tagExhibitionist & VoyeurAl Capone's Treasure

Al Capone's Treasure


Everyone even remotely involved with sex in this story is an adult.

I was intensely body shy when I was eighteen. I don't know why. My family wasn't particularly prudish or anything. My father and my older brothers often lounged around the house in underwear when I was growing up. As the only girl in a house full of men, I probably saw more flesh then most girls my age. Washing clothes for four men opened my eyes a bit also. One of my brothers was a little too affectionate with his socks. Maybe that's why I acted shy about my body? I was the odd one out.

I traveled to Chicago to stay with my maternal grandparents for the Summer after I graduated from high school. I don't remember why. I vaguely recall my dad going on an extended business trip. He might not have wanted to leave me alone in a house full of brothers who treated me like their maid. At least when dad was around, he'd yell at them to clean up their own messes occasionally.

My grandparents lived in a nice brick house in a working class Chicago neighborhood. They occupied the ground floor and rented the upstairs to a recently divorced man and his two daughters. I got a wonderful bedroom on a back corner of the house. It was large with high ceilings and windows taller than me. Louvered shutters covered the bottom halves of the windows. A nice cross breeze traveled over my bed from a winnow on the side of the house to a window on the back. I hardly missed air conditioning, but it was still early Summer.

I had no friends in the neighborhood. The girls upstairs came and went on interesting adventures, but we had little in common. They were younger than me and had their own social lives including boyfriends. I became lonely and bored.

Like most eighteen year olds, a strong cocktail of hormones coursed through my veins. Masturbation provided a temporary cure for boredom, so I exploited that benefit. One afternoon, my labia were swollen and sweat beaded on my brow as I teased myself on the way to my second or third orgasm of the session. I'd probably had five already that day. I stared at the ceiling not really seeing anything and concentrated on the uncontrolled contractions in my vagina foretelling the imminent crash of pleasure. All of a sudden, I went blind from a flash.

I sat bolt upright wondering if I had a stroke. I remained on the edge needing only a nudge over the precipice. I'd never experience flashes like that, but I remembered a friend telling me about her optical migraines. I wondered if I just experienced one. I didn't want to lose the delicious feeling of arousal, but my body retreated from the brink. Still sitting in bed, I kicked my legs with frustration. My breasts bounced from the motion drawing my gaze.

My chin pressed against my neck as I strained to see and squeeze a pimple on my sternum. Another flash made me see stars, and spots swam in my vision. What the hell? I started to get scared. I lay back down letting the cross breeze cool and dry me. My nipples stood erect from the sensation which was almost enough to rekindle the fire in my loins. Instead, I drifted into a shallow nap.

A few days later, on a Sunday morning when my grandparents went to church, I savored having the house to myself by showering in Grandma and Grandpa's big tub. The tub in the bathroom I normally used had no shower head. I've always enjoyed baths, but I missed my daily showers. I knew I'd be alone for hours, so I walked naked to the shower and didn't bring any fresh clothes. When I felt refreshed, I toweled dry and hung the towel over the curtain rod. As I walked down the hall toward my room, I heard voices outside a window.

"I'm sure this is the place. Can you see anything in the basement?"

Footsteps and multiple voices betrayed a group of people walking around the house. I covered my breasts with one arm and squatted to cover my vulva. Nobody outside could see me in the hallway unless they found just the right angle through my back window. My pulse raced anyway. What were people doing out there?

"Are you sure there's nobody home?"

"Yeah, I knocked. There was no answer."

"OK, give me a boost."

I saw the silhouette of a person through cracked open louvers. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, but a head appeared in the clear glass above the half hight blinds. The person cupped hands to the glass and looked straight at me. I froze in a shadow.

When the trespassers retreated, I cowered behind a curtain and chanced a glance out the front picture window. A group of young adults, probably college students, arranged themselves in two beat up cars and pulled away. I walked shaking back to my room to dress. Did they see me? Oh my god, I felt so exposed and almost violated.

Over Sunday dinner, I said, "Grandpa, there were a bunch of people milling around outside the house today. Do you get a lot of trespassers?"

"They're probably tourists. Ignore them if you can."

"Why are there tourists in your yard?"

"Al Capone, the famous mobster, rented this house back in the 20s," Grandpa explained. "We get looky-lous a couple of times a year."

"I still don't get it. What's so special about the house?"

"There's all kinds of stupid rumors floating around about bodies in the basement and secret treasure in the walls. Some idiot stood on the porch demanding to be let inside because he said his father is buried in our basement."

"He isn't, is he?"

