There was this nasty character that lived up the road from me. A walking asshole is how I tended to think of him. He had a top of the line PC system, though, and he did recognise talent when he came across it. That’s why he used to have me do any repairs he needed to his system. The only catch was that I had to go to his place to do the repairs and he would sit by my shoulder the entire time I was there, making sure I didn’t snoop in his files. I suspected that he had a pile of porn he didn’t want me stumbling across.
This guy finished up dead in a car accident and, in my opinion, his going left the world a better place. His widow promptly started flogging off his stuff and I picked up his PC system dead cheap. Mind you, the way PCs depreciate, dead cheap was still a fair price.
Just as a matter of curiosity I went fishing through his directories before doing a big clean up. Normally when I get hold of a complete system I just wipe everything but the basic software, though I do retain the licences and activation keys for any software, if possible. I can always resell the packages.
I found pretty much standard porn and I just scrubbed that. There was nothing particularly exotic or artistic about it; just run of the mill junk. Then I came across this hidden folder. It also had some porn in it.
I flicked through the stuff, wondering why he’d had this porn in this special folder. It was all pretty amateurish stuff, not worth putting on the net in the first place. What was so interesting that he required a special folder for it? The answer lay in a little spreadsheet in the folder.
It identified the people, what their secret was, and how much he reckoned he could blackmail them for. About this time it occurred to me that maybe his car accident wasn’t an accident, in which case I hoped the cops never resolved the case. Then I set to work to delete that stash of blackmail material. He had a dual backup system on two external hard drives and I wiped those suckers and then reformatted them. A final defrag of the main drive and that blackmail data was irrecoverable.
One little thing I did do. I took a copy of the spreadsheet, making a note of names and numbers. I figured a series of anonymous phone-calls would leave a number of people very relieved.
After I’d finished my good deeds I forgot about it. Then I had this knock on the door. There were a couple of very polite gentlemen there. Sorry to intrude and all that, but they were of the understanding that I’d bought Joe’s computer system. He’d been a dear friend of theirs and they’d like to purchase his system. I politely explained that while I was quite willing to sell them the system, at a slight profit, of course, it was only fair to let them know I’d deleted any excess software. That was OK, by them. How did ten grand for the lot sound?
Ten grand sounded fine by me. I took the money, in cash, oddly enough, and delivered them the entire system. If by some chance they couldn’t find what they wanted, they’d been warned. Then I went to the bank and deposited the money, just in case they changed their minds.
I did hear from them after a couple of days. They called to say they couldn’t find some documents they needed. Did I have any backups of Joe’s stuff? I humbly apologised. The two backup hard drives were with the things I’d sold them, I assured them, but I had also cleaned those out of extraneous crap so that they had a system that was just like new. I was quite eloquent on what a superb system they now had, almost factory fresh. I heard some rather sulphurous cursing before they hung up.
That was it for the gentlemen who purchased the PC. I’d sent off messages informing certain people that photos of them had accidentally been destroyed and that they would need to sit for new ones. I also suggested that any ongoing payments in regard to photos should be held in abeyance until the company were able to prove they still had a copy. The only messages I got in return were thank you for the information but they didn’t think they would choose to re-sit for those photos.
I then forgot about the matter. The forces of evil had been smitten on the nose and all that crap. Life went on as normal.
A few weeks later I was strolling through the local mall when I saw this pretty young thing. She looked familiar but I couldn’t quite place her. She went into Gloria Jeans for some coffee, so I decided to join her.
I got a cup of coffee and wandered over to the table where she was sitting and sat opposite her. She promptly gave me the cold shoulder.
“Do you mind? This is my table and I’m expecting company.”
“And now you have it,” I said. “Me. I’m not trying to pick you up but I’m sure that I’ve seen you somewhere recently and that I know you rather well. I’m just trying to figure out who you are. I thought talking to you might jog my memory.”
“Well, I don’t know you and I’m not really interested in getting to know you. Goodbye.”
She lifted he hand and gave me a goodbye wave, indicating my absence was preferable to my presence. When she did that I spotted a butterfly tattoo on her wrist. Memory kicked in.
“Got it,” I said triumphantly. “I saw a photo of you recently. That’s why you looked familiar. Your butterfly tattoo reminded me.”
