Our Only Hope Ch. 04

After the loud song ended, a very soft slow dance song of some sort began and the voice again spoke. "As you know, W, at low levels these electrodes can be rather pleasurable. But to help our captive Mistress with her time of pleasure, we are activating the vibrators in the dildo electrodes." He laughed. "If she responds the way she did the last time, the first of our slow dances should last almost an hour." He laughed again. "This Mistress," he said between laughs, "is as good as any slave at holding back her orgasms."

The voice turned harsh again, "How long will you let her go on like this, W? Surrender to us now. Call the number on the screen. If not, our original offer still stands... if you can find her... you can free her..." His voice became almost a snarl as he ended with, "... or die trying."

"Is that live streaming?" I asked Boris.

"Yes... no," he answered. "It's live streaming, but it is echoing a different site that is echoing a different site that is echoing a different site that might be playing a recording of some sort. At least, I've traced it back that far. Who knows how many different sites he is using before going public on this darkporn site."

"So we can't find him." I said.

"Not necessarily," Boris replied. "If he keeps using the same music-- and if you are willing to drop some bits-- I think some of my friends might be willing to put in the effort to trap the initial upload or the source of the live feed."

"How many Bitcoins do you think it will take?" I asked.

"It has to be a really good prize to get a lot of them involved." Boris answered. "Can you go with five?"

"$40,000," I said slowly. "That kind of money transfer might attract the attention of some IRS or DEA people, but yes, I can put that kind of money into Bitcoins. It might be a bit difficult to explain on my expense account when I bill The Society, but I can make it work."

Actually, it was Boris who made it work. I opened one of my on-line accounts and authorized the funds. Then he did the actual purchase of the coins and set them up as a prize in his weird contest. Whoever delivered the originating IP first would get the unlock codes.

"I'm afraid the net is going to slow down slightly," Boris said sheepishly after he finished announcing the contest to his darkweb friends. He waited a few seconds to enjoy my look of confusion and then said, "Five Bitcoins is a lot of dark money to offer as a reward. So right now there are half a million sniffer bots scouring the web for the telltale signature of that audio. Its going to overwhelm some of the nodes and slow down normal traffic." He shrugged, "That happens anyway once in a while when a bot program is badly written... or if it is too well-written and sophisticated and goes rogue."

Anticipating my question of "How sophisticated are these bots?" he grinned at me and said, "You really don't want to know." He then relaxed slightly and said, "Now we wait."

***

I don't know if Boris or Natasha got any sleep overnight, but I did. As usual, I was up around two am and checked the computer area. Boris was slouched in his chair still dressed. I didn't check if he was really asleep. There was no need to wake him if he was. If one of his hacker buddies wanted to claim the prize, I assume there was some sort of alarm that would waken him.

I went on up to the biggest of the fake shacks topside. It was warm, so there was no need for anything more than what I was wearing in bed. Usually I sleep nude, but sharing the housing area with Boris and Natasha prompted me to dig a pair of pajamas out of my dresser.

When I got to the end of the tunnel, I was surprised to see that the lower and upper hatches were already open. I expected to find Natasha in the shack, but instead found poopsie leaning out one of the open windows looking at the stars and the lights of the cars on the highway below. There was enough moon and starlight to nicely illuminate her perfect little heart-shaped ass.

She startled slightly when I came through the hatch. "I'm sorry, Master W," she said quickly, "I will leave immediately."

"No, poopsie," I said with a smile, "you can stay here. I just came up to see something that wasn't electronic."

"And something that wasn't your friends in pain," she added.

She came over and stood next to me. I keep forgetting how small she really is. She could probably walk under my outstretched arm. She hugged me around the waist, her head pushing into the base of my ribcage. "I've never thanked you for saving me from that man," she said as she rubbed her naked body against my front.

"It was the jaguar who saved you," I said, trying to sound firm and trying to keep nature from doing what nature does when a naked woman-- even a very petite naked woman-- rubs her tits against the top of your crotch.

"But you were the one who helped them," she said, now very intentionally sliding her entire body across the front of my pajamas.

"I don't think either of us should be doing this," I said softly.

"Mistress lets her kukolka play with other women... or men," poopsie said, pressing harder into my groin. She looked up at me, freed my now turgid member from my flimsy pajama pants and added, "... as long as it is not Master Boris."

Some day my rational mind is going to win the argument with my natural impulses in a situation like this, but this was not that day. She flicked the tip of my prick with her tongue and then turned and leaned out the open window, balancing herself on the wooden frame. She had to almost jump to pull herself over the frame at the waist. Her toes were a couple inches off the floor, but her cunt was at just the right height.

I grabbed her waist to steady her and slowly pressed my prick against her slit. I could feel the moisture lubricating the tip as I pushed slightly further in. "Go ahead," she said breathily, "I'm bigger than you think. I use large dildos on myself... and sometimes my mistress uses a large strap on."

I slid in much more easily than I expected. As I slowly pushed myself fully in, poopsie began a low moaning wail that got louder and more shrill as I started to move. It was surreal. I was fucking a pint-sized slave draped over the sill of a fake shack on the top of a big, round, stone mountain while the stars shone overhead and cars drove through the valley below. If anyone in those cars had their windows open, I wondered what kind of animal they thought they were hearing as poopsie's continuous wail rose and fell in pitch and volume.

I usually try to be a gentlemen and let the lady finish first, but tonight that wasn't really my decision. With her body draped over the high window sill, poopsie couldn't move back against me, but she was somehow pulsing her cunt and milking my prick as it moved in and out. Just before I reached that point of no return, her wail suddenly became an extremely shrill shriek and her legs flew up to grab me around the waist and pull me tightly into her crotch. I tried to keep my hands from pinching her little asscheeks too tightly as I erupted within her.

