standing over him, facing away from him, with my butt hovering over his lap. He put a ton of lube on his dick. "You're in control here. Only go as deep or as fast as you feel comfortable with."
It seemed weird hearing him tell me I was in control, when I was only here due to blackmail. But I guess I knew what he meant. He helped steady me as I impaled myself on his cock. The pressure slowly built on my sphincter until it popped open and his cock head slipped inside. Lowering my body even more, I felt the pressure of his cock filling me up inch by inch. It was fantastic.
I don't know how much of his length was inside of me - probably not all of it - but it was certainly enough to work with. I began to move up and down on his slippery pole. "There you go!" Mr. Demarco said, once I found my rhythm.
Most of the time, Mr. Demarco's hands were on my waist, helping to support and steady me. But at one point he filled his hands with shower gel and kneaded it into my boobs. Slippery, sudsy hands massaged my breasts, slipping across my nipples with tingling excitement as they did so. The suds slowly washed away as he moved his hands lower, rubbing my belly, then my thighs, then, oh god!
Things were already super intense for me, feeling his cock pounding inside me at my own pace, but when he rubbed the shower gel into my pussy - just the outside - I exploded. "Oh fuck!" I cried as my body shook. My butt clenched so hard that I couldn't even slide on his cock any more while I came.
Finally I was done and I was able to slide up and down on Mr. Demarco's cock again. I hoped he would be done soon, because the strength in my legs was starting to give out. I guess he noticed, because he put his hands on my waist again, and took over most of the work. He lifted me up and down on his hard-on as easily as if I were an inflatable sex doll.
He didn't even say anything when we switched positions: he just stood up and steered me with his cock. There was a railing on one of the walls. He had me bend over, braced against the railing, as he fucked my ass standing. He fucked me hard. If we had started off like this, I'm sure it would have hurt. But now it was a pleasant ache that was guiding me toward another orgasm.
He was grunting - clearly in the home stretch. So was I. "Fuck me, Mr. Demarco!" I shouted. He was slamming me so hard that I actually lost my footing. For a brief moment I felt that panicked anticipation of falling that you get when you slip, but between his hands on my hips and his rod deep inside of me, I didn't go anywhere. I came again, loudly, and that seemed to be just what Mr. Demarco needed to shoot his warm come inside of me.
I sat on the bench watching him, for a while, while he did normal shower stuff. He lathered up and rinsed his chest and his arms and legs. He was especially thorough soaping up his dick, but I guess that makes sense considering where it had just been. I cleaned the lube out of my ass crack.
After we toweled off and got dressed, I just sort of followed him around. He ended up in his home office, working on his computer, and ignoring me.
My stomach growled. "Have you had breakfast?" I asked. "I could try to cook us something."
"Um, yeah, if you want," he said after a delay. He was clearly engrossed in reading something.
I whipped up some omelets and toast, and brought the plates into his office. Mr. Demarco ate without ever taking his eyes off of the computer screen. I sat there watching him while I ate, feeling a surreal wonder at the fact that I didn't want to leave. Eventually I got my mind back. Maybe the endorphins wore off or something. I started looking around at everything in the office, looking for tools with which I could turn the tables.
Friday July 10
Every time my phone chimed for an text or email, my heart skipped a beat thinking it was Mr. Demarco summoning me for more sex. It's stupid - yesterday I was screaming, "fuck me!" and cooking him breakfast, and today I'm dreading it. I need a fucking shrink.
I'm supposed to stay at Miles' apartment again tonight. I kinda don't want to, but I'll probably wish I had gone if I don't. Yeah, I need a shrink.
I figure my best bet is to call the cops about the bridge club parents. It will completely humiliate the kids, but I need to get myself out of this situation, and getting Mr. Demarco arrested is the only thing I can think of. I can't do that without some sort of evidence though: what I've got right now isn't enough for the cops to take me seriously - at least not quickly enough. If I can get some photos of the bridge club orgy with naked teens on the TV, that should be enough for the cops to raid the event. I hope.
I borrowed a camera with a long telephoto lens from Ms. Bush, the head teacher at the computer workshop. She used to take pictures of her kids' sports matches before they grew up, so she knows a little about photography. I told her there was a nest of unusual birds near my house and I wanted to get them identified by one of my professors.
Saturday July 11
I was a total bitch to Miles last night. I was moody and erratic. I wanted to be near him, some of the time, but not touched. Sometimes I didn't even want to be talked to. He was great. He played by my rules, as best he could figure them out. He asked me if I wanted to talk about what was bothering me, but he didn't push me on it. I don't know why he put up with me, but he did. We didn't have sex, but being held through the night meant more to me than I can express.
