Chapter 1

“I’ll try anything once, twice if I like it, three times to make sure.”

— Mae West, actress from the Golden Age of Hollywood

Iowa – 2024

Tatum

With the heel of his boot, Thomas Sullivan Marshall IV kicked the kitchen door closed behind him. He set his truck keys on the granite countertop along with a bag of tacos, his dinner. From the refrigerator, he took a cold can of Busch Light. The farmhouse was dark and quiet. His dog was with his “wife” in Des Moines, leaving him with only the cats for company.

He pulled his phone from his back pocket, opened the anonymous text message he’d received with the link. One of yours? He stared at the video thumbnail of the nude cam model for the hundredth time since receiving the link twenty-four hours ago. He pressed play and watched the thirty-second clip of the masked young woman talking in front of a camera, hands covering her small breasts. The voice, maybe? The slender build, the small tits, and that reddish-blonde hair, it could be Tatum, his youngest.

It was the arm across her chest and the bracelets that did it, convincing him it was possible. That was the reason he was heading into his den alone on a Friday night to watch a college-age cam model named Corn Bunny.

Steam fogged the mirror as Tom stepped out of the shower. He toweled dry and slipped into loose-fitting Iowa State gym shorts. He’d split the day between inspecting the freshly planted fields of corn and soybeans with his operations manager, Juan, and doing business at the co-op in Adair. The curved desk filled half of the den at the back of the house, with a view of his 1,100 acres that made up the Marshall family farm.

He popped the tab on another beer as he eased into his expensive ergonomic office chair, wincing at the twinge in his lower back – years of punishment catching up. The yellow binder next to his farm reports reminded him of the hazmat class at the fire station tomorrow, where he volunteered as a firefighter.

Not an unorganized mess, everything was right where he could find it. Over the last twenty-five years, his wife Debbie often chided him about his organizational skills. But she’d left ten months ago, wanting to reconnect with herself – whatever that meant. She’d moved to Des Moines, where she worked as a massage therapist. Technically, they were separated, just not legally.

Biting into a beef taco, he reached for the handheld fire department radio in its charger and turned it on, monitoring Adair County dispatch, the volume low for quiet company. He wasn’t on call tonight, but you never knew when something big would break. It was tornado season, and southeast Iowa had already been hit by a severe outbreak the week before. Now it was quiet, the sky clear, still you had to be ready to hit the storm cellar. Tom took another taco out of the bag and tapped the keyboard.

As the computer came to life, he picked up a framed picture of his three daughters off the desk, running a finger along the glass and coming to a stop at Tatum. Yep, they were there on her wrist, a braided piece of leather with WWJD on it and the silver bracelet from Tiffany’s, a sixteenth birthday gift. His girls posed in tight tops and shorts, surrounded by high stalks of corn. The framed photo a gift for dear old dad. Quinn, his son, home on leave from the Army last summer, had taken the photograph and no doubt had kept a copy. Riley, dark-haired and busty, his oldest girl; Amelia, blonde and independent, his middle girl; and willowy Tatum, his youngest. Tatum, at Drake University in Des Moines this year.

The sun had set outside. Still, he pulled the curtain across the sliding door that led outside and twisted the blinds closed. His pulse felt normal for a man in his late forties. He wasn’t afraid of what he’d find; he’d done two combat tours overseas with the Iowa National Guard and raised three daughters and a son who’d turned out all right so far. It would take a lot to get him spun up. Nonetheless, he was bothered by his thoughts.

His heart rate quickened at the thought of catching his daughter on a cam site, his cock stirring in his shorts. For years he buried deep the dark incestuous thoughts he had about his girls as he watched them sprout into beautiful young women.

Time to see who this Corn Bunny is. “One of yours?” the message said. Her name, CornBunny18, clear in a corner of the video clip. He entered the College Cam Girls website password he’d made last night. He’d browsed a bit, pausing to watch a few “co-eds” working their clients for tips as they shed their clothes and played games.

