Parker harshly massaged his temples.
“We should not be doing this, man. It’s just… just not right. We’re going to get in trouble—big trouble. Police. FBI. Prison.”
Lance, however, sat at the spread of his four computer monitors. His face was whitewashed with the bright screens contrasting the room’s dim lighting.
Lance’s fingers clacked nonstop over the keyboard. Parker watched a black screen fill with unrecognizable computer language. There was a long row of characters in a green font from the days of the ancient DOS computer system.
Lance hit the Enter key and immediately the black screen was flooded with rows and rows of the font.
Parker only saw the rows as punishment—a long list of his criminal charges.
He paced from Lance in the gaming chair to the poster of Megan Thee Stallion pinned to the wall in Lance’s room.
“Don’t you think it’s wrong too?” Parker asked. “This is not only me thinking this way. You too, right?”
There was only the hum of the PC’s internal cooling case fan and more key-clicking.
Parker took a deep breath to calm himself. The room had that lingering tinge of smoked weed.
“Done. Full access!” Lance said proudly. He spun his chair toward Parker. “We’re in. 24-hour access to her house.”
Parker turned from staring blankly at Megan Thee Stallion’s smooth ass. “But don’t you think this is…”
Lance wasn’t listening. He usually didn’t.
“Look at all these webcams. Seven of them. Spread all through her house.”
Lance rocked back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.
“This, my friend, is my crowning achievement. My pièce de rèsistance.” He kissed his thumb and forefinger, as an Italian chef. Parker rolled his eyes, as Lance had mixed the two cultures.
Parker stared over Lance’s shoulder at the live webcams on the computer screens.
Lance glanced up at his friend and shrugged. “Parker, you should be glad you know me. I’m just sayin’.”
Parker didn’t move. He said nothing.
Even so, Lance grinned proudly. “Even if you don’t right now, you will love me for this. You can watch all the time—anytime you want.”
Lance turned his chair to scan the screens.
Parker put his hands on the top of the chair and shyly leaned closer. He had a jumble of conflicting thoughts. Was it good or bad to do this? It was spying, but it was on Roberta Roberts—the dream of all the neighborhood guys.
Parker stood up straight.
“I don’t see any movement on any of the cameras. You sure this is working?”
“Come on, man. These aren’t covering every inch of the house. But trust me. She’ll pass through—in time.”
“So what now?”
“Welcome to the wide world of wait.”
In his gaming chair, Lance rocked gently, like an old man in a chair on an open porch.
Parker ran his fingers through his brown hair and then dragged his hands down his cheeks, stretching his face.
“How did you get all these cameras in Roberta’s house anyway?”
“Easily. She needed some help setting up a new Wi-Fi network. I guess she knew I had some experience, so she came to me.”
“And you took advantage?”
Lance wagged his finger.
“No, no, I didn’t. Never! I charged her barely any money for all the work—or for the materials. So I figure these cameras are a form of, well, you know, payment. It’s also security—for her. It’s what she asked for.”
“That’s still… I don’t think—”
Parker stopped when there was movement in the camera covering the kitchen.
“Is that—” Parker gasped.
“Yep, Roberta!”
A full-figured woman had entered the camera’s view. She opened the double doors of her refrigerator and stared inside for a moment.
“Man, just look at that ass. A MILF if I’ve ever seen one.” Lance slapped the padded arm of the chair. “Imagine spreading it open and letting it flap back into place. It’d be like an earthquake.”
“Don’t disrespect her. She’s a nice lady. And ‘MILF,’ it’s become so corny. So overused,” Parker said.
“I think you’re the corny one just for saying that.”
Parker shrugged.
The guys studied her movements after she closed the refrigerator.
“Did she get something? What does she have?” Parker asked quickly.
Lance moved closer to the monitor. “Can’t quite tell yet.”
Parker knelt next to the chair. “Make it bigger.”
A click of the mouse and the video filled the center computer screen.
“What is she holding?”
“It’s a can—a drink or a something.” Lance put his forearm on the desk for closer observation.
The woman cracked open the can and took a long drink.
“It’s a can of beer,” Parker said.
“I bet it’s a can of wine. She’s not a beer drinker, in my opinion.”
Parker looked at Lance.
“Yes, Parker, they do have wine in cans nowadays.”
“She’s off screen,” Parker pointed out. “Which webcam is she going to now?”
Lance minimized the kitchen cam. They scanned the other six cameras.
She didn’t appear.
