The Bishop Divorce

Monday April 18

A weird thing happened to me at work today, so I guess that means it's time to start another journal before I stumble onto some secret congressional wife-swapping scandal, or whatever it is this time around. My life is like that.

Work, right now, is waiting tables at a bar/grill where we waitresses wear ridiculously short skirts, ridiculously revealing tops, push-up bras, and knee socks. This was supposed to be my fourth semester of college, but my parents are spiteful hypocrites so college is on hold until I can earn enough money for a car, apartment, tuition, and a little buffer. I had hoped to get a programming job, but those are hard to get with no work history, and the only sample code I have would get me thrown in a federal prison. So the plan for now is waiting tables while I build up my credentials on an open source software project.

I guess the story starts last Friday: After grabbing a bite to eat, Kiki, Monica, Brian and I bought some beer and hung out at Monica's place. Monica was showing Kiki and me some belly dancing moves and one thing led to another. Pretty soon Kiki and Brian were pawing at each other and asking to be dropped off at Kiki's place, alone. I was the designated driver, so I drove my horny coworkers for forty minutes in Monica's car, pretending I didn't notice the slurping sounds from the back seat.

I was sitting in the car checking my email after dropping them off when Kiki reappeared and knocked on my window. "Lexi, I'm so sorry!" She told me. "We have to go back! I left my keys at Monica's!"

I didn't want to spend another hour and a half driving, and Brian was looking at me desperately with a boner distorting the shape of his pants. "Let me see what I can do," I told them, and walked to the door fishing my lock picks out of my purse.

The door knob opened in thirty seconds; the deadbolt took forty-five. Kiki was ecstatic, and Brian was... I don't know the word for it: the way guys get when they think they're about to lose their chance to get laid, but then it's back on. Anyway, they scampered into the apartment, and I made a quip about naming the baby after me if she gets knocked up tonight.

So that leads us to today. Kiki told me that she had described my lock picking stunt to one of her customers, and now he wanted to meet me. Socializing with the customers is a big part of our job, so that was no big deal. I mean, the food is pretty good, but the price obviously includes a premium for talking to pretty girls.

The guy's name was Oliver. He was middle aged, kind of stocky, with black hair and gray temples, and a kind face. He wanted to know how I had learned to pick locks, so I told him the version of the story that didn't involve burglary, blackmail, and sex tapes. He was a pleasure to talk to, so throughout the rest of my shift we talked whenever I had the time and he drew out some of my other stories of amateur espionage.

When he finally settled up - leaving a generous tip for Kiki - Oliver surprised me with a change in topic.

"Have you ever tried dying your hair red?" He asked.

"Mmm, not really," I answered. "I've got nothing against bottle-redheads, but on me I think it would look like I was trying too hard."

"I bet you'd look great," he stated. I shrugged and smiled, and wondered if I had read him wrong and he was about to ask me out of something.

"I'll tell you what, let me give you some encouragement," he said. "If you've got red hair when I come back on Thursday, I'll give you forty dollars."

"I'll think about it," I said, trying to seem pleasant and mask the suspicion I was feeling.

Tuesday April 19

Today was my day off. Tuesdays are the only days I can count on spending time with my roommate Juliet. She has been letting me sleep on her couch rent free for a couple of months, so I figured I'd show my appreciate today by making up some lasagna from scratch. That meant a bus trip to the grocery store - a pain - but Juliet is worth it.

After that I put in some time writing code for "IP-Morlock", an open source network tools project. I've learned so much from working with the pros on this project. School teaches you a lot, but there's nothing like writing real code that the whole world can look at to make you a better programmer.

I told Juliet about Oliver's weird hair dye proposition over dinner.

"You know you have to do it, right?" Juliet said excitedly. "Don't you want to know what his game is?" Juliet is about to graduate with a journalism degree, so she's professionally skeptical.

"I suppose," I said, secretly glad that she supported the idea.

"Great!" Juliet replied. "Now let's talk about those glasses. You know you'd be five to seven times hotter without them, right?"

"You think bloodshot eyes and a puffy face would turn guys on?" I ask her. "Because that's what happened both times I tried contacts when I was fourteen."

"Fine, be that way," she said, rolling her eyes. "I guess the world needs a few geek bombshells." It's actually kind of too bad. I sometimes wish I could wear colored contacts. Brown eyes are just so boring.

Wednesday April 20

I dyed my hair today: a medium auburn, so it's not a whole lot different from my normal brown. I like it.

I was already asleep on the couch when Juliet came home late tonight. She was drunk and so nowhere near as quiet as she thought she was as she lead a guy through the livingroom and into her bedroom. I tried to go right back to sleep, but between the giggles, moans, foreign vulgarities, and sounds I couldn't identify, I just couldn't. What the hell was she doing to that poor boy?

A few months ago, I had helped Juliet wire her apartment with hidden cameras. I tried to resist, but since there was no way to ignore their noises, my growing curiosity and arousal lead me to brake down and open a live feed from her bedroom.

Juliet and her lover were naked, scissoring on the bed: their heads were at different ends and their legs were interlocked, allowing their groins to mash together. Juliet was doing all of the work: ripples seemed to move through her body until they reached her hips, smashing her pussy on his dick like ocean waves. All the while, her breasts were standing out proudly from her chest, with nipples that looked like they could cut glass.

Her lover - barrel chested and a little hairy for my taste - was comically obsessing over her foot. He was kissing it, licking it, rubbing it on his face, and sucking on her toes. Sometimes Juliet would would giggle as if she were being tickled.

Juliet lay back and moved her hand to her clit. She ground harder and said something in French, I believe. I don't know what she said, but I imagine it was something along the lines of, "Make me come you son of a bitch!"

For my part, my fingers were wet and polishing my pearl. I thought about digging into my boxes to find my little pink vibrator, but I didn't want to stop watching or touching myself. Soon, even as I watched them, I was fantasizing about being there with them. Maybe the guy was doing me from behind while I fucked Juliet with my strap-on. Or maybe he was fucking Juliet and I was pounding his ass. Or, maybe, Juliet had the strap-on and they were both penetrating me. That was a powerful thought.

Just then, Juliet came loudly and I followed silently seconds later. My knees slammed together as my pussy quaked. My body ached in such a wonderful way, and I smiled to myself at the shameful joy of violating my friend's privacy.

Juliet's fuck-buddy was still hard when she scooched away from him and repositioned herself. A moment later she was jacking his cock with her feet. That's when I turned the video feed off. They're still at it while I write this, but I'm pretty well satisfied. I shouldn't have any trouble getting back to sleep.

Thursday April 21

Oliver sat at one of Kiki's tables, but naturally I went over and said hi when I got the chance. "Well look at you!" He said as I approached. I did a flirty hair toss to show off my new color.

"How are you liking being a redhead?" Oliver asked.

"I think I like it," I said. "It's at least a fun change."

"I think it looks great," Oliver told me. "You've got a sort of Barbara Gordon look." I had to look that up when I got home: apparently Barbara Gordon is Batgirl.

"Well, you certainly rose to my challenge," he said, and handed me two twenty dollar bills. I thanked him.

I was expecting him to say something about why he had made this request: casting for porn or to remind him of his dead wife. Something. But instead he completely changed the subject.

"See the guy over there in the green shirt?" Oliver said, pointing at a three-top in my section. "What do you think of him?"

I shrugged. They had only just been seated. "They needed time to look at the menu, so I don't think they've eaten here before. He's drinking ginger ale and the other two are having wine, so I'm guessing he's the driver. Why do you ask?"

"Come back and talk to me before they leave," he said mysteriously.

The guy that Oliver had pointed out was about my age. He was pretty cute, with a nose that reminded me of Tom Cruise. He was wearing a dress shirt but no tie. One of the women at his table was fifty-ish with platinum hair that I guessed was naturally gray. Based on her clothes, she had expensive tastes. The other woman was in her late thirties. She had long black hair and was wearing a skirt suit. She had great legs.

I chatted with the table over the course of their meals. The guy's name was Paris - named after the Trojan Prince in the Iliad. The platinum-haired woman was his mother. The other woman was Lena. She didn't seem to be family.

They were all pleasant and outgoing. Paris in particular had a way of talking to people that made them feel like the most important person in the world. It wasn't just me - the hostess felt it too.

As requested, when Paris' table was nearly done, I stopped by to talk to Oliver. "You two seemed to be hitting it off pretty well," Oliver said leadingly.

"What's this about?" I asked. I played it off as friendly and innocent, but I wove in a thread of seriousness into my tone, too.

"Paris over there owns a saxophone," Oliver told me. "If you were to find yourself spending time with him, I would very much appreciate a photo of it. I'd pay, of course."

"How much?" I asked suspiciously.

"Seventy-five dollars," he replied. "It would have to be a new photo - not something pulled from Instagram. And you couldn't mention this arrangement, of course."

I was intrigued. "Why do you need it?" I asked.

"I can't tell you that," Oliver said with an innocent smile.

"Huh," I said, thinking it over. "Well, it's an interesting offer. But even if I were willing, I don't see how I'd ever get the opportunity. It's not like I'm ever going to see him again."

"Well, if you manage it, email me and I'll come visit you here," Oliver said. He handed me a card with a throw-away email address hand-written on it, put a generous amount of cash on his table for Kiki, and left.

For the next several minutes I considered Oliver's offer. What was he after? Was the saxophone valuable? Did he plan to steal it? Did it have dents and scratches that would prove Paris was guilty of some crime? I was driving myself crazy not knowing.

I tried to think of ways I could arrange to see Paris again, but there just wasn't time. It was too late to start flirting seriously now, even if I were any good at it. I could key in the wrong amount on his credit card - assuming he was the one who was going to pay. That probably wouldn't help, and would likely get me in trouble.

Name and contact info. That was all I could come up with. I'd seen girls do that before with guys they liked - slip them a piece of paper with their email address or phone number. That seemed unthinkably forward to me. How do girls ever get the courage to do that? But what the hell: in the worst case, he'd throw it away and laugh with his friends about the desperate girl who came on too strong.

I was just about psyched up enough to give Paris the napkin with my number... but then I didn't. His mom paid the bill and I said goodbye and then he was gone, leaving my heart racing and my head disappointed and relieved. Damn it. I had blown the chance. I didn't know what Oliver was trying to accomplish, and now it would nag me.

Then, shortly before closing, Paris came back. He asked if I'd like to hang out some time. We're meeting for lunch on Saturday.

Friday April 22

So on the one hand, I kind of like the challenge and mystique of Oliver's offer, silly as it is. On the other hand, I think I kind of like Paris. I mean, I barely know him, but he's certainly on the boyfriend contender list. It's been a while since I've had a boyfriend. The guys I slept with last semester were all losers, and my friend Martin over winter break? Well, I did it with him as a favor to him, and despite our intentions, things have been weird between us since.

So if I do take the saxophone picture, does that ruin my chance at maybe dating Paris? (Assuming he's even interested.) I can't imagine what Oliver wants the photo for, but I can't think of any way it could actually harm Paris. Worst case, it gets stolen and his insurance buys him a new one.

The thought of going out with a good looking nice guy again has left my brain in dreamy rainbow land all day. Well... sexy dreamy rainbow land. I made myself come thinking about Paris five minutes before leaving for the bus stop for work. I kept thinking that everybody on the bus and at work knew - like they could smell it - even though I knew they couldn't.

I'm about to go to bed now, but, well, I can kinda feel my blood flowing down there. Maybe I'll give myself another good rub. I wonder if he has thought about me while jacking off?

Saturday April 23

I had lunch with Paris at a cheap and casual Mexican place near the college. It went well. He's funny.

I asked about music. He said that in high school he and a couple friends tried to start a jazz band. They never played anywhere, but their YouTube channel got a respectable number of subs.

After lunch I walked with him out to his car before we said goodbye. He had parked in the remotest corner of the parking lot, which struck me as odd until I saw his car. It's a Porsche. I don't know what kind, but it's obviously sporty and expensive. I guess when you drive a car like that, you try to avoid parking near other cars as much as you can. He offered to give me a ride, but I declined and took the bus.

Work was a hassle tonight. One of the girls had a home emergency and didn't show, so we were understaffed the whole shift.

I'm not going to masturbate tonight, but I am going to imagine what it would be like to fall asleep in Paris' arms.

Monday April 25

I've been texting with Paris. Yeah, I like him. Our schedules keep aligning badly, but he offered to drive me home after my shift this afternoon.

I've never been into cars, or impressed by people who were, but damn, Paris' car is fun. It purrs. He wasn't driving especially fast or aggressively, but nevertheless, I could still feel just how powerful and agile it was. Maybe I'll get one when I start making good money, a few years from now.

Thursday April 28

I got the picture!

I had watched the YouTube performances of Paris' high school band. I've never been into jazz, but I think I just need more exposure. I told him that I'd like for him to play for me, so this afternoon he picked me up and took me to his house.

