The Scene of the Crime

Disclaimer: This is a fantasy about acts that would be terribly immoral in reality.

I didn't have a concrete reason to be worried, that day, but I was worried all the same.

I was getting lunch with three of the girls from my mattress shop - Georgia, Ashanti, and Isabella - while Fila minded the store during one of our quiet hours. The girl at the counter handed me the bag with our tacos, and I watched the group as I approached, trying to identify my concern.

Georgia and Ashanti said on one side of the table, with Isabella leaning in the corner. Georgia was a southern girl, with lovely brown hair and a charming smile; Ashanti was a bit of a firecracker, a slender black girl who could be as fierce as friendly. They were still in the new stage of being a couple, when being close together in public is a bit thrilling. They were also both pregnant, and I had to be careful not to stare. Georgia had a modest but undeniably pregnant belly, while Ashanti was still early enough in that you might not notice, although her boobs had already gone up a size. Both of them were thoroughly gorgeous.

Isabella wasn't really joining into their conversation, or even surreptitiously checking them out like I was. She'd been a bit brusque with both girls for weeks, and I wondered if that wasn't the source of my worry.

"Oh, thanks, Miss Martin," Georgia said, her hand resting on her belly. "I'm pretty sure I could eat a horse."

"Did they get your order right this time?" Ashanti asked.

Georgia took an experimental bite. "They forgot the salsa," she replied.

Ashanti sighed angrily. "That's the third time. I ought to go tell them." She took a quick bite of her own, then shook her head. "They did it to mine too."

Georgia put her hand on Ashanti's. "It's alright," she said. "There's salsa packets in the bag. We'll make it work."

Ashanti still looked angry, but she couldn't help but smile at Georgia. "Alright."

"You're hungry too, anyway," Georgia added.

I couldn't help but notice a parallel in the way they reacted to having their tacos filled improperly. Four months earlier, Georgia had been closing the shop alone when a man had snuck in. He'd made her strip, then ravished her senseless. Then, two months ago, he'd done largely the same thing to Ashanti, albeit with a bit more torn clothing. Neither one had been physically hurt, but the man had managed to knock them both up.

Georgia's response had been remarkably accepting. She hadn't been hurt, and she'd ended up with Ashanti, and she and Ashanti were going to be parents together. For Georgia, it had ended well, so bitterness was unnecessary.

Ashanti, on the other hand, was still simmering. She was happy to be with Georgia, and I did notice that much of her anger was on Georgia's behalf, but I was sometimes amazed at how persistent her rage was. I couldn't blame her, but I also hoped she wouldn't let it eat her up inside.

Georgia and Ashanti finished up before Isabella and I, and I suggested they go for a walk. As they stepped into the park, I cleaned up their stuff and tried to figure out what was bothering me.

"You shouldn't have to clean up after them," Isabella said.

I glanced over at her. Isabella was some percentage Italian, with beautiful olive skin, curly black hair, and an impressively buxom figure. She looked like a Roman goddess, which made me particularly jealous of the Roman gods. She was casting a skeptical eye towards Georgia and Ashanti as they walked away.

"I don't have to," I noted. "I just want to be kind to them."

Isabella hesitated. "Do you believe them when they say they were assaulted?"

I certainly did believe them, although I couldn't tell Isabella why. The shop's security cameras had recorded both girls' ravishments in exquisite detail, and I had jilled off to both recordings more times than I could count.

"Yes," I said. "Of course I do."

Isabella shrugged. "Maybe it's true," she said. "But maybe they were just a bit slutty and don't want to admit it."

"Isabella!"

"I don't judge," she added. "But I don't worry either."

I caught her eye. "I need you to worry enough to stay safe. Okay?"

She smiled beatifically. "Of course. Don't worry."

--

I worried, of course. Isabella and Georgia had been scheduled to close, but after I got home, Georgia called to say she'd left early, leaving Isabella to close by herself. This made me worry more.

It also, I must admit, made me horny. I hoped Isabella would be fine, that she'd listen to me and be careful. But I spent the entire evening imagining what might happen if she wasn't careful. I imagined the man who'd ravished the others sneaking in through a carelessly opened window. I imagined him forcing Isabella to strip and then forcing himself on her, in spite of her squeals of protest. I imagined him crying out as he filled her, and her belly growing along with Georgia's and Ashanti's.