I smiled and got up to depart. I’d also recalled just where I’d seen her photo. She chipped in before I could leave.
“I don’t do photos. You must have me mistaken with someone else.”
I shouldn’t have succumbed to that evil streak but I couldn’t resist.
“Oh, it was you alright. I remembered because of the butterfly. You have a matching one on another part of your anatomy. Well, can’t stay. It’s been nice meeting you.”
She’d gone slightly pale. The matching butterfly was on her mons. Not one that I should ever have seen. I walked off, leaving her there.
I was in my workroom a couple of hours later when the doorbell rang. I answered and my little butterfly was there. She promptly pushed past me and into the house, where she proceeded to say a few rude things about my character and ancestry. When she finally drew breath, I chipped in.
“Ah, is there something I can help you with?”
“You’ve got my photo. I want it. I want it deleted and I want it done now. Otherwise I’m calling the police.”
“I doubt you’ll call the police,” I said calmly. “Too much publicity. I’ll tell you what. You take your clothes off so I can be sure you’re the right woman and I’ll make sure your photo is deleted.”
I received a few more rude descriptions, but no threats about the police. I just politely waited for her to run down. She finally did and stood there glaring at me.
“Right,” she said, and proceeded to strip, glaring daggers at me the entire time.
She had a lovely figure, far better in person than the rather crappy photo that had been on Joe’s computer.
“All right, now I want those photos removed,” she demanded and soon as she had finished stripping.
“If you’ll just turn right round so I can be absolutely sure,” I murmured, twirling a finger.
She did so, muttering nasty threats under her breath.
“OK,” I said. “I would have to say that yes, you were one of the people on Joe’s computer when I bought it. You’ll be happy to know that all the photos have been deleted already and all the backups wiped. Not a photo remains.”
She took a moment to digest this.
“They’ve already been deleted?”
“Uh-huh. Joe died a few weeks back and I purchased his system. I found his little cache of naughty people and cleaned it out quite thoroughly. I even notified those people where possible. If I remember correctly there was a man’s name associated with your photo. He was notified and acknowledged the message.”
She was even angrier at that.
“That son of a bitch knew the photos were gone? The bastard didn’t say a word to me about it.”
Then she seemed to recall that she was standing there nude.
“If there are no photos, why did I have to take my clothes off,” she shrieked.
“Um, you didn’t. I was quite surprised that you did so. Normally when I ask a woman to take off her clothes I just get laughed at. I must admit you made an interesting change.”
She opened her mouth to say something but closed it again. She did this several times. It appeared she couldn’t think of anything nasty enough to say to me.
“Look at it this way,” I told her. “I am now one hundred percent satisfied that you are the girl I remembered from the photo, so you can be sure it’s gone. Also, it was a terrible photo. You are much lovelier in the flesh. And your little butterfly is quite charming.”
I reached down and stoked her butterfly. She yelped and jumped back.
“Don’t you touch me,” she snapped, a hint of panic in her voice. “I’m getting dressed and then I’m out of here.”
“If you insist. There are a couple of other options you should consider first.”
“Yes?” she said, sounding very suspicious.
“You might like to sit down and examine my PC to make sure I haven’t got your picture. There aren’t many photos on my PC so you should be able to check it easily enough. Of course, I would expect you to put off getting dressed until after you’ve checked.”
“I’ll trust you,” she snapped. “What was the other option?”
“Bribery,” I said. “If you were to ravish my body I would be putty in your hands, only too willing to show you how clean my system is.”
“Forget it. I have no intention of ravishing your body. If there’s nothing else, I’m getting dressed and leaving.”
“No that’s all,” I said, trying to sound regretful. “There is of course the matter of the hero’s reward.”
She was looking suspicious again.
“How much?” she demanded.
“Please,” I said sounding shocked. “People don’t insult the hero, me in this case, with anything so tawdry as money. I thought that everyone knew that after the hero, me, saves the lady, you in this case, she bestows her favours on him.”
“You don’t seriously expect me to go to bed with you, do you?” she asked huffily.
“Well yes and no,” I said cautiously. “You will admit you’re dressed for the occasion, but I see no need to mess up the bed when there’s a lovely soft rug on the floor over there.”
