Chapter 5

Wednesday July 8

Fuck fuck fuck! I am so screwed! FedEx just delivered a package addressed to me: a box containing my USB key logger. Two minutes later, I got a text from Mr. Demarco. It said, “I see you got my package. Why don’t you come over at 6:30 and we can talk about it. Wear something nice.”

What the fuck does that mean? Wear something nice to be arrested? Wear something nice to talk about it and laugh? Wear something nice because I’m going to sell you to sex traffickers? God, I can’t even think right now. I need to figure this out before 6:30.

I just got back from Mr. Demarco’s. It took me forever to figure out what to wear. If his plan was to blackmail me into sex, he would want me looking sexy. But if he wasn’t certain that the key logger was mine, dressing slutty would be like admitting guilt. I decided to go with a church dress - it’s pretty, but certainly not indecent. The neckline is fairly low - for church I always wear a camisole under it. This time I didn’t, just in case my modest cleavage might be an asset.

I rang the bell at 6:30 and Mr. Demarco invited me in. I tried so hard to play it cool: “What did you want to talk to me about, and why did you send me a key logger? Did you need some technical help or something?”

Mr. Demarco was sipping some dark liquor from a rocks glass. He was still dressed for work: dress shirt, tie, slacks. “Lexi, come on: you’re caught,” he said. “Look at you, you’re trembling. You clearly have a guilty mind.”

I stuck to my guns, even though I knew he was right. “I don’t understand. What’s this about?”

Mr. Demarco showed me a video of me sneaking around in his house. Fuck, why didn’t I realize that he would have hidden cameras? All of the other bridge club members had them. Of course that’s what the extra devices on the network were! So many warning signs and I missed them all!

“So, Lexi, why did you break into my house?” He asked.

He didn’t know that I knew about the bridge club. Maybe if I didn’t mention that, I might not seem like a threat, and he’d let me go. “You know that video?” I answered. “The one of Ethan and me that the judge ordered destroyed? Someone posted it to the Internet. The whole thing. I wanted to find out who did it. It made sense to start with you.” I tried to act ashamed on top of scared. It wasn’t a stretch.

“Hmm,” he said contemplatively. “Didn’t it occur to you to just ask me? This ... Breaking and entering is a pretty serious crime. We’re talking real jail time.”

“If it was you,” I argued, “you’d obviously deny it, and then interfere with my efforts to get at the truth. If I could eliminate you as a suspect, though, I thought I could get you to help me investigate the others.”

Mr. Demarco nodded. “I see your reasoning,” he said. “I didn’t do it. And you broke the law. This is a big deal.”

“So what happens now?” I asked. I wasn’t shaking quite as hard any more, but my body still felt pretty out of control.

“Now, either I can call the police, or we can try to work it out among ourselves.” His gaze shifted quite obviously to my cleavage as he said the last part.

“And that means...?” I asked.

He sighed. “You know, Lexi, I always enjoyed working with you. I didn’t have to treat you like a child. Let’s not start patronizing each other now.”

Busted and blackmailed. Maybe if it had been someone else’s house, I could have gotten away with probation. But Mr. Demarco is a criminal lawyer: he knows the system, and he knows the people. If he wanted me to serve jail time, he could make that happen.

What else was there to do? I stepped up, dropped to my knees, and unfastened his pants. There was no sound except the clinking of ice as he sipped his cocktail.

Mr. Demarco’s dick was completely flaccid at the start, but it liked being touched, and grew to full size quickly. I had expected, being an older guy, that it would take him longer. The overall size of his cock was maybe a little bit bigger than average - all and all a good size. But what surprised me was the size of his glans. It was much longer, fuller, and angrier than any I had ever seen. It really did look like a helmet - a comparison that I’ve never really appreciated before. I licked all around it several times before sucking the menacing little thing into my mouth and getting to work on his shaft.

