The Sentinel Ch. 06

PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
JPMMURPHY
JPMMURPHY
28 Followers

Taking another drink, he searched around for her name on the list. There, a click and she was open. Wow, nice, he thought. The cam view was framed by her open legs, knees up, with a very nice view of her fingers as they slid in and came out wet. Damn, she's hot. Where's this black stud, he wondered. I gotta see this guy give it to her deep. Finding the cam, he clicked it open and saw some black asshole with a cock the size of a donkey's. Damn, I would love to see her go down on that. Looking back at her cam, John saw her fingers go in deep, and her hand jerk as she worked to cum. Yes, this fucking nigger's lover is hot. Damn.

* * * * *

Marge wanted to give more as she pulled her fingers out. Swinging her legs to one side, she quickly turned on her stomach, and propped on her elbow. Then looking directly at the cam, she slid her fingers in her mouth to suck them clean, all the time watching devil and wanting him to cum so she could imagine drinking it, eating him.

Yes, John would love this, she thought, sarcastically. She had no idea he actually was.

* * * * *

John brought the bottle down so quickly that bourbon spilled down his chin and onto his tie. What? How could this be; she looked just like Marge? He stared for a minute as angel_eyez sucked her fingers and smiled at the cam. Turning quickly, she presented herself again and started pressing on her clit.

Mouth open, bourbon dripping, John stared at the chat and watched as he confirmed angel and devil were, in fact, the right couple - the 'cyber-sweethearts' that had become so popular for the day crowd - the ones he hadn't had a chance to see yet because he was always at work.

Suddenly, the devil's cock was covered in cum, and John watched as Marge turned over on the bed again to suck and lick her fingers. The room went wild. "Do it, angel, suck him off...Oh yes, angel, you have great tits...Damn, angel, you're the best...Hey, angel, I may be a woman, but forget the clothes; the only thing you need on you is me, babe...Go, devil, make her drink it all...That's right, devil, give it to her deep."

John's mind was foggy, more from anger than from the bourbon he'd consumed. Releasing the bottle and slipping his shoes off, he crept out of the study and up the stairs, careful to skip the two steps he knew creaked when stepped on. Hearing a soft moan from the open door of his daughter's bedroom, he moved quietly along the wall and peeked through the crack between the door and the door frame.

And there was Marge, naked on his daughter's bed except for her lacy, white thigh highs and black spiked-heels, her hands working frantically as her back arched, lifting her ass off the mattress as she came hard.

No longer caring about hiding his presence, John made a sound of disgust and strode to his and Marge's bedroom. Opening the closet door with a jerk, he searched among the jackets and suits, hanging on his side, until he found what he needed. Throwing it on the bed, he reached up and pulled a couple of shoe boxes down in order to find a grey lockbox that contained important paperwork like the kids' college fund that had only six months' worth of savings because there had never seemed to be enough left over after the house payment, car payments, and everything else this cow had saddled him with.

Walking back to the bed, his eye was caught by an old hatbox sitting open on the mattress. Glancing inside, he found a pair of thigh highs, a garter belt in a very, provocative red, and a matching teddy. With a sweep of his hand, it was banished to a corner of the bedroom. Grabbing an old jacket, he removed his suit jacket and put on the other, being careful that his sleeves were covered. Opening the lockbox, he pulled out a plastic bag and unzipped the top. A heavy object, wrapped in an old rag that smelled of oil, fell into his hand. Wadding up the rag and bag, he put them in a jacket pocket.

In the bathroom he searched briefly under the sink for a bag of rubber gloves used for cleaning. Tearing the packaging, he held the gloves in one hand and slipped the packaging in his pocket with the plastic bag and rag. When he heard Marge start to type again, John stopped his movements and cocked his head, listening, much like the family dog did. Good, he thought. Stepping out of the bathroom with a glance around the bedroom, he left for his daughter's room.

* * * * *

Marge sat on the edge of the bed, her skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat from her lovemaking and a smile that was for devil_dude. Damn, that was good. She even told him she had never cum that hard in her life. Yes, all of her life. If she had only known, how prophetic that statement was; the rest of her life was now only a question of minutes.

There were giggles and snuggles as she felt the devil wrap her in his arms just before his cam went off; he never lingered on cam. What a shame, she thought, as she felt her thighs quiver once again. But Marge did; Marge always stayed on cam as long as possible, letting devil enjoy her naked body.

* * * * *

The Sentinel sat and took in Marge's naked body. Yes, her husband is an idiot - no denying that - especially knowing who he is. Such bright eyes and lovely smile, Marge looked beautiful as always after making love.

The Sentinel watched as Marge wrapped her arms around her chest to send an air hug. Then the Sentinel was taken by Marge's change in expression - so quick, so drastic. The Sentinel watched as it went from startled fright to anger to defiance to absolute terror. Her mouth seemed to move as if talking to someone. Her movements seemed frantic and jerky as if indecisive about what to do next. The bright, sunny shine of her eyes had changed to cutting knives as one of her hands wagged a finger in a direction off camera, like a mother telling a naughty child not to do that ever again.

Then it happened. In the three-second feed of the camera, Marge went from wagging finger, mouth opened wide as she yelled at someone, to tear-streaked cheeks as a gun barrel was thrust down her throat. And then, two frames later, her image was gone from the camera's view, replaced by an ominous grey cloud that was frozen in the air for a few seconds by the cam's slow progression.

The Sentinel could not believe what had transpired. How could it be? That wasn't supposed to happen; the Sentinel had not decided angel_eyez or Marge, her real name, was the chosen one. What the hell happened?