We didn't have much time before I had to be at work, so he didn't give me the tour or anything, but the house was big and very nicely decorated. His family is clearly quite well-off.

We were up in Paris' room and he started to pull the saxophone case out of the closet. "Is it okay if I take pictures?" I asked. "I might want to be your fangirl," I added with a wink.

Paris grabbed a fedora and put it on his head - a costume of sorts. "Knock your self out, doll face."

So I got one or two pictures of the sax in its case, and then several of Paris playing it. It was kind of cool, sitting on his bed, watching him play for me.

And then when he was done, he set the saxophone aside, sat on the bed with me, and kissed me. My mind flooded with what was about to happen - at least maybe: lying back on the bed, Paris over me, kissing me, touching my breasts, silently asking if it was okay to undo my clothes. But that didn't happen. It was just a kiss - a good one, but simple.

Paris dropped me off at work, and I emailed Oliver to come talk to me. He showed up a little later and sat in my section.

"So you found a way to get the picture after all?" Oliver asked.

"Yeah," I said. "We've sort of been hanging out." Oliver smiled knowingly.

"I didn't have time to put them on a thumb drive," I explained as I showed him the pictures on my phone. "Do you want me to email them to you?"

"Nice!" He said as he thumbed through my phone's gallery. "That won't be necessary. I don't need the pictures," he added and handed my phone back to me.

"Um, what?" I asked.

"The saxophone pictures were just a test," Oliver explained. "I do want your help gathering information on the Bishop family, but I decided to start you off with something small and unimportant to see if you were up to it."

My first reaction was anger: I don't like being tricked. But I guess it sort of made sense. I thought about it while I tended to other tables, and by the time I went back to Oliver, my indignation had been replaced by curiosity again.

"Ready for your next assignment?" Oliver asked when I brought him his salad.

"Not so fast. I need to know what this is about - what your interest is here," I told him.

"I'm a researcher for a law firm representing Paris' mother Ashley," Oliver said. "She and his father Marshall have been locked in a horrible divorce for more than a year. The firm believes that Marshall has dealt in bad faith. We're looking for evidence to support that theory."

"So you're working for his mother? Why not just ask Paris to get the information you need?" I asked.

"His loyalties are divided; we can't be sure whether he'd help or hinder our efforts," Oliver explained. "We'd prefer an outsider. You know how lawyers are: 'Never ask a question that you don't already know the answer to,' to paraphrase Harper Lee."

"Hmm," I responded. "Let me think about it," I said, and left to take care of my other tables.

I had a plan by the time I got back to Oliver. "You've got a business card, right? Lemme see," I told him. "I'm going to have to check you out. If I conclude that you're on the level, then I'll keep spying for you. But I won't do anything against Paris."

Oliver gave me his card and agreed to my terms. When he was done he left me a 20% tip plus the $75 he had promised for the pictures.

Friday April 29

I checked out the law firm Oliver claimed to work for. It's real: there are way too many records about it to be fake. And they confirmed that Oliver worked there when I called (using the phone number from the web, not his business card). They even confirmed that they were working for Ashley Bishop after asking my name and putting me on hold for a few minutes.

I emailed Oliver saying I'm ready to talk again, but he hasn't gotten back to me.

Monday May 2

Paris and I are still having trouble making our schedules meet - he's got finals. But we have been texting, and this afternoon he asked if he could give me a ride home from work.

He showed up at the restaurant just as my shift was ending, so I asked him to wait while I changed out of my uniform.

"You don't have to change, you know...," he said with a raised eyebrow.

I smiled back. "We're not supposed to take the uniforms home.... But let me see if my manager will look the other way. She's pretty cool."

So pretty soon we were zipping along in his Porsche with the top down, my microskirt providing no separation between my thighs and the leather seats. I was secretly giddy that he did, in fact, seem to find me sexy in these silly clothes.

Instead of pulling up to Juliet's apartment, Paris drove right on by and pulled into the parking lot of an unused commercial complex

That's when the kissing began. This wasn't a pleasant-but-respectful kiss like we had done before on his bed: this one was lustful. It started off as the wet hungry pressure of his lips on mine as he leaned across the gear box, but pretty soon he was tongue-fucking my mouth and squeezing my boob through my top. I hoped that the sock I had stuffed in there wasn't too much of a disappointment for him. (Just about all of the girls stuff their bras in these uniforms.)

Then his hand was up my skirt and inside my panties. I hadn't really thought about how wet I was, but he had obviously known. He ran his fingers through my lips, up and down, spreading my slick pussy juice all over and inducing in me the most wonderful throbbing need.

I had to stop kissing Paris so that I could pant and moan. His lips moved to my neck instead. He wasn't even touching my clit, but somehow his fingers touring my labia was charging me up to where I was ready to explode.

He had me teetering on the edge of climax when he whispered in my ear, "I hope that you'll remember this every time you wear this uniform. I know I will."

That's when I came. It was a slow, throbbing, aching orgasm as if my uterus were trying to leap out and swallow his hand. My legs couldn't decide whether they wanted to snap shut around his hand or lift me so that I could grind my pussy against it. Paris just kept rubbing me the same way while I moaned at the waves of pleasure pulsing inside of me.

I was still catching my breath when Paris started the car and took me back to Juliet's apartment.

I wanted to ask him in. I wanted to make him feel as good as he had just done for me. I knew he had said that he didn't have much time, but damn, I didn't want my time with him to end. I was having trouble finding the words, but I'm sure he could tell what I was thinking.

"I'll see you soon," he said.

Juliet stopped typing and laughed when I came in to the apartment. "I'm guessing you didn't take the bus," she said wryly.

Wednesday May 4

I did think about what Paris had done to me as I changed into my work uniform today. It actually worried me a little bit. I mean, these skirts are short enough that there's no way to bend forward - to put down a heavy plate, for instance - without flashing my panties at anyone behind me. The idea that someone might catch a glimpse of a wet spot down there was... Well, it was lots of things. :)

Realistically, though, my mind turned to normal non-sexy work stuff quickly enough that there was no real risk of that.

Oliver came in while I was working the lunch shift today. I wonder how he knows my schedule? He asked me to set up a special email address, just for talking to him.

My next assignment is to photograph the inside of Paris' house. Oliver said he wants the basic layout: which room is which, where the doors and stairs are, and so forth. I secretly wondered if this was meant as recon for a break-in, but I didn't ask.

Paris and I had already made plans for me to go to his place for dinner, but I had a little time after work to go back to Juliet's place and prepare. I practiced with a couple different pairs of jeans to find a back pocket that could hold my phone at just the right angle to record behind me.

Paris picked me up in the early evening. Let me stop to say that I've always figured that girls who cared about what kind of car a guy drives were horribly shallow. But I have to confess that Paris' car is starting to turn me on.

I wanted to jump his bones as soon as we got back to his house, but I stayed focused and asked for a tour first. It's a big house, but I think I did an excellent job of discretely pointing my butt at every doorway, stair, bookshelf, and alarm panel that anyone might be interested in.

We hit Paris' bedroom halfway through the tour. I hadn't noticed before but one of his shelves had a small collection of superhero figurines. One of them was Batgirl. I picked her up and held her close to my face. "So you've got a thing for redheads, huh?" I accused with a flirty smile.

"Well, yeah, kinda," he confessed boyishly.

So I guess Oliver's red hair offer was to set me up as bait. Interesting. Was that a long shot gamble, or has he been pulling other strings to put me in position as a spy, too? I'm guessing that Paris coming to my restaurant wasn't a coincidence.

I also got to meet some of Paris' family. Marshall, the dad, was a middle-aged guy of the still-sexy variety. He had a neatly-shaved salt-and-pepper beard that made me think a few inappropriate thoughts.

Marshall's girlfriend, Kimmie, was in her mid-twenties. I guess I shouldn't judge, given my history with Mr. Demarco, but I couldn't help but think "trophy wife" when I saw her. The dinner was her event: she was practicing making fancy meals for some sort of chef class.

And then there was Paris' twin sister, Chloe. "Her real name is Penelope," Paris said brattishly. "But when we were fourteen, she decided she hated the name and would only answer to Chloe."

"Oh, Penelope!" I said excitedly. "Like Odysseus' wife - the one who snuck out every night to unravel to shroud she was weaving."

"Yeah, that's my sister," Paris replied, "always unraveling." Chloe sneered.

Chloe clearly can't get enough attention. Her hair is short black and blue, shaved on one side. Her eyebrow had barbell through it, and there was ring in her nose. Tonight she was wearing a corset top and miniskirt to a family dinner. Nobody seemed surprised by this, so I guess that's normal for her.

Paris and I went back to his room after the introductions for a little private time before dinner. We started off with me sitting in his lap, kissing and grinding, but pretty soon he was lying back without his pants and I was sucking on his balls.

When I started sucking his dick, it was a slow affair. I don't think he was anywhere close to coming, but he was groaning with obvious delight. Neither of us were in any hurry: we were both enjoying the variety of feelings I could think up to give him. I especially enjoyed playing with his balls. I wondered how early in a relationship it's okay to ask a guy to shave his balls? Balls are so much better without hair.

After tugging, squeezing, sucking, and shaking his testicles I ran out of ideas, so I ran my fingers down toward his butt crack for a new frontier. That, apparently, completely ruined the moment. Paris scrambled away from me into a corner of the bed. "I'm not into that," he said with obvious vulnerability.

I apologized, of course. We just cuddled for a while after that until Marshall called us down to dinner.

Dinner was nice. Kimmie can definitely cook. And Marshall has every bit as much charm as his son does.

Chloe is obviously happy in her role as the family's black sheep. There were uncomfortable evasions when I asked her about college and a few veiled references to rehab. She tried to get sassy with me about my job, but backed off when she saw that I wasn't embarrassed by it.

After dinner Paris and I went back up to his room, and it was on again. At first I was lying on top of him, grinding and looking at his face hungrily. But then I pulled his pants down and covered his cock with saliva. It wasn't long before I was bobbing my head up and down like a machine, sweeping my lips over his crown and making him moan with a desperate rumble.

I was squeezing his balls when I felt them tighten up. He gushed into my mouth, his body tensing while he was making unintelligible vocalizations. I almost couldn't contain it all, but I managed, slurping up every last bit until his spasms were done.

In the hallway a moment later, Chloe muttered, "slut," as she passed me. But she had a twinkle in her eye.

"Cunt," I replied, and we both smiled.

Friday May 6

Oliver came to pick up the thumb drive with my recording on it. We talked out back during my break and he paid me two hundred dollars.

"So what's my next assignment?" I asked, enjoying the game of espionage.

"Nothing yet, but stay close to them. I'll need more of your help soon," Oliver said.

"Anything in particular I should look for?" I followed up.

"Any details you can find out about the sale of the Bishops' business, without blowing your cover," Oliver told me. "Shortly before Marshall filed for divorce, he pushed to sell Bishop Solutions Inc., over Ashley's objections. The sale was suspicious - everyone thought the company was worth more than the sale price. We're not sure how he persuaded the board to approve the deal. We suspect there might have been some kind of side deal."

"Huh," I said. "Well, I can maybe create a back door into his computer, look through his files," I suggested.

"No - absolutely not," Oliver told me. "There's a good chance that forensic techs will be going over computers on both sides of this case. I know you're clever, but if you do anything suspicious, they will find out, and that could ruin our case. Don't do anything more intrusive than looking over someone's shoulder.

"Okay," I said with a pout.

"So how are you and Paris getting along?" Oliver asked. It wasn't a professional question - he seemed to really care.

"I'm starting to really like him," I confessed with a blush.

"I'm glad," Oliver stated. "Look, if you start to feel conflicted, come talk to me. I won't push you to do anything you're not comfortable with."

"Oh, no, I'm cool with anal," I joked. Oliver did a spit-take. One of the dish-washers rounded the corner just then, too. He looked at us like he desperately wanted to know what we were talking about, but he silently continued on, hauling the trash to the dumpster.

Thursday May 12

Yesterday was my twentieth birthday!

Paris took me to a super high-end steak house, which was awesome. Then we went to an open air jazz concert, and while I wasn't into the band as much as he was, I was having great fun drinking the variety of liquors we had snuck in.

Then we drove back to his house with the top down. This time he did let the car's engine roar, and my inebriation made it even more exciting.

In his garage, Paris made toward the door right away, but I grabbed his tie and pulled him back to me. I undid a button on his shirt and slipped my hand into his shirt to finger a nipple.

"Hey.... So, does your car have a name?" I asked. I nuzzled his ear and kissed his neck.

"No," he said with a chuckle.

"Really?" I continued. "She's not a Lola, or an Amber or Brandy?" I grabbed his ass and slithered against his body.

"Never really thought about it," he said, brushing my hair back and kissing my cheek in a way that gave me shivers. "Why do you ask?"

