Eyes On The Back Of My Head: P1

I don't know how it began. No, that's not honest. I know how it began; I was lonely. Yes, I was lonely and irrationally needy. I might say I was vulnerable if I wanted to court your sympathy, but then I would be trying to diminish my part in this vile liaison. This wonderous happenstance. It began with a break in. There might not have been an actual attempt to burgle my home, but I was convinced there had been.

The police were ever so polite. They almost convinced me they didn't think me a daft old biddy. Fortunately, I live in a luxury townhouse that speaks of wealth, and wealth means power and connections. Which means deference, even if unmerited. They really did try to disguise their contempt. Some of them deigned to notice my body. At 54, my large breasts still managed to defy gravity. I think my arse is too big but I have been informed that a large posterior is now considered de rigour. My legs are long. Legs this length have always been in fashion. My thighs may be a little thicker than I'd like, my cellulite a tad too prominent and my calves lacking in definition, but I have never felt anything less than absolutely sexy when my alabaster legs are on show.

Being five foot eleven means I am hard to miss. I attract notice. Some of that notice is caused by dismay at a woman being so tall. Some fetishise my height. Only a few see my assembled assets, the totality of my features, my sheer scale, as attractive. Even fewer are the men, or women, confident enough to approach me. At my age however, even the creepy staring is better than not being noticed.

Six uniformed policemen arrived. They varied in age from mid-twenties to late-forties. Three of them never stopped stealing glances at my bare legs. Didn't avert their eyes from my breasts. Ogled my bottom when they thought me unaware. It was incredibly unprofessional. In their defence however, I was wearing grey silk shorts that hugged my curves and a matching silk halter-top. I wish I could say it had been my intention to excite their uncouth examinations. I had heard a noise and reacted as I thought most appropriately. I had been too scared to think over long on my appearance. Yes, I could have put a robe on, but fear doesn't usually lead to rational decisions.

Once they left, I collapsed onto my bed and masturbated furiously for twenty or so minutes. Yes, I was that starved of attention. Sated, I slept, glad the maids were in tomorrow to change my ruined sheets. Next day I rang James, my ex-husband. I told him about hearing something and being scared. James was the consummate rationalist. It made him an insufferable husband, but a wonderful friend and confidante. He had made his fortune, while I had inherited mine. He was only 5 foot six, yet I always felt as if he towered over me. I fell for that confidence but was driven away by that rationality. He was a problem solver par excellence. He already knew who to contact and told me to leave it with him. Yet he neglected to ask how I was feeling. I sighed in frustration but then, that wasn't the problem I had asked him to solve. I knew I was feeling unsettled by more than the suspected house invasion. I resolved to get the number of a good therapist from James once the security issue had been seen to.

Next morning my doorbell rang. Bleary eyed I rose from what I assumed was my second night of disturbed sleep. I glanced at the clock, but I wasn't wearing my glasses. It felt very late, but some sunlight was peeking through the blinds, so I had to accept it was in fact very early. I paused to regret my lack of a live-in housekeeper. When did being unreasonably wealthy become embarrassing? I had to make do with two maids who came to the house between 9am and 5pm. Apparently this was less gauche than servants who were at my beck and call. This was the price I paid for clinging to the society of a city. If I could endure the cultural wasteland of the countryside, no one would question my use of staff.

The bell rang again. I grumbled audibly. I reached for my phone and stomped down the stairs to confront this pest. I opened the door and immediately a man walked by me. He was wearing black trousers, a crisp white shirt, a high-viz vest and a hard hat. He was short, white, clean shaven and was looking at the clipboard in his hands rather than me. I thought he might be a weirdly dressed Morman and was about to tell him off for presuming to enter my house uninvited. I was wearing my customary night wear, grey silk shorts and halter top.

"So, you're Mrs Perterson?" He looked at me, a pen hovering over his clipboard.

I was too shocked to stop my automatic response. "No. I am Ms Jenkins. And who the hell are you?"

He grinned, his eyes wandering over my body without any attempt at subtlety. "I was told a Mrs Peterson lived here. Had an incident with a break in?"

I found his blatant ogling repulsive and hoped he wouldn't smell my growing arousal. "Peterson is my ex-husband's name. Now kindly tell me who you are?"

