One by one the screens in the cold concrete room go dark, the shut down sequence initiated, the fans of the computers below the glass desk going quiet. She stretches her slender arms at the ceiling, her fingers entwined and a soft moan of relief leaves her soft, full lips. Her legs unfold and she leans her body forward to get out of the chair. She hesitates as she sees the small usb stick on the glass top of her desk, knowing she isn’t allowed to take anything from the building with her other than what she came with. She stretches her arm, the tip of her finger caressing the smooth, plastic casing, turning it on its pivet point, before curling her fingers around it and slipping it under her hand. She turns her head away from the camera that is mounted in the corner and aimed at her chair, knowing the stick couldn’t be seen from the angle.
She checks her screens one more time, then moves to the steel sliding door in the back, slipping into the hallway and onto the stairs behind it. Her black, suede leather boots make a soft clicking sound as she ascends the stairs, opening an old, oak door at the top and stepping into the scullery. The tiled walls glimmering in the soft rays of the sinking sun, coloured a light shade of orange, setting her blonde hair on fire as she passes through, into the kitchen. The victorian house blessed with a huge kitchen, the enamel sink still from when the house was built, 130 years ago. She quickly walks through the dark kitchen to the backdoor and swipes a reader with a keycard. The door buzzes and she pushes against it, then steps outside.
She walks over to her Jeep, clenching the usb stick in her fingers that she slipped into her coat jacket just before leaving her work area. Keeping her head cool, she does as she normally does. Puts her coat on the backseat of the car, her purse on the seat to her right. As she turns the ignition, Racoon is blasted through the speakers, “I love you more” resonating of her windshields. She smiles immediatly before starting the engine and drives off the property. After 20 minutes of traffic, she arrives at her house, quickly walks inside, locking the door behind her. She hangs her coat in the hall, takes the usb stick from the pocket and walks into her pantry, and lumps down on her pillow-littered sofa. Her laptop on the coffee table flickers, then starts zooming as she opens the lid. She slips in the usb and opens the file she saved earlier.
Before pressing play as her media player opens, she walks into her bedroom and takes off her boots, the little socks she hid inside them, her black dress and strapless bra. Her panties she left off this morning and naked she moves to her wardrobe. She takes out a silk night dress and slips into it, the smooth fabric sliding over her skin, caressing her delicately. With a blush on her face, her core tingling with the excitement she has hidden all day, she walks to the cupboard behind her sofa and pours herself a glass of red wine, before nestling herself on her couch.
She pulls her legs up, folds them under her body and clicks on play. Immediatly the screen is filled with the study of the target, the handsome man who’s computer she hacked and who is being filmed while he unravels the riddles he received. She slips her hand over her thigh, letting her fingers rest against the lips of her sex, her thumb slowly moving over her pelvis. She watches as he enters the code into the screen, smiling as she is surprised with his resourcefulness and, maybe, his luck. She sees his green eyes open wide as the scene of the masturbating girl starts. At first his face is close to the screen, allowing her to take in the details of his eyes, his lips, her thoughts starting to drift, then his face disappears from the screen, only to show him take out his member and start to masturbate.
She whimpers, having memorised the exact time of the scene in the clip, after watching it at least 5 times at work. His robe slips down his hairy, muscular legs and she watches him stroke his member, licks her lips as she sees the first droplets of precum appear. His pleasure appareant, the movements of his hand controlled, his determination shown, fuelling her own excitement. Her finger slips under the hood that hides her clit and starts to nudge her button, drawing soft, almost hidden moans from her lips. Her eyes peeled to the screen, the sounds of the woman grunting on screen mixing in with his uncontrolled moans making her juices start to flow.
She looks at the timer, knowing there are exactly 35 seconds left before he explodes, and pushes two fingers inside her sex. Coated with her juices, she slides them over her clit, opening her lips and exposing her hardened button. She pinches it repetitevly, her moans getting louder, her eyes fixated on the head that appears each time his hand moves down. As he strokes faster, she increases the speed of her fingers, matching his rythm. As he grunts through his teeth, holding back his full passion, she gives into her own and erupts on her couch. Her hips bucking upwards, her stomach tightening, her inner walls grabbing at her fingers as she watches the spurts of semen jetting from his shaft. Moans streaming from her lips as she grinds against her own hand, the insides of her thighs covered with her juices. She gasps for air, her eyes still clinging to the screen, watching small streams of semen drizzle down his stomach.
