Days in Rodanthe Pt. 05

"I'm Constance Brewster, Treasury Department." The blonde pulled a notebook PC out of a backpack. "We need to talk about your girlfriend."

I wondered why another branch of the government wanted information frommeon one of their own. Something felt really wrong. My first instinct was to protect my lover and play dumb.

"Yeah, right," I snorted. "I don't have a girlfriend." I tried to mentally take myself back to the previous year, when I was shot down repeatedly by women of all varieties and my sex life consisted of internet porn and subsequent jack off sessions in the dorm's bathroom stalls in the middle of the night.

"Girlfriend, skank, whore, call her whatever you want. Zamira Svetlana Al-Surkhandarya St. Pierre."

"You got the wrong guy. There's guys hooking up with Indian girls all over campus," I said, intentionally referring to the wrong region of Asia. "I never heard of her. Is she in one of my classes or something?"

"She's an arrogant, diva bitch, goes by Za'ana, acts like a spoiled Persian princess. Likes her boyfriends to be little-dicked, wimpy douchebags...total pussies. You don't know her? Mmm..."

I'm sure the insults were intended to get a reaction out of me but I just shrugged. My six and a half inches wasn't huge but it wasn't 'little' either. For a split second I thought I had Constance convinced. Her blue bra strap on one shoulder was exposed, partially covering a faint tan line, and she caught me looking at it.

"Like my tan? Not bad for this time of year, huh? St. Martin does have some beautiful beaches," she said, pulling her top and the strap to the side for a moment. She slid the material down her well-developed deltoid further than necessary, past her armpit, to expose a little of the outward sloping, lighter area that would have been covered by a bikini top. "I almost got rid of these white lines, but I can't stay naked in the sun as long as you guys. By the way, thanks for the trip. It was very...educational." Constance's brows raised and her blue eyes flashed as she smirked and re-covered her shoulder. . "I saw things I never imagined."

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! The whole Goddamn government knew my secret. My worst fear had been realized and my brain spun with thoughts of sheer panic. I felt like puking. At the same time I realized why she looked familiar. I must have seen her at one of the restaurants or on one of the beaches on St. Martin as she stalked us. Maybe I even had a cell phone picture of her on the beach. No matter. Now everyone knew I was a freak.

"Relax, no one has reviewed any of the...compromising...images or audio but me,yet," Constance said, passing me the open notebook PC after typing on it for a moment with acrylic nails, colored to match her lips.

A case file number appeared, then a slideshow began, showing a young Za'ana with a private school uniform on, then as a teen with braces, short hair and a black prom dress, holding a beer. Several snapshots of my girlfriend, in Royal Army gear and then her official NYPD portrait, and finally a Bureau ID photo, flashed on the screen. Then I saw both our driver's license images, a shot of us standing in an airport line, and hugging in my parent's front yard just two days prior. Brief videos then appeared of us at an outdoor café on St. Martin, and as Za'ana cavorted topless on the deck of our cabin one afternoon when we returned from beach. I remembered that day. My girlfriend had intentionally worn only running shorts as she talked in French to a pair of dreadlocked motel repairmen down on the grass, possibly to test my possessiveness, but maybe she was just enjoying the carefree attitude of the island. On the laptop screen, her tits were pixilated to a blur and fluctuating square boxes surrounded each face and numbers flashed in the margin below, probably facial recognition software in action. So far there was nothing incriminating.

That quickly changed as the blonde took the notebook, typed again, handed it back, and I felt her judgmental eyes on me. There they were, telescopic photos of me on the cold hillside in the Pennsylvania woods, pants off, bent over, being spanked by Za'ana and her red belt. Constance must have been in the mysterious car that I saw downhill and dismissed as unimportant that day. It got worse. Short clips of green-tinted night vision spy video ran of me in a bra and panties munching on Za'ana's turds, and us making out with our shit-filled mouths. Then in color with muffled sound, several seconds of the view into the room the next night as I was in the boa, stockings, and garter belt, taking the exotic beauty's strapped-on dildo in the ass doggie style, loudly begging for more.

Despite how awesome it was seeing my stunning girlfriend pounding my hole, I couldn't watch anymore. My head hurt. I handed the PC back to her before the puke-covered, sissy schoolgirl clips started. I stared down at the dried mud smeared on the floor of the van. There was a long pause.

"You must be really stupid or really in love with her," Constance said. "I hear she can be quite charming, at least in public." The blonde's aspirin tablet-sized nipples had pushed outward against the thin bra and top, either from the cold or her excitement at torturing me. I was apparently an expert at attracting sadistic women.

"What the fuck do you want?" I asked. "Is she just posing as an agent or something? Because I don't care if..."

"Oh, she's a real agent, alright. It's her extracurricular activities that concern us. That's where you will get inside and help us."