My worries and my horniness both tripled when Isabella called in sick the next day. She wasn't as enormously healthy as Ashanti, but given our last conversation, I couldn't help but wonder if she'd be willing to report an assault. I spent the day in a particular sort of agony, unable to make sure she was alright and unable to release my worries with lust as I usually did.

Eventually, though, nine o'clock rolled around. I told Fila and Ashanti to head out, then ducked back inside. I took a deep breath, then opened the security system.

I started the video just before closing. Isabella was gently ushering the last customers out, and I was relieved to see that she locked the front door a moment after they'd departed. Perhaps I'd been worrying about nothing.

She walked back to the desk. Instead of checking the back door and the loading dock, though, she sat down to run through the day's numbers. I could see on her screen that the loading door wasn't locked after our delivery of new mattresses that afternoon.

My apprehension grew as I watched her work with her back to the employees-only area. I wanted her to learn that the other girls were telling the truth, but not like this. And yet, I was already growing wet with anticipation.

I moaned when I saw the man step out from the employees-only section, out of apprehension and lust. As many times as I'd watched the security tapes of him ravishing Georgia and Ashanti, I'd recognize him anywhere. He was tall and blond, with a short beard and nondescript clothing.

He stalked silently closer, then stopped not far from the desk. Isabella, still wrapped up in the numbers, didn't notice him until he spoke.

"I have a delivery to make," he said.

Isabella jumped up, startled. She put her hand on her heart, or as close as she could get with her gorgeous boobs blocking the most direct approach. I realized with a pang of guilt that I would likely get to see them in a moment, then turned my attention back to the video.

Isabella's expression had hardened, but she still looked more confused than fearful.

"Deliveries have to be scheduled," Isabella said.

"I've had this one penciled in for a few weeks," he said.

"Well we don't have anything on our schedule," Isabella replied.

"That's my fault," he said. "I didn't tell your boss ahead of time."

It sounds strange, but this statement gave me tremors. I had watched this man ravish two of my employees in my shop, but he'd never mentioned me. His words sent my thoughts rushing down unexpected paths. Had he been watching me, too? Did I need to be more careful so that he didn't ravish me? What would it feel like if he did?

Isabella frowned, drawing my attention back. "If Miss Martin hasn't approved it, then it'll have to wait."

"I don't think it can wait for Miss Martin's approval," he said. "It's fairly urgent."

Isabella stared at him, and I saw the first bit of concern cross her face. On one level, it broke my heart to watch her slowly figure out what was happening. At the same time, though, it drew out the first moments exquisitely. I lifted my skirt and began to rub myself, the anticipation making me whimper.

"I'm sure Miss Martin will want to schedule it, whatever it is," Isabella said, a note of anxiety in her voice. She took a step forward, hoping to gently herd him towards the back door, but he didn't budge. "She likes to keep an eye on things."

"Oh, I'm sure she does," he said with a broad smile. "But this isn't a delivery for the shop, exactly. It's a delivery for you."

Isabella frowned. "What is it?"

"Hopefully the same things your friends have gotten," he said. "But it depends-"

Isabella finally put two and two together. She screamed, interrupting him, and ran for where her cell phone sat on the desk. She grabbed it, but before she could dial he'd grabbed her wrist and pulled the phone away. She reached for it, but he calmly powered it off before grabbing her other wrist and guiding her away from the desks and towards one of our fanciest display mattresses. My inner businesswoman winced, but she couldn't stop me from watching any more than my guilt could.

He pushed Isabella backwards until she had her back up against the elevated bed. I had five cameras that could see her well from each side, and I groaned again.

"Sorry," he said. "This is a confidential delivery. Now as I was saying, what I deliver depends a little on what sort of girl you are."

Isabella struggled a bit in his grasp, then glared. "I'm not doing anything for you!"

"It's your choice," he said. "You can be a good girl and fight, or you can be a bit slutty and do as I ask."

"Fuck you," she spat.

"I haven't asked that yet," he said, in a tone of mild reproach. She was silent, and he continued. "Right now I just want to see what you look like naked."

"No!" Isabella cried.

"It's up to you," he said. "You can be a good girl and struggle, and I can tear your clothes off. Or you can be a bit slutty and take them off, and they won't get torn."

