Chapter One
Melissa knew that the risks of getting caught were high. Therein lay the thrill as she
prepared to masturbate bare-assed on Conner’s Corinthian leather chair for an unknown
audience. It was half past two and her college freshman daughter Tiffany was upstairs
with a new boyfriend. Tiff was probably fucking him, but it would be just like the girl
to barge into the study with some new demand or petty complaint. It was at least six
years now since Melissa had been able to do anything right in her only child’s eyes, and
that was unlikely to change now.
Tiff was a Daddy’s girl through and through, and she would rat on her to Conner in a
heartbeat.
‘Don’t lock the door,’ MasterX99 had typed onto the screen as soon as Melissa had logged
on and confirmed that she was indeed in her husband’s study where he’d told her to be.
‘I didn’t,’ she confirmed, still standing, bent over, her manicured French nails
clacking on the keyboard of Conner’s brand new Pentium whatever-it-was. Ordinarily she
used her laptop in the sewing room, entering the chat rooms late at night, when her
husband and daughter were asleep and when the ticking of the clocks and snoring of the dog
would otherwise have driven her to insanity.
Really, she could lie to MasterX99 about following his instructions; at least with
regard to the things that didn’t show on the web camera, but the two of them had a pact.
An unenforceable agreement between total strangers. He was to give her things to do,
things that would push her to her sexual edges and she would do them, no questions asked.
She could, of course, disobey, but that would end the game. End the secret relationship.
It wasn’t really cheating on her husband, was it? Taking her clothes off in a virtual
room, showing her body however X99 wanted, for the pleasure of himself or anyone else he
happened to invite into their private little cyber space?
‘What are you wearing, Prissy1061?’ he typed.
‘Capri pants, white, open toed sandals, lime green blouse, bra and panties, white, sort
of plain,’ replied the thirty-nine-year-old natural blonde.
Melissa’s on-line handle, consisting of part of an old high school nickname, Prissy
Missy, along with her birth date, was hardly imaginative. Nor was her choice of wardrobe.
If she ever got too daring, Tiff—also a blonde—would be right there to call her a slut,
never mind that the girl’s own tits and ass were forever on display in her low-slung
skirts and jeans and undersized midriff shirts.
‘Take off the slacks and the panties. Leave the blouse, bra and sandals on, then put up
your “okay”.’
Melissa’s heart began to beat faster. An “okay” was the authorization to activate her
web camera. They were about to pass the point of no return. Until Master X99 had come
along, she’d never even met her kinky side. A cautious girl by nature, she’d played by
all the rules. Which after four decades s on the planet had netted her a loveless
marriage, a child who hated her guts and two housefuls of creature comforts she didn’t
want or need.
‘I’m waiting, Prissy.’
She had to remove the sandals temporarily to get the pants off. Her toenails were as
meticulous as her fingernails. Weekly pedicures were just one of the perks that came from
being the wife of the city’s top divorce litigator.
The thick shag tickled her toes. The carpet was new, and sometimes Trevor, the black
Lab, would lick it for unknown reasons. God—was that a stain? Flexing her well-toned
calf, Melissa poked her big toe over the mark, which, upon closer inspection revealed
itself to be only a little bit of thread.
Melissa breathed a sigh of relief; she tried to take care of the house, the same way she
did her body. She was proud that she could still fit into her old cheerleading outfit,
even after giving birth and spending twenty consecutive Thanksgivings at Conner’s mother’s
house imbibing the woman’s fat-soaked gravy. It wasn’t easy; four trips to the gym a week
at least, miles of repetitious jogging through the cul-de-sac neighborhood, along with
sit-ups and crunches, four hundred a day.
Tiffany, who maintained a svelte nineteen-year-old figure without the slightest effort,
ridiculed her mother for her devotion to exercise and health food. What the girl didn’t
understand was that it was a constant fight to keep even a modicum of Conner’s attention.
Without his ever saying a word, she could see him looking at her, evaluating constantly.
More than anything she wanted to please, wanted to be like those other girls, the sexy,
submissive ones she knew he kept on the side.
