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Because a lot of my friends are terrible people, I knew that there were ways around Windows passwords that required little more than a thumb-drive and several dubious keyword searches. And of course it worked. The computer unlocked to reveal a desktop with a painting of the DC villain Harley Quinn as its background. I was simply curious. There were seven folders on the desktop along with a small assortment of program icons: Microsoft Word, Photoshop, a program for live-streaming video that I had never heard of, etc.

The seven folders were labeled, from top to bottom: The computer itself was from the mids at the latest. I started skimming through the earliest log and it quickly became obvious that Enid was no air-traffic controller.

Client requests that I urinate into a bucket. I lay a plastic sheet down on the floor in front of the camera and do so. Client requests that I put on my Freddy Kruger hat, toy glove, and striped sweater with no panties and then play with myself while reciting lines from a Nightmare on Elm Street. Client requests a voice chat but says nothing. It sounds like he is sobbing. Client requests that I kneel on the bed and expose my butthole to the camera.

I get my porn the old fashioned way: Lovecraft if he had been really into butt-stuff. In a weird way, I did start to feel attached to Enid.

I spent nights sitting there, listening to her weird-ass music mostly stuff like the Cure and Four Non-Blondes. I wanted to find her. That I would make everything alright. So, before this gets any more awkward, let me just reiterate: Client Requests that I strip naked. His video feed is just a black screen at first but then something is moved out of the way of the camera and I can see another naked girl who is laying stomach-down on top of what appears to be a large dog kennel.

Her arms and legs are chained to the kennel and her hair hangs down around her face, hiding it from view. There is a man sitting in the darkness behind her. His face is covered by a black mask and he is vigorously masturbating. I quickly end the session and just sit there for a while afterwards, staring at my own dumbfounded expression in the video-chat program open on my computer screen. Then I write this log. Then I quit for the day. This was the first mention of a masked man but then he returned a week later, using a different name….

Client requests that I strip naked. His video-feed displays a shot of a poorly-lit bedroom. There is a partially open closet to the right of the frame and a closed door to the left. Someone begins to bang on the closed door from outside and I let out a startled yelp. This is when a man in a black mask leans his head out of the closet and looks in my direction.

I end the session. It was the same masked man as before. I write this log and forward it to Donna along with the one from last Wednesday. I start to but then stop when I see the video-feed. As the woman uses a towel to pat herself down, the power is cut and the room goes dark.

I hear the woman mutter something and then breaking glass and then screaming and then the session is ended. After the last incident, I decided to install a video-capture program to record my sessions with just in case this fucker showed back up. This has officially gone too far. When detectives arrive to question me, I pull up my video of the session to find that I successfully recorded 18 minutes of a silent black screen.

I had already tested the program and followed the steps exactly. I tell them about my job and the man in the black mask. Then I have the bright idea to mention that the past few nights I had this feeling like someone was following me during the walk from my car to my apartment. Just another troubled girl living alone, no man to support her, paying the bills through devious sex acts and hallucinating masked stalkers. It was like the moment those files where extracted, the computer just keeled over and died.

I sent the video to my friend Jay who specialized in extracting useable data from corrupted files along with an email explaining everything. He agreed to come over and check to see if he could salvage the hard-drive. Jay brought up the image on his laptop and my heart actually skipped a beat. It was a close-up photo of a man in a black mask.

The picture quality was poor, like it was taken with a web cam, and the longer I stared at it the harder it was to tell if what I was looking at was even a mask.

I unlocked the phone to find two new messages and a bunch of missed calls from my girlfriend and was immediately knocked out of my fixated stupor by an overwhelming sense of guilt.

I tried calling her twice and got her voicemail both times. A sudden feeling of dread began to mount in the pit of my stomach as I checked my messages. The first one was my girlfriend saying she had just gotten home and was hoping to hang out tonight and that she missed me. Call me when you can, sweetie.

The second message seemed like a pocket-dial at first. Nothing but rustling sounds for about thirty seconds. That was the last time anyone has seen or heard from her in over forty-eight hours.

I went with her parents to file a Missing Persons report today and played the two messages for the detective who took our statements. I needed to write all of this down first, if only to help me mentally process everything. By the time I finally called Jay back, I ended up getting his voicemail. I tried two more times but he never answered. Eventually, I decided to simply drive over to his house.

Despite the stereotypical depiction of the computer nerd as some kind of perpetually lonely super virgin, Jay was actually happily married to a fairly attractive girl named Amy. She never seemed like the flighty type. My whole woe-is-me, my-girlfriend-might-be-murdered vibe had been really bumming people out all week.

Anyway, I used a list of specific keyword searches to isolate all of the pertinent data from the remaining logs.

Once you do, call me or email me if I go into work mode and switch off my cell. Jay screamed as a tall shadow flickered across the wall and then the video cut to later that evening. He slowly tilted his head, like he was listening for something. A moment later, the doorbell rang. I could hear Amy opening the door in her living room as I pulled out my cell and started to call her.

I hung up and started to dial when something dawned on me and my arm went limp, the phone dropping from my hand and thudding to the carpet. And then the masked man came and I turned off the video and retrieved the handgun that was under my bed. It was at this point that I realized just how ridiculous I must look. To my surprise, I got an answer on the first ring.

It was kind of nasally and surprisingly human. Seriously, dude, grow a pair. This one digs my ride more now. What the wolves howl about, the cold night wind on the back of your neck. I am the darkness that fills a room when the lights are turned out.

I am the shadow that stains your mind forever. The thing that cannot be unseen. I am doom and my favorite food is girlfriends. They both hit their target, one stomach and one shoulder, and the man went sprawling onto his back. Holy shit, that worked! I kneeled on the man as I tore his mask off to reveal…. This is why violence never solves anything: I will provide a copy of the filtered logs as soon as I can. Oh, and I almost forgot: Client requests a private video-chat.

He switches the TV off and turns back to the web-cam. I remove my shirt and ask if he wants me to rub baby-oil on my breasts. I was SO fucking bored.

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Her orgasm is not so beautiful. She rubs her clit very strong, of course but there is no water or squirt. Nothing happens for the first half of the video, just a warning.

Reading and masturbating before bed time. Send Your contacts are required to solve the issue quickly! Thank you for reporting this issue, our administrators will check it as soon as possible.

You have already reported this video. Your comment has been sent for review. Unexpected error occurred, please contact support. Unknown 1 year ago Takeing her time.

Unknown 2 years ago Hope she keeps the naughty book hidden from mum!

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