"Because if I'm going to have a three-way with someone, I want to know their name," I told him. At that point I turned away from Paris and instead pressed my body against the hood of his Porsche. My minidress was already riding pretty high in that position, but after a couple of wiggles and hip-thrusts I made sure that my fuck-me panties were exposed. I stopped caressing my new lover long enough to look back at Paris. "Well?" I asked.

"Just one second...," he said with a grin.

He walked around to the driver's side again and reached inside, and then Lola - or whoever she was - came back alive with a rumble. I pressed my face and my chest against the car again and ground my hips against her fender. Powerful vibrations were moving through me - not sexual on their own, but carrying a feeling of serene potency.

Paris walked behind me again. His hands squeezed and slid over my ass, pushing my dress up above my hips. I heard a belt and a zipper, and then I felt cotton against my leg. His erection was growing inside his underwear, pushing its way between my thighs. Then hands moved my panties down to my knees, and I guess his underwear too, because I felt the bald hard flesh of his cock poking around my bottom.

He gave me what I wanted: my pussy was filled, and I shook around his member. He was sliding into me, and then withdrawing only to do it again. No matter how much sex I have, it never stops amazing me: there' was a part of him moving around inside of me. I groaned.

"That's it - fuck me, both of you!" I exclaimed. And they did. I don't know what pussy juice does to the finish of a car, but I guessed that Lola was going to have a big line of it running down her cheek by the time we were done.

"Lexi, your pussy...," Paris began, sounding like he was beginning to lose control.

"Uh-huh?" I muttered through gasps.

Paris never finished his thought. Instead he leaned into me, his hands against the hood on either side of my ribs, and thrust into me furiously. He moaned in a way that, seen from the outside might have struck me as silly. But then and there, it was the perfect expression of the intimacy we were giving each other.

I shoved my hips against our partner as hard as I could, channeling the engine's rumble through my pubic bone and probably into Paris's cock as well. I cried out his name as I came, and honestly I think I might have been on the verge of tears for some reason.

Paris groaned with ecstasy with each blast of come he shot into my quivering cunt. I imagined them splashing against my cervix, and then a hoard of marauding sperm cells rushing into my uterus, looking for their prize.

"Today was a pretty good birthday," I said, cuddling with Paris on his bed a minute or two later.

"I'm glad," he said, kissing my forehead. "Probably best not to think about how close we came to dying of asphyxiation back there. Can you imagine my dad trying to explain that to your parents?"

"They'd probably be relieved," I said, mostly joking. "It would certainly reinforce certain opinions of me."

"What happened between you and your parents, anyway?" Paris asked. He knew that we had had a falling out, but I had never given him the details.

"We got into a big fight right after New Year's," I explained. "They were laying into me for not being their idea of a proper young lady - real backwards puritanical shit. I knew some of their secrets and so I called them out on their double standards."

Paris sat up, resting his back against the headboard. I crawled out from the covers and sat on the bed cross-legged, naked. "It was stuff they didn't know about each other, and everything just blew up like a powder keg. I had no idea they had so many buried issues. I mean, seriously! After twenty-four years of marriage you'd think they would have worked all that stuff out!"

I went on. "Anyway, my mom moved out and they're getting a divorce. My mom hasn't talked to me since then. My dad blames me for it. He tried to extort an apology from me with college money. He says I need time to grow up and learn about responsibility or some crap like that. I told him to go fuck himself."

I glanced at my phone, wondering if there would be a birthday text or email from Dad on it. "Long story short, that's why I spend most of my day delivering food dressed in a slutty schoolgirl Halloween costume." I ended with a smile that was only half sincere.

Paris touched my knee. "What kind of secrets did they have that were so bad?" He asked.

"I... I don't want to talk about it right now," I said with an insecure shrug. I hoped he would understand.

Paris, so far, didn't know about most of my scandals. I had told him about discovering the photo club in high school and tormenting the boys over it. I hadn't mentioned losing all of my friends in the fallout, though. And he only knew that I had been involved in exposing the Chi Omicron sex-for-grades racket; he didn't know what I had done or what it had cost me. He didn't know about how I had driven away August, or Marcie, or Miles, or Hailey - made them all hate me.

I didn't even realize that I was crying until Paris put his arms around me from behind and started singing to me. "Silent Lucidity". He was singing an 90's metal power ballad to me, of all things. It meant a lot to me though.

My mood improved after that. Soon we were laughing and having fun again.

When we both yawned at the same time, we knew it was bed time. "C'mon," he said, standing up and taking my hand, "let's get you set up in the guest room."

"I can't stay here with you?" I asked, suddenly insecure again.

He pulled a tangle of tubes and plastic out of his nightstand drawer. It was one of those sleep apnea masks and the machine that regulates it. "I have to wear this when I sleep," he said. "It's loud, and awkward with the tubes. It would keep you up all night."

"Oh."

Despite how tired I was, it took a long time for me to fall asleep. The house was so unfamiliar, and I felt a little bit trapped without my laptop.

In the morning, Connie made us an elaborate breakfast: eggs, sausage, fruit, and fresh muffins. Connie is apparently someone the Bishops pay to make breakfast for them every day.

I felt a little out of place wearing a club dress to a casual breakfast when nearly everyone else was in pajamas or casual clothes. At least Chloe drew attention away from me: she was wearing leather shorts and a cut-up shirt over a neon orange bra.

"There's something I'd like you to consider," Paris said as he was dropping me off at Juliet's apartment. "My family is going to the Islands for a week in a couple of days. I'd really like it if you'd join us."

"Islands?" I asked.

"The Virgin Islands," he clarified. "The Caribbean."

"Oh!" I said, gears turning in my head about how to make that work.

"I'm sorry for the short notice," he said. "And I know it's early for us to be taking a trip together, but I'd rather enjoy the trip with you there with me than waste it wishing you were." If another guy had said that, it might have come across creepy or pathetic, but Paris made it sound like the greatest complement in the world.

"Um, well, I'd like to," I said. "I'm not sure if I can get time off of work."

"I understand," Paris said. "We can talk more about the details later - I just wanted to give you some time to think about it."

Friday May 13

I talked to Oliver about the trip. He's going to see whether there's any specific info I should look for there. I said that I might not be able to go, depending on what my manager says. He said if she won't give me the time off to let him know: he'll get one of the lawyers to talk to her on my behalf. I don't understand why that would matter, but Oliver says people are afraid of lawyers.

It wasn't a problem anyway. Sandy says that she needs to cut back hours anyway, now that the university is out for the summer. She says that me being gone will help make the transition easier. I will still have a job waiting for me when I get back, I've been assured.

Tuesday May 17

I had moved into Juliet's livingroom straight from the dorm after they kicked me out: only current students can live there. Up until now I've had enough stuff for day to day life, but some of what I need for my upcoming Caribbean trip was still at my parents' house. Today I borrowed Juliet's car and drove for two hours back to my old home.

I was in a pretty good mood, all things considered, until I tried my key. It didn't work: the locks had been changed. What the fuck, Dad? Is that how it is between us now? Well, it takes more than a forty dollar lock from Home Depot to keep me out. I picked the lock and went on in.

I immediately set about gathering my things from my bedroom: my passport, my sun hat, some luggage, my travel headphones, an extra swimsuit - that sort of thing. I could have been in and out in a flash, except that it soon became obvious that there was a different sort of in-and-out already going on in the house.

"Eh eh eh eh," I faintly heard. It sounded like a monkey on a treadmill, but it was obviously some girl moaning while she was getting banged.

I checked the garage: my dad's car was there. I looked around the rest of the house and found a purse and woman's jacket in the kitchen, so I sat down and started to learn about our new guest. Cory Polinski, 27, a human resources assistant at my dad's company. 5'5", 122 lbs, black hair hazel eyes, no corrective lenses required. I snapped pictures of her driver's license, credit cards, and insurance card, just in case.

Ten pills were missing from the package of birth control pills in Cory's purse. I thought about throwing away another eight or so, just to fuck with her. Most girls would notice if their pills were out of sync with their period, but some might not. As much as I want to punish Cory, though, that wouldn't be fair to any baby that resulted from my sabotage. Anyway, I don't want a new half-brother or sister.

I spent the rest of my wait looking through her mobile phone. Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Reddit. There was plenty to give me an idea of who she was. I changed a couple of her passwords just in case I want access later, but I left her phone logged in so she wouldn't notice.

The girl's moaning pattern never changed until it just stopped, so I don't think she came. Is my dad a dud in the sack? A minute later I heard a shower turned on. At the same time, I heard my parents' bedroom door open, and then curiously, my bedroom door.

Shortly after that, Cory came into the kitchen where I was waiting. She was fairly cute: tan with wavy black hair all mussed up. She was wearing some pink panties - hers - and a black T-shirt with the writing, "No, I won't fix your computer". The T-shirt was mine.

"Hi! I'm Lexi!" I said in the friendliest way possible. I stood and offered my hand.

"Oh, hi..." Cory began, completely surprised. Pretty quickly she recovered and became sorority-rush friendly herself: "I'm Cory. Nice to meet you!"

"I'm sorry about the surprise - I didn't expect anyone to be home," I explained. "Has Dad ever mentioned me?"

"Oh yes," Cory said, seemingly relieved that the conversation was going so well. "He talks about you all the time. He says you're super smart and independent."

"I try to make him proud," I said with a modest shrug. "Did he ever tell you about the girl I hounded to the mental hospital? Or the five professors I sent to prison?"

"I, um..." Cory stammered, suddenly less sure about my disposition.

"Did he tell you to be afraid of me?" I asked.

I let the awkward silence linger. Cory was clearly unsettled. Eventually she got up the courage to say something: "Um, that's my phone," she said, pointing at the mobile phone in my hand.

I nodded. "And that's my shirt," I said. I had never actually worn it - it had been a gift from Marcie years ago. I'm hard to buy gifts for.

"I just need to..." she said, pointing at the phone again as if I had simply misunderstood.

"You give me my shirt and I'll give you your phone," I condescended to her.

She froze for a moment. I tried to hide my smile when, for a brief moment, her hands moved as if to take off the shirt. But then she stopped. "BILL!" she yelled and scampered back toward my parents' bedroom.

My dad came out with a towel around his waist. "Lexi, what's going on here?" He was angry.

"I was just picking up some of my things," I said defiantly. "But then I met Cory. She's wearing my shirt, you know."

"I told her it was okay," Dad said through gritted teeth.

"It's not okay with me!" I told him.

"Lexi, none of this is any of your business. If you'd like to have a calm discussion..." Dad began.

"NO! That's not how this works!" I told him. "You are MARRIED! If you want to go Hugh Hefner once the divorce is finalized then go ahead, but I will not stand by until then and watch you cheat on Mom! That's not how we do things in this family!"

"Lexi, you don't understand," Dad tried to explain.

"Dad, if I catch that vapid little cunt near you again, I will ruin her life," I told him. "YOU HEAR ME VAPID LITTLE CUNT? GO WORK OUT YOUR DADDY ISSUES ON SOMEONE ELSE'S FATHER!" I added, loud enough that Cory would hear me from the other room.

Dad was trying variations on "Let me explain" as I left.

I called Juliet from the road to vent, but she kept laughing so much that it didn't feel like she was really hearing me. I didn't want to talk to Paris about this. I ended up going to the shooting range once I got back into town. I can't really afford that at this point in my life, but I needed it. Shooting always calms me down.

Friday May 20

I'm sitting in the first class cabin on a plane at 30,000 feet right now. Paris is next to me playing some iPad war game against the twelve year old on the other side of the aisle. They're both talking a ridiculous amount of smack, but it's friendly. It's certainly a welcome change from Paris' bickering with Chloe all through the airport.

Last night I stayed at the Bishops' house. It was kind of cool - after dinner we all just sat around drinking scotch and talking.

At one point they were asking about my job waiting tables. "Well, it's not rocket science, but there are skills involved," I explained. "It takes good time management to give every table the attention they expect - not just food and drinks, but socializing. And it helps to be able to read people. Some customers expect you to read their minds."

"And then there are various strategies to encourage tipping," I said leadingly.

"Like what?" Marshall asked.

"Well, there are all different ways it can go," I explained. "But for instance, if it's a table full of just guys, it helps to grab one of the others girls and display a certain friendliness toward her. You know, put some ideas in their heads."

"And that gets you better tips?" Marshall asked, amused.

"What can I say? Guys go a little bit crazy at a hint of girl-on-girl," I said matter-of-factly.

"Not me," Marshall proclaimed. "I've always thought of it as silly. Pointless."

"I'm not into it either," Paris said.

I shook my head. "I don't buy it. Every straight guy I've ever met is hot for lesbians. Some just don't admit it. Help me out here, girls."

Kimmie chimed in: "That has been my experience, yes."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken," Marshall said, playfully smug.

