Scene 6 – Sunday Night

To wash off the weekend, I chose a bath over a shower, sipping my oldest Cabernet while scrolling through my phone. At only eight o’clock, I could afford to steep, and the glass-box of a shower couldn’t compare to an alcove tub for three. Yeah, I deserved to unwind. The work was done, the house was tidy, and for two days in a row, I lifted, hard. With a week until Sandra, I wouldn’t miss a night.

Following my soak, I bided in front of the mirror and toweled off the fog. Cheek to cheek, I checked my scruff then plucked any unruly stubble. Sandra might’ve preferred me rugged, but I still groomed the hairs around my mouth, in case of intimacy. It was similar to the trimming below. If I was so lucky.

I shivered, swaying, grazing my tip across the countertop. A puddle wetted the flesh.

Not unlike most our off-spells, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. On one hand, the memory of her in that bikini haunted. On the other, it replaced the memory of Alexa in hers. Matter-of-fact, thanks to the woman, I deleted the video —and the photos— of the girl. That was wisest anyway. Alexa could’ve been underage.

When I ended at the mirror, I wrapped the towel about my waist and headed into the bedroom. By this hour, the outside light struggled against the blinds, tinting the room a somber gray. Past my bed, merely shadows shone. It was eerie. But then, the king-sized poster bed was eerie by itself.

Midway to the dresser, I noticed a second light in the hallway. Streaking across the carpet, it shined from under the office door. That was truly eerie. The lamp in there shouldn’t have been on, and it couldn’t have been Katie. School nights, her curfew was nine, and rarely did she come home early.

Yet wrapped in my towel, I lurked across the hall and cracked the office door. Lit by the blues of the computer, the room flickered. The lights were off. The curtains, closed. And eeriest of everything, someone clacked away on my keyboard, obscured by the monitor.

“Hello?”

Although the typing persisted, the intruder tilted around the screen. I clutched the knob. It was Alexa. In stumpy pigtails, she grinned, her bell of blonde styled up to tufts, like pompoms.

“Oh hey,” she said, as if expecting me. “Almost ready.”

“What are you doing here?” I tiptoed into the room. “How did you get in?”

Suddenly I remembered the towel. Low on my hips, it hung, looped too loose to hold. Before Alexa saw, I grabbed the tuck and halted in the doorway. Regardless, she giggled then tilted back behind the monitor.

“I found the spare,” she said. “Above the whirlpool filter. Good spot.”

I gritted my teeth. The snoop.

“But why?” I asked, harsher now. “Why are you here? Katie won’t get home early enough to—”

“I know,” she interrupted, swapping the clack of the keyboard for the click of the mouse. “I’m actually here for you.”

“For me?”

As she clattered away —and dredged further into my privacy— a bulb of acid curded in my throat. I wanted to leave, to at least get dressed, but the doorknob wouldn’t budge. Torn between her nosiness and mine, I couldn’t move. She broke in. She meddled, yet no sooner did I try to scold her, she kicked back in the chair and scolded me.

“So.” She slapped the monitor around. “This was in your recycling bin. Care to explain?”

Bile retched onto my tongue. Blown to full-screen, the video of her in the hot tub glared at me. She restored the file! Past where I’d seen it, it played, showing her grinding against the jets, about to climax.

I gawked, petrified, numb.

“Forget it.” She slapped the monitor back. “If I were you, I’d worry more about what I recorded on your phone.”

My phone? I cringed.

From the twang in her voice, she sounded sinister, nothing like I would’ve suspected. Strangely, catching me didn’t faze her one bit.

“Come watch.” She waved me in.

Never had I been so submissive. Whether it was out of curiosity, idiocy, or sheer fear, I ignored the hornets in my chest and did as I was told.

“Okay.” I turned for my room. “Just let me dress.”

“No.”

“No?” I stutter-stepped, refreezing in the doorway.

“Unless I can tell Katie about you filming me—” Her tone sharpened. “You’ll do what I say, and keep the towel.”

A tingle lurched down my spine. And into my crotch. Dumbstruck, I stared across the hall, blearing what was in my bedroom. The dresser, it split into copies. The office chair squeaked next, and once I peeked back, Alexa was up and behind it. Propped on the seatback, she motioned for me to sit.

