Paradise (The Erotic Adventures of Sophia Durant)

by O. L. Casper

  September 23, Eleuthera Island, Bahamas

  Stafford left before six a.m. for what was an impromptu meeting as far as I could tell. There was no prior electronic communication except two phone calls at 5:26 and 5:28 that morning. I decided to go into his email to see if there was any prior reference there. I brought a cup of fresh coffee back to my room, sat on the bed and began looking through all his email accounts (they were merged into one string of messages in Minerva). There were no personal messages in the last two days. I wondered if he actually used email at all. I went through his text messages next. Interestingly, I found a string of messages to and from Emma Green. I would look at those later. I felt the stinging pangs of jealousy rip through my heart, but I wasn’t going to let it sidetrack me from my mission. Then I found a message from someone saved simply as Kimosabe.

  KIMOSABE: The Rocketeer arrives tonight, will meet at 6 in the morning. High side of the island

  MARK: Okay. You know the deal.

  I’m glad I didn’t find this earlier. I probably would have followed Stafford and who knows what would have happened. I looked at the message string with Emma, beginning after the viewing yesterday.

  MARK: I loved it, loved it!

  I took a deep breath before I read on.

  EMMA: Good, good. Makes me happy. When do you want to have the acreage inspected?

  MARK: I’m busy tomorrow—day, but perhaps in the evening…?

  EMMA: I’m free. So you’re coming yourself I take it.

  MARK: I think so. Unless it’s inconvenient for you.

  EMMA: Very convenient. Totally, utterly, and completely.

  MARK: You make me laugh.

  EMMA: That’s a good thing, right?

  MARK: Naturally.

  Looking back, perhaps it was silly of me, but at the time I was incensed. Naturally. That was my word. Nobody said that, except in movies from the forties, which I know he didn’t watch. He stole it from me.

  EMMA: Naturally. I like the sound of that. I’ve got some ATVs so when you come “inspect” dress down.

  MARK: Dress down yourself.

  EMMA: Oh I will.

  MARK: I could read so many different things into that.

  EMMA: Really? Like…

  MARK: I’d rather not say.

  EMMA: How much time do you have to spare for the inspection?

  MARK: How much do you have?

  EMMA: As much as you like, you’re the prospective client.

  MARK: Would you like to include dinner?

  EMMA: Why not?

  MARK: Throw it into the mix.

  EMMA: Yes, sir. Done. What would you like?

  MARK: I have no preferences. Surprise me.

  EMMA: Your wish is my command.

  MARK: Is it?

  EMMA: Most definitely.

  MARK: We’ll see about that.

  EMMA: Tomorrow night. We will.

  I was near tears. Why was I so jealous? It was just a little flirting, wasn’t it? Sounded like he was going to fuck her though. I contemplated scattering the tiny mics around the Edwardian mansion. Why not? I could get down there in no time in the 911 Turbo. I began to fantasize about setting up cameras. If only I could procure some by the evening. I didn’t have access to any decent cameras that I could take down there and hide. And it wasn’t like I could go out to a shop on the island and buy some spy cameras. I would have to be there if I wanted to watch.

  Sophia Durant’s Diary

  September 24, Eleuthera Island, Bahamas

  The storm had pushed out to sea in the northwest when I arrived at the empty Edwardian mansion. It was 12:37 when I checked my phone. The gate code for entry was four zeros. I had stolen it from Emma’s phone, which I had broken into with the subtle use of Bluetooth and Minerva the day before. I drove down a dirt road, extending past the mansion to one side, to a cluster of five barns about half a mile away. I had seen them on a Google Earth image and they suited my purposes just fine. I parked the 911 Turbo in a barn behind some bales of hay.

  The house wasn’t even locked. Removing the mics from my pocket, I scattered them about the house. I put one in every room on each of the floors. There were fifteen bedrooms and six baths in total and I had more than enough. They were so small I just placed them in the corners of the rooms on the floor. They looked like specs of dirt.

