Becy's Deal

I missed Becky's party. I missed it because she couldn't have it; at least not at our house. Laurie was home when I got there Wednesday. Becky left a note on the kitchen's peninsula. She wrote that she was going out with friends and would be back in the evening; most likely to get her things for a two day camping trip.

Fortunately for me Laurie was in our bedroom. The lights were out, the drapes were closed and the white noise machine was running. All signs that she had one of her monstrous migraines. Laurie didn't get migraines very often but when she did they were incapacitating. So it was no surprise that my cameras had not been spotted. Laurie was in too much pain to notice a four inch camera mixed in the ferns.

I made sure Laurie didn't need anything before I went downstairs and carefully put each camera back in the box exactly as it was when I first opened it. I hid the box in the garage. There would be plenty of time later to show them to Laurie and then mount them outside along the hedge and out back by the entrance. No one need know the cameras had already fulfilled their primary purpose.

Time passed and eventually I did find out that Becky had her party. My discovery was made about a month after she had gone back to school. I was coming into the house from the garage when Laurie handed me a plastic mailer that was addressed to Becky

"Would you put that with the other stuff we're mailing on Saturday?" Laurie asked.

I looked it over and asked, "What is it?"

Laurie was dismissive. She answered "It's music. I thought it was pretty nice of Brad to drop it off. He said that after the accident, while he and Becky were waiting for the tow truck, she mentioned that she liked jazz." Laurie turned away to get some pasta from the pantry.

I was turning the bubble wrap envelope around in my hand and thinking about the possibilities as I absent mindedly said, "I didn't know Becky liked Jazz."

Laurie pulled a pot out from beneath the counter. She set it on the stove and continued, "I don't think she does. But I'm not going to tell that poor old man that. He's been through enough. It's probably Charlie Parker and Miles Davis. Kids these days don't appreciate the greats. Let's send it to her and she can decide what to do with it."

I'm a voyeur and I love jazz.. So I assumed that no matter what was in the envelope it was something I was sure to enjoy. I took the envelope to Becky's room and put it on the pile of snacks, stuffed animals, gift cards and sundry basics such as cotton balls and razors that we were sending to Becky. It was all the stuff no student would want to spend their own money buying.

I had an identical envelope, on it I mimicked the address label from Brad's package. Then I opened the original and found two CD cases. One was a George Howard CD and the other was a Grover Washington Jr. CD. Damn, this was not what I expected. I put the George Howard CD into the new envelope, grabbed a Grover Washington CD and started to put it in also. I've always liked Soulful Strut; so I thought I might as well get a good copy for all my work. I put the CD into my computer and listened to the player windup. I clicked Rip CD then sat back and listened to the first track. That's when I noticed there was more than one disk in the case. The second disk was a DVD. I actually looked at the liner notes to see what was on the second disk. I don't know, I guess I thought it was bonus concert footage. Then the CD tray opened and I knew. I knew the DVD labeled A Wonderful Concert was not made by Grover Washington.Jr.

I watched the CD drawer close again and listened to the drive windup once more. I stared at the blinking LCD light as if it were flashing some sort of coded message to me. There was movement on the screen but I did not look up. Long moments passed as I tried to tell myself that I could put the DVD back in the case, seal it and send it to Becky. Then I wouldn't see what I'd later have to try and forget. But, then again, I had come so far already. On the floor next to my feet was the envelope and my office scissors. The discarded edge of the envelope was lying at the top of the trash in the can. Everything was in motion. There was no unknowing what I had already seen. In front of me was more to see. There was no resolve, there was only procrastination.

My eyes flitted upward and I saw the splash screen for the 'Concert'. My guilt feelings evaporated. The sound of a whirlwind filled my ears as I grabbed the mouse and clicked the blue Start button at the bottom of the screen. My last thought was that I was the worst kind of voyeur. I was watching something that no man should ever see. The video started with a group of black men standing in a wide semicircle. They were applauding my beautiful, shapely stepdaughter's entrance into the room.

