"Don't forget your AP exam is Tuesday."
Cassandra's mother only earned herself a deadly gaze, Cassandra turning her head to meet her mother's eyes but not slowing in the least as she strode toward the stairs.
"Of course, I know you know. I'm just nervous for you. I know how hard you've worked."
Cassandra gave no immediate reply. The conversation was beneath her. Everyone in the house knew who was most concerned with, and most on top of, Cassandra's studies. And it was Cassandra.
Halfway up the stairs, she did call down to her mother. Her voice was calm, as it always was, practically a monotone. "I'm taking the train into the city in the morning. For viola. I'll be gone by six, back by 4." Her mother opened her mouth but Cassandra kept walking and her mother swallowed whatever she had thought to say.
Instead, "Okay, honey. Be careful, and send me a text."
"Mm-hmm" was all she got before the sound of Cassandra's bedroom door. Her mother shrugged. This was the way it had always been with her daughter. Cassandra knew what she wanted, took care of it herself, and was exceedingly successful. It felt counterproductive to get too involved.
Cassandra would be studying tonight, getting up early in the morning to go practice her instrument, and tackling some other project over the rest of the weekend; all on top of preparing for her AP exam. There was nothing her parents needed to do. Cassandra took care of herself.
---------------------------
Within five minutes of closing her bedroom door, Cassandra had two fingers inside herself.
Cassandra was a young woman who moved with purpose. Her parents knew it and kept out of her way. Her teachers saw it and threw opportunities at her, shocked by how much she was willing and able to take on. Her peers saw it and shied away, aware she was not the same sort of creature as them.
They all watched and marveled as Cassandra achieved more college credits before high school graduation than anyone in school history, became the youngest first chair in viola in her district, learned fluent Arabic on her own time, volunteered as a translator for local refugees, learned to draw in pen and ink, hit the rock climbing wall multiple times a week, and on, and on.
But none of them knew that she had just as much ambition, as much determination, when it came to sex. They wouldn't even suspect she had a sex life. Cassandra was not the kind of girl that drew boys. She was smart, sarcastic, impatient, intimidatingly successful. She was cute, in a way, with a button nose and dark prominent eyebrows that some of her peers would kill for. But her round face was plain, and made her look young, her lips didn't have that beestung quality that drew the eye, her haircut was severe, her makeup absent, and she dressed sharply, fashionably... for the 1940s.
Some folks assumed she was a lesbian, but in fact she didn't attract the girls either. She was too focused on her projects and accomplishments, too standoffish, too uninterested in small talk. If someone somehow found that all attractive, they were still unlikely to break through the wall. She didn't have time, or interest.
Because it was not boys, or girls, that interested her. It was sex.
So, here she was, 7 o'clock on a Friday night, bedroom door locked, lights turned down, her panties on the floor. Cassandra had her AirPods in. She'd perched her MacBook on the desk and immediately summoned up a video she'd tagged earlier. Leaning back in the chair, spreading her thighs, she was reaching under her modest knee length skirt and stroking herself quickly to wetness.
Cassandra spent the next hour like this. She'd downed a pill on her way home, a 'wake up' pill that was easily scored among the highly-driven and well-off students at her charter school. It would help her tackle her study list tonight. But it also served the purpose of getting her heart rate going and her libido in high gear, for this. Cassandra pulled up four different videos simultaneously, taking it all in at once as she circled her clit, slid a finger deep inside, edged herself.
Lesbian anal strapon sex. Interracial blowbang. Shibari. Electrical torture. Bukkake. Cassandra pulled it all up, more intense and niche as she went. Choking. Piss play. Double vaginal. At the end of the hour, on the dot, Cassandra let her fingers begin to slide at a fierce pace, in and out, stroking her sex as her thumb worked her clit. She came hard, finally, her well-muscled body jerking out an orgasm that nearly drove her from her chair.
Sweating, she drank hard from her Stanley, closed the videos, switched her Airpods to her study playlist, wiped her crotch with her panties, and got down to work. She had a schedule. Her next orgasm would wait for four hours.
---------------------------
"What did you like most about the video?"
Benjamin sat back in his office chair, casually cracking his knuckles and watching the screen for a reply. He normally would be only half paying attention to the chat while doing actual work, and conducting another five or six at the same time. But this one - this one had his attention.
CassNova had increasingly had his attention, for the past two weeks. She was one of the many supposed women he connected to on these kink sites. Most were obviously bots, out for spam, or obviously men. Of the rest many were boring, damaged, or needy - or all three. But the potential for something else kept him clicking and typing. Once in a while he found one who could write, or talk, had something to say, could turn him on and keep him interested.
It wasn't that Benjamin had no other option when it came to women or sex. He was pushing 60, yes, but he was still attractive to some, for his success, ability to dress well, and behave around a lady, if nothing else. In addition, he'd been involved in the world of kink for decades in the city, and there were many outlets there. But these forums and chat sites a variation on the theme; folks he hadn't already run into a hundred times in the sex clubs.
New to him, but also new to the scene. Part of what Benjamin found he enjoyed on these sites was imparting a bit of his experience. Many of the men and women he spoke with were new to their sexuality, exploring hidden interests, testing out the waters inside themselves. He found it satisfying to be part of the process. He supposed maybe he should have gone into teaching. Teaching something a bit more acceptable.
But he never had. Benjamin had been born into money, British wealth stolen from India, if he were honest about it, which he tried to be. He'd learned to invest it. Like anything he chose to do, he did it with exacting technique and unfailing determination. It didn't provide him with much purpose, this turning wealth into more wealth. But it was a puzzle he'd turned his talents to.
Among other puzzles. There was nothing to prevent him exploring whatever passion he chose, other than the challenge of the thing itself. So Benjamin had made money, but also become an ultramarathoner, an oil painter, a piano player. He learned Hindi. Baked bread.
And became a lover. Of sorts. What Benjamin loved was the act, the perversions, the play - less so the person. He'd burned through a few marriages before giving up on that. What loving he enjoyed was more easily found at a sex club than a marriage bed.
And sometimes at the other end of a chat box. Benjamin sat back and waited for CassNova's reply. She had a profile on this site meant primarily for exploring fetishes. He'd replied to her interesting post a few weeks ago, and they had chatted intermittently since. He'd been sending her increasingly perverted content. Carefully titrated. Though she put on that she was an old hat at all this, he'd suspected it was quite the opposite, and he was careful not to scare her off. Her naivete aroused him.