“Where in the house could you not set up a camera?” Parker asked.
“The hallway to the bedrooms. The dining room, where there’s a turn to the den. I couldn’t get that short walk between the kitchen and the den. But I’m not that worried.”
“There she is!” Parker pointed.
“Yes, the den. She’s on the couch.”
“Check out this angle.” Lance maximized the camera in the room. “She’s watching TV.”
“I wonder what she watches. This is intriguing.” Parker rubbed his hands together.
“See, you have to avoid calling it ‘spying.’ It’s more like a documentary on the life of a single mother. Innocent. We’re, like, like, social scientists. We’re learning about the habits and ways of a hot creature that we’d like to fuck.”
Parker rolled his eyes once more. “Trying anything to make this not bad.”
“Shut up.”
Parker exhaled, although he didn’t remove his eyes from the screen. “I just don’t…”
“Hey, man, if you don’t want to do this, then leave. Don’t ruin my fun. And, if you’re feeling that terrible, I won’t give you the password to the site either.”
“No, no. I want the password. I’m just wrapping my mind around this new, um, secret perspective.”
“Whatever you want to call it. Don’t bring me down though.”
“Oh! I think she’s watching Yellowstone. Or some Western show.” Parker raised his eyebrows briefly. “I didn’t peg Roberta as a lady into cowboy boots and horses.”
“She can ride my horse!” Lance laughed.
“Pony, if anything.”
“You been staring at my gear?”
“Look. She changed the show. What’s it now?” Parker leaned close.
“Wait! She…”
“She’s getting up. Where’s she going?”
“I can’t tell yet. Calm down. Don’t cum in your pants.”
Lance minimized the den cam. Their four eyes scanned over the four monitors.
Parker rapped his fingers on the top of the gaming chair.
“Stop that. You’re ruining the mood.” Lance swatted at Parker’s hand.
“Sorry. Oh, there she is. The foyer, the front door.” Parker pointed.
“She must have ordered food.”
“The delivery guy’s coming in! Oh, shit. What if…”
“This is amazing.”
“They left the camera. Minimize—”
“Give me a second! Calm the fuck down.” Lance shifted the mouse.
The seven cameras covered the four monitors.
“Probably the kitchen.”
“Makes sense.”
Lance expanded the kitchen camera.
The pair appeared. The delivery guy’s set the bags on the island counter in the center of the kitchen.
Roberta pulled out several small boxes.
“Chinese food, I think.”
“Well, I bet tonight’s a dud for watching,” Parker said, downcast.
“Why’s that?”
“Who would get off after Chinese food? Everyone eats way too much and are too full after. Probably will fall asleep in front of the TV.” Parker waved his hand.
“Now do you understand how this is a sociological experiment? Your hypothesis is no one masturbates after Chinese food. Let’s test it.” Lance nodded.
“Do you agree with me?” Parker asked.
“I won’t say. Man, I’m not jinxing anything.”
“Science and jinxes don’t go together,” Parker said.
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“All right. She’s paying the guy. He should be gone in a minute or two,” Parker said.
Lance suddenly leaned close to the monitors.
Parker gripped the back of the gaming chair with both hands.
“She’s turning him around.” Lance’s face contorted. “What?”
“She’s pointing—pointing up!”
Roberta put her hand on the delivery guy’s shoulder. She guided his eyes to the top of the cabinets.
He nodded when he realized what the woman had been pointing at. He climbed on a high-backed chair.
The camera view became wobbly and nauseating to watch. Then it went black.
Lance jumped to his feet. The gaming chair toppled over, crashing into a small trashcan of crushed soda cans and energy drinks.
Parker was almost knocked over by it.
“Oh shit!” Lance slapped his forehead.
“She knows!” Parker whimpered. He felt like he was about to vomit. “We’re going to jail. I can’t believe this. Why? Why me?”
But Lance was silent.
“I didn’t do anything,” Parker said, exonerating himself. “You just showed me the cameras. I’m not an accomplice. I had nothing to do with this.”
Lance still didn’t move.
Parker shuffled sickly to the bed. He plopped down. The springs pinged. His head was spinning.
Lance spoke, stunned. “Wait! She’s… she’s… is she?”
Parker turned his dizzy head toward Lance. Lance put both hands flat on the desk. His elbows locked. His shoulders raised as high as his ears.
“What’s she doing?” Parker asked weakly.
Lance waved feebly at the computer monitors. “She’s …”
In a moment, the screen of Lance’s phone brightened in the dark room.