The curl in her lips curdled in mine. Attired in all black, she matched the darkness.

Helplessly, I obeyed. As if on exhibit, I shuffled toward her, naked— save for my towel. The more she ogled, the tighter I gripped the tuck. No inch went unscrutinized.

“So what did you record?” I asked, sitting then draping the towel over my knees. “And how did you get my phone?”

“I borrowed it.” She swiveled us inward then shoved me to the desk.

I flopped back. She was stronger than she looked.

On the screen, the footage continued to play, to torment. Without mercy, it showed her nearly convulsing in the corner, corkscrewed against the jets.

“Last night,” she added. “While you were cleaning outside, I made a little movie for you. By the way, I’m a little offended you deleted my photos.”

“You hacked my phone?”

“Hardly,” she sniggered. “I saw you unlock it.”

After centering us in the desk, she rounded to my side, leaned over, and put a hand on my knee. Another tingle spidered up my thigh. Fitted in spaghetti straps, she dangled not a foot away. A hammock would’ve been more restrictive.

“Anyhow.” She closed the video —finally— then opened the hard drive. “I figured my project would be better on your desktop, so I moved it.” Folder upon folder, she probed into my documents. “And no, I didn’t upload a virus.”

Somewhere deep in the drive, she arrived at a gallery with three thumbnails. The images weren’t great. None of them told me anything, but for names, two read, ‘BR,’ and the third said ‘HT.’

There wasn’t time to note much else. A click later, she selected the top, and the player expanded to full-screen. It was the file titled ‘BR2.’

“Enjoy,” she whispered, kneeling beside me, sneaking her hand up my leg.

I dug my toes into the carpet.

From black, the clip blinked on. Of a pixelated haze, the colors eased into focus. The whites of porcelain, the browns of laminate, the beiges of wall tile. It was the downstairs bathroom. Set behind the soap dispenser, the camera captured the room. The foreground had the vanity. The back, the shower. Around the border, a ring of maroon fuzz surrounded the shot as well. It was like the phone had been stashed under a dishrag.

“What is this?”

She hushed me. “Give it a moment.”

In the letup, I tried to steal a glimpse of her hand, but to steal me back, a glimmer of green appeared on the feed. My lungs shriveled. It was Alexa, again. Strung up in her swimsuit of tinsel, she mused at the sink, admiring herself in the mirror. She was so sodden. Wet to the root, her hair dripped like a mop.

I fidgeted, blustering through the nostrils.

Pose for pose, she modeled: frontal, profile, rear. Every angle flattered her. How not? Between the prominence of her bust and the prevalence of her hipbones, I doubted she had a bad side.

Eventually, the girl went to untie her top, and at once, I lunged forward then smacked the spacebar.

The video paused.

“What the hell is this?” I yanked my leg away. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, she withdrew some and cocked her head. “What?” A smirk crooked half her face. “Haven’t you gotten it yet?” She put her hand back on my knee then laid a finger on the spacebar. “You’re blackmailing me.”

Dull, drab, dire, the button triggered the video back on, and by frame two, the strings of her bikini sprung from their bow.

I resmacked the spacebar. “Quit it.”

She recoiled, then crossed her arms. Me to her, her to me, neither averted.

“Let me rephrase.” She scratched my hamstring, fingers of talons. “I’m blackmailing you. See, when I took your phone last night, I brought it into the bathroom with me and arranged it to look like you were spying on me. The washcloth was a clever touch, right? Afterward, I got into your email and sent the file to myself, along with some demands. I also had you text me a pretty nasty list of suggestions.”

My breath shorted. Logjammed, it spasmed in my windpipe.

“Get it?” She spindled her nails up my leg. “I’m blackmailing you, by blackmailing myself. Seems pretty damning, doesn’t it? Your phone. Your email. Your bathroom. I’ve got you on voyeurism, exploitation of a minor, possession of child pornography.”

I started panting.

“Oh, and don’t fight it.” She flicked a flap of the towel over. Up my lap, the slit widened. “I’d hate to tattle on you. I mean, my dad just finished working a case like this,” she tittered. “It’s ironic. He often consults for the police about these kinds of affairs. Digital security or whatnot. Needless to say, he and the chief are pretty buddy-buddy.”