"Oh please!" I said, setting my drink down and standing. "If Kimmie and I started making out right now, you'd both be achingly hard within seconds."

Kimmie was smiling as I performed a runway walk up to her. She didn't move as I ran my finger down from her chin to her chest, but when I leaned in for a kiss she turned her head away. "What are you doing?" She said.

"Come on," I said enticingly as I sat down next to her. "Don't you want to prove our point? Let's put on a show for the guys."

"Hey, I was just joking around," Kimmie said. "I'm not interested in taking it that far."

"I'll make out with you," Chloe offered, standing up.

I shrugged. "Thanks Chloe, but I don't think it would have quite the same impact, watching their sister and daughter getting it on with another girl."

Chloe looked disappointed, Kimmie looked annoyed, and Paris looked uncomfortable, so when Paris changed the topic we all happily went along.

Later, alone in Paris' bedroom, I asked if Chloe was bisexual.

"Only when she wants to shock my parents," he answered.

Paris had a migraine, so he was in no mood to fool around. He also didn't want me to sleep in his bed, even though I wanted to, so I retired to the guest room.

I woke up to something touching my face. Chloe was sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing my cheek with her fingers. When I put on my glasses and turned on the light, I saw that she was wearing a red lace cover-up and matching panties - both very transparent.

"Chloe...," I began, pretty seriously weirded-out, but before I could say anything else she kissed me.

"We don't need any pretenses," she whispered.

I sat up and put some distance between us. "Chloe, I'm flattered, but I'm dating your brother."

"That's all right - it'll stay just between us," She implored. "I'm good with secrets. You wouldn't believe the things I know."

"I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea," I told her. "I'm not into girls. I just wanted to tease the men."

She shifted toward me again. "But...," she began.

"The answer is no, Chloe." I tried to strike a balance between firm and understanding.

She left, but before she did I saw something flash in her eyes. A furnace of rage at - I don't know - all of humanity. I can only imagine how many years it had been burning.

I didn't feel like going right back to sleep, so I watched Marshall and Kimmie in the hot tub below my window. I couldn't see under the blanket of bubbles, but based on their body language, both sets of hands were plenty busy down there. Kimmie couldn't arrange to come on the trip with us, so it made sense that she and Marshall would try to get in a little last-minute physical time. At least someone's getting lucky tonight, I thought.

Marshall and Kimmie exited the hot tub and walked to the pool. Marshall dropped his shorts and then sat on the edge, with his legs dangling in the water and his stiffy pointed skyward. Then Kimmie slipped out of her bikini bottom and, with a great deal of help, lowered herself onto his cock with her back to his chest and her legs in the pool, too.

They weren't going at it at first. There was clearly some grinding going on, but it was mostly just talking and laughing. Clearly this much of their relationship, at least, works. I wondered if Marshall had ever been that way with Paris' mother, Ashley.

Naturally there was some boob-handling: from Marshall because he's a guy, and from Kimmie, I suppose because she really didn't have anywhere else to put her hands. Marshall was having to keep an arm tight around her at all times while he played with her body to keep her from falling into the pool. Still, it didn't take long before Kimmie's breasts had sprung free from her top.

After a while they started moving about more seriously. They couldn't really hope for much real thrusting in that position, only some modest shifting, but Marshall's hand was resting on Kimmie's bush and his fingers were helping to make her feel good. I couldn't hear them, but I saw Kimmie's head fall back into Marshall's shoulder and thrash around while her hands gripped his head and one of her breasts.

Kimmie returned to her normal posture and Marshall's hand left her pussy. They kept bumping like that for another few minutes without any noticeable changes.

Then they repositioned, somewhat. Kimmie raised her knees up against her chest and Marshall wrapped his arms around her body and legs. They started fucking more vigorously. His hips couldn't move on their own: instead, he was rocking her body back and forth to move his meat inside her. Kimmie was wearing a carefree smile: she reminded me of my friend Lisa in sixth grade riding in a grocery cart. Marshall, on the other hand, looked like he was exerting himself dangerously.

I wouldn't have been able to tell that Marshall was coming, except that Kimmie turned her head and tried to look back at him. Her face had abruptly turned tender. I knew that face. I enjoy making that face. Her guy was satisfied, and she was glad to have made it happen.

Kimmie slipped out of Marshall's lap and into the pool with a splash, and then she leaned out of the pool to give his dick a quick suck before it went soft. I wondered what was happening to the come leaking out of Kimmie's twat into the pool. I'll have to experiment with that some day.

After that I was ready to go back to sleep.

Chloe has been acting like nothing happened last night, so I think we're cool.

Saturday May 21

Paris had a migraine again last night, so no nookie for me. He says he gets them when he travels. I know it's stupid, but I started to worry that I don't turn him on. I mean, he invited me on his family's vacation because he likes me, obviously. And we've had good moments together, physically. I just had this notion that once we were here, away from work and finals and obligations, we'd get a chance to be together frequently.

The island house is amazing, by the way. It's got every comfort you'd expect from a rich mainland house, plus a view to die for. Marshall took off for business reasons, so Paris, Chloe, and I mixed Mai Tais and watched the sunset from the patio.

The shore is just feet from the house. It's rocky - not a beach - but I put on my flip flops and waded in the ocean for a little while after dark while Chloe and Paris argued for TV rights.

When I got back, Paris and Chloe had reached some sort of compromise about what movie to watch. It was an old heist movie, pretty good action and good sense of humor. We all kept drinking, so I had trouble following the plot toward the end, but I enjoyed it anyway.

Paris and I were pretty cozy under a blanket on the couch together when it ended, and I was eager to take him back to the bedroom. Chloe, however, had a different plan. "Now you have to watch the movie I want to watch," she said.

She turned on the video and what we saw was a pussy, puffy and wet. We could only see the woman from her waist down. She was lying on her back on a bed with her legs spread invitingly. There was a pretty sizable circumcised dick heading for it, belonging to the guy holding the camera.

"Chloe...," Paris started, angry. But I nuzzled his neck and caressed his thigh to let him know that I didn't mind a little porn just then. He relented.

The anonymous cock started fucking the anonymous pussy. The owner of the cock kept talking the whole way through, saying things like, "Yeah! See what I've got going on here? This pussy's all mine - unless I decide to share with you. And this is just the beginning. This chick will do some crazy shit."

It was hard to fully appreciate the video because the camera was bouncing so much. Still, I was getting worked up, and Paris was as erect as his shorts would allow while I rubbed him.

"Is he ever going to pan out?" I asked. "I want to see what these two look like!"

"Just wait," Chloe said coyly.

The camera moved up the girl's body, still bouncing around from the shafting he was giving her, until it locked on her breasts. They were pretty nice - large-ish but firm, with big areolae and small nipples - and they bounced nicely with the rhythm of the fucking. The girl had, by then, covered her face with a pillow.

"Why are you so shy all of the sudden?" The photographer asked. "Show everyone your pretty face!"

The girl shook her head under the pillow.

"Do it!" He prodded on. "Show us your face and tell everyone how much you love my cock."

When she pulled the pillow away, it was Chloe's face. "I looove getting fucked by Jay's big cock!" The Chloe from the video said.

"For fuck's sake, Chloe!" Paris shouted. He stomped off to his bedroom, and I quickly followed.

"I'm sorry - I didn't know," I told him.

"It's not you - it's just the kind of shit she does," Paris said. He was clearly very upset, and the way he rubbed his temples implied he was getting another headache. I was pretty sure sex was out of the question at that point.

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" I asked, being careful not to sound like a come on.

"No," he said. "Things will be better tomorrow on the boat without her." I kissed him on the forehead before leaving.

I passed Chloe in the hall on the way to my bedroom. I gestured what-the-fuck at her and she just smiled.

Sigh. I'm still horny. I'm pissed at Chloe but I can't stop thinking about her sex tape. I want to masturbate, but it feels like that would be betraying Paris.

Sunday May 22

Paris and I joined his older brother Mack and Mack's wife Liz on the sailboat today.

"Mack?" I asked when I met him. "Not Ajax or Agamemnon?"

"Marshall Macallister Bishop Junior. Nice to meet you," he replied.

Mack and Liz are older - approaching thirty, I think. They just found out that they're pregnant, so babies are at the forefront of their minds. For instance, once the wind calmed and it was warm enough, I stripped down to a bikini, but Liz went a step further and took her top off, too.

"Is that normal around here?" I asked, unsure if I would seem prudish for keeping my chest covered.

"It's not uncommon," she said nonchalantly. "Anyway, this is going to be my last chance to show these puppies off in pristine condition." She cupped her boobs and pushed them together jokingly. Mack whistled at her.

A moment later I was rubbing sun block on Liz's back and wondering if Mack shared his family's peculiar lack of interest in girl-on-girl. I wasn't going to push it though - Paris and I have had too many setbacks in the sex department. Anyway, I ended up lotioning up Paris' and Mack's backs, too, because they were busy turning the cranks and pulling the ropes that made the boat go where it was supposed to. I'll figure the boat stuff out eventually, but for right now, I'm just trying to stay out of the way.

Sailing is really cool, by the way. You can't just point it where you want to go - you have to constantly reconfigure the sails for changes in the wind and your path. And you can't head directly into the wind so sometimes you have to zig-zag a lot. Everyone has to help out to keep the boat running smoothly.

It's kinda fun learning to move around on a boat. It's almost like a carnival ride: the floor is usually slanted and shifting underneath you. A simple task like bringing four drinks from below deck can be a real challenge.

When we weren't trimming the sails and "coming about" and all that, there was a lot of sitting around doing nothing that was surprisingly satisfying. It's so quiet! You hear the water moving past the hull, but that's all - no motor or air conditioner or road noise.

I did the "king of the world" thing, standing at the very front of the boat with nothing but ocean in front of me while we bounced on the waves. I also spent plenty of time lying in the sun and drinking beer while listening to music. The reggae was pretty cool but I'm still trying to figure out how to appreciate jazz.

When lounging about got boring, Liz taught me the three knots every sailor should know: the bowline, for when you need a secure loop, the clove hitch for temporarily tying something to a post, and the sheet bend for tying two ropes together. I practiced for at least an hour.

"So what's the deal with Chloe?" I asked Mack at one point when Paris out of ear shot. "Does she drive everyone crazy, or is it just Paris because they're twins?"

"That girl...," Liz said in a gossipy fashion.

"She's all kinds of fucked up," Mack explained. "In and out of rehab since she was sixteen. Always pushing everyone's buttons. She barely got through high school. We all knew that college would never happen. She basically just lives to shock people. Mom used to keep her somewhat in check, but now that she's gone...."

"She lost her drivers license and now she's got a chauffeur," Liz said contemptuously. Liz didn't grow up with money like the Bishop kids did.

"Daddy's little girl?" I asked.

"Something like that, I guess," Mack said.

"Why? What did she do this time?" Liz asked.

"I'd rather not say," I said. I was worried that Liz and Mack might think me rude for withholding Chloe's latest infractions, but it didn't seem to bother them. I haven't even told Paris about Chloe's late night visit, and I thought the sex tape incident might be embarrassing to Paris.

We anchored off a tiny island in the late afternoon. There isn't any sort of actual town, but there is a bar and a dance floor. We're going to grill some shrimp for dinner and then head ashore for drinking and dancing. I didn't think to bring a dress on the boat, so Liz is lending me a sarong that I can wear over my swimsuit.

Monday May 23

Finally! Paris finally scratched my itch!

We stayed on the island drinking late into the night. It was a great time. We met a couple from Italy, three women from Israel, and a family of five from Minnesota. Paris was adorable dancing with their twelve year old, Christina. And the two early teen boys, who clearly weren't used to drinking, were awkwardly perving out at all the girls. Yael and I teased them hard enough that I think they left the party to go jerk themselves off in the woods.

Everyone was talking about being tired when we came back to the boat, so I was worried that I had missed out on intimate time with Paris. And, in fact, when I asked Paris to tuck me in, he just kissed me and pulled my blanket over me. I'm not sure what I expected - the little cabin that they put me in was barely big enough for just me.

Liz and Mack were in the V-berth. Two people could comfortably sleep there, but I bet sex there takes some real creativity. Paris said he was going to sleep up top on the boat's deck. He doesn't have his sleep apnea machine with him on the boat, but he said his snoring would keep me up when I suggested we sleep together.

I tried to sleep. Even at anchor, the boat rolls and sways - it's what I imagine a baby feels like, being rocked to sleep by her mother. Still, it felt wrong to be alone. I wanted to be with my boyfriend. Could I call him my boyfriend? Probably not this early. But I wanted to call him my boyfriend.

A few minutes later I was slinking out of the cabin and onto the deck. I didn't want to wake Paris if he was asleep, so I didn't try to get under the blanket with him; I just curled up behind him and put my arm around him. I guess he wasn't asleep, because without turning back to look at me, he lifted the blanket up for me to join him. I snuggled up closer and wrapped my arm around his bare chest, and he put his hand on my hand.