Isabella hesitated, twisting a bit, and he moved back just a bit. "Do you want me to let go while you think about it?"

She said nothing for a moment, likely fearing a trap, before deciding that she couldn't get trapped much worse. "Okay," she ventured.

"Okay," he repeated, and released his grip.

Isabella moved back, climbing onto the bed and sitting. I saw her glance to the sides, wondering if she could make a break for it, before deciding that he'd likely catch her before she reached the door. She stared at him, wondering how to react.

"What do you think?" he asked. "I think you'll be cute either way."

"I..." she took a deep breath. "I'll take them off."

"Okay," he said. "Show me your slutty side."

I bit my lip as I watched her adjust her position. I could almost feel her apprehension and arousal. I glanced around, verifying that no one was anywhere near my shop, before unbuttoning my shirt and shedding my bra. I watched, touching one breast, as Isabella began to follow suit.

She started with her shirt. She began unfastening the buttons, fumbling one or two out of nervousness. The man did not seem inclined to chide her, though; he watched eagerly but without any sense of hurry.

Isabella shed her shirt, setting it to one side before straightening back up. She was gorgeous. Her black curls spilled across her olive shoulders, drawing a chaotic line that contrasted with the lacy pattern of her bra. Even within her bra, her breasts were magnificent - curvy and full and closely acquainted with one another. I was drooling over the thought of seeing more of them, but Isabella was not done yet.

She stood up atop the bed and unzipped her pants. Then, with agonizing slowness, she pulled them down, kicking her shoes off and stepping out of her pants entirely.

I moaned at the sight of her. If Venus had been a bit darker and curvier and had stood on a mattress instead of a seashell, she might've looked a bit like Isabella. And if Venus didn't want to look like Isabella, then I couldn't imagine what she was thinking.

The man took his time appreciating Isabella's luscious curves. She blushed, but still managed to glare at him. God, her haughtiness made her even hotter.

"You are lovely," he said. "But I did ask you to get naked."

Isabella's blush deepened. "You can imagine."

"I have been," he replied. "But I want to see how accurate my imaginings are."

She hesitated, and he smiled. "You're showing me your slutty side, remember?"

Isabella took a deep breath. She was cornered and she knew it. She reached behind her back and unfastened her bra, letting it hang from her shoulders for a moment before sliding it off.

Her breasts were gorgeous - soft and full, with small nipples and perhaps the most lovely cleavage I'd ever seen. I briefly wondered why MattressSoft had given us uniforms that concealed her so effectively, but then her tits were bouncing as she stood up and rational thought left me.

Isabella didn't hesitate before pulling her panties down and tossing them aside. She looked down from her pedestal at the man, half in apprehension but half almost in challenge. I could see everything. One camera showed me the glorious curve of her ass. Two more showed her in profile, her head held high, every line of her body visible. One showed her from the front, gracing me with her scornful expression, her beautifully unrestrained breasts, and the black curls of her trimmed bush.

I don't know how long they spent staring at one another, trading lustful appreciation for scorn. It was long enough for me to shed my panties and slip my fingers between my wet lips, and for me to moan in anticipation, at least.

"Yes," he murmured. "You are beautiful. I'm glad you decided to be slutty."

Isabella glared at him.

"But there's something else I'd like to see," he went on. "I want to see what you look like when you climax."

"No!" she cried.

"You have options here too," he said. "You could keep being slutty, and touch yourself until you get there. Or you could be a good girl and refuse, and I could help you."

I wasn't sure about his classification scheme, but I knew what Isabella was going to pick. As I watched, she sat down, then leaned back against some of the display pillows. She cast one last scornful look in his direction, then closed her eyes.

It was lovely, watching her begin. She took a deep breath, still keeping her eyes closed, and ran her hands down her sides. Her right hand glided over her bush, just touching it and circling. She pulled her knees up, then opened her legs. I caught my first glimpse of her pussy as she gingerly ran her fingers along her full lips. She moved delicately, doing a pre-flight check before she even thought of taking off. I was already flying, and watching her caress herself sent me higher.

Her fingers began a slow rhythm, circling her clit and glancing along her open lips. I could hear her breathing as it grew deeper. Her pussy was already wet; I guessed that her striptease had been exciting for her at some level. She spread her left hand, gripping and releasing the sheets as her chest rose and fell.