This morning I popped on camera with Miles briefly to say hi to the Lost Boys. One of them asked in the chat channel, "Why she so sad?" I thought I had been faking it better than that. I left rather than bare my soul to thousands of random Internet people.
I tried to spy on the bridge club tonight. A couple good pictures was all I needed. I guess they wised-up, though. The blinds were closed; I couldn't see anything. My phone's WiFi access is no longer valid, either. I guess Mr. Demarco changed the password when he found my key logger. Makes sense.
Sunday July 12
I looked over the key logger data, just in case. I'm sure the passwords I got from it are no longer valid, but it gave me an idea. I can't get into Mr. Demarco's computer - he'll be looking for a key logger again - but what about the media center computer? It's the thing responsible for playing the dirty videos on the TV, as well as for recording from the house's secret cameras. If I can get access to that, then maybe I can find some dirt to help set me free.
I looked up the manual for Mr. Demarco's media center machine. All of its network communications are encrypted, but each device needs to know its password to talk to it. The password is entered into the television through an infrared remote. Maybe I can find a way to listen in on the IR codes.
Monday July 13
I went to Miles' apartment today. I was feeling better about life, and I wanted to show him that I hadn't turned into a bitch permanently. We made love. God, I hate that euphemism - but that's what we did. The sex itself was nice but not spectacular - we did it the usual way, with me on my side. But the feeling of intimacy was amazing. I'm so lucky to have him.
Tuesday July 14
Mr. Demarco texted me to come by again this morning at 7:00. He met me in the foyer in his gym shorts again, and again he led me to the bathroom. I suspected that's how it would go - that or he would be all sweaty when he fucked me - so I hadn't taken a shower of my own before coming over.
"What would your wife think about these meetings?" I asked as I undressed. I wasn't being sly or accusing - it was a simple casual question.
"It would drive her wild to watch me take you," he said, just as uncomplicated. "The more aggressive I was, the better. Then when we were alone, she would fuck me ravenously while picking apart every one of your flaws." He shrugged apologetically. "She might even want to try you out herself. But I'm not ready to share yet."
"Is that what adult relationships are like?" I said, surprised to be hearing such a frank assessment.
"Not most of them," he said. "Most marriages are what you see in the sitcoms. Or worse - reality TV."
"What about you?" Mr. Demarco asked, putting his finger under my chin once we had stepped into the shower. "You've got a boyfriend, right? What would he think?"
"I don't know," I said, feeling suddenly vulnerable. "It scares me to think about it."
"He doesn't need to know," he stated.
We fucked again - anal in the shower, like before. He shampooed my hair again, which not only loosened me up, but also sort of put me in the mood. Then he kissed my neck and chest all over. He was teasing me, acting like any second he was going to suck my nipples. I wanted him to, but he never did. Then he prepped my asshole with his fingers - a much quicker affair this time; then I was sitting in his lap with his stiff cock up my ass.
I made some more conversation while I pumped his cock with my body. "I know it's my imagination, but last time I felt like I could feel your come inside my ass, still warm, all day long."
"You just wait 'til winter," he retorted. "It'll keep you warm better than eggnog." A part of my brain tried to consider the idea that he would still be blackmailing me and fucking me by winter. What were his plans? But it was hard to be too cerebral with all of the sparkly achy feel-good sensations going on in my lower body.
I don't know what it was, but I noticed that I was riding him faster this time. "Damn, Lexi, you're really in the spirit of it today!" Mr. Demarco remarked. He stood us up, guiding me with his cock, but instead of leading me to the railing, he aimed me at a flat section of wall. For the rest of the experience, I was sandwiched flat between the tile wall and Mr. Demarco's hard body, being fucked with mighty upward thrusts into my ass. The pressure on my chest made it hard to take deep breaths, but I still managed to moan loudly as I came. I sort of got lost in the orgasm. When Mr. Demarco came a minute later, and I felt the rush of hot liquid shooting inside of me, I realized that I was totally suspended - my feet weren't touching the ground.
We both did normal shower stuff after that, washing ourselves and not really paying much attention to each other. I did stop to watch him shave though. I didn't know that men shaved in the shower - I thought only women did. It certainly felt different watching Mr. Demarco now than it ever had watching my dad shave when I was little.