“Hi, Ms. Roberts. How—how are you?” Lance choked on the greeting.
“Yes… I can…” He paced to Megan Thee Stallion but didn’t keep his eyes on the floor. “Not a problem… Right now, yes. I have no idea—okay.”
He pressed the screen. “She wants me to come to her house.”
“What?” Parker asked.
“Telling me… to, um… come over.”
“Don’t tell her about me. Please? I don’t want to go to jail.” Parker then covered his mouth.
Like a zombie, Lance slipped into his Adidas. He grabbed his light jacket and walked to the bedroom door.
Parker sat up. “Are you going for real?”
“I have to.” Lance spoke as zombie-like as he had dressed.
In a minute he was gone. Parker was alone. Megan Thee Stallion stared at him, disappointed.
“I’m sorry, Megan,” he mumbled.
Parker laid there, sick. His mind was already preparing to sit in a tiny cell with a career criminal as his cellie. He questioned whether he could survive in prison.
He was unable, or unwilling, to move.
He hatched a survival plan. “I will have to kill my cell mate, slash his throat, to get to solitary confinement. I may be safe from the horrors of hell of general population.”
He felt like he was falling into vertigo. He closed his eyes.
He proposed that, “If I kill more prisoners in a rampage, I might get to death row. TV documentaries always described it as calmer, more peaceful, at least compared to the general population. I have to try.”
He realized he would need to learn how to play cards.
Then there was a ping on Parker’s phone.
He didn’t know how long he had laid on the bed.
He picked it up. Lance had texted him. No words. Just what could be a smear of letters. A text likely not intended to be sent.
Parker moved cautiously to the gaming chair. He scanned the four monitors. He saw Lance standing in the view of the foyer camera. Roberta was there too. They were a few feet from each other.
With the way she waved her hands, Parker thought she looked to be threatening him with a criminal lawsuit.
Lance pointed to the camera that was set at a high angle. He then pointed in various directions with both arms.
They went to the den, the bathroom in the hall. They disappeared from sight briefly until they appeared in her large bedroom.
Lance pointed at three cameras. He then pointed behind him. Parker saw that he had set up a camera in the master bathroom to watch her shower and get ready for the morning or for bed.
She waved her arms in a torrent, in the same way people flap their arms when they fear drowning.
Parker couldn’t stop watching. He felt like Lance deserved full punishment for his failed pièce de rèsistance. And he wanted to see the criminal sentenced.
Lance said something to her, and his head dropped.
Roberta covered her mouth. She then waved her hand up and down her body.
Lance nodded slightly. He pointed to the camera. Parker clicked the mouse to maximize that camera.
By the looks of it, Roberta might not have been as angry. Had Lance made her happy with the compliment of being the MILF of the neighborhood? Parker would never know.
Her hands rested on her hips and then slid over her round rear-end—maybe thoughtlessly. But she immediately wagged her finger in Lance’s face. She slid the side of her hand across her neck. It looked like she had slashed her throat. Likely threatening Lance.
Lance waved his hands and shook his head, as if countering what she had said.
He lifted one finger. Parker assumed he was admitting watching only once.
Lance’s eyes shifted from Roberta to the floor. A sad, embarrassed child, caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.
Roberta began to yell, making her hair swish sideways. Lance rubbed the back of his neck. His face still angled toward the floor.
“You are in so much trouble! So, so much trouble, my friend.”
Parker had yet to decide if he was concerned about Lance or glad justice was being served. More importantly, though, he was innocent, having no part in the spy game.
Roberta pointed at Lance from the bottom of him to his head. Then she crossed her arms, sternly.
Lance bobbed his head to the side. He said something, but there was no way Parker could know what it was.
He realized Lance’s self-proclaimed pièce de rèsistance was not so great. It was like watching TV on mute without subtitles.
Lance pointed to Roberta and then to his chest. She wagged her finger, defiantly, and nodded her head. She pointed at him and then crossed her arms again.
She left the camera’s picture. Lance remained there, stock-still. He didn’t even glance up at the camera.
A few moments later, Roberta re-entered the screen. Behind her, she dragged a vacuum. She held onto the stiff, waist-high wand and tugged behind its suitcase-sized canister.
Is this a new kind of punishment for spying? Parker actually laughed. It is what Lance had always hated. Parker looked around. Lance wasn’t one for vacuuming or doing other chores to clean or simply organize his room.