I thought we were going to just fall asleep like that. Somehow, in shifting positions, my hand came into contact with his penis. It was fully hard underneath his shorts. I tentatively helped myself to a feel and Paris moaned, which I took to be a good sign.

Paris shifted so that he was lying on his back, looking me in the eyes. I pulled his stiffy out through the fly in his boxers and gave it a few loving squeezes. For a minute or two I jerked him off while he moaned softly, never breaking eye contact, but then I climbed on top of him.

"We have to be very quiet," he said. "Sound caries over water."

I nodded. And then, moving the crotch of my panties aside, I took him inside of me.

God! I knew I wanted it, but I hadn't realized how much I had wanted it until I had it. His erection was throbbing inside me even before I started shifting forward and back, pumping it. I whispered a moan as I enjoyed this long overdue intimacy.

"How do you feel this good?" Paris asked in the faintest whisper, sliding his hands under my shirt and touching my back.

"I...," I started to answer, but the words were lost. I just kept moving above him - slow like the rocking of the boat - comforting his cock with the slippery friction of my vagina.

Paris moved his head curiously to the side, still looking up at my face.

"What are you doing?" I asked lovingly. I knew that I would be too far lost in my ecstasy to speak, soon.

"The moon is behind you. It looks like a halo," he told me. "I'm going to remember this moment my whole life."

My pelvic muscles squeezed, foreshadowing the explosion of lust that was about to happen. "I... I hope so," I whispered, just in time.

All the tightness in my body sprung loose and change swept through me as the best feeling in the world invaded me in pulsing waves. My face must have flowed through a dozen different expressions as the clockwork of my body unwound. It was a damned lovely orgasm.

When I opened my eyes, Paris was smiling at me. "That was the most perfect thing I've ever seen," he said.

From there I continued sliding against Paris, stroking his cock with my pussy, but my mindset had changed. It still felt awesome, but now I was determined to make Paris feel better than he'd ever felt - as if I could somehow will my body into a new superhuman quantum of sexuality.

I doubt I can take any special credit for it, but something did change for Paris. He gripped my ass tightly with both hands and started thrusting his hips up into me, giving me quite a bumpy ride.

"Faster?" I asked. He screwed his eyes tight with his mouth hanging open and nodded.

So I picked up speed. Instead of a gentle back-and-forth glide, I was well and truly humping him. His breathing was labored, and his face had a look of worried concentration - as if he were piloting a crashing airplane. Then all at once he gasped with great relief. His cock twitched, and my pussy pulsed, welcoming his messy gift.

We set out early for more sailing this morning. Mack let me raise the main sail - which pretty much just meant wrapping a rope around a winch and cranking it while Liz stood next to me making sure I didn't mess up. That was some serious effort; I need to work on my upper body strength.

The ocean was choppier today. I felt sick for a while, but I didn't throw up.

We ended up back at the same island, but a different cove, early in the afternoon. Mack and Liz went ashore for a hike. I asked Paris if he was interested in a tropical forest BJ, but he seemed shy about exhibitionism, so we stayed on the boat relaxing instead. I offered to give him a boat BJ instead, but he said he'd rather wait and make love tonight.

It started raining - a light warm rain - and people on one of the boats next to us got naked. "That's weird," I said, "they're all stripping."

Paris had just found the ukulele that lives on the boat and started playing a simple song. "They're probably just showering," he told me. "This way they don't have to use up the boat's fresh water store."

That made sense. I had showered this morning in the boat's very tiny shower stall, but Paris had cautioned me to be economical with the water.

"Have you got any binoculars?" I asked.

"You're such a pervert!" Paris teased. "Below deck next to the sun screen."

"And an incurable voyeur," I said as I fetched the binoculars.

People on a couple different boats were similarly naked and showering. It wasn't really that exciting - they were just soaping themselves down, not doing anything sexy, and most of them weren't especially attractive. Still, there wasn't much to do and I love spying on people, so that's what I did.

The weird thing was that I was pretty sure I saw Marshall, Paris' dad. He and a blond woman, also about fifty, were washing themselves on the deck of distant boat. Based on their body language, they seemed to be more than just friends.

"What's your dad up to today?" I asked. "Is he stuck babysitting Chloe?"

"He said he was going to play cards with the guys, I think," Paris answered, still experimenting on his uke. I couldn't tell if he had played before and was rusty, or if his other musical skills let him figure it out quickly.

I kept watching through the binoculars even after the rain let up and people put their clothes back on. The Marshall look-alike and the blond woman did kiss once or twice - not lustfully, but certainly romantically. If it is him, then I guess he's cheating on Kimmie with this girl.

I emailed Oliver about what I thought I had seen. To my surprise, my phone actually gets reception out here.

Oliver just got back to me. He says pictures would be good, if possible, and to try to find out the boat's name and home city.

"Hey, is it all right if I go swimming out among the boats?" I asked Paris. The sun was just about to set, so I figured that would be my best chance to get close to the boat unseen. I definitely didn't want to risk Marshall seeing me.

"Not a good idea," Paris told me. "In the dark you'd be hard to see, and nobody would be expecting you there. A dinghy could hit you in head and you'd sink to the ocean floor without anyone ever knowing. Why not swim on the beach?"

"I just wanted to get a closer look at some of the boats," I explained.

"We'll take the dinghy out for a ride tomorrow morning. Sound good?" Paris suggested.

"Yeah," I relented.

"You about ready to hit the dance floor?" Paris asked.

"I think I'll stay here," I said. "I'm still a little woozy from before."

"Oh, well then, I'll stay here with you," Paris volunteered.

"No," I said sweetly. "Go forth and be merry. Go dance with that girl Christina and show her what a real gentleman is. You even have my permission to kiss her if the situation warrants it."

"You sure?" Paris asked. I nodded. Then, as an afterthought, "Can I use tongue?"

Once Paris was ashore with Mack and Liz, I changed into my swimsuit and slipped into the water. It's funny, the water can look almost still when you're up above it, but when you're neck deep and trying to swim toward something in particular, those tiny ripples become big, disorienting obstacles. And of course, without my glasses, it was hard to make out anything more than a few feet away.

I did find boat on which I thought I had seen Marshall. The boat's name is "Age Res Proprias Tuas" and it's from Salt Lake City, Utah. I could only hear bits and pieces of the conversation inside, but I'm almost certain I heard Marshall's voice, and I think he addressed the woman as Kimberley. Weird - was he mixing up his mistress' names? Or was Kimmie in there with the other two? Anyway, then I heard the Game of Thrones theme song playing, so I guessed they wouldn't be talking again for a while.

I rinsed myself off with fresh water from the hose on the back of the boat once I got back, and then sent an email to Oliver with what I had learned. Now I guess I'll pop in a DVD and practice tying knots to pass the time until the others get back.

Tuesday May 24

I wanted to go join the others at the party on shore last night after I finished my snooping, but Paris had taken the dinghy ashore. In an emergency I could have swum, of course, but it wouldn't be fun to hit the dance floor soaking wet and cold. I tried texting Paris, asking him either to come pick me up or to come spend some boyfriend-girlfriend time with me, but he had left his phone on the boat.

So it was late when everyone got back, and they were all drunker than the night before. Paris changed into his bed clothes and covered himself with the blanket, so I changed too and snuggled up with him.

I tried touching him like a lover, inviting him to be physical with me, but he didn't respond, so eventually I just came out and said it: "Do you maybe want to fool around before going to sleep?"

"Yeah, of course, baby," he replied, like I was reminding him to do the dishes. But he did kiss me, and his touches did get me excited. So I wanted it, whatever it was he was willing to give me.

I had to jerk him a lot to make him erect while we kissed. Even then, he wasn't completely hard. I mean, his dick was stiff enough for penetration, but it was also a somewhat yielding on the outside, like an over-ripe banana.

When Paris made his move to mount me I took my panties off completely. The blanket was already semen-stained but there was no point in soiling another pair of undies as well.

So then he was on top of me, and he slid into me, and it felt nice. If I shifted my head around just right, the moon was behind him like he had described the previous night. Under other circumstances that would have been beautiful, but as it was, he just looked so tired.

I really did enjoy it, but there was no way I was going to come. I tried tilting my hips and moving my legs, but it just wasn't happening. Truth be told, even as my handsome boyfriend of whom I'm quite fond was pumping me, it just wasn't that sexy.

Paris looked like he was trying to fulfill an obligation to me. That's not how I wanted it to be. I wanted to let him off the hook. I wasn't going to fake an orgasm, so I decided to try to help him along by whispering some dirty talk. "God, Paris, I love your pounding cock. You're so fucking hard and you're hitting me so deep. You could break a girl if you weren't so good. Every single woman on that dance floor wishes she was me - wishes it was her pussy that gets to drink up your come. I want it, darling. Let those balls open up and fill me with come."

Paris came then, and I was kind of surprised that it lasted as long for him as it did. Then we curled up and both fell asleep pretty quickly.

We sailed back to the big island today. For a while, the wind was so strong and our boat was leaning so far that I was able to dangle my legs in the water from the deck, half-way up my calves.

One of the first things I did when I got back to the house was take a nice long shower. I asked Paris if he wanted to join me, but I guess he wasn't in the mood.

Oliver got back to me:

Two neighbors - middle aged men who I think are a couple - came over at dusk and played basketball with Paris and Marshall. They asked if Chloe and I wanted to join, but I'm not into sports and Chloe didn't want to change out of her floor-length gothic dress. It was kinda cool to see Paris doing guy-stuff with his dad.

Chloe and I watched, though, and we ended up talking about The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I've only seen the movies, but they were sort of an inspiration for me. Chloe has read the books, and she's a big fan.

When I was done checking my emails, I pulled out the little strings that Liz had given me and practiced tying the knots I had learned.

"He's not going to go for that, you know," Chloe said provocatively.

"Huh?" I asked.

"Bondage," she clarified.

"Oh, no, I'm just practicing sailing knots," I explained.

"Good, 'cause you can't use those knots," she told me. "Has he disappointed you yet? In bed?"

"Why would you even ask me that?" I replied. "I promise, your brother is satisfying me quite nicely."

"For now," Chloe said with a shrug. "All of his girlfriends always get bored. You will too. Unless you're as mind-numbingly vanilla as he is."

It was a trap: either I admit to being boring, provincial in matters of sexuality, or I confess that Paris hasn't been kinky enough for me. I wanted to prove her wrong: show her the naked pictures I posted online, or tell her about choking Kurt, or make her watch the video of me dominating Evan with a strap-on. Instead I just smiled secretively.

After the game the guys started making plans for some big grilling project: kabobs, but with some sort of special marinade. I pulled out my laptop and was checking on a few things when I remembered Cory, the little bitch who was sleeping with my dad.

Cory had uploaded some pictures of her with my dad to her cloud library. It doesn't look like she has shared them with anyone, but they're new, so I guess she hasn't heeded my warning. Time for a little push.

Cory is a regular poster on a message board about knitting. It looks like she's well known there. There's an off-topic section where people can post about anything they want. I made the following post:

Right after I hit send Chloe remarked, "That's the bitchiest smile I've seen in a long time."

"Just sending a message to the trollop my dad is cheating on my mom with," I said. "How long did your dad wait after their separation before he started dating Kimmie?"

"Kimmie?" Chloe said secretively. "She's not important."

I wasn't sure what she was hinting at, but she seemed to know something. "What do you mean? Is there someone else who is more important?"

Chloe just grinned, smug with her secrets.

Wednesday May 25

I hate to admit it, but Chloe got in my head. When everyone was going to bed last night I joined Paris in his bedroom. I wasn't sure he would want to fool around, or even spend a few minutes alone with me.

"Last night I wasn't at my best," Paris told me. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize," I said soothingly. "I enjoyed it. They can't all be life-changing experiences."

"Maybe not. But tonight, I intend to give you the attention you deserve, if you'll let me," he said. My heart thumped extra hard for a few beats.

We got naked right away, but then we just sat on the bed, not even kissing, just touching each other. I spent minutes studying his arms. Paris was enchanted by my neck and shoulders until he moved behind me and stroked my back. It felt like an entirely unknown doorway to intimacy for me. I cooed with satisfaction.

Then the things Chloe had said started to get to me. I wondered, really, how vanilla Paris really was. "Hey baby?" I asked. "I get that you don't like fingers up your butt, but does that go both ways? If you wanted to do me anally, that would be... I'd kinda like it."

"No," Paris said. He didn't sound upset. "Anything anal is just gross. To me."

"That's fine," I said as I lay face down on the bed. "We've still got lots of other options."

Paris sat next to me and reached between my legs. His fingers probed me, drawing out my wetness and spreading it around. He put one finger inside me - I imagine it was a thumb - and the rest gliding on top of and between my lips. His other hand touched my back, mostly between my shoulder blades. It was like I could feel some sort of energy passing through my body between his hands.

