Erin Deals with a Car Burglar

At her daughter's advice, the housewife and a distinguished member of society opened her never-before visited cloud page in hopes of recovering her stolen phone when she saw new photos appear that the thief snapped with her locked phone.

Seeing the new photos shocked Erin to her core and she forgot all about the stolen purse and the missing pocketbook with her id and credit cards in it. Instead, she felt violated all over again. First the humiliating indignity of the broken car window in broad daylight, then the belated realization of just how many different important things she had in her purse, and now this brazen insult.

She moved the chair closer to the laptop, the laptop closer to the chair and then remembered there was even a zoom button. She used it amply but didn't move her chair back, staring at the blown-up image on the screen. An unfamiliar feeling possessed her and she swallowed saliva. Lots of saliva. Her legs started tightening on their own and rubbing up against each other, suddenly feeling confined in pantyhose. Her hand landed on her knee and stayed there, nervously fondling her kneecap. She forgot to breathe.

For a long time, Erin kept staring at a picture of the thief's cock.

The heavy front door opened and banged shut in the distance and Erin rushed to slam her laptop shut. Her heart was beating impossibly fast and she felt fear of discovery, despite having done nothing wrong. She felt flustered and somewhat confused, taking the time to straighten out her dress. An observer could conceivably conclude she was upset and taking a moment to calm herself down, but there was definitely a detectable tinge of guilt to it. She was sitting down at a table by herself and staring off into the void.

She didn't want to expose anyone else to this obscenity, she reasoned to herself.

"Mom, were you able to get in?"

Erin cringed as she lied without planning to, "No, not yet. But ... the customer service will get back soon."

"It wasn't your fault, mom. It happens, I'm just so sorry you have to deal with it." Her daughter hugged her and her mom's surprise flinch made her feel inadequate, like she wasn't doing enough to reassure. Her mom seemed so jumpy even days after the unpleasant break-in. It could have happened to anyone. She'd only parked for a minute to pick up tracts from the church. The car wasn't even locked, there was no need for someone to break the window. "I love you," her daughter said and started putting away groceries.

Throughout dinner Erin was distracted and kept glancing toward the study where she left her laptop. Conversations came and went and everyone cut her slack for acting uncharacteristically. She'd even accidentally skipped over the prayer and absentmindedly started picking at her sprouts, staring at her plate. Knowing what a shock this incident had been to her, no one said a word. Her husband, an observant man accustomed to regularity, turned a shade of angry red but he too kept it to himself out of mercy.

He promised her sternly, "Tomorrow I'll call the phone company and cancel the stolen phone, get you a replacement." It was the only way he knew to comfort, the family protector. Her rock. She smiled at him modestly but kept her eyes peeled to the ground.

After dinner Erin cleaned up hastily and started the dishwasher, loaded in less than the impeccable manner she always insisted on. She grabbed her laptop and went upstairs, locking herself in the bathroom. She sat down on the covered toilet seat and opened it. She gasped when the cock appeared, but not in surprise this time. She just stared at it dumbly, not thinking anything. Just stared, experiencing a combination of familiar and unfamiliar feelings.

Something old. The fearful aftermath of first seeing her broken car window followed by the desperate hope of maybe seeing her purse there - only to have her hope get brutally crushed by the disappointment. Something new. Something she hadn't experienced before and didn't know what to call, how to handle, how to respond to. She felt - knew - that this new feeling threatened to come down on her just as hard as the theft itself. She nursed that wild combination of feelings, still unable to classify them, and kept holding the screen close to her face.

Her other hand had slipped under her dress, inside her pantyhose, and inside her panties. The laptop, though light, felt heavier as she held it single-handedly. The page had refreshed and reset the zoom level and she couldn't pinch the trackpad now so she brought the screen closer to her face. Her middle finger slipped inside her pussy and her thumb pinched her clit in the secret little-off-center way that only she knew would bring her guaranteed joy. She remembered the fear. She moaned softly.

Uncomprehending as to why but savoring the nastiness, she stuck her tongue out and licked the screen up and down over the pictured shaft. Just once. It was the freakiest unprompted thing she'd ever done in her life.