On screen, Roberta flung to Lance the stiff wand that was attached to the wide floor brush. She bent over to pick up the power cord. Lance studied the new device. Parker guessed he was still stunned by getting caught spying, fearing criminal charges from Ms. Roberts, or simply having to vacuum, of all things, when he was in her bedroom.
Soon, though, Lance was pushing forward and pulling back the vacuum. The farther he stepped, he stretched out the snake-like suction cord, which toppled over the canister.
After tipping it over a couple of times, Ms. Roberts wagged her finger, upset. She made him hold the canister, like a briefcase. A type of ball-and-chain punishment.
She also took hold of the wand to teach him her requirements for carpet patterns. She handed him back the wand.
Meanwhile, she sat on the edge of her bed to observe her new custodian. With her weight, the bedspread stretched toward her. A tiny decorative pillow at the head of the bed gently tipped over.
Lance tugged and towed the vacuum and canister over the broad bedroom.
Roberta often was not pleased with his work. She yanked the vacuum from him several times to demonstrate her standards. She wanted straight lines and all of the carpet cleaned.
Parker actually exchanged his fear of prison for snickers at his friend.
Roberta left the room suddenly. To Parker’s surprise, Lance glanced up toward each camera.
Roberta reappeared on screen. This time, she held a spray can and a rag.
He dusted her furniture: cabinets, a desk, a dresser, two nightstands on the sides of her bed. Roberta left again and returned with a step ladder.
“What is she planning?” Parker asked.
Soon, Lance was on the ladder brushing the top of the tall armoire—a place that no one would ever see, Parker thought.
Lance then climbed up the ladder to swipe clean the broad blades of the ceiling fan. Roberta held his thighs and looked up. Lance looked down too.
After that, Lance was on the floor dusting the baseboards around the bedroom. Roberta watched from the corner edge of the bed.
Parker noticed the two began to chat. Roberta seemed a little less angry. Fewer flailing arm gestures. Less pointing. She remained seated on the bed longer. And Lance didn’t turn his head toward her as much. He shifted on all fours along the wall.
When the last of the baseboards was wiped clean, Roberta pointed to the closet with the double doors.
Parker scanned the seven cameras.
“Where’s the closet camera?” He grunted. “There’s got to be one. He wouldn’t forget the closet.” He scrambled the mouse over all the screens. Nothing. No closet camera.
Parker slammed his palm on the chair’s padded armrest.
“The place where she’d get naked a lot, right? Such an idiot.”
Frustrated, Parker rocked back in the chair and stared at the ceiling briefly.
When his eyes returned to scan each bedroom cam, he realized that Lance and Roberta were off screen. Vanished in terms of spying.
“Did they go… They went! No way. To the exact place without a camera. So much for a pièce de rèsistance.”
But Parker waited there. He stared. He checked his watch. He paced to Megan Thee Stallion. He thumbed through Lance’s Dungeons & Dragons Player’s Handbook. He spun once around in the chair.
On his attempt for two continuous spins, Parker saw the double doors open.
Roberta emerged, buttoning the bottom button on her blouse.
“Did you just…” Parker mumbled. “I can’t believe it.”
He smacked his forehead. But then he actually questioned if he was assuming too much. Closets probably have baseboards—the nicer closets at least, like Roberta’s if it was as nice as the rest of the house.
Parker watched Roberta take a seat on her bed. She bounced lightly. This time, more pillows toppled down.
She kept her knees closed.
“Roberta acting all modest now, yeah.” Parker huffed.
Parker expected Lance to appear next from the closet with a big smile. Likened to a drunken grin.
But when Parker saw him, he leaned back in the gaming chair. He didn’t believe what he witnessed.
Lance came out hauling a basket piled high with clothes. His chin kept the heap from spilling. The sleeve of a dark shirt dragged on the carpet.
Parker leaned close to the monitor. “She’s got you doing her laundry now? The hell!”
A dark sock fell off the pile. Roberta pointed at it. Lance set down the basket in the center of the room and retrieved the sock. Like a complaining child, he tossed it on the top.
Before anything else, Roberta stood. She spoke to him briefly and led him to the master bathroom.
Parker minimized the bedroom camera and found the bathroom in which they came into view.
Maximizing it, Roberta turned on the bathtub faucet. Water gushed out. Then she turned it off.
Lance was on his knees, digging into the vanity cabinet. He pulled out cans and sprays and then a scrub brush.
Roberta pointed out to one.
She shook the can over the tub, like sprinkling sugar over Christmas cookies.