He had me bucking my hips against my will while he stroked my pussy. I was moaning rhythmically, an instinctive communication, telling him what he was doing for me, how much I needed him.

"Roll over," Paris told me, removing his hand. I rolled onto my back and spread my legs, feeling strangely vulnerable, but somehow glad that I was. Paris moved over me and then piloted his cock into my pussy. He thrust into me with slow deliberate movements while looking into my eyes and smiling.

"Oh fuck. You're amazing," I whimpered. I touched his arms again, taut from keeping him just above me. Before long my fingers were digging into his muscles as I came. "Yes! God yes. Fuck, Paris, yes!" I muttered.

Paris didn't look like he was planning to stop any time soon. He kept driving into me, occasionally touching my cheek or kissing my neck.

"God, I love this so much, I love your body. I love...." I said, my voice rising in pitch as my excitement mounted.

Abruptly, Paris moved off of me. He barely lost a moment, though, as he dragged me to the side of the bed and shoved pillows under my butt. Before I knew what was happening he was standing next to the bed with my legs wrapped around him, hammering my pussy with his cock and running his fingers over my belly.

Then his fingers were brushed past the hair on my mound and found my clit. My hands searched around for something to grasp while he made me come again: harder and louder this time.

And still he kept going, with his cock and with his hands.

"How are you doing this?" I asked.

"You inspire me," he said. Even though I had just come and my body wasn't reset yet, I could feel some stirring, like my nervous system had tried to come again just then, just because he said that.

The effort of holding back was getting to him. I was sure Paris was about to explode into my cunt. But instead of letting himself come, he pulled out and dropped to his knees beside the bed, burying his face in my snatch. He had me coming again in short order, and yet again a few minutes later.

He would have kept going, but I told him to stop. My throat was dry from all the moaning, and my clit was starting to feel irritated. I was all fucked out. Paris joined me on the bed as I panted and rested.

"You didn't get a chance to finish," I said apologetically.

"That's okay," he said. "I just wanted to make sure you had a good time."

"I did!" I told him. "But, would it be all right if I did you now? Please? I want to fuck you with my mouth."

"I'd like that," he said.

Paris was still completely hard, and his dick twitched a few times while we repositioned ourselves. Pretty soon he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and I was on my knees licking his pole and tugging his balls. It didn't take long before he was groaning, almost in anguish.

"Do you want to come on my face?" I whispered tenderly. Another test, I had to admit, whose seed had been planted by his sister.

Paris shook his head.

"My tits? My hair?" I asked. "You can come on me anywhere you want."

"Just your mouth, please," he answered.

I summoned up my last reserve of saliva and tongued him with with everything I had. He made a pained sound and his dick jumped in my mouth. I met each surge of come with an eager swallow until his body relaxed and his dick stopped jumping.

I convinced Paris to let me try to spend the night with him, but he was right. It was weird and impersonal, somehow, being in bed with someone who has tubes coming out of their face. And the sound of him breathing through the machine kept me up. Eventually I gave up and went back to my bedroom.

I made breakfast this morning: just omelets and toast, but the Bishops seemed to appreciate it.

I asked if there was a store nearby where I could buy some aloe lotion. Despite my precautions I had managed to get some sunburn. Somehow my simple lotion request turned into shopping with Chloe in Road Town.

Chloe didn't to want to buy anything for herself - she sort of seemed above it all. But she kept offering to buy things for me, which I politely refused. I did buy a skirt for myself and a belt for Juliet.

When Liz came up in conversation, Chloe excitedly told me about some of the tricks she had played on her sister-in-law, like secretly feeding her a pot brownie before the dinner where both sets of parents first me.

"Chloe, why do they put up with your shit?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"They have to," she said with a shrug. "Family."

"Huh," I reflected. "My dad cut me off for telling him Mom wasn't a virgin when they got married."

"Oh, Dad could never cut me off," Chloe said smugly.

"Why is that?"

"Oh...," she teased, "I've done as much for this family's well-being as anyone."

"What do you mean?" I asked. She just smiled some more and changed the topic.

We met Paris and Marshall after lunch at one of the most touristy beaches. When I wasn't taking windsurfing lessons or swimming, I mostly just kissed Paris, held his hand, and indulged in other silly public displays of affection. He seemed comfortable with it.

Marshall spent most of his beach time on the phone. Some of it sounded like business, but I know some of it was Kimmie.

If I had tried to predict what Chloe would wear to the beach, I would have said a dental floss G-string and maybe stickers on her nipples, but to my surprise, she went the opposite direction: a vintage high-waisted two piece, like something out of the movie South Pacific.

Once I made that connection, I started singing, "I'm in Love with a Wonderful Guy" and dancing around Paris. All three Bishops looked at me like I was crazy, so tonight after dinner I made them watch the movie. Then I took Paris out to the rocks at the shore and gave him a blowjob that he says might have ruptured some of his internal organs.

Thursday May 26

Today was snorkeling. I liked it. All this sun and salt water is wrecking my skin, but I'll survive.

Paris and Chloe were bickering non-stop on the way back to the island house, and then for several minutes after. I went looking for a quiet place to do some coding and ended up in Marshall's home office. Yeah, the island house has a home office.

I did two hours of work on IP-Morlock, and then took a break to check up on Cory. She had deleted the post I made to her knitting message board, but not before several people had replied.

I wonder if NKSLR is a guy or a girl? ;)

Anyway, Cory has been freaking out about my intrusion in private emails with a few people, so I think she learned her lesson.

Marshall's printer had a couple pages in the tray. Without thinking about it I skimmed them. They were complicated legalese that I didn't bother to figure out, but the letterhead said Simmons-Swift. That's the company that the blond woman from the secret boat rendezvous works for. I took photos of the pages and sent them off to Oliver. I also mentioned Chloe's weird comment about having done things for her family's wealth.

Friday May 27

Marshall was unusually stressed as we made our way to the airport, and everybody knew that seating Paris and Chloe together on a plane would be a horrible idea, so I volunteered to sit with her while Paris and Marshall relaxed several rows behind.

Once we had taken off and Chloe had her sparkling wine in hand, she launched into a personal question: "So what's the kinkiest thing you and my brother have done?"

"Honestly, Chloe!" I replied. "What is your obsession with your brother's sex life all about?"

"I'm not obsessed with his sex life - I already know it's boring. I want to know about yours," she explained. "So far I'm disappointed, though. I'm beginning to think that you're the perfect prudish match for him."

"Look, Paris and I are still figuring out the boundaries of what we both like," I explained.

"Oh, I'm sure you are," she said, faking a yawn. "Ooh, girl on top! With the lights on! How naughty!" she said, wiggling her body to help sell her sarcasm.

"I'm not going to talk about my sex life with Paris," I told her flatly.

"Okay, fine," she said. "I'm sure the rest of your experiences have been just as bland - assuming you even had any."

"I've done plenty, thanks," I countered.

"Like what?" Chloe challenged.

"Well, there was a threesome," I offered.

"Yawn," she said.

"I fucked a friend of my dad's," I continued. "He was my lawyer."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "What did you need a lawyer for?" She asked.

"Long story," I told her. Despite the fact that she had goaded me into the conversation, I was was enjoying boasting about my escapades.

"I choked a guy while he was doing me once," I said, hoping to impress my sort-of-friend.

She laughed and shook her head. "No," she said. "Not you. Pictures or it didn't happen."

"It was a spur of the moment thing," I said, somewhat exasperated. "I didn't have cameras rolling."

"Uh-huh," Chloe doubted.

"Well, I can show you this...," I told her as I streamed the video to my phone of me humiliating Evan with a large strap-on dildo. The volume was off and my face was blurred, but Juliet had done a great job editing the video, so Evan's humiliation was obvious as I pounded his ass from on top of him, face to face, making him come against his will.

"Now I'm ridiculing him for not being man enough to get it up again," I explained when we got to the mostly-talking part of the recording.

"That's you?" Chloe asked, clearly impressed. I nodded.

"Do you still have that strap-on?" She asked, losing her cool. "Maybe you and I..."

"Chloe...," I interrupted.

"Yeah, I know - you're dating my brother," she said dejectedly.

"Would you even be interested if I weren't?" I asked. "Or is this about wanting to play with his toys?" She shrugged.

We were both quiet for a minute, and I was feeling bad about hurting her feelings, so I asked, "What about you? What kinds of sick stuff are you into?"

Instantly, Chloe's good spirits returned. "Well," she said, "choking a guy is a start, I suppose, but you haven't lived until you've done breath-play with the proper equipment. I'll show you the pictures some time." I had to admit I was intrigued.

"And I've fucked lots of my dad's associates," she went on. "But I don't think anything beats getting fisted by a certain folk-rock icon in the elevator of the Ritz Carlton."

"No way!" I said. She nodded.

"Who was it?" I asked excitedly.

"Maybe I'll tell you, some day," she said with a sly smile.

I was captivated. One image after another flashed through my head, trying to figure out who she meant. "Pictures or it didn't happen!" I proclaimed. She just shook her head and smiled.

"Okay, so, what's something you haven't done but want to?" Chloe asked after another pause. I started to object, but then she said, "Not about my brother, just in general."

"Well, I'd like to try double penetration some time," I explained. "But I can't really imagine finding two guys who'd be into it that I'd actually want to do it with."

"You should do it - it's fun," Chloe said. "Add one in the mouth, too, for the gold medal. Hey, can I be there when you suggest it to Paris?" I rolled my eyes at her.

Wednesday June 1

Back home, and back in the work routine. Paris just started a new internship, and he's working insane hours trying to make a good impression, so we haven't been able to spend any time together lately. We usually get in a handful of texts over the course of the day.

Oliver came by my work and we talked during my break. He paid me a nice sum of money for my spy work so far.

"So Chloe claims to have saved the family's wealth, and she says she's slept with several of Marshall's colleagues?" Oliver recapped. "Are we thinking sexual favors to get the board to approve the sale?"

"That's what it sounds like to me, but it's hard to know with that girl," I said. "It could be a coincidence, or a bunch of lies."

"Well," he pondered, "if that were true it would it would be a slam-dunk finisher for the case. But we can't ask about that in a deposition unless we're sure. Do you think you can get a direct confession out of her? Names included?"

"Probably not," I frowned. "Even if I could, how would that help you? Wouldn't she just deny it?"

"Your statement would count for something, even Chloe later denied it," he explained. "We could officially depose you. That might give us enough leverage to turn one of the conspirators against the others."

"I'll try to think of a way," I said bleakly, "but I doubt I can get her to crack, short of seducing her for the information."

I had thought it would be understood that that wasn't an option, but Oliver gave me a look. "It is really important," he said. "And it would be worth a lot. I can promise you $5000 if you can get her to confess it, with names. Maybe more."

"I don't think I could do that to Paris," I said.

"I understand. Contact me if you find anything new out."

Thursday June 2

Cory has deleted those pictures of her and my dad. Based on emails with her friend, she has decided to stop seeing him. Good choice, vapid little cunt.

Sunday June 5

Today was the first time I've been able to see Paris, even if only for a little while. He picked me up after dinner and we went back to his place.

Paris was quiet and brooding during the drive. "Work stressing you out?" I asked sympathetically.

"Yes," he answered. "That and Chloe's lies."

"What did she lie about?" I asked.

"She said she watched a video of you doing some guy up the ass with a dildo," he explained.

"Well, that wasn't actually a lie," I said.

"So you're showing my sister your secret sex tapes and not me?" He grumbled.

"I can show you, if you want," I offered.

"I don't want to see it!" He snapped. "I'm not into that sick shit like... Chloe is." It didn't take a genius to figure out what name he was about to say.

We managed to change the subject and he told me about his job. He's pretty excited about it, even though it's clearly taking a toll on him.

"You know what would be a great stress relief?" I asked once we were alone in his bedroom. "A nice warm shower blowjob."

"Thanks, but I just want to lie here for a little while," he said, collapsing onto his bed.

And so we talked, and I massaged some of the knots from his muscles, although I couldn't do much since he was face up. He really was hopeful about his new job, and his mood seemed to improve the more he talked about it.

I really wasn't trying to touch him erotically, but when his dick got stiff I wasn't going to just ignore it, so I unzipped his pants and pulled down the waistband of his underwear and started stroking him. I didn't want to suck him right away because I was engaged in the conversation - I was asking him questions while he talked about his career trajectory and what it takes to climb the ladder.

I was caught totally off-guard when he came, right in the middle of talking about the view from his boss' corner office. Semen went flying everywhere: on my shirt, in my hair, on his pants, and all over the bed.

"I'm sorry, Lexi," he said, his fatigue clearly returning. "Let me catch my breath and then I'll take care of you."

He was asleep by the time I had wiped up all the come with tissues, so I tucked him back in his pants, pulled a blanked over him, turned out the lights, and left.