I cooked breakfast again and ate with Mr. Demarco in his home office, while his face stayed glued to his computer. This time, though, it was less about some neurochemical bonding high than about furthering my hacks. I managed to press the WPS button on his WiFi router, granting network access to my phone. He didn't notice. And on the way to the kitchen to fetch more coffee, I took note of the make and model of his TV and remote control.
He wants me to come over again on Thursday morning. Carrie - his wife - is working out of town Monday through Friday most weeks this summer, and so he appreciates having me available to tide him over during the week.
I wonder what would happen if I said no? He's had his fun. Surely he'll forgive my crime at some point, right? Or maybe not. Maybe he'll keep using me until the fall semester starts and I go off to college again. Maybe he'll insist that I come back to town for winter and spring breaks to be his fuck-toy again then. Maybe he won't even let me go back to college. Okay, that last part doesn't seem reasonable, but the rest of it could happen.
Wednesday July 15
I found a guy on eBay who sells a small infrared recorder device that he makes in his garage. I guess they're useful for amateur robot competitions or something. I took the day off work and drove 150 miles to buy one from him in person, not wanting to wait three days for delivery. I've played around with it enough to make sure it works. Now I just need to hide it, and find a way to force Mr. Demarco to enter his media center password into his TV again.
Thursday July 16
I wore a skirt to Mr. Demarco's house this morning. Normally I don't wear skirts unless I'm dressing up, but... I just felt like it. I was also wearing a scoop-neck T-shirt.
Mr. Demarco wasn't sweaty when he met me this morning. He was wearing some pajama pants, and his hair was mussed like he had just woken up. His breath smelled minty, though.
"Lady's choice, today," he said. "How would you like to do it this time, Alexis?" It was weird hearing him use my real name like that. He had always called me Lexi, except in formal situations like in front of other lawyers.
"Um, I don't know. In bed would be nice. Missionary?"
"You've got it," he said.
He lead me to his bedroom. "Lay on the bed, legs crossed. Now smile at me - excellent. Now, slowly lift your skirt. Stop!" He was standing at the foot of the bed. He stopped me when my panties were probably just barely visible from his point of view.
"Now take off your glasses and suck on the end. Coy - that's perfect." It was kinda fun. It felt like a sort of naughty photo-shoot fantasy. Then I realized that I probably was actually being recorded. Oh well, nothing to do but play along.
I rubbed my thighs together and wiggled my butt. "How long are you going to keep me waiting?" I asked seductively.
"We'll get there. For now, take off your bra, without taking off your shirt." I did as he asked, unclasping the back and then looping one strap then the other past my elbows outside of the sleeve. Once free of my bra, my nipples stiffened, showing through my shirt. That's when he climbed onto the bed with me and felt me up. Even though his hands stayed on top of my shirt, they had a tremendous effect, rubbing and squeezing my breasts like nothing I'd ever felt. My head fell back into the pillows and I moaned.
Mr. Demarco pulled at the bottom of my shirt, exposing my belly to his fingertips. I needed his hands on my bare breasts - the anticipation was killing me. I started to rub my now neglected boobs with my own hands, but he stopped me. He exposed more of my belly to his fingers, but at a glacial pace.
"Faster," I implored him. He laughed.
An eternity later, the bottom of my shirt crested my boobs. As my nipples touched the air they became even harder - painfully hard. But then his hand was cupping my under-boob, and his lips were closing around my nipple, and oh god, the feeling! I couldn't stay still - my body was squirming all over. The feeling was so intense, but it wasn't enough. I needed everything.
"Take off your skirt," he told me, while switching to my other breast. I eagerly lifted my ass and pulled my skirt down off my legs. He slipped his fingertips into my panties and ran them through the hair on my mound.
He climbed between my legs, on top of me, his face to mine. "Do you want me to kiss you? He asked in a whisper.
"Yes," I whispered back.
"Are you sure?" He asked, griding his hips into my groin.
"Yes, god damn it, yes!"
He kissed me like a man. He kissed me like I was his. I hated myself for it, but I found myself thinking badly of Miles for never kissing me like that.
Mr. Demarco got rid of his pajama bottoms, moved the crotch of my panties aside, and slipped his cock into my very willing cunt. Immediately I was in full banshee mode, wailing to release the excitement boiling inside me lest I explode. A few dozen strokes later, I was just about ready to come, but that's when he stopped. He pulled my legs up onto his shoulders, leaned way forward into me, and started banging me so deep! For a split second I wondered if I had guessed wrong, and if somehow Becca had learned the shoulders maneuver from Mr. Demarco, but then my mind was gone. I totally lost it - I started coming and I don't think I ever stopped. One after another, I came so many times I lost count. I don't know how long he fucked me, but every moment of it was a god damned precious gift.