Constance went on to explain that they suspected my lover was part of an international counterfeiting ring, using her job as a cover. I remembered the like-new cash in Za'ana's drawer at the B&B in Rodanthe, and her mention of visiting Argentina during the upcoming summer, but being part of such a conspiracy just didn't seem like something my girlfriend would do. My role was to find out as much as I could about Za'ana's plans or family visits, or ideally, place bugging devices in their apartments and install spyware programs. I was handed a small pouch with several types of flash drives and what looked like tiny black transistors inside. All I had to do was reboot the devices with the drives plugged in for two minutes, then remove them, or place the bugs behind picture frames or under chairs, just like in the movies.

The blonde handed me a slip of paper with a secure e-mail account I was to access from school or library computers to keep her informed about anything I had planned with Za'ana and everything about her traveling, friends or family. It also had a toll free number to call if I felt my life was in danger. Just great. This was a serious mess I had gotten myself into, all because of my horny dick. If I hadn't been so eager to please the beautiful, mysterious stranger Za'ana and jerk off in front of her that first time in Rodanthe, I wouldn't be in this predicament. I wondered about the legality of Constance's spyware and bugs, but didn't protest. It looked like I had to serve two mistresses now.

Of course if I refused to help the blonde agent, mentioned any of this to Za'ana, made slow progress or even broke up with my girlfriend, smug Constance implied that videos of me in drag, riding a dildo or eating a log out of my girlfriend's asshole, among others, would find their way to the internet, especially the ISPs at school and in my hometown. Za'ana's 'psychologically abnormal perversion', her scat fetish, would be revealed as well, essentially ending her government career.

"Blackmailing bitch," I muttered at Constance in response to her threats. I was extremely pissed off.

"Persuasion, Mr. Voss, persuasion. Or is itMissVoss?" She raised her brown eyebrows again, the telltale sign that she was not entirely a blonde. Her question also revealed she understood nothing about submissive men.

"Fuck you." I mumbled. I wanted to tell her she would never have a man as dedicated as I was to my lover, but kept my mouth shut. I unintentionally glanced down at the holstered gun under her left arm, nestled beside her tit. By this time, several random satellite bumps surrounding Constance's erect nipples had made an appearance as well.

"I don't know," she began, "if you're looking at my breast or my gun, weirdo. Try to touch either and the compound arm fractures I'll inflict will be healing in a federal prison. You'll only be able to see your girlfriend through thick glass for a long time. They don't allow conjugal poop eating or strap-ons, so she'll just find some other chat room looser to be her bitch and human dildo, just like you replaced the last one."

"Are we done? I have to get to the gym before class." I replied stoically, resisting the urge to tell her to fuck off. I must have a face that says 'threaten me' to female cops.

I hadn't really thought about Za'ana's previous men, and my insecurities came rushing back as they let me out of the van. It was true; there were drooling pervs all over the internet that would love to shit themselves just for a look at Za'ana naked, just like I did. But I really couldn't picture her hanging out in femdom chat rooms to find a boyfriend either. Maybe Iwasjust a rebound turd muncher to her, although she said more than once I was the only one she ever shared her shit fetish with. But Constance's comment seemed to indicate she thought we met online and didn't know about Za'ana's time in Rodanthe. I said nothing and stomped away from the van toward the gym. I found it really easy to do the free weights that morning, working off the anger.

As a small measure of revenge, that night I was looking through random shots I took in St. Martin, and found 11.6 seconds of sneaky cell phone video of gymnast-bodied Constance. She was wearing nothing but a baseball hat, a fanny pack and the same gold necklace. She was apparently doing her 'surveillance', posing as a lone tourist, strolling nude on the shore at Orient Beach. A winged heart was tattooed on her hip not far from her closely trimmed brown bush. As promised, tan lines crossed her pelvis, and her tits, pulled down slightly and apart into their natural state by gravity, were framed by angular, pale patches as well. The blonde's nearly two inch-diameter areolas were only a bit more pigmented than her fair skin, pink, smooth and slightly conical as they swayed from side to side in the tropical sun.

Late morning the next Saturday at the closed motel, cold water on my face jolted me back into consciousness. I was naked except for an unhooked bright green bra across my arms and chest, lying on the floor of a smelly maintenance room, squinting at the florescent lights above. Za'ana was crouched over me, her face splattered with trails of dripping sperm. Brown goop covered one shoulder and coated her hanging bare tits. She was smiling at me and had stuffed a towel or something under my sweaty, stinking, shit-plastered head.

"Robert? Robbie? Are you okay? I'm so sorry. I let you get dehydrated!" Za'ana cooed in her sweetest voice. "Drink this."

As cool bottled water surrounded my tongue, I suddenly recalled recent events involving a circular saw. Dehydrated? Was thatall? She cut my dick off! Did she call an ambulance? I should have been suffering intense pain, but there was only the dull ache of my scrotum.