Kimmie gave me a ride home. "Are you the only woman Marshall has dated since his separation?" I asked once we were in the car.

Kimmie chuckled. "Yes," she said.

"And it's serious?" I continued. "Are you guys going to get married right away once the divorce goes through?"

She gave me a suspicious look, so I made up an excuse for my interest. "My parents just separated, and my dad is seeing some girl. She's younger. I'm just trying to figure out what to expect."

Kimmie seemed content with that. "Well, we haven't officially talked about it," she explained. "Marshall is very methodical. He feels we need to wait for the divorce to be finish before we can plan the next step. But yes, I'm sure we'll be getting married soon after."

I thought about telling Kimmie that there might be another woman - the woman from the boat - but I didn't know whether that would jeopardize Ashley's case.

Monday June 6

Paris didn't answer my texts today. He's probably just busy,

Tuesday June 7

Today was my day off. I tried to hook up with Paris but his schedule wouldn't allow it. We did text some, but it didn't feel natural. Just more talk about his job that he was dumbing down for me.

At least I had a good stretch of programming time. I finished the module I was working on and submitted it for a code review.

Wednesday June 8

Oliver emailed me today.

$12,000 would be enough for me to buy a car. With all the time that saved me, I could really work up my programming resume. I could get a programming job and go to school part time pretty quickly after that, I bet.

I still have no idea how I could get that information from Chloe. Oliver really tied my hands with his stupid no-hacking rule. Unless I really am willing to bribe her with sex. LOL. But I couldn't do that to Paris, right?

I mean, honestly it sort of feels like our relationship is winding down. In the beginning it seemed like everything we discovered about each other was something we had in common, or else something exciting and new to us. Now I get the feeling that we've reached the end of that. It's like we burned through all the good stuff there would ever be early on, and we don't really like what's left to learn about each other.

Paris would break up with me if I fucked his sister.

Maybe a few glasses of wine will help me figure this all out.

Thursday June 9

I texted Paris some more today. He was slow to respond, and when he did respond at all it was mindless auto-pilot messages. Eventually I got frustrated and wrote this:

No calls or texts before I went to work this evening. I kept checking my phone all through work, but no messages then, either. I hoped that maybe he would show up at close and take me somewhere to talk, but I ended up taking the bus home again as usual.

Maybe he's just busy and tired. Or maybe he's losing interest in the relationship.

Friday June 10

Chloe came to my work tonight. She and the guy she was with asked to sit at my table.

"Hey Chloe! Great to see you!" I said when I reached their table.

"We thought it would be fun to see where you work," Chloe said. "This is my friend Manny."

Manny was a slight guy with a duck tail haircut and mirrored sunglasses hanging from the collar of his button-up shirt.

Chloe was wearing overalls with no shirt or bra. Going out in public like that would be unthinkable to me, but she was pulling it off. Her hair was still shaved on the side, but today she had green tips instead of blue highlights. As usual, she had jewelry in her eyebrow and nose, in addition to her ears.

"You'll have to tell me what Chloe is really like," I said to Manny. "I only see her when she's pestering her family."

"Oh, you know what she is? She's amazing!" Manny responded. "She is so creative, and she is always up for mischief!"

I kept talking to the two throughout their meal, whenever I got the chance. I was getting a definite "do not want" vibe from Manny, like when I touched his shoulder or when I found an excuse to lean forward to show off my cleavage. Chloe just kept smirking like she was above it all.

I couldn't stop thinking about Oliver's offer, so I suggested that if she wasn't doing anything, we should get together when I'm done with work and have a drink. A brief moment of excitement showed through her normally cool demeanor.

Chloe picked me after work in a limo. Manny wasn't there.

"I figure we can just go back to my place and chill," Chloe told me as she poured two glasses of scotch.

"That might be a little awkward," I said. "Me hanging out with you and not Paris at your dad's place."

"Not my dad's place," she corrected me. "My other place." I was surprised, so she added, "I normally stay at my dad's place, but I keep a condo for entertaining." She touched her bare foot to my ankle for emphasis. I wondered how much she had been drinking already tonight.

"See, that's what I wanted to ask you about!" I said, seizing the opportunity. "You keep dropping all these hints and it's killing me not knowing. Are you like a call girl or something?"

"Hmph - call girl," she said with disdain. "But I bet I'd be an awesome geisha! Can't you just imagine me in a kimono with all the face paint?"

"I don't think that look would work with your hair," I told her. She tossed her hair with her fingers, as if to remind herself how she was wearing it.

We arrived at Chloe's condo and went in. It was very nicely decorated - surprisingly normal for her. The livingroom showcased several framed erotic European movie posters, though. I took off my shoes at the door when she did.

"Guess again," she challenged me once I had taken in the room.

I tried to give her a penetrating stare. "You said that you've slept with dad's colleagues," I said. "You said that you played a part in your family's wealth. I'm guessing that you bribed them with sex to grease the wheels for some big business deal. And I'm guessing that your dad knows."

Chloe looked at me silently for a moment. Then she dropped one of the straps of her overalls off her shoulder and stepped close. The top of her areola was just barely visible above the loose flap of fabric. "What is it you're looking for?" She asked suspiciously.

I laid it all out, resolved not to be distracted by her come-on: "I want to know who you slept with, when, and why. I want to know what it has to do with the sale of your parents' company."

"And what do I get in exchange for all of this information?" She asked, touching my arm. I was surprised she didn't ask why I wanted to know.

"You get my stories in exchange, quid pro quo," I told her. "I've got some good ones. That lawyer I had sex with? It was because he was blackmailing me. Ever suck a dick knowing that the guy could send you to jail if you didn't do a good job? And that's just the tip of the iceberg."

"Intriguing," she said, "but that's not what I want." She stepped in closer so that our chests were touching. She put her hands on my shoulders."

"What do you want?" I asked, still business-like.

She whispered in my ear: "I want to tie you up on my bed and do things to your body that there aren't even names for."

"No."

"No?" Chloe responded, surprised. She stepped back to look at my face. At this point her left breast was completely free from her overalls.

"Chloe, I sorta like you, but I don't trust you. There's no way I would ever surrender my freedom to you," I explained. "Anyway, we're not having sex. I care too much about your brother." She might have picked up on my wavering conviction when I said that.

Chloe paced for a few seconds. "Okay, what about this?" She proposed. "I want to watch you playing with one of my toys. But it has to be real - no faking. You have to be into it and you have to come!"

"I masturbate for you and you tell me everything I want to know? That's it?" I asked as if making a deal with the devil.

"Yes."

"Deal," I said.

"So where's this toy of yours?" I asked as we undressed in her bedroom. I sat on the bed and rubbed myself to try to get in the mood.

Chloe went into her closet and wheeled out a cart with a machine on top. A four-foot metal pole extended from the side of the machine that ended in a very large dildo - realistically penis shaped with balls at the base.

"I call him Virgil," Chloe said proudly.

"Whoa," I said, intimidated by the thought of fitting that thing inside me. I was mildly aroused by that point - lubed enough for a couple fingers or a modestly-sized dick, but not for that. Chloe was standing next to it, naked, looking at me with hopeful joy.

"Not that you're not beautiful," I told her, "but I'm going to need more mental stimulation if I'm going to get wet enough to handle that thing. Got any videos of hot guys?"

Chloe turned on the TV and navigated a couple menus with the remote. The TV then showed a naked erect middle-aged man, pretty appealing, approaching the bed where a younger Chloe - maybe even fifteen - was tied up on this very bed."

"This is me and Nathan Murdock," she explained. "He was some kind of officer at BSI. I didn't get videos of the first two."

In the video, Nathan was kneeling between Chloe's legs, poking his circumcised cock around her pussy but not entering it. Chloe squealed casually at his touches.

I lay back on some pillows and spread my legs, still stroking my pussy. The video was working - I could feel my body readying itself for my silicon visitor. At the same time, Chloe maneuvered the machine so that the big dildo was just barely touching my pussy.

"Take your time," she said. "Once it's comfortably inside I'll turn the machine on."

I took my time rubbing my pussy against the faux-cock, getting it wet, getting my body ready, and playing with the angle. In a way, my actions were a mirror of what was going on in the video. There, Mr. Murdock just kept poking and sliding his iron-hard dick around among Chloe's labia but never entering her. Chloe kept chirping her appreciation.

I moved on to the next phase before the lovers in the video did. I was ready so I inched my body down, forcing the dildo into my pussy, wiggling my hips to move myself along its length.

"Oof," I said, pausing after taking the first part in. I couldn't remember if this was the biggest thing that had ever been in my pussy, but it was certainly a contender. It was good, though, and I had to admit to myself that I was looking forward to Chloe turning the machine on and seeing what it could do. Not yet though.

"How deep should I go?" I asked Chloe. I was a little worried about going too deep and getting punched in the cervix when the machine powered on.

"Go as deep as you want," Chloe explained. "This is as far forward as it can come. It will start by pulling out."

I worked the dildo deeper into my pussy, enjoying a degree of fullness I don't normally get with organic lovers. Without really thinking about it, I stopped my descent and starting grinding, fucking it like it were an ordinary static sex toy.

On the video, Mr. Murdock still hadn't penetrated the tied-up girl he was teasing. He did have her moaning and laughing, though. "Are you going to fuck me or what?" The Chloe from the video asked.

"Maybe," Mr. Murdock said in the video, feigning disinterest.

That's when the real Chloe turned the machine on. "Ahh!" I moaned as the sex machine slowly pulled three-fourths of the way out and then filled me back up again.

"Ohh!" I breathed as device piston-fucked me steadily faster while Chloe worked the speed knob.

"Say when," Chloe said, watching me intensely. Before today, the happiest I had ever seen Chloe was when she was tormenting her brother. This was a different type of happy - something more pure.

I bit my lip, closed my eyes, and nodded once the thing was giving me a nice powerful pounding. It felt good - really good. A part of me wondered how much one of these machines costs, and whether I'd be able to sufficiently hide one in my new apartment. Something was missing though: a person, I decided. Getting your pussy pounded just isn't the same without the weight of a guy on top of you, or behind you holding you. I thought about asking Chloe to come lie on top of me, but I decided against it. We weren't having sex, I reminded myself; I was just putting on a show for her.

"Come on, mother fucker, fuck me!" The Chloe from the video demanded. "Don't make me make you!" She said, ridiculously, with her arms and legs still tied to the bed posts.

I rubbed my clit. "Did you ever do him again after this?" I asked Chloe. "He seems like a keeper." My breathing was becoming heavy.

"Once or twice," Chloe said with her secretive smirk.

Video-Chloe started thrashing and shrieking in orgasm. Mr. Murdock still hadn't done anything but poke her outer sex with with his tool. Now that she was bucking like a rodeo bull he couldn't aim nearly as well. With one hand on her pubic mound he aggressively held her down while the other kept guiding his dick like a paintbrush over her pussy. She just kept coming.

"Oh fuck, I'm going to come soon," I announced. "A little faster," I added breathlessly.

Bright-eyed Chloe turned the knob on sex machine and it whirred higher as the pounding in my pussy sped up. I was barely adapting to the change in sensation as the recording of Chloe fell silent and still, with a big satisfied smile on her face. At that moment, Mr. Murdock climbed on top of her and shoved his cock in her pussy. He fucked her hard enough that the bed frame creaked from the stress of her bounds and she started screaming in orgasm all over again.

That was it for me - I knew that my climax was inevitable. Some instinct guided me to clutch my knees to chest, and suddenly the tireless motorized cock was touching me in some place magical. I started to come - almost painfully wonderfully - and I think, for the first time in my life, I might have squirted a little tiny bit. I came for countless seconds, curled up in a tight little ball, with the silicon and metal rod still stroking in and out of me, oblivious to what it had just done to me.

I waved my hand at Chloe and she turned off the machine. I climbed to the center of the bed and lay on my side with my arms and legs wrapped tightly around pillows.

Chloe lay on the bed in front of me. She didn't crowd me or touch me; she just begged. "Please let me fuck you, Lexi. Please."

Worn-out and sleepy, I told her, "I couldn't right now if I wanted to. Anyway, you've got a story to tell me."

Chloe pulled a blanket over both of us and turned off most of the lights, creating the impression of an innocent slumber party. "Well, okay," she began. "My parents have always had business people over to the house. When I was little I liked hanging around with all the adults - mostly men - 'cause they were always telling me how cute I was. And then when I hit puberty, and especially when I started understanding men - well they didn't tell me I was cute any more, but I liked the looks they gave me that they thought I didn't understand. You know?"

"I know," I smiled.

"Once Mom and Dad started fighting all the time, it was just Dad entertaining the clients or coworkers or whoever the fuck they were. I didn't follow the business talk - I just fetched drinks for them, or pads of paper, or whatever they needed.