He finally tore his eyes from my chest, and licking his lips, made a note on his clipboard. "I was told Mrs Petetrson. I will have the office change the paperwork then. Very inconvenient though. I don't know why you feel you must change your name if you still run to him when you need help." He tutted at me and again stared at my chest.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I was right at the edge of exploding. But the use of swearwords by someone of my station usually brought these lower-class types to heel.

"My boss, plays golf with your husband..."

"My ex-husband."

"If you insist, your ex-husband. And I was told you need your security system upgraded. Your husband was very..."

"My ex-husband."

"Of course. Your ex-husband was very insistent you never have need to call him again. Your husband said money was no object."

"My ex-husband."

"Did I not say that?"

His eyes never left my chest. I knew my knickers were already soaked. Where did this reaction to disrespect come from? Yet I still managed to feel an appropriate level of rage. His attitude was contemptible and I would see him fired for it, but his eyes, those nasty invasive eyes made my cunt weep. My pubic hair was probably matted in juices. "If you call him my husband once more or misname me again, I will have you fired. Do you understand?"

He deigned to meet me eye to eye. "Listen lady, I'm just doing my job. My boss is doing your husband a favour."

I saw stars. I pushed the edge of my phone against is throat, pressing him against my hall wall. "What did I just say, you dumb fucking cunt?"

Surprise quickly became a grin. Then he spoke, entirely unconcerned by my attempt at physical intimidation. "Impressive, Ms Jenkins." I backed away from him, confused. He ticked a box. "Your ex also wanted this to double as a welfare check. Wanted to know if you were losing your marbles." His eyes drifted to my chest again, but his tone was a tad less disrespectful. "He asked my boss for two things, make sure you are still in charge of yourself, an odd way to say that. And then do whatever it takes to make you feel safe."

"A welfare check?' I couldn't decide how I felt about that. I shrugged my shoulders. "I'm going upstairs to call Mr Peterson. I want to confirm who you are. I assume if you'd intended killing or kidnapping me, you would have already done so. But I know there a thousand other ways you could be doing something criminal." I turned my back on him and returned to my bedroom. Welfare check? Just because I heard something in the night?

I slumped onto my bed and quickly phoned James. I didn't prolong the conversation. James confirmed the man's identity and I hung up. I realised I remained highly aroused by that bastard's behaviour. That bastard who I had left unsupervised. That bastard who could be here for the whole day.

I stood to walk to my bathroom but my bedroom door opened. He walked in.

"There you are Ms Jenkins. My boss just contacted me to say you'd confirmed my identity so I suggest we get started. I've other houses to get to."

I was about to explode at him again. But I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My left boob was out. Just sitting there, proud and bare. My face reddened. I turned my back to the stranger and adjusted myself. Then I faced him again, blistering heat making my cheeks glow.

He saw the change and his eyes met mine, "Oh, that's a pity. That tit was the highlight of my week." I was speechless. But before I could think of something to say, he threw a medium sized black plastic case onto my unmade bed. "This is the tech that my boss sells. And if you want to know how good it is, my boss is a large black man who grew up in an inner city flat, and he plays golf with your ex." Even my befuddled brain understood the scale of success that would propel a man with the wrong skin, accent, schooling and connections into the rarified world James and I were part of. I tried to remember if I had met any black men recently. Black was different from African at the functions I attended. Ambassadors, princes and tycoons did not have a skin colour. Most of them had gone to the same schools my family attended. We had the same accent and were part of the same clubs. I was surprised. I could think of no one who fit the description. Such a rarity would surely have stood out.

I realised he was still speaking. "My boss didn't exactly invent it, but he did miniaturise and crush the cost by making the cameras disposable."

He opened the case. Inside was a pair of large goggles, a small remote control, and six glass boxes filled with button like devices of various sizes.

He took out the goggles and handed them to me. Then handed me the remote control. It was smaller than my palm and had only two buttons, each with an arrow etched onto them, I stood there, hands full and confused. Then he opened one of the glass boxes and carelessly plucked several of discs into his hand. He stuck one of the discs to his forehead. Then another one to my forehead. Then six more around my bedroom and ensuite. "Ok, put the goggles on and see what you can see."

