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2006-02-16
As had been his wont of late, right after dinner Terry wandered into the small den and sat down in the swivel high-back - perhaps the one, almost irrelevant concession to luxury he had indulged himself in these past two decades. Living in small-town Missouri he had struggled for most of his working life to make ends meet - 'come close' might be the more appropriate terminolgy - with a variety of jobs. An electrical tradesman by profession, he had picked up a useful contract with a local manufacturer, installing ceiling fans. Heading now towards Fall, the jobs were becoming noticeably infrequent. Letters from the mortgagee demanding the arrears on his monthly payments however, were quite the opposite.
Married late with just the one now thirteen-year old son, Terry had faced worse before. He would ride this out too.
First closing the door to circumnavigate the sudden appearance of any unwanted visitors, he poured himself a bourbon and ice and logged-in to check his email. It was there! "Phantasy_luvr " had finally replied to his cyber-pleas and written to him.
Not a particularly worldly girl to judge by its contents, but nevertheless, that is hardly what he had been hanging out for. A guy nudging his mid fifties, doesn't chat up a young female University student in Nebraska, hoping to better understand the cause of the Indo-China conflict. Having read it twice, he swiftly fired-up MSN Messenger hoping to catch her on-line. Damn, that bourbon was hitting the spot, last half-bottle that it was though.
The dice were falling his way tonight - there she was, already chatting it appeared. He clicked her dialog box, marginally put-out that she might be spreading her favors abroad this night. Such fears were allayed however when she assured him she had just logged-on herself, hoping to find him on-line.
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His self-esteem restored, his manhood pulling back from damage-control, he fell-in to their now familiar role-playing script. "Phantasy_luvr" confessing her frenetic desire to be used and abused by her daddy, whilst "Mountain-man" provided the paternal patter necessary (he hoped) to have her fingers on active duty in areas he could only dream about. . . and did he ever do that? - it was becoming a daily ritual.
The Internet is indeed a wonderful thing - the ultimate playing-field of electric dreams.
"Do you like daddy's hand up your skirt, doing this?" he typed one-handedly, it's partner caressing a long dis-used (as far as marital obligations were concerned at least) appendage. The girl's reply was slow in appearing - evidence he took it, that she was indeed caressing deeply that youthful pussy, somewhere in the freezing Nebraskan wilderness.
"I love you daddy," she wrote at last, "If you want to fuck me that's Ok with me!"
He had always wanted a daughter - one who loved him and desired his sexual attentions as well, was even better. He had never been so hard, and three quarters the way to the walled city himself, he typed, leaving nothing to the imagination, his blueprint for what he hoped was their shared orgasmic solace.
At the point she entered, "Oh God!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" into his dialog box, he imagined he had done not only womanhood in general a great service, but that the young girl was now creaming her panties at the behest of his dynamically arousing banter.
She was still describing the on-going sensations afflicting her body anywhere and everywhere between her nipples and southern climes, when he jetted-up a stream of cum that splattered not only his keyboard, but several order forms that would now need judicious cleansing. He smiled to himself as he thought of the boss's elderly secretary, mulling over the occasional stains as she filed the paperwork, tut-tutting at the outrageous possibilities.
"That was incredible" he typed, "Biggest cum I've had all year, thanks," he paused for a moment before continuing. "I know I've asked before sweetheart," he punched in, "But don't you have any pictures you could send me? I would so love to know what you look like?"
"What I look like, or my pussy looks like?" she answered.
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. . . he could almost hear her giggle!
.
"Either's fine by me," he responded.
"Maybe I'll just take one using the timer on my digital," she typed.
"Make it two - at least," he pleaded, hoping she was even half as pretty as his fantasies had led him to imagine. Chatting was always a risky business he knew - with his luck she might turn out to be a frumpish spinster from Sheboygan, Wisconsin.
After they had each signed off, he sat back in the chair, fully reflective for a few moments. He wasn't 'cheating' on his wife, he reasoned - after all, he wasn't 'seeing' anyone behind her back was he? It was just a bit of harmless sexy fun! My God, it's not like he'd had much of that since his wife had pretty much closed-up shop after Matthew hit double figures.
Problem is - he became so reliant on her sexually complicit nature he found himself spending more and more time on line. . . . and more and more time mopping up his keyboard and peripherals.
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At the point of each ejaculation he was beginning now to feel her vaginal muscles clamping down at the critical moment - taste her youthful lips - sense her submissive aspect. He was in love with a ghost!
Not a week later and logging-in to his email account he noticed that which he had longed to see. A message from "Phantasy_luvr" but with attachments! Checking first to see whether or not she was on-line, and that being a negative, he clicked on 'Phantasy_1. jpg '.
To describe his condition as catatonic, would be close to the mark.