"Can you wait a few days before calling the phone company?" Erin sheepishly asked her husband as they were reading in bed, hours later.

"Sure, but why?" he asked, very puzzled. He normally handled all the bills and wasn't used to being second-guessed. In fact, he was sure he disliked being asked about it to begin with.

"In case I get that cloud thing working and it tells me where the phone is."

Her husband didn't know anything about that stuff, so he agreed to just go along with it. "I'll call them Friday," he compromised. He was annoyed at the entire situation. Only a stupid person would leave a purse in a car in the city, he felt. He told her as much that day. Two of them read for nearly an hour and had he paid just a little more attention, he would've noticed she never turned a single page. She was lost in her head, her crotch overheating under the duvet, her face frozen in a look of complete disgust.

Erin spent most of her morning frustrated beyond measure, stuck in the labyrinth of the department of motor vehicles trying to get her driver's license. First she got in the wrong line. Then they told her she needed her birth certificate as the new license was supposed to be real-id compliant. Then those county records people inexplicably demanded to see her ID, which was stolen. At every circular turn, she felt anger, more and more anger. When the last person spent 20 minutes working on the computer and then inexplicably shut down and passed her along to a different window for someone else to redo everything, Erin actually growled in frustration.

Anger radiated out throughout her body and instead of the latest employee behind the counter all she saw in her mind was that cock on the screen. The man who broke her window, who stole her ID, who stole her credit cards, who stole everything and left her with broken glass to clean up and suffer her husband's angry comments had caused this frustration for her. All of it was him. The impotent rage she felt at being played like a ping pong ball in this building manifested itself as that hard cock. She was forced to see it after the ordeal, after being stolen from, after being so frightened.

That's what she felt the other night, she realized, it was what prompted her impulsive and bizarre action. That cock had put her in her place, forced her to suffer and all she could do was comply. She was still mentally and figuratively licking his cock at every turn. The idea of it coined in those terms made her feel much ashamed.

Pursuit of the driver's license got put on hold as the next day she had a doctor's appointment and despite visiting the practice for a decade they demanded to see her insurance card. The one insurance card that was stolen along with her purse. She tried to explain but the tech was unrelenting. The RN in charge was unsympathetic. Doctor was too busy to talk to her. People behind her in line complained. She growled and stormed off and sat in her car in the parking lot stewing in rage. The thief's hard cock followed her everywhere she went.

She drove away to an empty county park and lost herself parked in thick Douglas fir shade, where she felt entirely safe and alone, away from scrutiny, away from eyes, away from judgment. She pulled out her ancient loaner phone, the prepaid one they kept in reserve for emergencies and decided to call her stolen phone with it.

The phone rang. She got more nervous longer it rang. It rang, and rang, and went to voicemail. She waited a minute and tried again. Same thing happened. She waited a few minutes and called again, and finally someone picked up.

"Yeah?"

"Do you," her voice cracked, "have my insurance card?" she asked nervously, her heart beating fast. The silence on the other side unnerved her. She didn't know what to expect, a confrontation? Would he have a heart? "Please," she added, her voice unexpectedly cracking again, "I just need my insurance card. And my ID if it's still there," she added.

"$200," the man on the phone said.

"Excuse me," she broke angrily.

"Bitch, you want it back? $200," he said again.

Erin hung up immediately and retroactively regretted dialing her stolen phone and asking her husband not to cancel it right away. She wasn't sure why she did either of those two things, but she now clearly regretted it. She normally wasn't impulsive, something had derailed her, drove her toward it. He called her a bitch! What nerve! She hit her horn a few times in blind frustration and drove off before anyone looked.

That evening she rushed through dinner again and as she was putting dishes away she inexplicably asked her husband for money.

"Haddon, can you pull out two hundred dollars for me in cash? I need to pay document fees with it and settle the glass repair. The new card won't arrive for a week."