She continued to hold me by the waist with her legs, as I stood lightly stroking her ass and back. After several minutes, I pulled back out of her and she lowered herself back so that her feet were on the ground. "We both should have gotten specific permission from your Mistress," I said softly.

"But you both needed each other," a soft voice said from behind us.

"How long have you been...?" I started to ask, but Natasha cut me off with a low laugh, saying, "Since a few minutes after poopsie's screams woke me up." She reached out and stroked poopsie's head. "She's a real screamer," she said. "I'm always waking the neighbors." Then she looked up at me and said, "And yes, she has permission to relieve her tensions with other men."

Her voice got somewhat firm as she added, "... but she is supposed to check with me first to see if I approve of the man... or woman."

Poopsie dropped to the floor, bowing low in front of her Mistress. "I'm sorry, Mistress," she said in a slightly shaking voice, "I assumed that Master W was OK since you trusted him so much."

"As I said," I said softly as I looked down at her, "we both should have asked." I looked back up at Natasha and added, "But sometimes things just happen."

"There will be no punishment," Natasha said. There was still a touch of anger in her voice. "But at least one of you needs to check with me before this happens again."

"Yes, Ma'am," I answered.

I expected her to say something about not calling her Ma'am, but instead she said flatly, "Boris has something," and turned to go back down into the mountain.

***

When I got back down into the control center, Boris was typing furiously on his keyboard. "Be there. Be there. Be there!" he was muttering loudly.

Poopsie, Natasha, and I stood silently alongside him until he stopped and sat there panting as if he had just finished some great effort. "Well?" I said.

"We got him!" he answered. "Actually, I think we got two of them."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"This isn't what I expected," he answered, gesturing toward his monitor, "but I think Basilisk_2005 just won himself five Bitcoins." He turned to give me-- or perhaps Natasha-- a quick smile before continuing. "The video feed was routed to hell and gone around the internet and was double-encoded for some of the jumps. That meant it was truly impossible to trace back to its origin. But Basilisk_2005 found another way. That little snake hacked into the NSA's copy of all of the node traffic for the past week." This time I was sure he was looking at me, "You wouldn't believe how big their server farm has to be to store that kind of data," he said. The wonder was evident on his face and in his voice. He shook his head and then returned his focus to the monitor. "In any case," he said, "approximately three days ago, this IP..." a line of information on his screen started flashing, "sent a darkweb email to this IP..." another line began flashing.

"All the email said," Boris said firmly, "was 'This should do what you want.' It was signed, 'Little Brother.'"

I looked at him silently. "There were two attachments to that email," he said firmly. I could see his cursor move to the edge of the screen and click on something. The music with the heavy, driving beat suddenly blared from the speakers of his workstation.

"That's the first attachment," he said emphatically. Then he clicked on a second icon at the edge of his screen and the softer music filled the room. He looked at me with a very determined look on his face. "I think Wyatt Monty sent this music to one of his older brothers. I don't know if it is Walter, Weston, or Woody, but he is located in Los Angeles near LAX."

"And where is Wyatt?" I asked.

"Davenport, Iowa," Boris answered. He held up both hands palms toward me and said firmly, "Don't ask. I have no idea what a man like this is doing in Iowa." He started to say something else, but instead slumped slowly forward, falling out of his chair.

I moved forward to catch him, but Natasha was faster than I was. She grabbed him around his shoulders and turned him so she could lay him out on the floor. "He does this," she said, sounding both angry and concerned at the same time. "He drives himself for hours... or even days... until he gets what he wants... and then his body just shuts down for a while."

She looked up at me. "Put him to bed," she said. Her voice was somewhere between an order and a request. "I," she continued, "will find out what Wyatt is doing among the cornfields of Iowa." As she sat in the chair which Boris had just tumbled out of, she added, ".. and I will find out which of his brothers is holding Mistress Tenesha... and where."

"Yes, Ma'am," I said as I lifted Boris up off the floor and threw him over my shoulder. I wasn't sure if he was unconscious or asleep or a mixture of both, but Natasha had said he did this, so I just arranged him on his bed. As I was taking off his shoes and covering him with a blanket, poopsie came into the room carrying a tray. On it was several cans of cola, a stack of Reese's peanut butter cups, and several sandwiches of some sort.

"He will need this when he wakes up," she said softly. Then she looked up at me and said, "He'll be OK. He does this all the time. Sometimes Mistress gets so angry with him. Other times she cries and puts him to bed. It depends on what he was working on."

Her face became almost blank and her voice got almost dreamy as she continued, "He thinks he is protecting Mistress and me. He thinks you are, too, so he will do anything you ask him to do, no matter how much it takes out of him. Please don't use him all up. It would make me very sad. And it would make Mistress very angry."

"I promise, poopsie," I said firmly, "I won't use him up. But he-- and you and your Mistress-- will not be safe until we have tracked down the Monty brothers and whoever it is within The Society that is helping them."

She gave me a soft smile and left the room. I waited until she had disappeared down the hallway before taking a very deep breath and turning to leave. There have been many occasions where people have accused me of not having a conscience. That was not the case now. My conscience had stood before me and spoken to me in all her weird, naked glory. Natasha didn't have to worry about me doing anything else with poopsie. From now on, she was my Jiminy Cricket and no matter how much Pinocchio's nose grew the next time she tried something, I was confident that my rational mind would win the argument for a change.

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END OF STORY

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