For want of anything better to do, I turned my back to him and put on the goggles. I felt his hand near my face and I heard him click a button on the goggles. I immediately saw the image the camera on my forehead was showing. I heard his voice, echoing. Did that mean the cameras also had microphones? "Use the remote to cycle through the cameras." I flipped a button and I was looking at my bathroom, then my bed, then the view from my window. And then I was looking at my own arse. I stopped breathing. A shock ran through my body. It felt like a minor orgasm. I didn't know if it had been caused by this new found ability to ogle my own arse or the thought of this strange man letting me know he was leering at my arse.

I yanked the goggles off. I attempted, and failed to speak as if all was normal. "I don't understand how this helps keep my house secure?"

He was still standing behind me. He didn't seem inclined to move, so I turned to him. He didn't hide the disappointment. 'There are 30 cameras in here. They vary in their range, clarity and spectrums. You deploy them at night. And if you hear something you can put the goggles on to check. Or you can use an app on your phone. And back at HQ all cameras deployed are monitored 24/7. You switch on the goggles, all cameras are activated and the feed goes live to HQ. And we of course have a direct line to the police and to various security firms."

I looked at him. "So, you looking at my arse like a perv, went straight to your HQ?

"Certainly. Your ex told my boss you had a big arse and despite you being old as fuck, it was still firm. My boss loves a big fat white arse. He specifically asked for a look"

I stood in stunned silence. He continued speaking, his tone conversational and relaxed. "Seeing your tit hanging out was an unexpected bonus for me. I wish I'd gotten that on camera. I spoke to some of the lads who responded to your suspected intruder and they said you were well fucking fit. And I have to say they weren't exaggerating. But anyway, duty calls. I'm going to do the standard security checks. I'll identify places where I think the cameras would do best. And investigate your locks etc. You just go about your business." He walked away before I could reply.

The bedroom door closed and I remembered to switch off the goggles. I stripped my nightwear off. I could smell my juices from the drenched shorts and my soaked pubes. I was desperate to masturbate but the man, whose name I still hadn't gotten, weirded me out too much. He certainly caused an erotic charge but I also felt a certain contempt from him. Perverts I have dealt with since my breasts began to grow. I liked a great many of them. But I'd never found disdain a turn on. Even James had never looked down on me despite him eventually discovering he was so much smarter than me.

I put on some sweats and headed to the kitchen. Without thinking I brought the goggles with me. I made coffee. I occasionally heard the man walking about my house. Sometimes humming, sometimes on his phone. I got bored and tried the goggles again. Wondering if and where he'd put some of the cameras. I switched it on and saw my bedroom. I clicked and saw more bedroom, then out my window again. The next view almost made me pull off the goggles. I was looking down at a cock. A large white cock, in vivid detail. My first thought was some signal mix-up had caused porn to be streamed directly into the goggles. But certain details gave me pause. Beyond his cock was the floor. That looked like my ensuite. That laundry basket looked like my laundry basket. Those grey silk shorts looked like the juice-soaked shorts I had just discarded. Then I heard his voice over the sound of his hand pulling hard on his lubed cock. "Fuck me, your cunt smells like heaven, Ms Jenkins. You fucking slutty snobby whore." His breathing was raspy. It told me how turned on he was. I could imagine how intoxicating and overpowering the smell from my shorts was. The lucky bastard didn't deserve so much of my juices. I watched him manipulate his cock. The camera on his forehead allowing me the perfect view. It looked like my cock. My hand disappeared between my legs and I stroked my clit hard. I wanted to catch up. I wanted us to cum together. And I knew he was close.

A fountain of hot cream erupted from my cock, I mean his cock, just as an orgasm stopped my breathing. Less than thirty seconds of stroking my clit and I was left rigid in pleasure. I watched as he wiped his cum from his still hard cock, using my shorts. I felt drool on my chin. I felt used and perfectly abused. I felt hungry for more. I gave my fingers a quick lick and took the goggles off. I took my coffee to my bedroom, passing him on the stairs. He smiled at me, ogled my breasts and continued his exploration of my house. I wondered if he could smell my arousal.

In my bedroom I hurried to the ensuite and saw the shorts. He had placed them carefully on top of the laundry basket. His cum was still warm to the touch. I tasted him and moaned. Unsure what excited me more, the filthy act of tasting his cum or the taste of his cum itself. I just knew I needed another orgasm. I heard a sound. I looked behind me and there he was. Naked, stroking his still hard cock. How had he stripped so quickly?

