Chapter One

Sierra was a high school dropout. That was not to say she was entirely uneducated. In fact, she considered herself to be better educated than most. She read, after all, voraciously, and always had. In fact, as a child she’d been something of a bookworm. She had always been happiest while curled up with an exciting story and plenty of time to read it.

But Sierra had dropped out of school at sixteen, as soon as it was legally permitted. Had she stayed, of course, she would have learned higher level mathematics, would have been able to better refine her writing skills, and learned a variety of things which would have made her more employable in life, not to mention allowing her to be accepted into a university or college for higher education.

But Sierra had decided she needed none of that. She despised school, hated having to sit obediently about listening to a teacher drone on about something she hadn’t much if any interest in, then read long, dreary books about more events and happenings she cared little or nothing about. All to what ends? To render her more employable? Sierra had no interest in ever being employed, nor any reason to be.

Her step-father, the only father she had ever really known, was James Maxwell, a little known man in most parts of the world, but a terror amongst the brokerage houses of San Francisco. He had amassed a fortune of some hundreds of millions of dollars, which, she knew, he could not possibly spend all on his own. Thus she decided to quit school early in order to help him.

That her step-father did not desire her help in this regard was one of the reasons for the ongoing friction between them. That, and her dropping out of school, of course.

After spending a few years flitting about various European capitals, meeting and partying with like-minded young people, lolling about on a variety of European beaches, and collecting very pricey designer outfits, Sierra returned home, or rather, joined her step-father in the new home he’d had built on the Pacific coast.

It was, to put it mildly, a magnificent house on a low hill overlooking a long strip of private beach and the Pacific Ocean. It was an oddly shaped home, built to meld with the cliffs which surrounded it, to blend into the side of the low hill behind and below it. Several of the upper floor bedrooms were like small towers projecting out over the front of the residence, with huge floor to glass windows on three sides. The hallways gleamed with polished teak walls and marble floors, with Persian carpets and expensive paintings, all of which was lit by subdued, hidden lighting.

The centerpiece of the house, however, was its immense front room, the roof easily forty feet above. The room was a semi-circle with a huge glass wall looking out onto the Jacuzzi and swimming pool, the manicured gardens around them, and the beach and ocean beyond. The floor was polished marble, liberally littered not merely with plants, but actual trees. And the entire area could be opened to the ocean breezes, for the whole glass wall would part and slide aside to open the room to the outside.

Sierra chose for herself a small bedroom, one of those with the large glass walls on three sides and a skylight overhead. Like the glass wall in the central entertainment room, these walls, too, could slide open to open the room to the elements. And the strong breeze coming off the ocean in the late evening ensured that few insects would find their way inside.

The front part of the room was barely big enough for her king-sized bed and the tables which bracketed it. However, behind the bed, the remainder of the room, with its own skylight, was much broader, and held numerous closets as well as her dressers and chests and tables and desk and sofa, and a lovely fireplace.

Sierra loved the house, but was not overly fond of the fact its location put it some distance away from any decent shopping or entertainment. Nor was she happy about the high-technology which largely ran the place, keeping the air scrupulously clean so as to avoid dust, for example, and the odd little robotic vacuum cleaners which roamed the carpets in the middle of the night, for this meant there were almost no servants. If she wanted a glass of something she generally had to go and fetch it herself.

Mind, with small, disguised refrigerators in many rooms, that usually meant she didn’t have to go far.

After her time in Europe, though, Sierra found herself enjoying the isolation. The truth was that most of those she’d met and partied with in Europe had been both shallow and callow, boorish, arrogant and ignorant in most respects. She had detested most of them. Even the ones who considered themselves educated were appallingly ignorant of anything approaching real world realities.

Perhaps it was her voracious reading which had kept her somewhat better grounded, reading not merely of the standard romance novels, but every other manner of book, magazine and, of course, newspapers. She devoured newspapers, fascinated by the stupidities and violence of her fellow man (it was almost inevitably men).

She also, being a reader, had a great enjoyment for erotica. No prude, she, Sierra read plenty of erotica, and had quite a bit of experience with sex in its many guises. In Europe she had fulfilled a number of fantasies which prudish Americans might have been shocked by, and enjoyed most of them.

She had also experimented with drugs, many kinds of drugs, as well, of course, as every type of alcoholic beverage. Some of this had been in combination with sex. Some of them helped, while some hindered her enjoyment of her body’s pleasures. Most of them, however, she had discarded as either too dangerous, or having effects which were unpleasant.

One she had not discarded was ecstasy, which she had found freed her mind to really enjoy sex, even if that sex was with herself. This was particularly so in combination with a little high-grade marihuana.

This was to have a profound effect on her life, though she was not aware of this on a warm July night as she lay back nude on her big bed and luxuriated in a feeling of warmth and happiness with the soft breezes coming into her room through the open windows. Beyond this was the sound of the waves washing ashore, and a gentle melody of new age music on her stereo.

Sierra was a lovely young woman, with long chestnut hair, bright green eyes, and a slender, but well-rounded body other women would have killed for. Her legs were long and exquisitely sculpted, her bottom tight and deliciously shaped, her breasts high and full and almost amazingly firm for their size.

The lights were turned low, though moonlight streamed through the wide empty windows as she lay back with her knees raised and spread wide and let her fingers caress the soft, delicate skin which covered her. Her pussy, lasered clean of even the hint of hair long ago, was slightly raised, her sex lips spread wide around a long, thick black dildo which she had thrust deep within her.

A small round, flat object, something like a large coin, rested snugly against her rear rosebud, giving little hint of the much wider plug nestled within.