While she spoke, needles spilled down my back. Everything blurred. Siphoned pale, I wallowed. I wilted. I withered under the realization. Echoic, it resonated in my skull, “I’m blackmailing you.”

“What do you want?” I mumbled. “Money? Gifts?”

“No.” Her smirk returned. “I want you.”

I squinted. “Me? For what?”

“For this.”

In a one-two, she both clawed my inner thigh and unpaused the video. The volt scorched. Jolting back, I yelped. Not a single fiber didn’t stiffen. Relentlessly —ruthlessly— the girl molested me.

It was here the Alexa on the screen peeled off her top. With the shyest bounce, she fell out, bigger, daintier, softer, and much more magnificent than I would’ve thought. Her shirts didn’t do her justice. The tips of her talent flourished in the light. Puffy. Perky. Perfect for a nibble.

It was too much. Her touch. Her tickle. Her tits. I couldn’t suppress it. Out of impulse, I flexed, forcing myself into, then through, the slit.

“Peekaboo,” the girl sang. As brash as it was belittling, she sized me up, length to girth. “That was easy.”

My insides congealed.

“Sandra was right.” She beamed. “It is nice.”

I sneered. Ironfisted, my arms cemented at their sides. Well within range, she knelt beside me, gaping, mocking me. Worse yet, by here the video showed her bent over and wiggling out of her bottoms. Luckily however, the countertop blocked the view. She was too close, and the camera was too far back.

“Okay.” She pulled her pigtails taut. “Let’s play a game.”

I sagged in my seat.

“It’s simple. Like a contest.”

Before elaborating, she pinched my towel, tore out the tuck, then brushed the ends off me completely. I shuddered. The room felt frigid. What was once a refuge of sweat and paperwork had degraded into a trench of perfume and taboo foreplay.

“So.” She flared her brow. “You’re going to watch my movie, and I’m going to jack you off.”

I wheezed. I hyperventilated.

“Why?” I asked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s fun,” she answered, as if it were obvious. “Alright. As I said, it’s simple. If you last through my movie—” She nodded to the computer. “You win, and I’ll delete everything I have on you.”

Like an idiot, I peered up, clinching my jaw. At the tub, her twin flung aside the curtain then cranked on the showerhead. Bare-assed, she danced a little, patient for the water to warm.

The palpitations raged.

Those curves, through and through, they corseted her.

“And if I don’t? If I can’t?”

She snickered. “Well then, this relationship’s gonna get a lot more one-sided.”

As my intestines festered, I hinged away. On the player, the timer ticked down, marking eight minutes and seventeen seconds. That was it. I had to survive for eight minutes and seventeen seconds.

Sixteen seconds.

Fifteen.

“Okay.” She placed a hand back on my leg. “Two rules. One, no looking away. You sit, and you watch. If you don’t, I suck it.”

More pins poured over me. In my veins, the lust thickened. To imagine her lips, let alone her tongue.

“Two.” She patted my thighs then spooled her fingernails upward. “No stopping me. Ever. If you do, I report everything. The file. The email. The texts. Understand?”

My stomach gurgled, and I bobbled through the stoutest, “Yes,” I could.

“One more thing.” The girl rose to her knees. Still tracing my inner thigh, she reached back, snatched the mouse, then exited the player. Underneath, the gallery remet her. “We’re not watching this take.”

Of the three thumbnails, she then selected the file titled, ‘BR1.’ The lag wasn’t long. “It’s funny. I actually showered twice. But see, the first was way too provocative. Like, suspiciously provocative. So I refilmed it. One for the blackmail. One for you.”

Same as the other, this clip blinked on, adjusting to the earthy hues of the bathroom. This one was difference though. Rather than displaying a measly few minutes, the countdown totaled over nineteen.

I couldn’t believe it. I’d been hustled.

“Oopsy,” she crooned. “Almost forgot.”

Without spinning back, she ducked beneath the desk then crawled into the nook. There, a handbag awaited her. Unzipped and ajar, it drooped against the cabinets.

During her search, the other Alexa reemerged on the screen. Again in her stringy gem-bikini, she mused at the sink. This take, she was dry. Locking her elbows, she squeezed her breasts to her collarbone then faced the camera. And shimmied.

I snarled. Her cleavage could’ve suffocated.