"The police dug up the place after Capone went to jail. If there was anything down there, they would have found it then. There's a nice concrete floor poured after the police left. It's probably the nicest basement on the block now."

Grandma handed me a slice of roast and said, "Don't worry, dear. They don't come very often. We ignore them."

I wished there was treasure in the walls. I didn't know how I was going to pay for college in the Fall.

I tried keeping the blinds closed for a week after the incident, but temperatures soared into the 90s. I relented by opening the blinds again. I tried dressing under a sheet every morning and conscientiously wore a robe around the house. I constrained my masturbation to the bathroom. I was in there a lot. I didn't use much hot water, but I couldn't sit in a tub full of only cold. Grandpa complained there was never any hot water left for him, and Grandma told him to leave me alone.

One of my school friends came to visit for a few days. She had extended family in Chicago too, and we conspired to have a sleep-over in my bedroom. Megan couldn't take the heat, and ended up sleeping topless in panties to get some relief. She ridiculed me for wearing a sheer nightie.

In the morning, Megan knelt over her bag to dig out a change of clothes when I heard talking outside the windows again. She seemed oblivious, and for some reason, I remained silent. A young guy stepped up to the side window and peered inside. I held my breath for a count of ten wondering what to say or do. He must have been standing on something because when he jumped away from the window, he fell down and stumbled on his knee.

"Oh - shit, dude! There's someone in there. Run for it."

As the pair of boys sprinted away, I heard one say, "You won't believe what I just saw."

Megan stood without trying to cover herself or anything. "What was that all about?"

"I think we just had a couple of peeping Toms."

"Well, I hope they got a good look." She frowned but didn't seem upset.

She amazed me with her casual attitude. I nearly died of embarrassment wondering if someone saw me huddled in a shadow covering myself. Megan didn't give two fucks if a couple of strangers saw her breasts and panties.

After Megan left, I thought about her attitude for hours. My brothers were the same way. Why was I so uptight? I felt hollow in my stomach thinking about being caught naked. My body craved release after abstaining from orgasm while Megan visited, but my mind was in the wrong place for masturbation. I closed the blinds completely again and suffered through the heat with nothing but a noisy box fan.

A few days later, a local news crew arrived and interviewed my grandparents on their front porch. I stood to the side and listened.

The pretty reporter leaned toward Grandpa while a bright light on the camera glared. "So, you know Al Capone lived in this house?"

"Oh yes, but let me assure you, he didn't leave anything behind."

"A documentary recently aired on the History Channel and claimed Capone built tunnels from your basement to a network of underground liquor bunkers. Are there any tunnels?"

"There are no tunnels in my basement. Police dug up the place back in the 30s. They found anything there was to find. There's nothing there."

"Do you mind if we see your basement?"

Grandpa seemed ready to let them in, but his face soured, and he said, "I've been more than patient with you people. There's nothing more to say. Please leave us alone."

With that, he ushered Grandma and me back into the house.

The news crew lingered out on the sidewalk for another half hour recording their story. The reporter waved her arm at the house and acted excited.

A coupe of days later, we returned from the grocery store to find one of the basement windows broken. Whoever did it left some blood on the basement floor. He apparently cut himself getting through the window. Grandpa told the police he didn't notice anything missing. They wrote a report, and the whole thing ruined an otherwise nice afternoon. The heat wave had broken, and I had planned to spend the afternoon locked in the bathroom.

I helped Grandpa fix the window the next day. It was fun and educational to work with him. He has a tendency to seem gruff, but he's a giant teddy bear. He showed me how to cut the glass and spread putty in the frame. He put his arm around my shoulders and said, "There's nothing like a job well done."

I found out the upstairs neighbors had a key to our house. Grandma gave them one in case of emergencies. It caused a minor scandal when we all came back after Grandma dragged me kicking and screaming to church. We stepped inside and heard noises in the basement. Grandma said to call the police, but Grandpa went down to investigate. He caught the girls from upstairs rummaging down there with their boyfriends.

"Dammit, get on out of here!" he bellowed. I'd never heard him swear before.

The kids apologized, and Grandpa made them return the key. He said he'd talk to the girls' father later.

The parade of trespassers only increased. I got so accustomed to hearing people outside my blinds, I almost tuned them out. I had relaxed my routine of dressing under a sheet. I changed clothes with lightning efficiency glancing over my shoulders to the windows all the time. I didn't dare masturbate in my room. I felt like I had no privacy outside the bathroom, and even there, I had to contend with a little window. It had wavy glass and a curtain I kept tightly shut.