"Isn't the insurance covering that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Uh, it did but there was a mis-estimate or something like that. I don't know." She shook her head pitifully, "they said it would take forever to get the insurance claim corrected. But - it wasn't clear to me - we can pay the difference directly, and get it refunded faster, you know how it is with those companies." She trailed off, exaggerated shaking her head, bad at lying. Unpracticed at it.

Her husband grumbled. Yeah, he knew how it was with those companies. And yet he looked at her funny. There was something odd going on here, he thought. She bit her lip and loaded the dishwasher. He went downstairs to the basement to oil his guns.

Before bed-time she glanced at her laptop again in the locked bathroom, morbidly wanting to see the thief's cock again. Maybe there were some identifying details in the background, she lied to herself. This time as she watched it she recalled how brusquely he said "want it back, two hundred." It was so demeaning. He'd already taken all the cash she carried and now wanted more. She felt humiliated, violated. She whispered the words and as she did, they became more real somehow. They made her feel worse, a cruel reminder of the car break-in. She tried the other word, bitch. Bitch. Bitch. It made her feel so angry. She remembered him saying it so casually, like she meant nothing. Like all of her years of philanthropy and cultured contributions were meaningless, buried in the immense shadow her husband cast.

The unspoken accusation felt novel, like a forbidden thought. She felt so stupid for leaving her purse in the car. She deserved her husband's anger. She moaned pitifully and felt an unexplainable urge to strip naked. Before she took off the last piece, she looked around desperately, for anything that could help. Something for a relief. The only thing she could find were travel haircare bottles. Laptop rested on the closed toilet, she got down on her knees facing it. The conditioner bottle ended up inside her wet pussy, the other one in her mouth as she moaned "two hundred" over and over again, angry at herself. "Bitch. Bitch, two hundred." He called her a bitch and asked her for money. Demanded it. No one ever used such words in her presence! More humiliated she felt, hornier she got. It was surreal. It was insane.

She flipped the laptop around so she could see his cock from a different angle and it wouldn't cooperate. Hovering over it, she sucked on one bottle and shoved the other in and out of her pussy and she relived seeing her car broken into but this time she fantasized she was inside it when it happened. Glass shattering, she fantasized screaming in fright. That would have made her suffering more deserving, none of this second-hand inconvenience she had to keep justifying and magnifying to others. Some of her drool ended up on the screen. She now knew the word that she couldn't conjure earlier. Victimized. It wasn't supposed to excite her. But victimized properly this time, in her head. Before the fantasy went anywhere else, she came. And hard. Then felt crushing shame.

The next day her husband handed her an envelope with cash and her ears started burning. What was the matter with her, she wondered. Normally she was beyond any reproach and now everything was upside-down. The burning shame followed her around and she regretted her meandering thoughts and tried to erase them willfully. She focused elsewhere.

The days went by and she talked her husband into handling her phone situation herself. He was annoyed but also very done cleaning up her messes so he let her do it after dishing out unkind words. She caught up to all the paperwork she could, borrowing her husband's insurance card until a replacement arrived. Her dusty expired passport let her get her birth certificate. And that poorly photocopied document got her a state license. She shook her head at that incongruity. Her daughter gave her a replacement purse, the same one she lost, her favorite. She was almost made whole.

Then something changed abruptly. She found she couldn't resist checking again and had to know right away. In the locked bathroom, she checked ... and more photos on the account appeared. It made her angry at him, at herself, and yet bizarrely excited. This time the lighting was better and the picture was sharper and his cock was harder, more erect. Being stroked. There was a short video too. She had problems breathing watching it.

She found herself parked in the same place as before, watching a video of the thief stroking his cock, and she tried dialing again. This time it got picked up right away. It started raining.

She said, "I have tw-, .. .. two hundred dollars, ..." her voice cracked, "for you."

"For real?"

"Yes, I have the money for you," she paused and lied, "for th- the insurance card." She didn't need it anymore and the credit cards were canceled, but she told her husband she'd deal with the phone situation herself. She steeled her resolve and firmly demanded, "...and for my phone back."

"Okay," the voice sounded puzzled but very agreeable, "fine, where you at?"