Mr. Demarco grunted as he came. I watched the intensity in his face as he filled me up with his semen, taking pride in causing causing him to do it. I wondered, briefly, if he released more semen when he comes than Miles does. I bet he does.
The next thing I knew, I was waking up to the squeaking of shower knobs as Mr. Demarco exited the bathroom. For a moment I panicked, thinking I might have slept through my opportunity to plant my surveillance device. But really there was still plenty of time. "Is it cool if I make breakfast?" I asked as he passed through the bedroom.
"Yeah, sure," he said without stopping.
I used up the last three eggs making more omelets. I wondered if Carrie did the grocery shopping for the household, and if so, whether she would notice the sudden lack of ingredients. I wondered if it would bother her that I was cooking for her husband after he fucked me. I hoped so. Bitch.
I had read the manual for the TV, so I knew how to perform a factory reset. The next time it was turned on, it would have to be completely reconfigured. Most people would think it was a fluke thing and not worry about it. Mr. Demarco is tech savvy enough that he might be suspicious. It was a chance I'd have to take. I unplugged a couple more appliances, too, to make it look like a power outage had hit.
There was dust underneath the cable box, so I decided that that was a good place to leave my IR recorder. Fingers crossed!
My mom went to bed early with a migraine tonight, leaving my dad and me watching a fairly dry documentary on TV.
"Dad," I asked out of nowhere, "how do you balance love versus sex in a relationship?"
"Whoa," he replied. "I never thought we'd be having this discussion. I don't know. People have been struggling with that one forever."
I was frustrated with his non-answer, so I tried to rephrase. "I mean, like, how important is great sex in a relationship? How important is love?"
He looked contemplative. "I've never heard of a relationship based just on sex lasting very long. But love doesn't guarantee it either. Of course, not every relationship has to last long to be a good thing. I will say this: being honest with your partner gives you the best chance of happiness. Either you'll find ways to get what you need out of the relationship, or you'll find out that it's impossible before too much damage is done."
"So is Miles love or great sex?" Dad asked.
"Love," I said. Then with a shrug and a grin, "But, you know...." Dad clearly didn't know how to take that.
After a moment of silence I got up to leave. I teased Dad on my way out: "Thanks for the talk, Dad. I'm going to take your advice - I'm off to the bathroom to take naked pictures of myself for the Internet!"
Saturday July 18
Miles and I played a couple rounds of that XBox dancing game last night. When I got bored I got on my knees in front of him, intending to give him head, but he wrestled with me and he ended up going down on me instead. Later we did it on his couch again. It was good. I'm starting to really like that couch.
This afternoon I snuck by Mr. Demarco's house to see if my infrared receiver had intercepted any remote control codes. I didn't have to get inside - just close enough for a Bluetooth connection with my phone. The buffer was pretty full, so I guessed that Mr. Demarco had indeed reconfigured his TV.
Back at my house, I set about the laborious task of piecing together the data. The device fed it all to me as a sequence of numbers. From there it was easy to translate them to button presses. Figuring out what they meant, without being able to see the menus and cursor positions that had been on screen, was a bitch. Making sense of "right, right, down, enter, up, left, enter" when you don't know where you started is not fun. But I had the TV's manual, and lots of screen shots and videos on the web, so after a couple hours, I was pretty confident that I had the passwords to both the WiFi and the media center.
I drove back, parking two streets away, and connected to Mr. Demarco's media center. I downloaded every file on it, spot-checking a few of them to make sure I was getting something I could use.
There was a whole folder labeled "Lexi". He had videos of me dancing in my underwear, fucking Miles in his bed, and Thursday's morning romp. He also had the video of Ethan and me that was supposed to have been destroyed.
It looked like all of the bridge club kids' videos were there, too. I confirmed that the one of Kelly's brother inseminating the couch was there, at least.
The most important part, though, was that there were recordings of the bridge club orgies themselves. They showed the participants fucking each other while watching the clearly identifiable recordings of their children. That should be proof enough. I bet I could have gone to the police right then and there, and it would have been enough for a raid. But again - how badly would the kids suffer if I did?
I started making preparations and turned on a live feed while the bridge club members arrived.
Greetings, chitchat, drink offers - boring boring boring.