  To my surprise when I was on the fourth floor (the top floor), about to head back down to exit the building, I heard a car pull up. Entering a room on the front side of the house, I peeked through a curtain and saw the tail end of Emma’s Mercedes Benz E-Class peeking back at me from around a corner. Fuck.

  In my plan I had seen myself carefully placing the microphones and heading back to the Porsche, waiting for the sound of Stafford’s arrival. Why hadn’t I considered this possibility? I cased the room for a place to hide.

  It was a desolate, dilapidated room with elaborately patterned trim and signs of decades old wallpaper curling off the walls. The sensation produced by the room in that moment was one of some bizarre dream I couldn’t place. I heard the muted sound of the front door closing four floors down, and the creaking sound that cut through the walls right after. There was no hiding in the room I was in so I crept into the next one. The room, much the same as the last, was brighter since the curtains were drawn and the additional light caused me to notice something I hadn’t in the last room—if in fact one had been in that room too. On the ceiling was a square panel about two feet by two feet. Rearranging a small table in the room, I was able to get to the panel and push it up. I pressed against it ever so slightly with my fingertips, so as not to make a sound. Once I’d lifted it an inch or so, I slid it gently to one side. I looked down at the table below. One end was against the wall so I figured it looked like it could have already been arranged that way. The bits and pieces of furniture that filled the rest of the house were in such disarray I didn’t think it would be noticeable unless Emma had memorized the placement of the furniture throughout the place, which I highly doubted. I pulled myself up into the attic.

  Due to the intense heat of the attic I immediately regretted hiding in it, but reasoned I didn’t have too many other options, if any. I plugged my earbuds into my phone and put in one of the buds. I listened to the mics near the entryway. With the app on the HTC I could slide my finger from one mic to another, they were numbered, and fade the audio from one to another. I had positioned the mics taking note of their numbers, and had a rough idea of where they were as I shifted though the corresponding numbers in the app.

  All I heard on the mics was the sound of Emma’s footsteps on the first floor. I checked the time on the HTC—1:24. I debated whether, after she left—if she left before meeting Stafford—I should leave too or stay posted in the attic till the meeting in a few hours. The heat quickly decided the question for me. I would get out of the attic first chance. I was already perspiring profusely. I could feel beads of sweat on my forehead, my armpits were wet and so was my crotch. I scanned my position. A few feet above me the ceiling sloped down toward the edge of the roof. Toward the middle of the attic there was standing room, but that was at least a hundred feet from where I was. I was stretched out, on my stomach, on a board that was nailed to two beams running parallel below me. My clothing, the same clothes I had worn on my last clandestine message on the north end of Eleuthera, was drenched in sweat.

  As I concentrated on the sound coming through the single earbud, I heard more intermittent footsteps that would stop and then continue some moments later. This was nearly useless listening except that it informed me of her general whereabouts in the house. I was thinking about how stupid this method of spying was when I heard another vehicle pull up at the front of the house. I saw an opening where light came through about thirty or forty feet ahead of me, along the edge of the attic. It was probably a small window, the variety of which one finds in the attics of hundred-year-old houses, and I thought about going to peer out of it. But I decided against it on account of how much no
ise I might make in doing so. Then it dawned on me, it must have been Stafford. It could have been someone else, an assistant perhaps, but that wouldn’t make any sense. If it was him I might be able to check on my phone. I switched over to the Minerva app. I could still hear through the mics in the earbud. Before I loaded up the GPS tracker that was set to Stafford’s phone I recognized his voice coming over the mics. Then the map came up. The blue dot indicating his position showed him to be on the property. I switched back to the mic app so I could fade through the various mics as needed. This was an odd position to be in. I could hear them loud and clear but there were no corresponding visuals.

  “You came alone.”

  “I did.”

  “What about Sophia?”

  “She had some work to do at the villa.”

  “She’s so pretty. I was really balled over. And she was so graceful and charming.”

  “She has that effect. But you must be used to that sort of thing.”

  I could hear his smile.

  “Not at all.”

