I sat down at the computer and my mind was a bit fuzzy and cloudy as the day was outside. Dark clouds were outside of my home office window and it looked as though wet weather was on the way.
As the computer fired up, I looked outside again as a rumble of thunder shook the house and the rain began to fall. I moved to the window hearing the rain slap against the cut-stone patio like bacon frying in a pan. Little did I know that the ominous clouds on the horizon and the frying bacon would be appropriate analogies of what I was about to see in my e-mail.
As my e-mail account opened I noticed a few e-mails from friends, my daughter, and a few advertisements. It was a few days since I was last in my e-mail and, not being completely tech savvy, at times, tried to avoid the computer.
I scrolled down a bit and saw an e-mail from looked like Westview Country Club but the address did not appear proper. I heard so much about viruses and paid the price last year by opening an innocent e-mail only to have a boatload of unwanted garbage loaded on my pc, explicit adult sites that I had to explain to my husband about my computer illiteracy and face his wrath of being careful about what I opened on e-mail.
I thought about it for a second but clicked on the wcc-admin e-mail and a message with a few attachments were in the e-mail. The message read, "Hi Anne, I thought you should see these. I would like to discard these but we need to be sure how we want dispose of them or should we post them for the club members to look at? Please let me know before Tuesday at noon." It was unsigned and there was no phone number.
Thunder rumbled and the sky illuminated with a streak of lighting foreboding more than just a bad storm.
Odd, but I never had received an e-mail from the country club before. And what needs to be posted for members to see? I was a bit perplexed thinking maybe it was some rummage items for those less fortunate? I have provided volunteer services for the poor and homeless in the past and maybe it had something to do with our club being more socially responsible. But who could be poor if they belonged to Westview?
I clicked on the first attachment. I figured out how to look at attachments a few weeks before when I received a few pictures of my first grandchild. I loved the computer and the wonders of technology.
The attachment box appeared and I clicked on open. It took a few moments and I walked back to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee. I was walking back into the office and looked out the window at the dark sky and watched the rain beat on the bay windows of the home office.
I glanced at the screen expecting to see some old golf carts, clothing or items for a rummage sale.
To my shock and horror I saw what I believed to be me leaning back in a chair by the lockers in the far corner of the women's locker room. My legs were spread and another woman was between my legs.
My face was clearly visible. My closed eyes, my hands in her hair as her face was buried in my pussy. I was in shock.
I clicked back to the e-mail and looked at the other attachments. They were numbered one to five. Four of the five had a .jpg extension with the fifth attachment having an .mpg extension.
I was not sure what .mpg meant so I clicked on that attachment. I grasped my coffee cup searching for some assurance that it was nothing. But how? This happened last Friday? No one was about the club house or the women's locker room. How I asked myself over and over.
The open attachment box appeared and I clicked on 'open'. The computer grinded away and finally a small movie screen appeared. It was the locker room and sound of running water and moaning could be heard in the background. The quality of the video and audio were poor but I could hear some moaning in the background.
The scene abruptly changed to coincide with the first attachment. Even though the scene was from a distance, I could see two people, two women, engaged in oral sex. One woman, me, was sitting on a chair and an unknown woman, Megan, was between my legs licking away at me.
The distance between the camera and the women evaporated as the image became more in focus and closer. My face could be clearly seen, biting my lip, my head thrown back in ecstasy as I was cumming.
I sat in the leather chair staring at the computer screen. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lighting illuminated the room with every crack. The rain continued to pour onto the cut\ stones outside the slightly opened window. The storm increased in its intensity. So did the e-mail.