* * * * *

Police dispatch centers all over California were flooded with calls from people as far away as Manchester, England, reporting what appeared to be a shooting; but the only address information in Marge's user profile was the state she resided in. All the calls corroborated each other, giving more or less the same information; a woman, named angel_eyez, seemed to have been shot at an unknown address by an unknown assailant. They were directed where to go and look on the internet, and suddenly, a bunch of officers scrambled for desktops and started looking.

By the time they found the internet address, and someone figured out how to get a user name and password, angel_eyez' cam was turned off. Searching her profile, they could find no clue as to who she really was or where she lived. More or less taking over the site, more officers slowly came on-line and talked to people. The site itself cooperated as much as possible, giving the police access to all password-protected cams and rooms so they could move freely, looking for information.

A phone call was made to the ICB unit to report the incident, thinking it could be a break in the case. Surely, someone over there had been monitoring the chats when the incident took place. There had been a resounding moan, en mass, when it was discovered that the Captain had had all the shift operators in a meeting while he explained upcoming changes and Linda's absence. Even worse was the fact that all the workstations were shut down; no one, at all, had been watching.

As news of the incident spread, it took only half an hour more for the chat site to become overloaded. So its servers finally gave up the fight and shut it down due to excessive traffic.

The evening news broke the story of another 'cam' murder, retelling the same speculations they had made several times before and reviving the details of the previous killings. The only difference was that they knew about the crime before they could find the victim. There was even speculation that there had been no crime and that it had all been an elaborate prank, cooked up by the participants in one of the more popular chat rooms, or possibly, the owners, attempting to boost traffic.

* * * * *

It was after eight in the evening when Vicky finally made it home after picking up her brother at the mall. They both noted, in passing, that Dad seemed to have hit Mom's car. Boy, was she going to have a fit. They found their father, sitting in his study in front of his desk - tie open and shoes off, as drunk as they'd ever seen him.

Having cleaned up Marge's and his bedroom, John had carefully returned all the boxes, except her hatbox, to the closet. Then he had taken the gloves, jacket, gun, and everything in his pockets down to the basement where he'd worked slowly and unhurriedly to find just the right spot and had carefully pulled out the nails to pry a floorboard away. Putting everything in a black garbage bag, he'd stuffed it in, and just as carefully, put the board back in place, taking care not to make any fresh scratches or dents on the unfinished wood.

He had then found the vacuum in the hall closet and carefully erased any trace of his excursion up the stairs and into the bedrooms. He'd checked the bathroom, and then returned Marge's hatbox of 'goodies' where he'd found it on the bed. Retreating down the stairs, he'd stored the vacuum in its place, just as Marge would have left it, and checked the downstairs to see exactly where his tracks would lead if anyone were smart enough to wonder. Finally, he'd returned to his study where he had sat quietly, legs stretched out in front of him and slowly drank himself to the perfect alibi.

He had come home so distraught and upset, due to the non-justifiable suspension he'd been served up at work, that he'd sped into the drive and hit his wife's car. In a rage, he'd stomped up the sidewalk, thrown the door open, and gone into his study for a bottle. I mean, who could blame him? He'd sat there in the quiet house since his arrival, slowly, trying to forget what was happening to his career of nine years in police enforcement. No, he had no idea his wife was lying dead upstairs. Yes, he knew the site she visited; he had even visited it himself. They could check his computer to confirm that. The last time, he was logged onto that site was last night, and it had been work-related. If they wanted to know what he was doing, they should ask his Captain, or should he say ex-Captain. No, he had no idea what she was doing there, but from what they'd already learned, she seemed to have had a 'cyber-lover'. Maybe, they should go ask him. Yes, he'd be glad to cooperate; he was not the monster his asshole of a Captain made him out to be.

He had taken his time. Carefully erasing all signs that his computer had been to the site today, he had removed all cookies and changed his internet options to always remove them when shut down. He'd even gone to the trouble of entering the bio's configuration to change the time and date so any changes he'd made would appear to come from the previous night. Then, shutting down the system, he'd entered once again to reset the correct date and time and exited immediately.

Yes, John had it all planned out and pulled it off flawlessly from the moment of his daughter's first scream. Later that night with the yellow crime scene tape in view, John had stood, surrounded by his grief-strickened children, on the front stoop of their house, and tentatively answered questions from the press while uniformed officers moved past him to enter his home. How sad it was that he had more or less been fired on the same day his wife - who had apparently had been cheating on him - had become the latest victim of the cyber-serial killer. No, he hated to admit it, but considering Ruth Johnson, ICD's HR person, was black, maybe, the problems at work were racially motivated and could be worked out before a lawsuit was required. Then Marge had made an impromptu appearance, dressed head-to-toe in a black body bag, on her way to the coroner's van, and the heart of a nation went out to the poor father on the stoop of his suburban home, children at his side as a single tear was picked up in the glare of the floodlights.

Yes, John thought as his eye watered from the glare of the TV camera lights, just maybe, a lawsuit can be avoided.

JPMMURPHY
JPMMURPHY
28 Followers
Please rate this story
The author would appreciate your feedback.
  • COMMENTS
Anonymous
Our Comments Policy is available in the Lit FAQ
Post as:
Anonymous
1 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousabout 17 years ago
Wow

Every chapter has kept me on the edge of my seat. I think part of what makes this story so excellent is the way you keep revealing new and unexpected facets of the whole like Dave and Marge. The story just keeps growing in its complexity. I can't wait to read the next installment.

Share this Story

READ MORE OF THIS SERIES

Similar Stories

Already Gone A wife and her lover plot but the husband is a step ahead.in Loving Wives
An Unexpected Reaction To an unacceptable situation.in Loving Wives
Adultery on the High Seas A wife's voyage into debauchery.in Erotic Couplings
Sugar Daddy His wife leaves him, then six years later comes back.in Romance
The Honey Trap You have to use the right bait.in Loving Wives
More Stories