  I wiped the sweat off my brow as I listened carefully. I was moved by her compliments. I almost forgave her what I was sure was about to happen. And I couldn’t resent him the way one resents someone when they act out of character. This sort of fling, I was sure, wasn’t unusual to him. And with that I let go and listened with greater calm. Even if I was about to listen to them have sex, I might now enjoy it in a perverse sort of way. With jealous feelings receding I felt my presence was almost frivolous. My fear of discovery was near nil since she had already shown him the house and was today showing him the surrounding land, plus a nice dinner with perhaps a bit of pussy on the side.

  “Do you want to see the property now or eat first?”

  “I had lunch not too long ago. Let’s see the property.”

  If by chance they found the 911 I would have to confess everything to Stafford, perhaps not then, but later. I would blame it all on insane jealousy, which it was, and probably lose him. But what were the chances of them finding the car? They have a lot of property to cover in a short time.

  I heard them exit the mansion and moments later I heard a car pull out of the driveway and away. I saw this as my chance. I removed the panel separating me from the room below and got down. I hurried to the end of the house I had heard them drive away from. I was too late to catch a glimpse of the car, but I did see the dust raised by the car. They were headed in the direction of the barn I parked in, but I wasn’t terribly worried about that. I was more worried about where to go.

  Opening Minerva on the HTC, I zoomed in on the map and saw they were about a mile away. In a snap decision I ran out to hide in some brush on the dunes, where I could see into the house through the back windows, and, looking over my shoulder, I could see to the ocean. I looked up. Seeing the storm clouds overhead, I got a bad feeling and dug into the sand. I hoped dearly it wouldn’t rain. Scanning the house with the Leica binoculars, I believed myself to be rather well positioned considering how well I could see into so many of the rooms, including the kitchen, an adjoining dining room, and various parlors. I didn’t really fear being found out. My biggest worry was the weather.

  Five minutes later I heard a car approaching the house. Checking Minerva I saw the blue dot pulsating on the spot the house is located. On the earbuds, both of which I now wore, I heard Emma and Stafford talking as they entered the house. Then I saw them up close through the binoculars. They were in the kitchen.

  “So what do you think of the property? Nice, huh?” she chimed, somewhat flirtatiously.

  “Very nice. I did have one thought though.”

  “What’s that?”

  I could see him leaning over her shoulder as she washed her hands in the sink. Noticing his hands go to her hips, I saw red. My heart beat faster and I struggled to regain composure. I’d known these emotions would come so why did they still sting? I reasoned with myself; he was not my boyfriend, we were not committed in anyway—no reason to get upset. In my distress I had lowered the binoculars. Calmer, I lifted them and continued to observe.

  The sound of soft kissing came over the earbuds like I was in the room. I watched him holding her hair back, kissing her on the cheek. Then the neck. She turned and faced him. I watched as he held her head in passionate embrace. In my mind there are two Staffords: one exists when I am there, friendly, caring, likeable; the other exists when I am not there, when he doesn’t know I’m watching via some form of electronic means.

  Seeing the passionate affair in the kitchen, for some reason I felt the overwhelming desire to possess a camera to record these events for future reference. For what cause I don’t know. But I decided on the spot I would order a high quality camera online when I got back. I’d get that D-SLR I’d looked at earlier.

  He took off her shirt, revealing radiant, tanned skin and a lace bra. He kissed down to her breasts and she took him by the hand into the living room. Because I could see them and hear them so well I felt at any minute they would look up and notice me, and each time one of them turned in my direction I gave a start. Sometimes I even lowered the binoculars to remind myself how far away I was. He unclipped the back of her bra as he bent her over a table. I hadn’t noticed it when it happened, but her skirt was now removed and she was bent over the table topless with only lace underwear and heels on. Her breasts were even bigger than I had previously thought. Conservatively they looked to be DDs when she was clothed, now they looked to be perhaps Es. And they were perfectly natural. I could tell by the way they popped out and draped down. He caressed the tips of her nipples to where the breasts met her chest. Then he ran his hands along her sides, down to her hips. He slipped his jeans and underwear down and out came the pulsating glistening cock, standing tall. I missed it. I wanted to hold it in my hands and stroke it, stick it inside and let him poke it. That would come later. I figured angry, jealous sex would be tremendously enjoyable. I looked forward to it.