One hot morning, I lay on top of my sheets, and I pulled my nightie up to my neck. It felt wonderful to be bare except for panties. The noisy fan blew over my stomach producing a caressing tickle. I thought about Megan sleeping topless in my room and her reaction to being seen by strangers. I told myself I was ridiculous for being so uptight. As anxious as I felt, I pulled the nightie all the way off and lay mostly bare the rest of the morning while hyper alert for any activity outside.

At bedtime, I left the nightie on the floor. My body yearned for an orgasm, so I slipped under a sheet and stroked my pussy through my light panties. The weight of the sheet and ripples made by the fan teased my erect nipples. At one point, I lifted an edge of the sheet and let the fan blow under it creating a tent. The sheet caressed me almost like a lover's hands. I didn't make the comparison at the time, of course. It felt so good that I wriggled out of my panties.

Horniness drove me to distraction as I writhed and humped my own hand. A slippery mess between my folds spread to my thighs and trickled to my buttocks. The orgasm hit by surprise, and I screamed something unintelligible. I always made a little noise, but I never screamed before that time. It happened outside my control.

Grandpa knocked on my door a few minutes later. "Are you okay in there?"

I lay half asleep contorted and tangled in my sheet. "Um - ah - Yes. Just a bad dream."

When I woke the next morning, I remained nude. The sheet formed a pile on the floor where I must have kicked it in my sleep. I panicked for an instant. Then I verified the blinds were closed and settled to relish the sensation of being naked. I rolled on the bed and curled my toes. I ended up on my stomach with a hand between my legs.

I closed my eyes and remembered Megan kneeling topless. I stroked myself with slight motions of a single finger. I thought about the boy promising to tell his friend what he saw. Out of nowhere, I imagined the boys masturbating to the memory of Megan's body. It got me super hot imaging that, and almost before I realized it, I had humped my hand to orgasm.

Coming naked in my bedroom twice within twelve hours broke a damn. I resumed the schedule of frequent masturbation I enjoyed before the first incident. My fantasies dwelled on men masturbating to Megan, and it wasn't long before I imagined them masturbating to me. You might think it's silly, but it felt taboo at the time. I pictured total strangers seeing my body and becoming aroused.

On a quiet Sunday morning shortly before the end of the Summer, Grandma tried to drag me with Grandpa to church. I successfully resisted and found myself alone in the house again. I felt butterflies in my stomach, but I walked naked to Grandma's tub. I enjoyed the shower and the streak back to my bedroom. The simple act titillated me to a point requiring relief.

I stood in front of the back window. Closed blinds blocked any view of my body below my nose. A saw two young men approaching through the yard, and my heart raced. I verified the blinds were closed as tight as possible, and I flopped onto my bed. Knowing men lurked just outside my window revved my pulse. I got so hot and bothered that I think steam was rising from my pussy. I burned with arousal.

I masturbated slowly and enjoyed every sensation. The loud fan blew across me, and in other circumstances might have dried my pussy, but I gushed too fast. My fingers danced making slippery sloshing noises. My eyes squeezed tight as I fantasized. Thoughts returned to the men outside, and I shivered.

I shoved two fingers into my pussy. I seldom experienced any penetration. My vagina clenched so tight I thought I wouldn't be able to get two in. When they passed an invisible restrictive ring, I loosened enough to fuck myself. I panted and moaned and felt wanton grinding against my palm.

An Earth shattering orgasm roared up my spine. I crossed my legs holding my own fingers inside me. My back arched. I think I growled. I coughed on my own saliva, and when I cleared my throat, I saw the flash of light.

Two men fled down the hallway from my open bedroom door. I think they were the same guys who were with the girls from upstairs. I can't be certain. One of them had a video camera, and the other held the camera that flashed. I heard the front door slam closed, and I nearly died sinking into the bed.

I told Grandpa that two boys got into the house. He guessed they must have copied the house key because there was no forced entry. The police came, and I edited my story to omit the masturbation. Grandpa yelled at the upstairs neighbor. I don't think they ever patched up their relationship after that.

When I got to college in the Fall, I started searching the internet for a video of me masturbating. I didn't find one, but I found so many videos of other people masturbating that I became almost numb to it. It started to seem like just another common thing people did on camera.

Don't get me wrong. I masturbated for years thinking about those two guys. I bet I've had more orgasms thinking about their video than they've had watching it. I masturbate on camera all the time now. It's putting me through college. When I told my boyfriend the story, he said, "There was a treasure in Al Capone's house. It was you."

He's a keeper.

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