The man watched avidly as Isabella's pace rose. He was noticeably tenting his pants, but he made no move to interfere or take advantage of Isabella's distraction.

I wondered what they were thinking. Isabella was gasping, gently but insistently, and her left hand wandered up to her breast. What was she thinking about, as she jilled off in front of a man she'd just met? Was she imagining him, getting impatient and forcing himself on her? A crush I didn't know about, making passionate love to her? A movie star having a fling with her?

The man was both more and less of a mystery. I could understand the appeal of seeing Isabella naked and watching her jill off; it was certainly doing wonders for me. But as I fingered myself along with Isabella, he was merely watching. Did he just want to get her warmed up for him? Did he want to make her uncomfortable, by forcing her to show him her secrets? Did he want to make her feel at ease by letting her pleasure herself the way she liked?

Whatever she was thinking of, it seemed at first to be working. Her pace was rising, her fingers gliding along her lips and circling one dark nipple. She moaned, and I wondered if she was thinking of anyone's name as she murmured to herself. She stretched her toes out, urging herself on.

I soon noticed that she was having trouble keeping it going, though. I didn't know if she was anxious about the man or just pushing herself too hard, but she started twisting herself as she chased the sensation, her sounds growing frustrated as she went.

I couldn't help but think about how I'd help her, if I was there. I could whisper dirty nothings into her ear, or kiss her wherever I could reach, or move her hand out of the way and take over for her. Unfortunately, I had to be content just to watch.

The man was under no such constraint, though. He watched Isabella's struggles with what looked like concern. Then, silently and without any warning, he pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside. Then, still keeping an eye on her, he pulled his pants down and kicked them aside along with his shoes. I moaned, at the sight of his lean frame and erect cock but also in anticipation.

"Sometimes it's hard to get there," he murmured, as she bit her lip and tried again to find the right rhythm. "I'll help."

She didn't process what he was saying until she felt the bed shift as he climbed on. She squealed as she opened her eyes and saw him kneeling next to her. She tried to move back and push him away, and he grabbed her right wrist and held her still as he moved closer.

"Stop!" she cried. He straddled her, then grabbed her left wrist as she slapped at him, holding both wrists above her head.

"When I see a girl who needs help, I've got to give it to her," he said. He stared down at her naked body, pinned helplessly beneath him, and sighed in pleasure.

"No!" she cried, staring at his hard cock. "You said I could choose!"

"You chose to be a slut," the man said, pushing his knee between Isabella's to force her legs apart. "And when a slut can't have an orgasm, she finds a stranger to help her."

I moaned as I watched Isabella's desperate struggles. She twisted her arms, trying to pull away from his grip but only succeeding in making her breasts jiggle. She squealed as he pushed her knees slowly apart, and tried futilely to move away from his erect cock as it drew closer to her wet pussy.

"Get off me!" Isabella cried.

"When we're done," he replied.

I stared, transfixed, at the camera showing them from the foot of the bed. Isabella's feet flailed helplessly as the man lined himself up with her defenseless cunt.

"No!" Isabella squealed. "You can't!"

The man pressed the head of his cock against her lips. His groan of pleasure and her cry of outrage merged together as he slowly entered her. She kicked her pretty feet as her wet lips opened to take him in. I watched his hard shaft vanish inside her beautiful dark pussy, and I let my moan of pleasure join their chorus.

"I can," the man groaned, looking down at where Isabella's body opened for him. "I just shouldn't."

The man drew back and thrust gently back inside, and Isabella groaned at the sensation. She had gotten herself quite excited, and he clearly meant to drive that excitement further.

Isabella shook her head, her dark curls spreading out across the pillow. She stared down in shock at where they joined together, his shaft gingerly exploring her depths. He moved carefully, not like a brutal attacker raiding a victim so much as a pilot learning the controls of an unfamiliar aircraft.

It didn't take long for her shock at having a stranger inside her to be replaced by offense at the pleasure she was beginning to feel. The man was still moving carefully, but he was beginning to settle into a rhythm, keeping his cock deep inside her as he rubbed his hips against hers. She blushed and squirmed, trying to escape the pleasure as well as his grasp, but both of them were relentless.