  Pushing her panties to one side, he put the tip on the entrance to her vagina. She moaned loudly in apparent pleasure. I think the moan was so loud it was fake. I don’t know, but either way it brought a smile to Stafford’s face. He slid it in slowly, and, as he did, she let out an increasing moan. He put it in all the way and rocked his hips back and forth. In and out. This was the first time I had watched other people having sex that wasn’t in a video. As I watched, I felt an increasing sense of power. I felt power over Stafford for knowing so much of the intimate details of his sex life, and I felt power over her for seeing her fuck and knowing the sound of her fake moan during sex. In an odd way I fantasized I was some kind of guardian to the great man.

  He flipped her onto her back and I watched her breasts hang to either side of her chest and her legs spread as he reinserted his whopping penis. I noticed a small patch of neatly cut grass above the insertion point, a landing strip. The hair was very dark and exceedingly curly. I figured she was of the old school, furry muff variety. Stafford didn’t seem to mind. Sometimes he looked at it and played with it with his fingers while they fucked. I imagined Isabella must have had the full tuft, considering her age and the type of person she was. For a brief moment I considered growing mine out to please him. But in our sexual relationship I was in control. I didn’t grow anything out or trim anything off to please him; rather I did as I pleased. Emma seemed too easy for him and I wondered how long the interest would last. Plus she just seemed to lie in one position the whole time till he told her to do something else. He fully dominated her. I began to consider what an outside observer might think of my sex with him. And who knows? Emma may be feeling wonderful and passionate and dominant through this all regardless of how it might look.

  I watched as he pulled out his throbbing cock, now highly reflective with all her wetness spread all over him like melted butter. He stroked his penis just a little before the silver fluid shot across her stomach and chest with a little hitting her face. She passionately rubbed it into her chest. She rubbed some into her mouth and seem
ed to gobble it up, swallowing and licking her lips. I thought the woman was disgusting, even by my admittedly liberal standards, but he seemed to like it. Curiously his hard-on didn’t wane but stayed erect as she shifted onto a sofa into a position where everything below her waist was visible coming off the end of the couch, her knees bent, feet on the floor supporting her. He got on his knees as she spread her legs so wide I could see the lips of her vagina protruding like a wilted rose. He inserted two fingers and stroked her a bit on the inside with one hand while he stroked himself with the other. Fierce moaning came over the earbuds, and I watched as she squirted fluid out of her vagina onto his pulsating penis. Her moaning turned into a sort of high pitched shriek, and I wondered for a moment whether she would ever recover from the experience. A little jealous she was a squirter and I was not, I resented the stupid moaning sound she made during sex. She sounded reasonably intelligent to talk to but to hear her have sex you would think she was a moron.

  I have to admit, listening to and watching all this, I was getting more than a little aroused myself. At one point when she was on the couch with her legs spread I put my free hand inside my underwear between my legs and felt myself gushing down there. I began to stroke myself gently as I watched. The audacity of spying and masturbating at the same time produced an exhilarating feeling I cannot describe or even rationalize. As I was pleasuring myself and he pierced her once more with his shaft, lightning struck very close by in the dunes, about twenty feet behind me. The thunder ripped right through me and the couple inside stopped and looked out in my general direction.

  I kept perfectly still, and, after a time, they looked back at one another and resumed their business. I removed my hand from pants, set down the binoculars and crept as low down into the small hole I had dug in the sand as I could. Lightning struck again, this time among some nearby trees, as I looked straight up at the gloomy sky. I felt one drop then another, and in seconds it had begun to pour. This was the worst possible eventuality. I lay there getting drenched, listening to the sound of heaving and heavy sighing and moaning intermingled with the sound of the rain. I resolved to stay put till I could move without being seen, regardless of how soaked I got.