Girls like the ones in the magazines, the special sex magazines Conner didn’t know she’d
seen. There were stacks of them, in specially made cabinets, beside the very same
mahogany desk she was typing at now. She’d had no problem getting at them; actually, it
was sort of funny that so careful and secretive a man as Conner employed such easy to pick
locks.
Melissa’s pants were a puddle on the floor. She stepped from them, feeling the goose
bumps on her legs. Tick, tock went the seconds. This was taking much too long. Sucking
in a deep breath, she dealt with the basic white panties, skinning them down so she could
put up the okay. Which meant that X99 was now free to feed her image to the rest of the
watchers in the electronic room.
‘Stand back. I can’t see.’
Melissa pushed away the high-backed chair, rolling the wheels over the plastic mat to
make room behind her. Her feet stuck to it as she put herself in position. On her own
monitor, she could see herself, headless, neck to knee. X99 never asked to see her face
and she’d been warned by other on-line friends never to do that for anyone, ever. That
would be as bad as revealing one’s address or phone number.
‘Pull up the blouse for me, get it out of the way of your crotch.’
‘Yes,’ she took the time to type first. ‘Master.’
Melissa’s mound was shaved. X99 demanded that of her. At first she’d been afraid
Conner would comment, but the fact is she could have a cornfield growing between her
thighs and he wouldn’t notice the difference anymore.
‘You’re wet,’ he noted of the glistening lips.
‘Yes…Master.’
Typing that one word never failed to make her horny. Melissa liked to see it, written
out. A lot of people on this particular chat program used microphones. She had a decent
one, even on the laptop, but she didn’t like using her own voice. X99 didn’t either. In
a lot of ways, he was pretty easy going. After two months, they’d clicked pretty well.
Except that lately he’d been pushing her harder and harder to things that could result
in her getting caught.
‘Shall I get started, Master?’
‘Before you sit down, take your pants and underwear and put them outside the door.’
Melissa swooned. ‘Please, sir,’ she rapid fired, calling on the skills acquired in
personal typing her aborted sophomore year of college. ‘That’s too scary.’
Silence.
Which meant she had to do it, or else log off. Forever.
Cool, conditioned air wafted between Melissa’s legs as she walked obscenely to the
lacquered French doors. Putting the clothes into as nondescript a ball as possible, she
opened the doors a crack, slipping the bundle along the floor, just out of reach.
With her luck, Skipper would come prancing along and decide it was some new game to grab
mommy’s clothes. Labs were like that, finding play in every situation. In a strange way,
X99 had made her playful, too; awakening parts of her that had been asleep since girl
hood. Except this was crossing the line. If Tiffany ever walked in—or God forbid—Conner
came early for the first time in a good five years, she’d be mortified. Not to mention
screwed royally.
“Baby,” Conner would croon, on those rare occasions when they snuggled or made love,
“Don’t ever fuck around on me. I’d take you to the cleaners.” It was a running joke, but
they both knew he was deadly serious. The man’s reputation was such that his opponents
generally settled out of court rather than face the lethal combination of his courtroom
antics and the sleazy investigating techniques of his right hand man, Harold Rooker—that
beady-eyed gorilla of a private detective who gave her the creeps even after a decade in
her husband’s employment.
“I’d never do that to you, sweetie,” was her stock answer to Conner, to which he would
come back with something along the lines of, “I sure hope so; Christ, I mean, think about
it Mel, who do you know my age who’s still fronting his first wife, anyway?”
Conner Crenshaw never let his wife forget how much she owed him for his generosity. By
the time Melissa got back to the screen she found X99 had left detailed instructions for
her. The words were coarse and brutal, glowing brightly in the tiny box reserved at the
side of the monitor screen for one-on-one text correspondence. They were stage
directions, the part no one in their little audience would see.
Melissa’s behind stuck to the Corinthian leather as she sat down. For some reason, it
felt more perverted for the fact that her blouse was still on and that she was wearing the
shoes again. She lifted and moved forward, just enough to reach the desk. X99 wanted her
feet on the edge of it, nice and wide, like she was in the gynecologist’s office. He also
wanted her sex lips open.