Had I bled to death and was this some warped version of heaven? I quickly reached down and grabbed for my cock. It was still there, semi-limp from having expelled a load, but it waspresent and unharmed.I felt no blood gushing. I would have kissed it if I could have reached it. As my eyes began to refocus, I looked up onto the small desk that had the vise clamped onto it. My twisted girlfriend had fucked with my head once again. On the bench sat a black and yellow circular saw, its jagged blade resting across the splintered slots it made in the top surface. Next to it sat the secret to her chaotic illusion. A second, identical but bladeless saw, also rested on the bench. A brass motel room key, its teeth facing down, had been attached tightly to the lower guard with a small cable tie to give the brief sensation of sharp metal. That tool, I hoped, was the one that touched me. Both saws looked brand new, as if she recently bought them specifically to scare the hell out of me. Mission accomplished. I drank some more water, but soon her smile disappeared.

Za'ana pointed to her splattered cheek. "Well, you got your wish!" She said in an annoyed tone, referring to my confessed fantasy of shooting directly onto her face, which was not permitted. "I hope it was worth it. I'm generously allowing you to see your fucking spermatozoa on my face before I shower."

Worth what, I wondered, still foggy, as I sipped the last of the bottle of water.

"Drink plenty of fluids on your drive back to school." She said, standing up straight. Her camel toe was again visible to me from my vantage point on the floor. Brown liquid continued to drip from her bare tits.

"Huh? I'm fine! I don't need to go back, I just got a little overheated, I..."

"Okay, well you can stay after you clean up, but I don't know why you would want to be here alone." she interrupted. "Even if you had the audacity to call one of them, I doubt any of your little school whores would bother to drive this far just to have you fuck her."

"Alone? What?" I was completely confused, and my stomach began to knot. She knew there were no girls 'I could call' to do anything. Not that I wanted to.

"I'm going back to Manhattan and use my damned vibrator."

"Why?" I felt my eyes fill with tears. I didn't want her to leave.

"Why?" she echoed, then leaned over to look me square in the face. Incensed, she began to count my infractions rapidly on her fingers, her eyes beautiful but wide with anger. "Your orgasm was without permission! And on my face!" Her two tallying fingers slid across her cheek and then flung some of the cold white semen down at me. "You removed your boxers from your head before I told you to do so,andthrew them to hit me with your stinking shit!" My girlfriend yelled indignantly, gesturing toward her flailing tits. "AndI had to catch you before you fell backwards and slide your balls out of the vise before you castrated yourself! You are such a fucking disappointment!"

She stood straight once more wiped her hands on her chest and on the undersides of her shiny, lime-sized, perfect-teardrop-shaped tits, causing them to bounce. Za'ana shook her hands out over me, creating a brief brown rain She then slid off the latex gloves, slammed them onto the floor next to my head and turned to walk out, grabbing her top off a hook.

"Wait, please!" I yelled after her and rose to my knees. The stained green bra fell off my chest to the floor. My girlfriend stood impatiently in the doorway, facing away with her arms crossed, hip thrust to one side and her head tilted with annoyance, holding the tank top. I took in the sight of her skewed curves, beautiful, bronzed bare back and the hazy distant forest landscape beyond as I spent the next minute explaining how I shot my load accidentally; I didn't know her face was down there about to suck on me again. I had needed air and wasn't aiming for her when I yanked off the mushy boxers. I tearfully begged her to stay. Za'ana simply walked away when I stopped talking. I sat back down, sniffling, wondering what to do next. While glad that she hadn't found out about Constance, I knew the secretive tasks I had no choice but to undertake would be a cloud over my love for this beautiful woman I worshipped.

After several minutes, Za'ana reappeared in the doorway, rinsed off, hair still up, skin glistening, wearing only a worn motel towel. It was knotted under her arm but revealed a long sliver of the side of her tanned body. She sighed and took a deep breath.

"Despite the fact that you obviously don't care enough about me to follow my rules, I have decided to stay, mostly because it would ruin the surprise I have for you."

After a shower, dressing in my only other, shit-free pants, and a surprisingly cheerful lunch at a hoagie shop down the highway, we returned to the desolate motel.

As soon as we got back, I was handed 'my' pair of black high heels, left over from the schoolgirl vomit night on St. Martin, and single article of clothing to wear. She banished me to a musty room in another building, and told me not to look outside. I wondered what her big surprise was. There was a trailer hitch on her SUV, and with my luck this week, she was probably gassing up a log splitter or wood chipper for me to stick my dick into. In the other room, I changed into her required attire, a used, yellow baby doll nightgown. The thin cotton garment was sleeveless, and had two rows of ruffles along its wide, flowing hem. This thrift store purchase didn't include the usual matching panties, and only covered me to just below the waist. Wearing the humiliating outfit, I sat on the front edge of an old chair, pulling on my cock to get it hard per her instructions. The cushion's vinyl upholstery was stiff and cracked and made a crunching noise as I stroked my meat. Finally I was summoned by her ring tone, and I walked out into the daylight in the heels and baby doll nightie, boner leading the way.

To be continued...