Tom leaned forward in his chair; he’d been lurking in CornBunny18’s stream for twenty minutes, watching her on his computer’s 40-inch monitor. Bunny appeared to be of medium height with shoulder-length reddish-blonde hair. She lay on a narrow daybed, close to the camera with her legs open to the audience. A tiny pink bralette covered her dainty breasts as she talked and chatted with the 20 or so users on the video stream, encouraging them to tip based on the next goal, topless. The slender girl wore a half mask with bunny ears on a band in her hair. He hadn’t been able to get a clear look at her wrists. Despite his best intentions, his cock was growing hard.

Bunny bit her lower lip, the Lush g-spot vibrator buzzing in her pussy under her panties. “Oh, ohh,” she squirmed. From close, a couple of feet between the camera and her pussy, he eyed the lacy fabric looking for clues. Pubes or no pubes underneath? He asked himself.

“Rex 90 thank you for the 5 tokens, so good to see you,” she purred, the voice young, familiar, as 20 more tokens were tipped, the Bluetooth-controlled sex toy buzzing. “Oh, umm, only 350 more for me to take my top off,” she reminded users, the next goal. Bunny smiled, nice straight white teeth, like Tatum, braces for two years, not cheap.

She was hot, a fit looking blonde with a girlish figure, engaging and playful with a handful of loyal users it appeared; she promised to start story time soon. Whatever that was. Tom took a short video of the screen with his old iPhone 13, evidence, he told himself. He asked himself, Would another dad have pulled his eyes from the screen and called his daughter, demanding to know where she was on a Friday night? It didn’t work like that with adult kids, and eighteen-year-old Tatum was an adult in the eyes of the law. Her 19th birthday a few weeks away in May.

Fuck it. He tipped 20 tokens and sent a private message, FarmerDaddy88: “I’m new, you’re very cute.” Tom had purchased 200 tokens for $20 earlier. He was here; why not tip the girl and gather “evidence”?

“Thank you, Farmer Daddy 88, welcome to my room,” CornBunny18 said, leaning close to the camera, within inches. Her beautiful golden-hazel eyes looking back at him, the same as Tatum’s. It could be her, same body, voice. The tastefully furnished room gave few clues, a donut-shaped diffused white light and what looked like a basket of sex toys, lotions, and an acoustic guitar in a stand. The fake sorority’s Greek letters hung on the wall behind the bed, blue and white Delta Omicron Mu (DOM). Bunny sat with a blue plush bunny rabbit on the bed.

She bit her lip again, smiling. The pink Lush vibrator continued to buzz in her pussy for a few seconds as people tipped tokens, “Oh, so good,” she said, wanting more, joking and teasing with her repeat visitors. Tom couldn’t find her panties on the menu. Watching Bunny’s face as her g-spot was buzzed repeatedly was captivating.

For his 20 token tip, she spun the virtual prize wheel: spank her ass. Tom sat back in the chair, stroking his cock as Bunny turned, bringing her ass close to the camera, showing the users her firm white ass. “Thanks Daddy,” she said as she delivered two hard slaps to her ass, her half-masked face looking over her shoulder at the camera.

In front of him, on the left wrist of her slender hand delivering the blows, WWJD on a leather thong and a thin silver bracelet with a heart tag. His breath caught in his throat until he let it out, his heart beating faster. The silver bracelet looked like what he and Debbie had given Tatum for her 16th birthday. She’d been so happy, hugging daddy and mommy. He fumbled for his iPhone but was too late, his right hand busy on his dick.

Perhaps he should have stopped there and signed off, driving to the college dorms in Des Moines. Feeling angry and hurt, his little girl, a whore. Or, better, call Debbie and tell her to deal with it. Coincidence possible, other girls liked Tiffany’s jewelry and had those church camp WWJD bracelets. Tom convinced himself to stay, the deviant feelings he felt excited him, driving his decision making.

More tokens tipped from the users in the public room, 5, 10, 30 tokens, the Lush buzzing in Bunny’s pussy, but too slow for him. He tipped the final 75 to get her top off, the jingling coin noise loud, telling everyone Bunny got a big tip.

“Thank you, Farmer Daddy,” Bunny said, blowing him a kiss, sitting up and kneeling, getting up on top of the camera lens, hands on her bralette.