Perched unashamedly on what looked like a desk in her bedroom, a young brunette of indeterminate age but surely less than the twenty years she had told him, sat completely naked, her legs well apart and her small breasts jutting teasingly towards the camera. Her arms at her side, she was the image of provocative tease. Pretty, to the point of being arrestingly beautiful, Terry could but stare at her sexy light brown pubic curls that drew the viewer's eyes to those soft pink folds bedded down between her legs. He had the picture in photo-shop in seconds and with the slightest of enhancement, a breathtaking angel filled his screen.
Her lips promised the world, her hips - the same. The girl's blue eyes lit up her sweet face that was, as it happened, half-turned for effect. On full imaging, he could study her gentle cleavage and the perfection of her bodily curves. He sighed as he took in the magnificence of her quite small nipples - the epitome of feminine tease.
'Phantasy_2. jpg' couldn't have been any more intimate had Michaelangelo himself directed the scene.
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. . or any more disturbing. The girl was on the bed this time, her mouth open in what looked like shocked disbelief. . This might have had something to do with the middle-aged man kneeling between her legs and with his outsize erection as far up her innocent-looking little pussy as he could get it. With one hand fondling her right breast, the overall impression was one of aggravated rape.
With her hands up over her head, clinging on to the bed-frame for either support or inspiration, the girl presented an image of total feminine submission.
Not even realising he had his own erection unzipped at this time, Terry brought himself to sticky finality - twice! He would probably have gone for the trifecta, but for the knock at the door. Hurriedly he shut down the monitor and zipped up.
"Could you help me with some homework dad?" his son urged upon his opening the door.
"Sure Matt," he said, his mind on anything but the volume of a ten foot water-tank with a radius of four-foot six inches!
Although he and "Phantasy_luvr" continued to chat from time to time, he sensed a reluctance on her part to discuss the pictures, or confide in him who the man was. "You just kept asking," she said, "So I sent a couple. " He inquired if there was more naturally enough, but she was in no mind to ever pursue it. Neither would she discuss her birth certificate except to admit, "I know, I look young for my age!"
It's always annoying when someone turns up at your door late at night, especially mid-way though a good movie.
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Even more annoying when it's the F. B. I.
"Terry Edwards?" asked the larger, somewhat thick-set gentleman. Terry nodded. "Agent Norris," said the man waving his badged id in my friend's face. "This is Agent Finch," the other man inclined his head dutifully. Understandably curious, Terry shook the man's hand and ushered them inside.
"May we speak to you in private Sir?" said Norris, noting Terry's wife and son hunched up on the lounge. Terry ushered them into the small den. .
Glancing at the desk, Norris said "Is that your computer Sir?" to which Terry obviously had no reason that he could figure, to deny it.
"Well, we have Court documents here (he waved some official-looking paperwork in Terry's face) to impound this equipment and to escort you back to the office for further questioning. "
Having less than no idea what was going on, he had but three minutes to hurriedly farewell his family and fetch a coat - it was a cold night.
At F.
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B. I. headquarters he was kept in a holding room for almost two hours before he was interviewed by a third agent - one he admitted later was a tad more relaxed and pleasant.
They were keeping his computer he was told, to thoroughly analyse for possible "illegal images of children. " It could take a week they said.
"But there's no kiddie-porn on there," he argued. . . . . "nothing at all!" He demanded to know why they had targeted him but was told to simply "go home" and wait to hear from them.
"Look, it's nothing major," he was assured, "Just following-up on another case Sir. Please go home now - we'll be in touch. " Protesting that he needed the computer for work, all they admitted to him is "It's possible you might have your hard-disc erased by our software. "
Over three weeks elapsed and still he had heard nothing.
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So calling headquarters back he was told "Our investigations are still in progress Sir - you'll have to be patient. Sorry for the inconvenience. We should be back to you inside a week. "
They were too!
"Just the one picture Sir," said Agent Norris, "But that's all it takes isn't it? She was just twelve years old. . . . and that was her father!" The handcuffs really left a lasting impression on his wife and son as they dragged him off that night.
Charged under Federal Law, Terry pulled down a minimum five and a half years. He is now incarcerated at the State lock-up in the Springfield slammer. His son will be eighteen when he gets out and his wife confided to me a few days ago that unless she can come up with four grand in back payments by the end of this week, the bank will be foreclosing on the house in a fortnight. She has nowhere to go and is shattered. I doubt Matthew ever gets over it.
Be aware, every photograph transmitted on Hotmail, Yahoo, MSN, etc, is likely to be 'tracked,' you need to be guilty of nothing more than turning your computer on and clicking on the wrong image!
Terry did nothing. .
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. . he procured no services, on-forwarded no pictures to anyone, encouraged not the slightest indecency with any third party - or even knew the girl's age?
By comparison - a High School teacher in Western Sydney last year was convicted of setting-up high-resolution digital video recording equipment in the Year Nine locker rooms, spying on the girls in the showers, physically molesting two fourteen-year olds and storing more than three thousand images of naked girls as young as eight - many in poses the Police described as horrifying. He got three years jail and a five grand fine. With good behavior, he’ll be out in two years!
(c) Peter_Pan 2006
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