Moments later and to Parker’s gratification, Lance looked to be folded over the edge of the tub, scrubbing. His arm rushed back and forth quickly. His head rocked along with his arm. Then he switched hands to scrub.
“She’s making you work! I love it. You deserve every one of those chores!” Parker shouted at the screen. “Work him hard, Roberta! Yeah!”
Roberta had propped herself against the wall so she could oversee his work. She pointed out missed spots and motioned how to scour correctly. She obviously was a stickler for quality effort to get the best results.
Finally, Lance fell back to rest against the vanity cabinets. His arms were set on his knees. His head drooped.
Roberta left the bathroom.
Parker minimized the camera. He scanned the other six and saw her in the bedroom. He maximized that one.
Roberta told Lance to come to the bedroom. He straggled in. He was obviously tired, likely sore. He might have been upset at all of this work.
Coming into the room, though, she waved her hands somewhat flippantly. Lance pushed his finger against his chest.
Parker saw Roberta nod.
“What the—” Parker grabbed hold of the arm rests.
He watched as Lance took off his shirt. He tossed it onto the pile of Roberta’s clothes. She then pointed lower.
Lance, slowly, awkwardly—based on how well Parker knew him—undid his pants. He tossed them onto the clothes pile.
He was there, before Roberta, in underwear. His arms dangled.
She waved her finger up and down.
Lance took the elastic band of his jockeys. And he pulled them off.
Parker was amazed at the situation. He tried to keep his eyes from the erection.
Roberta urged Lance close.
Lance stepped forward, a foot from her. She grabbed his hips. She tugged him ahead. She wrapped her hand over his cock.
She looked at Lance.
Lance nodded.
Roberta put the dick in her mouth. Her head moved slowly and twisted each way. She obviously was enjoying Lance, or just a dick.
She pulled back momentarily. She then licked along the underside. Her face disappeared deep between his legs. Lance ran his fingers through her thick black hair. His head leaned back in pleasure.
Parker could not take his eyes off the screen. His fear of prison had turned into jealousy. She wanted Roberta to go down on him.
Roberta raised up and she put his dick in her mouth again, sucking it like a lollipop. Her head bobbed faster. Then she gave his dick a few quick strokes.
To Parker’s and no doubt Lance’s surprise, she stood. She shed her pants. She tossed them to the laundry basket. She had Lance take down her underwear that were full-sized and made for a normal average day.
When Lance’s face was level with her knees and the underwear were at her ankles, she gripped his head with both hands. She pulled his face into her heavy, thick bush of black hair set between wide thighs.
As Parker knew Lance, he knew Lance had had sex once. And it lasted a few seconds. This would be a wholly new experience.
Roberta climbed onto the bed, scooting too the center. Her legs were spread wide. She invited him to her. Lance got onto the bed and put his face again in her bush. He looked to be working hard. Her legs raised up and spread wide. Her thighs were thick and heavy. They made Lance’s head look tiny.
Her hands massaged her body and ruffled his hair. In a sudden jolt, she gripped his head again. She held it in place. Her thighs wrapped around his head.
Parker could tell she had howled and grunted in her orgasm, even though there was no audio.
Finally, head released, Lance rolled onto his back, exhausted. Roberta didn’t give him time to rest. She tossed her shirt and bra onto the floor.
Her tits dangled above Lance. He gathered them into his hands and put the nipples into his mouth. Her tits were large enough that he couldn’t fit much in his mouth.
Roberta situated herself over him. She leaned back, straightening up.
Parker pulled out his dick and stroked the hardness. But he felt awkward doing it in Lance’s gaming chair. Lance had not given him the password, so he could not watch anywhere except here.
On camera, as Roberta moved, Lance’s hands glided up Roberta’s thighs and to her oversized ass. He pulled apart her cheeks and let them go. She rocked, making her tits bounce and swish. Her ass flattened and then rounded as she rode Lance.
When Lance’s eyes bulged from Roberta’s sex, Parker suddenly shot his load somewhere under the desk.
Parker cursed. His hand was covered in goo. “I gotta go. I shouldn’t have…”
He put his deflating dick into his pants, zipped up and left.
A day later, Parker saw Lance.
“Well,” Lance said, eyeing him, “did you see anything?”
“Nothing,” Parker said. “I went home as soon as you left. I wasn’t going to be caught in your scheme. I am innocent.”
Lance shook his head. “Yeah, she threatened me with a lawsuit. Kicked me out of the house! A terrible, terrible night. I almost died.”
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