Perform for Me
Copyright© 2025 by Ashley Camaron
Chapter 23: Ready to Reclaim
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 23: Ready to Reclaim - Teenage hacker Sam spies on his neighbors' most explicit secrets. But when the manipulative Madison catches him, she doesn't want silence—she wants a show. Now, he's the one on camera, forced to obey her explicit commands and act out her most degrading fantasies. It's a twisted game of psychological torture, and if he doesn't perform, she will burn his entire world to the ground.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa NonConsensual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Anal Sex Facial Oral Sex Tit-Fucking Voyeurism
The screen went black as Sam slammed his laptop shut, but the afterimages lingered like ghosts—Madison’s smeared face, Jake’s snarling release, the vile tableau unfolding on Emily’s own bed. His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. He’d just witnessed something irredeemable: not just sex, but the deliberate stoking of violence, Madison planting seeds of assault in Jake’s mind like a gardener of chaos. And Sam had watched it all, complicit through inaction, his feeds turning him into a silent accomplice. The room spun; he staggered to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, but it couldn’t wash away the guilt. How had he let it get this far? Madison’s web had ensnared him, and now he was part of the premeditation—the point where “protection” twisted into engineering harm.
His phone buzzed on the desk, a vibration that made him flinch. Madison, of course. He didn’t want to look, but ignoring her was never an option. The message glowed: Quite the show, huh? Jake’s all wound up now—ready to reclaim what’s his. You watched every second, spy boy. Proud of you. Progress.
Progress. The word twisted like a knife. Sam typed back, fingers shaking: That was sick. You’re turning him into a monster. This has to stop.
Her reply was swift, dripping with mockery: Stop? Oh, sweetie, we’re just getting started. But fine, if you’re feeling delicate, let’s switch gears. New assignment: the neighbors next door to the Andersons—the Millers and Thompsons. They’ve got some ... group activities tonight. Monitor them. It’ll be educational. See how real adults play—no strings, just fun. Unlike your little theater handjob with Lila.
Sam’s face burned. She knew about that too? Of course she did—her reach was everywhere. The taunt about Lila stung, tainting the one pure thing in his life. But refusing meant escalation; Madison had proven that. With a defeated sigh, he reopened his laptop, pulling up the feeds. The Millers and Thompsons lived in adjacent houses on the same quiet street, their lives now exposed through hacked cams. From what Sam had glimpsed before, they were middle-aged couples: the Millers (Tom and Sarah, both in their forties, fit and outgoing) and the Thompsons (Mark and Lisa, similar age, with a bohemian vibe—Lisa’s free-spirited style evident in her flowing tattoos, barbell nipple piercings, and a small clit hoop). Tonight’s “activities” were in the Millers’ house, a feed Sam hadn’t fully explored until now.
As evening set in, Sam tuned in, his revulsion already simmering. This wasn’t about protection or even petty revenge; it was invasion for invasion’s sake, Madison feeding on the intimacy of others like a parasite. The primary feed loaded: a stark, almost empty room in the Millers’ basement, purpose-built for one thing and one thing only—sex. No furniture cluttered the space; just two large mattresses on the floor, side by side, each clad in shiny black rubber sheets that gleamed under harsh overhead lights, easy to hose down or wipe clean after use. Mirrors lined the walls and ceiling, creating an infinite reflection of every angle, turning the room into a disorienting funhouse of flesh. Next to the mattresses sat a single bottle of lube and a roll of kitchen paper, clinical and unromantic, like supplies in a mechanic’s garage. No candles, no pillows, no pretense of intimacy—just raw utility.
Madison messaged again: See? Efficient setup. No mess, no fuss. Watch how they use it—might inspire you for Jake’s next move. Control through pleasure, spy boy. You’re learning.
Sam ignored her, but the scene unfolded with mechanical precision. The door opened, and the two couples entered without fanfare, already shedding clothes as if this were a routine drill. Tom Miller led, stripping off his shirt to reveal a toned, hairless chest, followed by Sarah, who peeled away her blouse and bra, her full breasts bouncing free. Mark Thompson was next, dropping his pants to expose a semi-erect cock, thick and veined; Lisa followed, shimmying out of her skirt and panties, her slender, tattooed body pale and adorned with her piercings glinting under the lights. They didn’t speak much—no greetings, no small talk—just a nod of acknowledgment as they positioned themselves on the mattresses, the rubber crinkling under their weight.
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