This time when I reached over I gently stroked a finger from one breast to the other, watching her nipples stand up as I touched each one.
“Not going to happen,” she retorted, pushing my hand away.
“Yes, it is,” I told her, “and you know it. You’ve known it ever since you got undressed.”
I started racing her butterfly again. When she reached down to brush my hand away I cupped one breast.
“Will you stop touching me,” she gasped, slapping at my hands.
“No,” was the brief answer.
I took her wrist and towed her over to the rug, tugging downwards to encourage her to settle onto it.
“I’m not doing this,” she hissed at me, even though she was now sitting on the rug. “You can’t make me.”
I was already undoing my belt, smiling as I looked down at her.
“I don’t have to make you,” I pointed out. “I’m just going to make love to you and you’re going to permit it.”
“But I’ve said no,” she protested. “How can you say I’m going to let you?”
“What are you wearing?” I asked.
“Nothing. You know you made me take my clothes off earlier.”
I was now as naked as she was and settling down onto the rug next to her.
“That,” I said, cupping one breast and rubbing her nipple, “is bullshit and you know it. You could have told me to stick it but you got undressed. You’ve had ample opportunity to get dressed again but haven’t bothered.”
My free hand slid down past her butterfly and cupped her mound, squeezing slightly. She wasn’t, I noticed, trying to push my hands away. I increased the pressure on her breast and she lay back, finishing flat on her back with me leaning over her. My mouth came down on her breast and bit gently.
She relaxed, letting me do what I would. She’d said no and been ignored. Honour was satisfied. What happened now wouldn’t be her fault.
The next few minutes passed in relative silence. The relative referred not to actual words but to gasps and squeaks and such. I spent the time exploring a very delectable body. She spent the time being explored without resistance. Somehow or other, during the exploration, my erection had pressed against her tummy. She had immediately protected her tummy by taking my erection and holding it to one side, continuing to hold it out of the way, with quite a firm grip.
“Roll over,” I told her, giving her a nudge in the required direction.
She obediently rolled onto her stomach. I patted her bottom.
“Lift it high,” I murmured and she did, moving into a half kneeling position, bottom high and legs parted. I settled in behind her. She glanced around to make sure she knew what I was doing and then faced the front again, her rump quivering slightly in expectation.
I eased her lips slightly apart and pressed gently between them, establishing my bridgehead. Her lips closed wetly around the head of my cock as I settled into place.
With my bridgehead established I was in a position to launch my main drive. I pushed forward ruthlessly, feeling her yield before my driving shaft. She gave a loud squeal as I took her, pushing back to accept me into her.
I pounded her good and hard. My arms reached around her to take her breasts and I squeezed and fondled them, enjoying the feel of them, while all the time my cock was pounding into her. I was taking long hard strokes, almost pulling right out before driving back into her, and she was squealing and sighing and gasping, moving with me eagerly, making sure that she pushed back hard against me, ensuring that I thrust into her as deep as possible.
I’d started off at a decent tempo, but slowly found myself increasing it. I was hot and wanting and she was responding nicely so why not push the limits? I moved harder and faster and she matched me, her every movement showing her to be as eager as me.
The curse of sex is that you know it has to end. You may not want it to, but your body makes its own decision in this matter. Mine was now in the act of making that decision. I fought it, holding it off as long as I could, eagerly pumping into my partner as my climax loomed over me, threatening me.
Then it hit me. Hard. I crashed hard into my love, my seed bursting forth in an unstoppable rush. She screamed and I could feel her closing around me, squeezing me tightly, riding her own climax into wildness.
We lay on the rug afterwards, breathing hard. As exercise, sex beats most things. All things, now that I think about it. I waited for her to surface.
Eventually she sat up and looked at me.
“Can I get dressed now,” she asked, “or are you going to stall me again?”
“Be my guest,” I said, still breathing heavily. “There are two minor matters however.”
“And they are?”
“I’ve now had my reward of your favour for the first picture,” I told her, “but there were ten photos of you. You’ll have to come back tomorrow to thank me for the second picture.”
“In your dreams,” she muttered. “What’s the second thing?”
“What’s your name?”