I opened my mouth to protest but his hand was around my throat, then he was dragging me from the bathroom to the bed. His free hand tore my clothes from me as he pushed me onto the bed. I wondered at my reluctance to protest this rape but was distracted by him forcing the goggles over my head. My confusion doubled as he pushed the remote control back into my hand. Yet his other hand never left my throat. I gripped his wrist, panic and fear coursing through my body. I struggled to pull his hand from me. His grip was vice like. He pushed me onto my back. My legs splayed wide as he settled his body between them. His weight on me. But I could sense he was supporting part of himself on his free hand.

The darkness began to nudge me towards panic. I fumbled to take off the goggles but he held them in place. I opted to switch them on, then I saw us. A view from the side. I could see my long legs, bent at the knees, my feet planted on the bed. He was leaning over me, his eyes exploring my naked and exposed body.

A shiver ran through me. I could see his naked form. This naked man, between my legs. I felt a weight on my stomach and realised the camera could not see his cock. I switched views. I switched and switched again. And there it was. A camera had been placed on wall opposite my bed. It provided a perfect view of his naked back and arse, lying between my legs. I was certain that camera had been placed with deliberate care. A shiver passed through my body. The bastard had planned this from the beginning. I felt the weight and heat of his cock on my cunt. The shiver became a series of anticipatory orgasms. Minor quakes that promised my undoing.

I watched his perfectly sculpted pale arse cheeks flex and move as he rubbed the full length of his cock between my sopping lips. I pressed the remote control and I watched, as he watched, his slow manipulation of my cunt with his cock. It looked as if he was coating his hardness in my juices. My breath caught in my throat as I too became fascinated by the glistening coat of fluids enveloping his cock. My brain struggled to grasp where my body ended and his began. My cunt felt the erotic vulnerability of exposure and powerlessness. I felt the predatory joy and power of an engorged cock with its quarry ready to be plundered.

I couldn't decide what part I was to play. Victim or perpetrator. My free hand snaked around our bodies to grip his hard buttock. I flicked my views so I could watch my hand squeezing his bum with all my strength. Grounding myself in that sensation. I dropped the remote so I could hold his arse with both my hands.

I felt him shift his weight and then begin to press his cock into me. My only concern was an irrational fear of being too wet. Decades of negative programming was difficult to ignore. I watched his back arch and I spread my legs further. He thrust his hips forward, hard, fast and vicious. I screamed through an orgasm and spread my legs further. Mt feet left the bed and hovered over the small of his back as my hands held onto his arse for dear life.

I could see his cock thrusting and withdrawing from my cunt. My eyes focused on the image. The live image of him violating my cunt. I had never been fucked so hard in my life. Watching it happen as I felt it happen, sent me over the edge before he had even begun to breathe hard. The impact of the split perspective was overwhelming. I had even forgot he was forcing himself on me. Though I already suspected that if he was to command me to jump, I would ask, how high.

His cock stretched my underused cunt to perfection. I could feel and then witness my juices leaking in a steady flow down my bottom and onto the bed. I pulled one hand back and dipped my fingers in the slick fluid, then returned it to his arse. I gently pushed my lubed fingers over his arsehole. I watched his body jerk in surprise and then felt the increased ferocity of his pounding.

Watching my fingers caress his crack and hole was possibly the lewdest thing I'd ever seen. I couldn't believe I was using my own initiative to impress this obnoxious rapist. I continued to experience an uninterrupted series of orgasms. My breathing was ragged, my cunt and legs began to ache, and I hoped it would never end. I hoped I could get a recording of him fucking me so I could spend the next decade masturbating to it.

I pushed a finger into his arse. Finally, his rhythm and breathing began to stutter. I was startled by a roar as he emptied his balls deep in my ravaged and exquisitely satisfied cunt. My hands held his bum cheeks as he jerked through the several spasms and aftershocks of his orgasm. I let go of one cheek and found the remote. I flicked through and stopped at the view from my forehead.

His face was beet red and he was grinning. He sat back on his knees and I felt his cum spewing from my still open cunt. He then got off the bed, got dressed and left. I must have drifted off to a blissful sleep as I was jerked awake by knocking on my bedroom door.

I picked up the remote and found a camera outside my door. It was the maids.