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Sex With Strangers
Chapter One
“Spread a little wider, baby. C’mon now—show us the pink.”
Larissa Walker, Lissa to her friends, winced at the crude command. This wasn’t
how she wanted to be spending her Valentine’s Day, or any day for that matter, but
she had no choice. It was either do as Norman Scudder said or face the consequences.
Biting her lip, she reached between her thighs to her bare pussy and opened herself
with two trembling fingers, showing her clit to the Internet audience.
“See that?” she heard Scudder say to the man beside him, holding the camera.
“That’s primo pussy. Make sure you get a good shot—up close and personal.”
Lissa heard the camera whirr as it zoomed in and tried not to think of all the
perverts sitting at home jerking off to her humiliating display. She wasn’t against all
pornography—just porn that involved her personally. Sometimes it could even be
erotic and tasteful, if it were done correctly. Unfortunately what Scudder had her
doing was neither. She was naked, her legs spread wide, lying on a fake zebra-skin
rug, touching herself. There was nothing tasteful about it. It made her feel cheap and
degraded and she hated herself for doing it.
“That’s good, baby. Now let’s see some finger action. Stroke that pretty little clit.
Give the boys at home something to drool over,” Scudder directed.
Lissa did as she was told, stroking the sensitive side of the little bundle of nerves
and feeling the unwanted pleasure start to build in her belly. It was always this way,
or it had been for the six months since she’d been roped into paying her uncle’s
gambling debt to the sleazy local crime lord who was directing this sordid scene.
As much as she hated what she was doing, Lissa couldn’t find it in her heart to
hate her uncle too. He and her Aunt Vivian had raised her since she was sixteen and
they’d been nothing but supportive and loving. Uncle Don was a great guy but he’d
pretty much lost his mind after her aunt died of breast cancer. A mild interest in
Friday night poker with the guys had turned into a serious addiction as he searched for
anything to take his mind off his beloved wife’s death.
Lissa had been lost in her own grief, mourning the woman who had been like a
mother to her, and hadn’t realized there was a problem. Not until the night Uncle Don
showed up at her apartment with one eye swollen shut and his arm broken in three
places. During a trip to the ER she’d managed to get the entire story out of him. How
he’d been kicked out of his local bar for being drunk and disorderly and somehow
found himself in one of Norman Scudder’s illegal high-stakes backroom poker games.
How he’d been on a winning streak that wouldn’t quit, until it did, and the cards
turned against him. And how he owed Scudder his soul and couldn’t pay.
The problem was that Norman Scudder was absolutely ruthless. Look up “lone
shark” in the dictionary and you’d see his piggy little eyes staring back at you. Lissa
had persuaded her Uncle Don to go to a treatment program for alcohol and gambling
addiction but that hadn’t stopped Scudder’s men from paying him another “visit”.
They threatened to break his other arm if he didn’t cough up the enormous amount of
cash, now compounded by interest, he owed the crime lord.
Fearing for her uncle’s life, Lissa had gone to see Scudder, hoping to work out a
deal for her uncle. She’d offered to waitress at one of his nightclubs or even help him
with his books. She was a junior accountant at one of the larger law firms in town and
she was good at her job.
Scudder had laughed in her face.
“Hell, baby, what kinda fool do you think I am?” he’d demanded. “You really
think I’d let you look at my books?”
“I…I don’t know. I’m sorry,” Lissa had faltered. “I was just trying to think of a
way to help pay off my uncle’s debt.”
“Well now, a pretty little girl like you, with all that long black hair and those big
blue eyes…maybe we could come to some kind of agreement.” Scudder had given her
a look that made her skin want to crawl right off her body and Lissa had known she
was in trouble. If only she’d known how much trouble, she would have run a mile in
the other direction but by the time she found out, it was too late to get out.
Scudder had made her a proposition in the most literal sense of the word—if she
would pose for his Friday-night webcast she could work off her uncle’s debt in no
time, or so he said. Reluctantly and not really understanding what was involved, Lissa
had agreed. She found out the hard way the first time she went to the seedy backroom
of The Fist, a bar that Scudder owned and the place where he filmed his on-line
entertainment and adult movies. When she’d found out she was expected to take off
her clothes and masturbate in front of Scudder, a cameraman and however many
hundreds or thousands of perverts were watching on the Net, Lissa had cried.