Becky was wearing a short black skirt that could have passed for a thick belt. Her top was a tight fitting green halter. The halter was the kind that had its own sewn in bra that did nothing to keep her tits from jiggling with each move. Over the halter she had on a thin matching jacket. For shoes my stepdaughter was wearing four inch acrylic mules. Did Laurie know Becky even owned this stuff? Becky stood in the middle of the half circle and slowly turned clockwise. There were five men. None of them appeared to be under forty. She paused for a moment as she faced each man. It was obvious she was grinning. This bitch was as much a woman as any I'd ever seen.

The cameraman began to narrate the scene. "Damn, this is one hot bitch. To think she is going to get it on with these out-of-shape, greasy fuckers is amazing. Why is she doing it?"

Another voice replied, "I don't know. We all paid but Brad said it wasn't for her. It was something about using his house or some shit like that. Who the fuck cares? You know what I'm saying? When he sent out that invitation and it had the picture of her on her knees deep throating him. Hell, I've seen this bitch around the neighborhood, I'd a paid five hundred dollars. But fuck, I'm sure glad though that Brad only asked for a hundred."

The camera shook a little as both men laughed.

I could hear some of the other men making comments too. Someone said, "That's it baby, show us all what you got." Another man yelled, "Fuck Brad, you been holding out on us? How long you had this pretty little thing all to yourself?" Brad just smiled. He never took his eyes off Becky. When she looked at him, their eyes locked onto each other and neither of them moved.

The narrator held the camera on Becky. Brad was sitting in a big leather recliner that was positioned at the apex of the half circle. Becky slowly ran both of her hands down her sides to her hips and then between her thighs. Someone turned on some slow jazz. Becky swayed her hips to the music's heavy beat.

The cameraman restarted his raunchy narrative. "Here we go!" he said. He took a couple of steps closer. He was no more than five feet behind my stepdaughter. Becky's hands ran down her thighs and onto her calves. She stopped at her ankles. Behind her, the cameraman was filling the screen with Becky's perfectly formed muscular ass. A tiny green strap of her thong disappeared between her buttocks and reappeared as a small patch of cloth that barely covered her perfectly shaven cunt. Her ass and pussy were open to anyone interested and all of these men were interested.

One of the black men said in a thick baritone "Damn that bitch is limber."

Without missing a beat the cameraman replied, "Fucking good thing dawg, that way she don't break." Suddenly there was laughter and more yelling. Someone else yelled, "Fucking look at this shit. I can't wait to tap that white ass. God damn I'm going to make her scream."

Again the cameraman evinced his wit as he quickly responded "Fuck man, she already saw your face. If she ain't screamed yet she ain't gonna."

The whole room erupted with laughter. Becky stood up and shrugged off her jacket. From the vantage of the cameraman, Becky appeared naked except for her little skirt and heels. She turned her head and said "I'll scream but it won't be from pain."

The cameraman's voice filled the speakers as he laughed and said "that's a challenge".

Becky twisted around, looked directly into the camera and said that she liked challenges. Then with a tilt of her head she added, "of course, some challenges are bigger than others."

The black man who said she was going to scream suddenly lost his smile. With a stony face he replied "Careful bitch, you in a black man's world here. We all like a good time but you mind your place. You hear bitch."

Becky couldn't have expected such ferocity in his response. She went rigid. She seemed deeply ashamed of herself. In the immediate silence after his rebuke, Becky furtively looked around the room. She found only grim, hard-set expressions. She was no one's darling here. She was a piece of meat among ravenous dogs. And they were going to be sated. They were going to enjoy themselves. And they didn't care about her.

Becky looked up to the man who had scolded her, she tilted her head, gave a slight smile and slowly sank to her knees. Once her ass was resting on her heels she bowed her head and said, "I'm sorry. Please let me show you my contrition."

In an instant the man was in front of her fumbling at his belt, snap and zipper. By the time she lifted her head his thick veiny black dong was hanging only a few inches in front of my stepdaughter's lips. She looked up at it through heat charged eyes. When she had walked into the room she appeared to be a happy woman set on having a good time. Now, on her knees licking the thick sweaty manhood of a black man twenty years her senior, Becky was a bitch in heat. She wasn't trying to pass the time by giving this black fucker a blow job. She wasn't trying to quickly get him off. No, Becky was loving him. She pressed his manhood to her cheek and kissed his pubic bone. Mashing down the graying thatch of pubic hair, she planted small kisses around the base of his cock. She turned her head slightly and kissed the base of his massive pole as if kissing the cheek of a long sought lover.

