Chapter 3

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 blonde 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 blonde 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 thirteen or fourteen, honestly, but if she’s going to Saint Frances, she’s in high school so probably fifteen. I guess 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 fourteen 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 probably 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.