Previous parts:
One | Two | Three
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Amelie was constantly in a state of low-grade panic. She had messed up her life very badly. She had somehow allowed herself to be blackmailed by one of her rapist parolee clients, who had forced her to enter her own name in the national database of sex offenders. No one knew it was there – and they wouldn’t unless someone had reason to go looking – but she was terrified every day that someone would see it, for some reason.
And then she would have questions to answer. She would lose her job. She might go to jail. And she probably would *stay* on the database – because after all, hadn’t she fucked several of her clients? Men who she theoretically had control and power over – even if it didn’t feel that way when she was in the room with them?
And she couldn’t forget, because her blackmailer, Gary Sands, wouldn’t *let* her forget. Every morning before work she had to expose her breasts, and point her camera so that it filmed her face and her naked tits, and she had to say, in a clear voice, “My name is Amelie Raimes, and I am a sex offender.”
And then she had to send the video to Mr Sands, where he would – do what with it, exactly? Nothing, she hoped.
She increasingly thought of him as “Mr Sands”. Her parole officer training had taught her to call clients by their first names, to establish control, but she knew she didn’t have that control with him. It was Mr Sands in control, and in her mind the older man was becoming a figure of authority, in the same category as her childhood teachers, or her father, or her employer.
She had other homework to do, too. She had promised Ray Batsby that she would obtain the new address of Taylah, the woman he had abducted and raped – an address that he specifically was *not* allowed to know, to prevent him taking revenge on the girl whose complaint had put him in jail.
She knew it was a betrayal of trust, and an abuse of her position. She knew she might be getting Taylah hurt, or raped, or abducted again. But Ray had said he wouldn’t use it, as long as Amelie was a good girl who respected him. And if she didn’t… well, Ray’s threats had been less explicit than those of Mr Sands, but she had knelt to him, and called him sir, and showed him her cunt, and let her push the tip of his boot into her fuckhole, and all of that could get her fired and arrested just as surely as what Mr Sands had on her.
And beyond all of that, part of her *wanted* to please Ray. The thought of satisfying him made her tremble. She wanted him to tell her that she was a good girl…
So she looked up Taylah’s file, and made a note of her new address – the tiny apartment she was living in with her infant daughter Kessa. Her rape baby – the baby that Ray had put into her when he abducted her.
She didn’t write Taylah’s name next to the address. The woman’s name had been in the media. It was more recognisable than the address, and if anyone saw it they might ask questions. Instead, next to the address she wrote “Bitch” – the name that Ray always used to refer to his victim.
There was more on the file. There were pictures of Taylah, and Amelie had to admit that the girl was pretty. She had a kind of delicate, vulnerable blonde innocence that seemed to have survived her abduction and rape. Amelie could see why Ray had wanted to abuse her. She had been a minor manager at an IT company when Ray had abducted and raped her, but now, saddled with a public reputation and a newborn daughter, she was living on unemployment benefits.
And there was a video. Surely it wasn’t – and yet, it was. The evidence that had made it so easy to convict Ray. The video he had filmed of Taylah’s rape – the one that he had distributed himself everywhere on the internet, so that anyone searching Taylah’s name would see her being violated. And why shouldn’t the video be here, on the file? Ray had effectively put it in the public domain, after all.
Unable to help herself, Amelie played the video.
It was brutal. Any normal person would have been appalled by it. It showed a selection of scenes of Taylah trapped in Ray’s basement. In every scene she was naked and crying. Ray laughed at her, and slapped her face, and whipped her tits and pussy with a leather belt as she screamed and wailed. He fucked her mouth and rubbed his cock against his tits, and finally he shoved his dick into her pussy and raped her.
He had impregnated her, Amelie knew. It occurred to her that when Taylah’s daughter Kessa was old enough she would be able to watch the moment of her own conception.
And she knew she should have been horrified. But instead her hand dipped, almost of her own accord, to her waist, and lifted the hem of her skirt, and began to rub her pussy, which was suddenly so, *so* wet….
Sure, part of her was disgusted by the footage. But only part of her. And the rest of her was aroused.
Aroused, and… jealous? Jealous of Taylah?
She orgasmed, eyes wide, mouth wide, gasping for breath, horrified by her own arousal, horrified at what was giving her sexual pleasure.
Horrified at the knowledge she would watch this again, at home, and masturbate to it as she did.
And she had a task for Chris Swain, too. She had promised she would find the name and address of the pretty waitress that Chris was crushing on – the one he was fantasising about raping – so that Chris could “ask her out”. She was terrified that if she gave Chris this information, he would use it to assault the woman – and yet, he was more than capable of following the woman home after work himself. The fact he had asked her to be the intermediary was positive, wasn’t it?