“Bingo.” The real Alexa jerked back, situating herself between my legs. Basically in my lap. She had something too. Two somethings. They were under her thumb. One was like a tube. The second was a tinier device, like a key fob. “This is where the fun begins.”

It was lotion and a remote control.

For the tube, she held it aside and shook it, aggressively. Suggestively. The liquid sloshed. For the fob, she pressed the topmost button.

A buzz arose. Muffled below, it whirred inside her shorts. She stirred a bit from it. Then she batted her lashes and huffed it away. The quiver in her chin quavered in mine.

“That’s better.” She hummed. “Vibrating panties.”

I crinked then uncrinked my wrists.

This wasn’t happening. I must’ve been dreaming. I must’ve fallen asleep in the tub.

After Alexa put the remote down, she uncapped the tube then squirted a dollop into her palm. It squished. Glossy, goopy, green, it heaped onto itself. I was wrong about the lotion. It was lube. In excess, she slathered her hands.

Holy fuck. She hadn’t even touched me yet, and already I was aching.

Scene 7 – Obedience

When she at last embraced me, her right enwrapped high, her left cupped low. I bucked, thrashed as if shackled. Together, they enveloped me, smearing the gel everywhere. Up, down, around, she rubbed it in. Nothing slowed her. Twist for twist, pump for pump, she coated me.

I couldn’t help but thrust. Head back, legs out, I splayed in my chair. How she kneaded me while wringing it like a rag, I gnarred. We were so slippery.

“Hey.” She blew, jetting her breath along my underside.

I snapped to.

“I told you no looking away.” She glowered, irises of thistle. “That’s your only warning.”

For punishment, she bent me toward her mouth and sped up. Between the swirl of her tongue and the ardor in her gaze, she mimed taking me down her throat. I nearly rammed in myself. She was too good to be this young. In and out of rhythm, she worked me, two-handed.

I swore she was trying to mangle it.

Strictly by chance, the toy overpowered her then. Wanted or not, an onrush surged through her. From a tic to a twitch, twitch to a tremor, she succumbed. Her teeth clamped. Her eyes shut. And on the crest, she collapsed to the chair, forehead flat to the padding.

For moments, she seized, affording me my own rest. Kind of.

To hear her groaning didn’t exactly relieve anything.

“Shit,” she hissed, fluttering back. “That hit quick.”

I cussed.

“Now.” She sat back up and resumed. One low, one high, she pinned my most fragile parts and throttled the other. It was an ambush. Clap after clap after clap, she battered me. “No more breaking my rules. Watch the movie.”

The chairback cricked.

Despite the pang behind my eyes, I somehow kept them from rolling back. Over the squish and squeak of her assault, I hoisted myself the straightest I could. Against her grip, I felt encaged.

Centerfold on the screen, her double lingered at the mirror, topless. My vocal cords gnarled. Spiraled about herself, she poised beneath a torrent of selfies. In a sassy, saucy smolder, she flaunted her hair. Her ass. Her breasts.

What that waistline must’ve suffered —the torque of such gratuity— she should’ve sheared.

Shamelessly, I drove myself into her, into her strangulation.

“Good boy,” she murmured, stroking faster. “Don’t fight it. Just cum for me—”

Before she could finish, the front door slammed. Thunderlike, it rattled the house, scaring everyone. Her. Me. Her copy.

Katie!

“Dad?” she shouted. “I’m home.”

She was early!

I stomped down. Aghast, I braced myself on the armrests then launched backward. This slung me out of Alexa’s grasp. She scoffed. So did I. To the office door, to me, then back to the girl, I craned.

I was screwed.

Open to the hallway, the door practically condemned me. It was clear to the stairwell! No way would Katie miss it. No way would she miss me.

I panicked, fumbling with the towel, furious to rewrap myself.

“Don’t you dare,” Alexa yelled in a whisper. “Get back here or I scream.”

As if whiplashed, I wrenched back up. My neck cracked. Finger to the floor, the girl pointed in front of her. It chilled. Most frightening was the vacancy on her face. She appeared vapid.

“Get back here.”

From the entryway, Katie took off her shoes, hucking them to the tile. Of sole against ceramic, the whacks resembled a gavel. Her footfalls weren’t far...