Then one time, when Mom wasn't around much any more, Dad actually asked me to stay and help. He said that for the next few weeks, there would be a lot of negotiations that would have a big impact on his company's future. And, I don't remember what he said exactly - he didn't come right out and say it, but he sort of encouraged me to dress sexy."

"How old were you at this point?" I asked.

"Sixteen, I think. Maybe seventeen," Chloe replied. "And it's not like he thought I wouldn't understand. I'd been having sex since I was twelve. My parents had caught me with boys lots of times. Sometimes I used to let them catch me, just to mess with them, or when I didn't want to see that boy any more."

"Then one day, Dad said that Mr. Reyes would be coming over that afternoon, but Dad would be late. He asked if I could entertain him when he arrived. And he told me again that this deal they were working on was super important - the family stood to gain or lose a ton of money, so I should do anything I could to make Mr. Reyes happy.

"When Mr. Reyes showed up, well, he acted like he was seducing me, but he clearly had a strong expectation of getting lucky - you know, like it had already been arranged. And I liked the taboo of fucking an old guy - one of my dad's friends - so I played hard to get to let him feel like he was earning it. And then I fucked the shit out of him. I mean, I rimmed him while squeezing his cock so hard the whole thing was purple. I... well, you get the idea.

"Dad never said anything about it, but when the weekend came we went shopping for my Mercedes."

"Then, next week, Dad asked me to take care of Mr. Gilles. He wanted to fuck me in the livingroom easy chair while I called him Daddy," Chloe went on. With a contemplative look, she added, "I think the spanking came later."

"Soon after that, Dad gave me this place," Chloe said, pulling an arm out from under the blanket to gesture around. "He said it was so that I would have a place to rest and study after school, instead of driving all the way home in traffic. I had been kicked out of all the schools close to home." She smirked. "I would still sleep at home, he said."

"For the next two weeks, I was 'entertaining' one of Dad's associates here, like, every other day," Chloe explained. With a touch of vulnerability, she added, "It didn't really seem at the time like I was committed - like I couldn't back out."

She went on in her normal mood: "But, you know, Dad was acting proud of me even though he never said anything. And I was getting lots of good sex from guys who had no shame asking for kinky shit, which was a big turn-on. And I was a teenager with her own condo. You'd better believe that when I wasn't fucking Dad's friends, I was here doing lines and screwing all the bad boys and bad girls from rehab.

"So, that's it," she finished. "What else do you want to know?"

"Can you give me all the names?" I asked.

"Oh, um. Reyes. Peterson. Murdock. Tennyson. Gilles. Oh, and Maria Wozniak. She was cool. With her it was like hanging out with a girlfriend instead of a tryst with someone from a different generation - even if she did keep saying, 'Oh to be young again'."

"What happened with the business deal?" I asked.

"Mmm," Chloe began, "Dad said they were selling the company and he was super happy for a half a day. After that, Mom and Dad never stopped screaming at each other until she officially moved out two weeks later. There was a party with a bunch of business people I didn't know. There was a woman there named Kimberley that my dad kept giving secret looks to - not Kimmie but someone older. I figured she was why my parents split up."

"Do you know anything more about the deal?" I asked. She shook her head.

"And you never told your mom about any of this?" I asked.

"I've never told anyone but you," Chloe said, and after a momentary pause, she kissed me. I kissed her back and ran my fingers through her hair, briefly, before pulling away. She didn't fight me.

"There's something else," Chloe told me. "One time my dad told me not to go to the condo. Some stupid excuse. But I forgot and came here anyway. Paris' truck was in the parking spot."

"You think Paris slept with one of the business people?" I asked, trying really hard not to let my mind run away with the thought.

Chloe shrugged. "The next weekend they sold his truck and bought the Porsche."

I took the pillow out from between my knees and lay on my back, not sure what to do next. Should I try to convince her to give a statement to the lawyers? Call Paris? Go home?

"Have you ever been with a girl before?" Chloe asked, staring at my face.

"Yeah," I said. "My friend Hailey. She was smitten with me and I needed access to her sorority house, so I sort of seduced her. It was a real moment between us, but when she found out that I had used her she hated me for it. Still does."

"Idiot," Chloe opined.

"Yeah, I know," I said with a sigh. "It's probably my biggest shame in life."

"Not you - her!" Chloe clarified with a touch of anger. "She got to be with the woman she loved. Who cares about why?"

I was trying to think about how to answer when Chloe added, "I would give anything for you to make love to me."

Moment of truth time. Should I make the offer? Should I whore myself out to complete my task, for which I will ultimately get paid? I don't suppose that's any different than what Chloe did to get her condo. Paris would probably never talk to me again, but I'm not sure there's much of a relationship left anyway. Would the Bishop family be better off once all their secrets were out in the open? I like Marshall, but it sounds like he's got a lot to answer for.

"There is something I want," I said leadingly. Chloe snapped to attention. "Would you be willing to give an official statement to your mom's lawyers? Everything you told me tonight?"

"If I do, we can fuck? Now?" Chloe asked.

"Yes."

"And - you'll really be there for it? Not just letting me use your body, but really participating?"

I turned to my side and kissed her lips sweetly. "Yes," I said. "But - you really have to follow through. You can't flake out on this. Deal?"

"Deal!" She said.

So a moment later we were kissing, pawing at each other's faces and chests, our legs a moving tangle as we tried to grind them against each other's groins.

"Maybe I'll teach you how to fist me," Chloe whispered in my ear. "I want so badly to corrupt you." We just kept making out.

We had to stop because we got too tangled up in the blanket. Once we were free of it, I was on my back and Chloe was kneeling on one knee next to my chest. Dipping and grinding, she kissed my nipple with her pussy, smearing her juices all over my breast. It was pleasantly warm and wet, like a mouth, but more slippery. My stiff nipple and her stiff clit danced together while I looked up at her. I giggled. She moaned. She was so ready.

I inched down beneath her until my face was aligned with her pussy, and I started licking. Her razor stubble scratched at my nose and my glasses steamed up from the heat and sweat.

"Lexi," she moaned and pushed her cunt harder against my face. I set my glasses on the nightstand, and then grabbed her butt cheeks with both hands. Chloe's own hands were clenched hard on her breasts while I stroked my tongue across her clit. She gasped every time I changed my pattern.

One hand left her breast and went to her mouth: she was biting or sucking the tips of all her fingers. Her whole body was shaking. I worked a finger into her wet hole to get it slippery, and then surprised her by wiggling it up her butt.

"Christ, Lexi, I want to have your babies!" She told me, humping my face hard.

I made some "Mmm" noises and stroked my finger in her butt while I gave her clit the final act. Her body lurched forward as she came. I thought she would fall off of the bed, but she braced herself against the headboard. I kept licking while her butthole slammed tight around my finger. The sounds she made were not so much like moans as soft screams. I just kept licking while her body quaked with orgasm for thirty seconds.

Chloe's body started relaxing, her orgasm ending. Her butthole loosened its grip on my finger so I started stroking it some more, and instantly Chloe was shrieking and coming again. Despite the renewed resistance, I kept aggressively fingering her ass. I was still licking her too, but that was just a steady medium clit-flicking. This time she came for probably two minutes before she got off of me and flopped on the bed.

"Do you have anything to drink?" I asked shortly after as I emerged from the bathroom after washing my hands.

We went to the kitchen and Chloe opened a bottle of wine. We each had a glass and then Chloe licked more off my chest, not caring a bit about the stains we were making in the couch.

"You know how you said you'd like to try double-penetration?" Chloe asked. I nodded and then Chloe led me by the hand back to the bed, in front of her sex machine Virgil.

Chloe harnessed a strap-on and then threw a leg over Virgil's metal arm to make sure she could stand above it comfortably.

Anticipating her plan, I turned face-down on the edge of the bed, but she corrected me: "No, face up. I want to look in your eyes."

"Chloe, there's no way that thing is fitting in my ass," I said pointing at the very thick dildo on the end of the piston arm.

"I know," Chloe said, and then reached into the drawers on Virgil's cart. She replaced the big dildo with a longer, skinnier one - this one covered with bumps. She made an adjustment of some sort on the machine itself, too.

I wasn't in a position of leverage so it fell to Chloe to lube the thing up and coax it into my ass while I held my legs up and out of the way. I groaned as the first inch slid in. She pushed it in a little bit more, and then still more, and then locked the cart's wheels and turned on the machine.

I'm still not used to anal; maybe I never will be. I grunted each of the first twenty times the machine pushed itself inside of me, filling me up with that delightful foreign taboo pressure while Chloe slowly increased the speed.

It felt wonderful - that studded stiff rod pumping my ass - but I was having second thoughts about double. It just didn't seem like there was any room for anything else inside me, and the dildo on Chloe's harness wasn't exactly small.

She swung a leg over the piston and moved into position to penetrate me. Chloe laughed. "You look scared!"

She paused at first, with her phallus resting right at my vacant opening, looking at me with her mouth open. "I'm liking these knobby bits," she said with a moan. The bumps on the machine-dick were rubbing against her cunt as it stroked in and out of my ass.

"Fuck me, Penelope," I said needfully. The affirmation of using her real name lit up her face. She pushed her cock into my pussy and started thrusting. I bit my lip and moaned.

There was just so much to feel as the two cocks plunged me in tandem. I made sounds I've never made before as I tried to understand all the mixed-up feelings in my lower body. Chloe moaned, as well, from the bumpy sawing action on her clit.

I was having trouble holding my legs up. There wasn't really anywhere to put them. Chloe noticed and took my ankles in her hands, spreading me open wide. That changed the angle of my hips, and now both cocks were punching my insides even harder. "Oh fuck!" I gasped.

Chloe's moans were becoming urgent. "I wish I could come inside you," Chloe said, closing her eyes and working her hips to fuck me deeply. "I wish I could shoot a hot gooey piece of my essence deep into your core."

"Oh fuck!" Chloe announced a moment later, declaring her impending climax.

"Don't come yet!" I demanded. "Hold it - let's come together!"

Chloe squeezed my ankles tightly trying to hold off her orgasm. I squeezed and tilted and gyrated every way I could to try to get myself to the finish line. Chloe went first, shrieking and spasming while her body did its thing. Her humping became erratic while she came, and maybe that's what did it for me, because soon my whole body felt electric spasming bliss. Too much! my body complained as my contractions struggled with my over-capacity fuck-holes.

Mine was a good one, but I finished coming way before Chloe did. Both cocks kept pounding my holes while Chloe rode out her orgasm for another minute or two. Tired and relieved, she flopped forward onto me, multiplying the pressure of the two cocks inside of me.

I kissed her on the forehead and wrapped my arms around her, waiting for her to recover, but she didn't move. Over the next half-minute, the once pleasurable pounding in my ass became increasingly uncomfortable. "Chloe," I told her, "it's starting to hurt."

Her driver dropped me off at home. I wrote a synopsis of what I had learned in an email to Oliver, encouraging him to depose Chloe ASAP before she changes her mind, and then I wrote this. It's 6:00 AM. I'm exhausted, frazzled, and my ass and pussy ache - in a nice way, but it's keeping me from walking normally. I'm supposed to work this evening. Maybe I'll get someone to fill in for me.

Monday June 13

Waiting tables Saturday night seemed to go on forever. Nobody said anything, so I guess they didn't notice that I was sore. A part of me wished that they had - that someone would ask what I had done to wreck my body the night before. But, really, what could I tell them?

I went with Chloe to the lawyers' office today. I filled out tax forms - necessary for my upcoming payment - while the lawyers interviewed Chloe in the conference room. I think it helped that I was nearby.

I finally had a phone call with Paris. If Chloe had told him about what we had done, he didn't say anything. We agreed that the relationship wasn't working out. It was a bitter-sweet parting, but it was right.

Friday June 17

Oliver came to work tonight and waited until I could go on break. Talking out back, he explained where the investigation had ended up.

"Marshall and Kimberley plotted to sell BSI to Simmons-Swift for half of its value," he explained. "Kimberley earned a huge bonus for the deal, and there was an unofficial promise of a new high-paying job for Marshall in the future. Marshall and Kimberley were already making plans to get married."

"The deal cheated Ashley and the other stake-holders out of a lot of capital. Sex with an uninhibited teen-aged girl, as well as some of Marshall's other wheeling and dealing, was enough to make it happen despite their the losses."

"Did Paris...?" I began to ask.

"Yes, but I can't tell you any more about that," Oliver told me.

"Ashley will definitely be compensated in the divorce," he went on. "There may be some criminal charges, but realistically, nobody will do any jail time."

"So I guess all that's left is this," Oliver said, handing me a check for $12,000. I just stared at it.

"One more thing," Oliver went on. "This is from me, not the firm," he explained. He handed me the package he had been holding the whole time we had talked. Inside was a lovely beige trench coat. "Congratulations, kid, you're one of us now. Welcome to the P.I. biz."