She took a moment to adjust the tiny eye of the camera mounted on the monitor. There it
was. Her pussy on full display. Dripping wet, the folds swollen and waiting. Using the
tips of her nails, she parted them, letting them see her canal. All at once, the pager
went crazy. A half dozen men—or women—wanting to talk with her, most hoping for a private
room, where they could have cyber sex one on one.
X 99 had forbidden that. She was his, and whenever she was on-line, she would respond
to him alone. He was a whiz on the program, and was no doubt paging them all individually
about her sluttishness and how she was exposing herself in her husband’s den, creaming all
over his chair.
Lord, she needed to come. If Master X99 made her wait too long today the way he
sometimes did, she’d just die. Two nights ago he’d made her clothespin her own nipples
then ordered her not to touch herself for half an hour. She’d been crying and begging
after just a few minutes.
She had to type something to him. But her fingers were all wet. Desperate, and seeing
no better option, Melissa cleaned her hands on the tail of her blouse.
‘I can’t wait,’ she informed him. ‘Master.’
‘Bad girl,’ he replied in cool electric script. ‘Shove one hand back in your pussy;
pinch your nipple with the other. Very hard.’
Melissa bit her lip. She hated this but craved it at the same time. Her vagina spasmed
at the touch of flesh, alien feeling, as much his hand now as hers. The nipple she
clamped with her fingernail, counting to ten till the whimper came, and the familiar
burning. Again, she could cheat, but she didn’t want to. Not when it felt this good…not
when…
Leaning back, she closed her eyes. Screw it; she was going over the top no matter what.
X99 would understand. He’d have to. She needed to come so bad, there was no holding
back—she was a needy little whore, a bad, bad girl, squirming and sexing herself on her
husband’s chair, fucking around with other men while her husband worked oh, so, so hard to
put clothes on her slutty little body and a roof over her treacherous head…there, she was
going to make it…any second now…
“Mrs. Crenshaw?”
Melissa froze. Fuck! Double fuck!
Filled with dread, she opened her eyes, letting the light of judgment fill her vision.
The light of doom.
“Having fun?” grinned Vincenzo, the young man Tiffany had been seeing for the past three
weeks; an apparently unemployed twenty-year-old with no last name and a frighteningly
large amount of disposable income.
Melissa whipped down her feet. “How—how dare you?” she sputtered.
Vincenzo closed the door behind him casually, as though he had every right to be here.
“I guess I’ve interrupted something, huh?”
“Get out!” she cried, doing her best to cover herself.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not just yet.” The young man was standing in front of the
desk now, arms folded over his chest. He was a lean, handsome boy, with dark coloring and
the kind of sleek muscles you see on swimmers or day laborers. Once or twice, to her
shame, Melissa had caught herself daydreaming about him.
But not like this.
“Vincenzo, please!”
His tongue darted over his lips. He was wearing a patterned silk shirt, loose, and a
pair of baggy jeans. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him and he had the world by the
balls. “Nice view, Mrs. Crenshaw,” he drawled, bantering with her like a man her own age.
“Tell me, what does your husband think of it?”
Melissa’s blood ran cold. A new kind of fear filled her heart now. Typing a hasty
goodbye, she cleared the screen. “Mr. Crenshaw is none of your concern. And I’ll thank
you not to get in over your head…Sonny.”
Vincenzo’s large hands moved to his hips. “Oh, I don’t think you want to go there, Mrs.
Crenshaw. You don’t want to threaten me. Not by a long shot.”
Melissa felt a tightening in her throat. Who was this boy and what did they know about
him, really? For God’s sake, why hadn’t they checked him out? Why hadn’t Conner? For
all his micromanaging and nit picking in her and Tiff’s lives, he was always out to lunch
when it came to real issues like this.
“Vinny, baby?” sing-songed a second voice, young and female. “Where are you?”
It was Tiff, calling for her lost boyfriend. Vincenzo’s grin returned, widening ear to
ear. He had her now and they both knew it.
“What do you want?” she asked mechanically. “I have money. A lot of it.”
Vincenzo unzipped his fly. “What I want, Mrs. Crenshaw, is that smart mouth of yours
wrapped round my penis.”
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