The gruff man's penis was thick and looked like an over-stuffed blood sausage. Becky pulled back the foreskin and licked the shaft till his entire manhood glistened wetly. Then, she lovingly dropped down a few inches and licked his black leathery scrotum. When Becky returned her devotion to the middle aged black man's cock, it was as hard as the hall table where he put his clothes.

Becky held his penis a couple of inches from her face. She licked her lips and then said quietly, "It's so big. I love being in this black man's world." Then Becky looked up at the hard breathing black man and said demurely, "This is my place. I know that now. Please forgive me and give me your cum. Then fuck me and make me worthy of you and your friends. Please show me this kindness."

Instantly the cameraman gave his assessment and yelled, "Holy fuck did you hear that? This bitch is high class. Damn she sounds like Shakespeare or something. Yo, you need to dumb down the vocabulary bitch. So you is sorry. You want to suck that big fucker's cock to make up for the mistake. That's what he understands. Remember, slut there aint no college educated fuckers here."

There was No reply to cameraman's jest and no one looked away from the spectacle unfolding in the middle of their semicircle. They were as focused on Becky as metal flecks on a magnet.

Becky took her hands away from her master's cock and put them on his expansive ass. The cameraman focused in on the muscles in my stepdaughters arms. "Look at this will you. This big titted slut is trying to push more of that black cock down her throat. She is the bomb. Brad, we may need to do this girl a few times. Revisit her, you know?"

For a brief second the camera panned over to Brad. Sitting in his overstuffed recliner he seemed as happy as a king on a throne. He seemed to take pride in Becky's ministrations as if he was the one who discovered and then nurtured my stepdaughter's wantonness.

Breathlessly the cameraman said "Holy shit. Check this shit out." While the camera's auto-focus struggled to resolve the image. The camera man continued to give his lewd narration. In a loud voice he said, "Damn! Check this shit out. She's got DaJuan's cock down her throat. No shit, she is deep throating him. Look at this shit. God damn, I need to tap that shit myself."

Just then, the pixelated image came into sharp focus. It was Becky. Her face was pressed hard against a black man's groin. Her eyes were shut. Her lips were lost in the tangle of gray public hair that surrounded the cock she was servicing. A black hand, I assumed it was the cameraman's was holding Becky's hair back away from her face. I could see her jaw move forward and her throat convulse as if she were not only accepting his entire length but was stimulating it too. Then she backed away a few inches and suddenly surged forward again. She repeated this back and forth movement on him all the while licking and moaning around his thick black cock.

Where in the hell did she learn how to give head like that?

My stepdaughter was being filmed as she fellated a black stranger with the expertise and enthusiasm of a high priced prostitute. The cameraman focused on the action as he made his lewd comments. "This classy fucking bitch is hungry. She needs something, fuck DaJuan give her what she needs. Come on fuckers. DaJuan ain't going to last long. He probably aint cum in years. I hope the bitch don't drown."

There was a smattering of laughter but it was quickly drown out by DaJuan's deep growl. DaJuan put his big pumpkin hands on Becky's head and roared out, "Fuck, I'll show this cunt. I'll show her. Come on bitch, you wanna be in a black man's world? Well you take a black man's fucking. I'm going to fuck your mouth like a pussy."

DaJuan's greasy sweat fell on Becky's shoulders like rain. Becky was rigid as the black brute rammed his meat into her throat and fucked it like a virgin pussy. My stepdaughter didn't gag, she didn't choke, hell her eyes barely watered. That is until DaJuan clamped onto her head with his thick hands and held her face over his cock. The fucker moved his hips faster and then shoved his girth upward and his full length disappeared through Becky's lips and into her throat.

DaJuan screamed, "Drown bitch, drown!"

He must have spewed his thick heavy load well past her mouth and directly into her throat. I could see Becky's throat muscles contracting. She was forced to swallow his sperm because if she didn't that shit was going to blast out her nose. That's how hard he seemed to climax.

After several minutes, the black brute let go of Becky and staggered backward a few steps. The cameraman took advantage of DaJuan's lack of composure and said, "Holy shit mutha fuckas, check this shit out! The bitch took all of DaJuan's fat cock."