She giggles, shaking her head, feeling foolish, girlish to be taken by the sight of the man masturbating. She has worked with the company for 7 years now and this was a regular play, she has seen more men masturbate as they were confronted with the live feed. But this man is different, there is something about him. His posture, his voice.. She smiles again, listening to him talking to himself, fuelling her unexplained attraction to him. She shrugs her shoulders, pushing her romantic thoughts away and cleans herself up. She turns off her laptop and moves to her bedroom, slipping into her bed, drifting off to dreams she shouldn’t dream
*** It’s 5:30 am and without the alarm going off, I am wide awake. I open my eyes and look at the high ceiling of the bedroom, the world outside still dark, the last star disappearing at the cope of heaven. I push the sheets off me and slide out of bed, my robe dropped at the foot end of the bed, quickly put on. I run down the stairs and move quickly through the hall, opening the door outside. Nothing.. no newspaper. I check my watch, 5:35.. Isn’t the paper usually here? But in the distance I hear the soft squeeks of peddels moving, the rattle of a bike coming closer, the soft plop of newspapers landing on driveways. I see the young woman cycle up the drive and walk towards her, extending my arm and wishing her a good morning. Her cheeks flush as her eyes slide over my body, my robe short, half way to my thighs, tied losely around my waist, exposing my chest and a large portion of my lower abdomen. I smile and wink, take the paper and turn back to the house. Only when I start to close the door, I hear the bike move again, having felt her burning eyes on my back as I walked towards it.
I quickly go into the kitchen and turn on the coffee machine, placing the newspaper on the kitchen table. I force myself to take a cigarette first and wait for the machine to warm up. I change the pad and light my smoke when the light stops flickering. I press and the kitchen starts to smell of coffee, nudging at the remnants of my sleep. I wait for the cup to fill, add two spoons of sugar and stir slowy as I move to the kitchen table. I sit down, take a sip of coffee and feel the last shrouds of sleep disappear. I pull on the cigarette, inhale deep and open the newspaper, skipping through to the pages of the personal adds. My eyes fly over the mush of letters until they find what I am looking for.
“Mothered without conception, a miracle indeed
A heavenly burden, blessed in her core”
Wriggeled from below the earth
dangling on a hook, twisting in his wait
long and slender without sight, quickly turned into ....”
I read carefully, the first part of the rhyme immediatly triggering a response.
“This has to be Mary. Mothered without conception, As far as history tells, there has been only one woman. 3 clues now.. A lighthouse, Mary and an island or atol. The last clue must be decisive.. At least, let’s hope so...My voice slipped from my attention and I catch myself talking to myself. I giggle, a habit I picked up as a boy and never got rid off. Even in my sleep I talk to myself, which has caused embarrasing moments with a lover that often spent the night with me. I focus my attention back on the riddle. It seems almost unlikely as I look at the second part of the hint. It must be a worm, used as bait. But what is the right answer? Either worm or bait... Hmm.. I lean over and turn my pc on, open my browser after tapping a dent in the desk with impatiency.
I enter the 4 keywords I wrote down, into a search engine. ‘Lighthouse, Mary, Island, Worm’
4 hits seem important enough to look at, so I click the first. ‘Mary Island Light Station’. Though I am uncertain of what this big price will be, the location in Alaska seems unlikely. I go back and click the next link. ‘Gower Peninsular, Swansea Wales’. This link a dead end as well, referring to a church and a lighthouse called Mumbles. I click the third link, somehow my stomach starts to flutter as I read the subscript. ‘Whitley bay, st Mary’s Lighthouse’. This must be it. Eagerly I wait for the page to load, my eyes moving quickly over the text until they spot the word ‘bait’. Bait island... St Mary’s Lighthouse on Bait Island, Whitley Bay!! My heart skips a beat and I jump from my chair, clench my hand into a fist and yell out my joy.
For a moment I bask in the glory of solving the riddle, only to conclude that I have nowhere to take my answer, except to the lighthouse itself. Going over the clues so far, I find the one line I was looking for: “Be on time, at the right place”. I am convinced I found the place, but the time.. There has been no clue about that yet. Or did I miss something? I go over the riddles and the messages again and again, finding no clue or hint towards a date or time. Frustrated I fall back into my chair, then jolt forward as I remember the phone. Damned, where did I put it? Ah, upstairs.. I run up the stairs, my robe flying open in my haste, bursting through the door of my bedroom and walking straight to the bedside table. The phone is flashing and as I slide it open, a text appears.
“Text the solution”
Quickly I press reply and let my fingers dance over the keys, checking the spelling before I press send. With my heart beating in my throat, I sink back to the bed, my eyes fixated on the screen, waiting for a reply. After a few minutes I become restless, feeling foolish for just sitting there, staring at a blank screen. I decide to take a shower and put the phone back on the side table. Just as I turn and walk to the bathroom that is connected to my bedroom, the phone starts buzzing. I stop in my step, turn and dash back to the bed, eagerly grabbing the phone. I slide it open and a message appears, including an attachment, a picture.
“Correct. Solve the puzzle, guess the time. Text the answer. You have 24 hours. Time starts in 10 seconds”
Quickly I open the attachment and a picture appears
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