She’d tried to back out of course, but Norman Scudder wasn’t known for his
compassion. He’d threatened to kill her uncle and make it look like an accident if she
didn’t live up to their bargain. Backed into a corner, Lissa had been forced to comply.
With tears running silently down her face she’d disrobed for the first, but not the last
time, and followed Scudder’s directions as he told her what to do for the camera. The
only bright spot in the situation was that at least the slimy crime lord didn’t try to
touch her. Lissa thought she would die if he did that but he seemed content to watch
and play the role of the constant voyeur while she went through the motions of
pleasuring herself every Friday night at nine.
At first she cried every time and the first few Friday nights she went home and
took a scalding shower, trying to scrub off the filth of what she’d been forced to do.
But slowly she had gotten used to it. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel shamed and
degraded anymore—it was more like she’d gone numb. From the moment she entered
the dark backroom of The Fist and took off her clothes until she put them back on
again after her hour-long session, there was a layer of frost over Lissa’s emotions that
nothing could penetrate.
She’d had to toughen up because there was no end in sight. At the beginning of
their “arrangement” Scudder had promised she’d pay off Uncle Don’s debt in a matter
of days but somehow days had become weeks and weeks had turned into months.
When she’d finally dared to demand a look at her uncle’s numbers, certain she must
already have paid off the debt and interest many times over, Scudder had become
threatening. “You’ll be done paying when I say you’re done,” he’d snarled. “And
don’t forget, there are worse things you could be doing on a Friday night than taking
off your clothes, baby.”
Frightened, Lissa had backed off. She had come to believe there was never going
to be an end to the horrible Friday-night webcasts. Scudder had her wrapped around
his little finger and he would never let her go—not as long as there were viewers
willing to pay to see her perform. And there were always viewers. Lissa had
overheard him telling one of his crew that she made more for him than any other girl
on the site and she knew he would never let her go as long as that was the case.
Lissa didn’t have a gimmick that made her such a big draw. She didn’t moan and
sigh and fake orgasms or pretend in any way that she was enjoying herself. In fact,
she’d had silent tears running down her cheeks during every performance for the first
four months and even now that she was numb she never smiled or flirted with the
camera. She kept her gaze straight ahead, a blank expression on her face as she did
what Scudder told her.
The fact that Lissa’s obvious reluctance to perform erotic acts on camera was no
deterrent to her numbers had a lot to do with the kind of site Scudder was running in
the first place. It was called Please Don’t Make Me! and featured mostly unwilling
women performing sexual acts they didn’t want to be doing. It wasn’t the worst site
Scudder owned by a long shot though—the worst, in Lissa’s opinion, was a pay site
called Bound and Forced. The site was all about rough sex that verged on rape and it
specialized in gang bangs. Lissa shivered when she thought of that site. What would
she do if Scudder insisted she take part in one of his infamous Internet orgies on the
other site? How could she survive? It didn’t bear thinking about so Lissa tried not to
think about it. Mostly she just showed up every Friday and tried to make believe she
was somewhere else until it was time to put on her clothes and go.
“Okay, time for mail call,” Scudder announced, scratching the paunch that hung
over the band of his too-tight polyester slacks. He dressed like the age of disco had
never died, wearing loud shirts, open to reveal a myriad of gold medallions and a
flabby, hairy chest that gave Lissa the heaves. She tried not to look at him as he
opened a miniature laptop and began tapping away, reading the e-mails her viewers
had sent in as they watched her touch herself.
Mail call was the feature of the Friday-night webcasts that Lissa hated the most.
Scudder had thought it up several months ago and it was a big hit with the Internet
audience. Basically, viewers would e-mail suggestions and requests as they watched
her and Lissa would have to do whatever they wanted to see.
“Here’s a good one,” Scudder mumbled as he read.
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