He still didn’t say anything as I serviced his cock - I only heard the clinking of ice as he smugly drank his scotch or whatever. I could tell I was getting somewhere with him, though, as the muscles in his abdomen or legs occasionally tensed.

I started rubbing his balls and I noticed that they were smooth. As if reading my mind, he said, “My wife appreciates a smooth scrotum. Go ahead and give them a suck if you want.” Curiosity more than anything else motivated me to engulf his ball sack in my mouth. I kept stroking his shaft with my hand, of course. I couldn’t believe how soft the skin was. I found myself thinking that sucking on balls was actually fun when they’re not covered with nasty hairs. Mr. Demarco groaned.

I figured he was about due to shoot, so I went back to mouth-fucking his cock head while wanking his shaft. With a little luck, I thought, this blowjob would soon be over and the slate would be clean again. Mr. Demarco groaned some more, and put a hand on the side of my head. He groaned louder; his balls tightened. I mentally prepared myself to swallow his load. Then at the last instant he pulled out and shot his wad in my face. Come covered my glasses, cheeks, and lips. A little dripped down on the top of my boobs.

I sucked the last little bit of semen out of his tube and licked it clean. I tucked it back into his underwear and buttoned his pants. I was done, I hoped.

“Excellent,” Mr. Demarco said. “Let me have a look at you.” I stood up.

“Take off your dress.” I pulled it up over my head, being careful not to get come from my face on it.

“You’re a beautiful young woman, Lexi,” he said, walking in a circle around me. He grabbed my ass as if testing it.

“I’m more than that,” I said with a hint of defiance. At least I wasn’t shaking any more. The concentration of giving head had smoothed out the adrenaline buzz.

“Yes,” he said. “You’re inquisitive, fierce, and intelligent. Those attributes, too, are part of what makes you sexy.”

“Here, clean up and get dressed,” he said, handing me a bar towel. I wiped off all the come from my face and put my dress back on.

“What time do you work tomorrow?” He asked. Without waiting for an answer, he added, “Why don’t you come by around 7:00 tomorrow morning. No need to dress up this time.” He opened the door for me, and I left.

So I guess it’s not over. I guess this is my life now. I can’t believe I was willing to risk this much. I think I need to cry.

Thursday July 9

I wasn’t sure what to wear when I showed up at Mr. Demarco’s house this morning. He had said not to dress up, but I tossed it around in my head, over and over, looking for hidden meanings. I ultimately decided to go with a tank top, shorts, and sneakers - exactly what I would have worn if I weren’t meeting him.

He answered the door wearing only gym shorts. I had never noticed before, when spying on his orgies, how ripped he is: six-pack abs, big biceps, square jaw - he’s actually a very good looking guy. And he’s smart and - aside from the blackmail thing - nice. He had clearly just been working out.

“In the future when I’m expecting you, come right in and wait for me here,” he said. “The door will be unlocked.”

He looked me over. “Absolutely lovely,” he said. “This is the real Lexi. That dress last night didn’t suit you. If you ever dress up for me again, I’d like to see Nightclub Lexi.” I just stood there quietly, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. I’m not usually shy about my body, but I could feel my arms closing in around myself protectively.

“Let’s go take a shower,” he said, and lead me into the master bathroom.

He started running the water, and he took off his shorts. His dick was in a half-chubby state. Was that from anticipation? Exercise? Something about showers? I guess there’s a lot about guys I still don’t know. He gestured for me to take off my clothes, too, and so I did. I left my glasses on the counter, and then we stepped into the shower.

I really didn’t mean to, but I flinched when he touched my shoulder. “Just try and relax,” Mr. Demarco said. “Would it be all right if I washed your hair?”

“Yeah,” I said.

He wetted my hair with the hand-held shower head, and then started rubbing shampoo into it. He massaged my scalp and ran his fingers through my hair gently. It was surprisingly soothing. By the time he had rinsed all of the shampoo out, I was pretty relaxed and feeling - at least in part - like I actually wanted to be there.