"Andrea, would you like to tell us what we're about to watch here?" Mr. Demarco said as he worked through the TV's menus to select a video.
The pixie-cut-brunette addressed the crowd. "As we've all seen, Kelly is eagerly exploring new ways to get herself off. Well, I wanted to know what she would do if she had the liberty to use the proper equipment. She takes a shortcut walking home from piano lessons. And someone accidentally dropped a $100 gift certificate to Good Vibrations.... Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Kelly's first vibrator!"
I guess they like to start off with relatively tame videos. The guests were only partly paying attention - still chatting, loosening up, and sipping cocktails. In the video, Kelly hiked up her skirt, turned the vibrator on, and touched it to her cheek to test it. It was a seven inch long blue transparent one, plastic or silicon, that looked as much like a chess piece as a penis. She started it at her mound, on top of her panties. As she moved the vibrating tip closer and closer to her clit, her mouth hung open wider and wider. Within seconds after reaching her sexual epicenter, Kelly's body started to lurch violently, like a girl about to throw up. Instead, she let out a high-pitched gurgling squeal, and her body trembled.
There was a follow-up Kelly video - this time with no panties. After she finished she quickly hid the vibrator and dashed to the bedroom door, opening it to argue with her brother. The sound was too garbled on my feed to make out her words, but the bridge club guests seemed amused. "Oh, he totally knows," the redhead opined.
One of the men followed up: "There's something about the way those two fight. Maybe in a week or two, Andrea, you'll show us a video starring both of your kids together!"
People were starting to lose clothing and touch each other by now. Mr. Demarco was messing with the remote with the redhead's hand down his pants when Carrie, his blond wife, slid up beside him and touched his chest. "You said you'd let me see it," she begged. He gave her a peck on the lips.
"You all know that I hate to brag..." Mr. Demarco said to the room. He waited while the laughter and jibes subsided. "...but I've got a little thing on the side. Allow me to present: Desperate Alexis." Hmph.
The video he played, of course, showed me on his bed: hitching up my skirt, sucking the ear piece of my glasses, removing my bra under my shirt, and... begging for more. The redhead was on her knees wanking Mr. Demarco's cock, but she didn't seem to want to take her eyes off the screen to suck him.
Carrie aggressively sat on the couch and threw her legs open. "Someone lick me now!" she commanded. One of the guys ducked under her dress obediently.
"Oh she's a screamer!" The redhead said once things in the video got intense. She and Mr. Demarco had moved their bodies so that she could lick his cock head while still watching the TV.
"She looks like one of those animated girl chipmunks - the one with the glasses," Carrie said scornfully.
"She reminds me of that Harry Potter girl," one of the guys said in my defense. "Something about the eyebrows."
"Hey Tim, when you get tired of her, do you think you could throw her my way?" One of the guys asked Mr. Demarco. He was sitting in front of the long-haired-brunette's spread legs, rubbing his cock up and down her slit.
"I won't be getting tired of her any time soon," Mr. Demarco replied. "But with a few more lessons, she might be ready for sharing."
"Isn't she a little old for you, TJ?" The pixie-cut-brunette teased. She was on her back, on the floor, getting pounded by a guy on top of her.
"Eh," TJ replied, "I'll put her in pigtails and a Saint Frances uniform. We'll make it work!"
Pretty soon Carrie was coming and practically suffocating her poor guy with how hard she was shoving his face into her snatch. The me from the video was coming. The redhead was on her knees, taking it doggy style from Mr. Demarco. The other two pairs were fucking pretty seriously too.
God I envied the redhead. I never got a chance to do Mr. Demarco doggy style. My fingers were dashing quickly in and out of my pussy, there in my car, as I watched a live feed of people fucking while watching a recording of me, fucking. So surreal! The redhead moaned and I ached. She started to come, thrashing her long hair around like in a heavy metal video. I came too, as if I was siphoning off portion of her climax.
Most of the guests finished around the time that video ended. They took a break to pee or refresh their drinks. The exception was the guy who had just suffered brain damage between Carrie's legs. He must have been pretty damned horny by that point. He got the pixie-cut-brunette to lie face down on floor and he climbed on top of her. I couldn't tell which hole he was using, but she was smiling and he looked pretty intense.
They started playing another video: a new one featuring Ken, one of his high school friends, and Becca. Like the last one, it started with beer and a sullen attitude. Soon enough she was on her hands and knees, her skull-print skirt bunched around her waist, taking it from behind while Ken stroked himself waiting for his turn.