No one seemed to be listening to the cameraman. Every man had his own conversation going on. A couple comments rose above the din. "I'm going get me some of that, fuck yeah I'm going get me some of that bitches mouth."

Someone else said, "Damn! We need to tag team this bitch."

Another comment that I heard more than once was "We gonna tear that shit up!"

Another voice growled, "Shit, after us, nothing but black cock is going to satisfy her."

Then one question stood out from all of the other comments and questions. The cameraman, had his focus on Becky when I heard a thick baritone ask, "Damn, this bitch on the pill?"

For a split second the group went completely silent. Then my speakers filled with raucous laughter. The cameraman panned the group and stopped on a skinny balding man. He was naked except for his socks. His arms were thin and his chest was hairless save for a few wiry nipple hairs. As the camera settled on his weary face he gave a buoyant smile that had him shed thirty years as he said, "Who the fuck cares?"

My speakers once again filled with raucous laughter and shouts of agreement. Then the cameraman announced. "Well, she can't get no child support when she don't know who the daddy is. Right, so who cares?"

But then, Brad spoke up, "She is here because I asked her to be."

Someone interrupted by yelling, "Fuck, the bitch is here cause she want to be. You've just made it convenient!"

Two big muscular men on the cameraman's right answered the assertion with a deep "uh huh" and then the one furthest away added angrily, "Fuck man, I didn't come here to banter and shit. Let's get this show on the road."

The cameraman took a loud, deep breath before replying, "Cool down Daniel, it's all good. I'm just trying to capture a memory here."

The cameraman's sarcasm was lost on the two muscular black men.

The one I could only assume was Daniel, replied gruffly and said, "Capture a memory? What silly shit is that? I paid to fuck this bitch. I've wanted to tap that ass since I first met her in high school." Now let's get it on."

Becky smiled demurely as she acknowledged Daniel with a small wave. Then, while staring at his groin Becky said "I thought I recognized you. You were in my history class." The revelation seemed to neither frighten nor alarm my stepdaughter.

Daniel clenched his teeth and replied slowly through an angry hiss, "Yeah, I was in that class. Bitch, you never even looked at me twice."

Suddenly Brad spoke up. "Well, she's looking at you now. And, you're about to fuck her, but no one is doing anything without a rubber." Brad's tone suggested that there would be no argument on this point.

The cameraman put in his own twist on the command. "Yeah, this is the only damn thing that everyone had to agree to. A damn rubber on every dick."

In a quieter voice so that only the camera could hear the cameraman continued with, "Hell, what do I care? None of these fuckers know it but I didn't have to pay anything. I just had to bring the camera, and well the damn condoms. So, I guess I best go get them..."

The camera swung around. I saw the pictures of Brad's wife and children and his grandchildren hanging on the wall. I saw the Maple dining room table, with the big Lazy Suzan sitting on top. Then suddenly a bowl appeared. It was at the bottom of the screen. It was an orange plastic bowl with black silhouettes of ghosts, goblins and broom riding witches along the sides. The bowl was filled with cellophane wrapped condoms. Using the camera as an extension of his own eyes, the cameraman panned back to the living room. None of the men had moved. Brad was still droning on about everyone following his rules. He said a lot more but I didn't hear any of it. The cameraman turned back to the bowl of condoms. This time I could tell it was sitting next to the mixer on the edge of the kitchen counter. The Cameraman's hand was absent but then reappeared. He held a condom between his middle and index finger. With Brad haranguing the group about being in charge; the cameraman's thick hand turned the condom so the camera could see both the front and the back of the wrapper. The wrapper was pristine. Then the cameraman's other hand came into view. He was holding a slender awl. He presented it to the camera. Then he made a show of squeezing the condom and then pushing the awl through the cellophane. He removed the awl, smoothed over the ragged edges of the hole and tossed the condom in with the rest. He shook the bowl a few times. Then the camera levelled and he returned to the living room.

The cameraman handed the bowl to the closest man and said, "Here you go man. Take one and pass it on. Use the one you take."

The bowl quickly made the circuit of inpatient men. Becky eyed the group and smiled broadly. She appeared to be pleased that each man was holding a condom.