Sierra caressed her body, eyes slitted, sighing softly, enjoying the smell of the ocean, the soft music, and the way her mind floated pleasantly on a lightly drugged high. Her body was hot, and growing hotter with arousal, her areolas swollen bumps upon which sat her long, stiff nipples. Those nipples quivered and pulsed every time her hands slid across them, sending warm waves of pleasure through her body.

She writhed slowly in place, the tendons in her inner thighs, in her groin, aching and strained as she spread her knees even wider. Her hands moved over her breasts, along her belly, down her hips and under as she raised her bottom, to squeeze and knead her buttocks.

She loved the full sensation from her lower belly, with the big dildo stuffed up her pussy and the fat butt-plug buried in her rectum. She had taken to anal sex with delight after it was introduced to her, during a similar drugged high, and now liked to have something inside her, even if only a finger, whenever she had sex.

She reached down to the base of the dildo and twisted it slowly, pressing it inwards. The nose was already jammed against the back wall of her pussy, having forced its way past the round, sensitive lump of her cervix, and it ached as she ground it against herself. But the ache itself was deliciously pleasant, especially when she stroked her finger delicately across her aroused clitoris.

“Oh! Oh yes!” she groaned. “Oh fuck! Ohhh!”

She caressed her sex lips, delighted at how tight and taut they were where they gripped the shaft of the dildo. They too, ached, a little, for the thickness of the dildo she had driven up into her pussy.

Sierra eased off on her clitoris, wanting her sexual high to last. She ran her hands over her body again, moaning gently, arching her back, kneading and caressing her warm flesh, exulting in being the beautiful sexual creature she was.

It did not really occur to her to worry about who might be looking on.

Sierra had always been something of an exhibitionist, after all, and had always delighted in the responses of men of any age to her lovely face and body. Never shy, her inhibitions had been further reduced by her European experiences, where she had taken to public beaches topless, and then, excitedly, in the nude. There was nothing quite like jogging along a beach naked, in and out amongst so many people, as the men looked on hungrily.

She had done that here, as well, early in the dawn, when she was unlikely to encounter others. It was different here, of course. Here there was the tension of fear of discovery. Not that she minded being seen. But America was so prudish! Here people would gape, aghast at finding her naked, pointing, whispering, telling their friends, full of disapproval. So, as she jogged along the edge of the water nude in the early morning hours, Sierra always felt both excitement and anxiety about being spotted.

She was very proud of her body, and did not at all mind the thought that men, old and young, would look at her with want and lust in their minds and hearts. In truth, that rather excited her, and made her feel cocky and proud and beautiful. But she still had that American inhibition about being nude in public – at least around those who, unlike the Europeans, thought that shocking and immoral.

Still, the beach was long and empty, the woods quiet, and in the morning hours she could walk along the beach nude, jog, explore, and enjoy herself, just as she could tan nude beside the pool, or up on her balcony.

And so, isolated as the house was, on the ocean’s edge, with all the surrounding land fenced off, she had never even closed her curtains except in the mornings, to keep out the light. Not even when she undressed, not even when she lay nude and enjoyed the beauty and responsiveness of her body.

That her step-father had a similar room down the hall rarely entered her mind. He was usually not home, in any event, which had been the story of her life. That his room, too, had the same type of windows which opened, that his room was slightly elevated from hers, or that her moans of pleasure during orgasm might actually be sufficient, given the quiet outside, to carry to his bed where he lay never entered her mind.

But it had, on previous occasions.

Moreover, James Maxwell was a lover of women, a lothario, a man who indulged his every whim with the fairer sex. He had always been rich, always been handsome, and always been a quick-witted, smooth-talking man. Women had been tumbling gladly into his bed since he’d first desired them.

Now at middle age, with so many notches on his belt, Maxwell was not inclined to spend a lot of time in seduction. If it could be said that men value that which is rare and hard to attain, Maxwell did not value women very highly. They were neither, after all. Maxwell used them to satisfy his own lust, and sometimes toyed with them, in the way a cat will toy with a mouse, sometimes cruelly, sometimes exhibiting the contempt that the powerful and successful felt for the weak and poor.

Maxwell did not think very highly of his daughter. She was lazy, and had no interest in following him in business. She mocked him for spending so much time and effort in expanding his power and wealth. He had more than enough, after all.

That was not an attitude Maxwell even understood. How could one ever have enough power and wealth?

Starting from what he had created, if she worked hard, with the intelligence he knew she had, Sierra could make herself a billionaire. But all she wanted to do was laze her life away in hedonistic enjoyment.

Maxwell was home that night, as it happened, and he could see, after turning off his light, that his daughter’s large windows were still lit, if softly. He hesitated, but Maxwell had never been one to respect the rights of others, be it the right of privacy or any other right. There was an expensive, antique telescope in the corner of the room, put there by the designer, made to look out on the ocean, of course.

He padded to it and turned it towards his daughter’s window, then focused in and felt a stirring in his loins. Sierra was a gorgeous young girl, after all, and her body, lit by soft yellow light, glowed in the night, her breasts deliciously full. He could see the fat base of the dildo protruding from her pussy, as well, and his cock stirred as he watched her move it in and out, watched her hand twist to grind the nose into the bottom of her pussy, watched her back slowly arch in sexual pleasure.

He had watched her before, for she masturbated regularly. Once he had watched her with a young man, watched her face, so slack and filled with sexual heat as he had rammed his cock into her lush young body.

Slut, he had thought, just like all young women today, and most women of any age. She was a slut. He did not think that with any great anger, but more a casual acceptance. Women were weak. Everyone of substance knew that.

But Maxwell was a man of strength, a man who took what he wanted, no matter what he had to do to get it.

And he found himself wanting Sierra.

And this time, he told himself, he would take her.

He pulled on a silk robe, opened a drawer, and took a short length of soft rope from it, placing it in his pocket. Then he opened the door and padded up the hall, down a half dozen steps to her level, and further up to her door.