I couldn't watch any more. I swapped in the video that I had been working on. It began with chimes, to get their attention. Then it showed scrolling text over a background of medieval paintings of hell.
You are all horrible people.
You have sold out your children's innocence
for your own sexual gratification,
in violation of both decency and law.
I have proof.
You will delete all recordings,
and disable all surveillance equipment immediately.
If you do so, your crimes will remain a secret.
If ANY of you fails to comply,
you will ALL lose your savings,
go to prison,
and relegate the repair of your children's shattered psyches
to the foster system.
I will be watching.
You are all horrible people.
They all froze while they read my message. It was a little bit funny seeing the fucking couple, unmoving with intense focus on the TV screen, with his dick stuck in her.
"Nobody say a word," Mr. Demarco said in a commanding voice. He dashed off toward his home office with his hard-on bobbing in front of him. Seconds later, my network connection went down.
Sunday July 19
It's hard to concentrate on anything, waiting to find out if Mr. Demarco has some sort of counter-move up his sleeve. I took precautions, of course. I have all of the data out there on the net as an encrypted bit torrent. If I ever fail to check in for two weeks, the password will be released to the world.
I found a decent gun range and relaxed to the meditative pop-pop-pop of a rented Glock. Shooting always helps me calm my mind. I felt like a stranger there, though. I know people at the range near the University. My range. It's funny how much the city I grew up in doesn't feel like home any more.
I suppose I should tell Miles about this whole ordeal. That's what couples do, right? They tell each other everything? At the very least, we should both get checked for STDs.
Tuesday July 21
I dressed up as nicely as I could this morning, and went to Mr. Demarco's house at 7:00. Miniskirt, silver-blue halter, ankle boots, some of my mom's jewelry and makeup. Nightclub Lexi. Mr. Demarco was surprised when he answered the door. As usual, he was sweaty from his workout. He let me in.
"I want to make sure we're clear about a few things," I said, trying to swallow down my anger and fear.
"Okay," he replied. He was calm, patient, and open.
"I've got a dead-man switch," I said. "If I go to prison, or if I die, you'll all be exposed."
"You know I could hire computer forensic experts - prove it was you," he pointed out, with much conviction.
"I know," I said. "You could take me down, but it wouldn't save any of you. Anyway, I was sort of hoping that parental instinct would take over and they'd understand that this is the only way to avoid royally fucking up their kids. I offered you a good deal. It would have been much easier for me to go straight to the police, you know."
"I know. I appreciate that," he said. "The others will fall in line. I'll make sure of it."
Just then, Carrie came down the hallway, squinting and wearing the most god-awful nightgown I've ever seen. She stood there looking worried when she saw me.
"Hi, I'm Lexi," I said. "The chipmunk. By the way, you're out of eggs." I tried to spit as much venom as I could with the words, but I probably just came across as weird.
"We were just making sure we understand each other," Mr. Demarco said to his wife.
There was a moment of silence. They were waiting for me to say something. My lip began to quiver as I worked myself up, thinking about what I would say next. I couldn't make it stop. It pissed me off so much that my body wouldn't obey me! I needed to look strong! Damn it!
"I thought about coming here with a big old strap-on - making you take it up the ass. Show you that the tables have turned," I told him.
"Why didn't you?" He asked. It wasn't a challenge. He was offering me an opportunity to speak my mind.
"Because it wouldn't have worked," I said. "If I did that, whether you liked it or not, you'd still be in control." My voice cracked.
I sniffled. I could feel tears welling in my eyes. "How long were you planning to keep it up?" I asked. "Would you have told me that I couldn't go back to college - that I had to stay here to keep servicing you? Would you have really lent me out to TJ and your other friends?" Carrie's face showed sudden alarm at the realization that I had witnessed their conversation. I guess she hadn't been completely awake for my chipmunk quip.
I was trembling. Mr. Demarco replied apologetically. "Lexi, I thought we were both having a good time. I honestly thought you wanted to be with me. I would have broken it off if you had shown any signs of discomfort - but you never did."
"Discomfort?!" I challenged. "Fuck! You know, this was supposed to be the summer of goofy lovesick babbling, and lots of uncomplicated sex with my first real boyfriend. You know what discomfort is? Discomfort is resenting the man you love because he's nowhere near as good of a lover as your blackmailer!"
I couldn't hold back my tears any more. Mr. Demarco was about to speak, but Carrie held up a hand and silenced him. With another hand wave, she banished him from the room. She walked up and wrapped her arms around me, patting me on the back with sympathy. I let her.