She wanted to stop herself so badly but couldn't, "I'm parked at the Greenway park." As she said that, she realized she was the only person there. He hung up and the rain picked up and visibility dropped off next to nothing.

She forgot to tell him what kind of car she was in and kicked herself for it but then felt stupid because there was no one else around and he'd already seen it when he broke the window. Within twenty minutes she saw a silhouette walking in the woods, checking her out. Looking around for traps, though she didn't realize that at the time. She thought about driving off but then there was the irresistible lure of getting her phone back and triumphing over her husband so she waited. Finally the person started walking toward her car, toward the passenger side and reached for the door. She nearly jumped, but then scrambled to unlock it, hitting all the momentarily confusing buttons until one of them did it.

He sat inside, dripping rainwater on the seat and the floorboard, and turned to her.

"You got my money?"

She looked at him and realized she'd never in a million years picture him correctly from his voice or from his heinous act. Or from the pictures he took on her stolen phone. He looked ... normal. It was the most surprising thing about it. He stared at her hungrily, and she covered up her knees.

He looked around nervously and asked for the money again, "C'mon, hand it over."

She reached into her new purse and pulled out the envelope her husband gave her, and handed it to him. He snatched it out of her hand and looked it over, chuckled at their pre-printed home address and then counted the cash. He counted methodically to make sure it was exact, it was so absurd.

"You took too long, I lost business. You want your phone, it's another hundred," he said.

"How, dare, you," she started enunciating in outrage, "you already took my money, we had a deal!" she pleaded with him and appealed to what she thought would be his sense of honor, thinking there'd be a sense of honor involved. It's not like she called the police, and she didn't ask for anything else in return. Fair was fair!

"Fine, give you a discount for a fine bitch like you. Fifty and a blowjob, give you the phone back."

Erin's face turned a shade so angry it should've lit up the interior in infrared. The insult! Surely she had some more money around somewhere, she needed to get him out of here as fast as she could. Maybe, she should have walked out, she thought impulsively, but it was her car. No, she couldn't just abandon it. Why was this happening. She suddenly felt very trapped.

"Fifty?" she asked again and started looking through her new pocketbook, realizing she was short. She offered him two twenties and a five, thinking that'd be enough.

"You're five short," he said mercilessly.

"Please," she begged him in a shaky voice. Erin dug through her purse and through her center console and thought she could manage to find some spare change, but there was nothing. In the scramble, her knee came into view again and drew his eye. It made her feel very uncomfortable. Settled for the amount, he put the money in his pocket and in that same movement, he pulled his sweatpants down and his cock sprang out.

"C'mon, suck me off and you can have your phone back."

Erin just stared at it, transfixed. The moment of truth had arrived. The lies she told herself got pushed aside and got smothered in reality. She wasn't here for the phone, or the ID, or the insurance card. She was here out of morbid curiosity to see what kind of a person was behind this crime, she lied to herself again. No, her brain was getting in the way, without wanting to admit it to even herself, she really wanted to see his cock in person. She wanted that random human contact. She wanted to see the person the cock was attached to, she confessed to herself. She wanted to touch it, to suck it. She wanted to be called a bitch, it turned her on. She desperately wanted to experience authentic mistreatment.

"C'mon bitch, suck it," he urged her by stroking his cock, looking around. The rain picked up, no one was nearby. Being called a bitch to her face so derisively made her gasp, it pushed her over the edge.

She reached out and touched his cock gently and gasped again when she felt his unfamiliar flesh in her hand. It was so warm, and he was so hard. This wasn't her. This was someone else. That made it okay to stroke it slowly. The touch became a grab. A surreal moment. He took a moment to correct her, guide her to stroke him how he liked it. She paid attention to his instruction but her attention faded and he had to show it to her again, several times. When his hand went inside her blouse, she thought this wasn't her, she wasn't here, so she did nothing to stop it. When he grabbed her hair and started slowly pulling her head down into his lap, she went along with it. She licked his cock just how she imagined doing it, and felt so wet she just had to open her legs to let him feel, which he did. He discovered that not all women shaved their pussies. He wished more of them wore skirts and pantyhose, like real ladies, just like her.