He had suggested she use her “government databases” to find the information, but she had no such databases. Unlike Taylah, Chris’ waitress wasn’t (to Amelie’s knowledge) the complainant in the conviction of a parolee. So Amelie had to get the information the old-fashioned way: through stalking.
She went down to Happy Time Coffee during her lunch break and tried to pick out the girl Chris was interested in. She didn’t have much to go on – merely that the girl was “sweet-looking”, had “amazing fuckmelons”, and “would look pretty being slapped”.
And yet she was able to pick out the girl almost immediately – a beautiful strawberry-blonde girl, maybe 22 years old, with prominent cleavage that strained against her café uniform. Amelie was not surprised to see that, despite the larger breasts and different hair colour, there was something in her face that looked a little like Amelie herself. Clearly Chris had a type.
She ordered coffee and a sandwich and tried to catch a hint as to the girl’s name. But it was a different waitress who served Amelie, and the uniforms didn’t come with name badges. She thought about asking after the woman’s name directly – but the thought of being presumed to be a lesbian, hoping to ask the girl out, made her blush, and she stayed silent.
Her mind drifted, and she imagined Chris raping the girl – ripping her uniform away, exposing her large tits, and then slapping her across the face. Chris was right – she *would* look pretty being slapped. And then he would force his cock into her…
She jerked back to awareness. Her pussy was wet, and her hand was resting on her thigh, moving… had she really been about to rub her groin, right here in public?
She blushed, drank the last of her coffee, and fled the café.
And yet she was back there that afternoon, having left work early, watching the staff entrance. And when big-titted Miss Pretty-to-Slap finally emerged, her shift for the day over, Amelie followed, first walking at a distance, and then when the waitress got into her car, Amelie followed in her own second-hand sedan.
Amelie had never tried to tail someone before, but on this occasion it was easy. The waitress drove cautiously, and had no suspicion that someone might possibly follow her, and Amelie was able to follow her all the way to a small house in the suburbs. The waitress vanished inside, leaving Amelie parked three houses down and on the far side of the street.
She wondered what to do. She had the waitress’ address now – but not her name. She got out her phone and tried Googling the address, hoping it might return the name of the owner (or, surely, its tenant – the waitress had to be renting on a hospitality salary). But she had no luck.
She noted that there was only one car in the driveway. The waitress probably lived alone.
And then suddenly the waitress was emerging from the house again – now wearing a pretty red clubbing dress. She had changed, and was going out to some social engagement or other. The woman got in her car, and drove away, leaving Amelie staring at an empty house.
Amelie knew she should drive away. But she thought Chris really would rape this woman if she didn’t give him a reason not to. She had to satisfy his crush another way – and the first step was bringing him the information that she had promised.
She left her car and walked across to the house. Her eye was on a window on the side of the house, barely visible from the street. As she drew closer, she saw that she had judged it correctly – it had been left open ever so slightly. She looked around briefly, checking that nobody was watching, and then she pulled it open, and quickly climbed into the house.
The interior was neat, pretty, and well-maintained. She wandered through the house, looking for letters or documents that may reveal the woman’s name. But to her frustration she saw no letters or correspondence, no ID, nothing that might help.
In the woman’s bedroom, she looked in the drawers. She blushed as she found the woman’s vibrators and dildos, in a corner of her underwear drawer. Then, in a moment of inspiration, she took a pair of the girl’s laciest panties and stuffed them into her handbag. They might be a present for Chris, if he was a good boy…
In the kitchen, she found a laptop sitting on the kitchen table. She tried turning it on, and found to her delight there was no password lock. Within seconds she was in all the woman’s online accounts.
It gave her everything she needed. The waitress’s name was Gail Penwood. She was an aspiring actress who moved to pursue fame and found zero success. She was estranged from her parents – their emails to her were critical and controlling, demanding she abandon her dreams and move back home. She didn’t have a boyfriend, but there were flirty exchanges with a girl from her acting classes – was she bisexual, or a lesbian? She was in debt, and getting deeper in debt all the time.
This was all that Amelie needed. She went to close the computer, and then paused. Chris would hopefully be satisfied with her name and address for now – but what then? Would he want more next time?
Amelie quickly navigated to a certain website that she had learned about from a client, and downloaded its software onto Gail’s computer. It was a piece of all-encompassing malware, that would allow Amelie to spy on the computer and control it remotely, without Gail knowing. If she needed more information about Gail, she needed only to log in and see what was in Gail’s email and on her social media.
With that done, she closed the computer again, and quickly exited the house. Chris ought to be pleased with her burglary. She had, she thought, been a very good girl for him…
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Love to see this story being continued, easily one of my favourites.