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I worked as an office manager once, and it was my job to open and sort all of the mail, including packages. It was a pretty boring job for the most part, but every now and then there would be a wave of excitement when my boss’s crazy ex-wife would come in and scream at him in front of all of his employees.
So I’m doing my mail duties when an odd looking package arrives for my boss, the CEO of the company. I open it as part of the standard office procedure. I pull out some packing materials, then an item wrapped in plastic wrap.
What is this? I think to myself. Oh, a leash. Must be a leash for his dog. What’s with the metal things? This is kind of weird, I think, so let’s pull out the invoice:
“Dog collar with attached nipple clamps.”
Dogs don’t need nipple clamps, so what the shit.
I throw everything back into the box as if *I’M* the one who has just committed some horrible sin against nature. I hop onto my computer and pull up messenger and message my boyfriend. “QUICK. I NEED TO KNOW HOW TO TAPE UP A PACKAGE AND MAKE IT LOOK LIKE IT WAS NEVER OPENED.”
Tons of totally rational and then totally fucked up explanations are going through my head. Halloween is coming up soon, maybe this is for a crazy party. Or maybe my boss is just seriously kinky and doesn’t have the foresight to send these types of packages TO HIS HOUSE. I got mental images, playbacks – not pretty.
I carefully tape up the box and pack it neatly. Voila! It looks as though it was never opened! No one will touch this stuff! I sneak it into his office and put it on his desk with the rest of his mail.
So for weeks, I can’t make eye contact with my boss, and at one point, I almost greeted him with a “Good Morning, Mr. Nipple Clamps” because that’s all that would go through my head when he walked in the door.
We go out on a business trip and at dinner, he tells us about how an old secretary is sending packages to his work and picking them up from his office, and he’s DYING to know what’s in them, but he never opens them.
Having had like 4 glasses of wine, I raise my hand.
“I know what’s in them,” I say, my face turning more purple than the merlot I’m drinking.
I have everyone’s attention now, and at this amazing restaurant in downtown Chicago, I blurt out, way too loudly, “NIPPLE CLAMPS!”
I tell them the story of the accidentally opened package. (We found out what the deal was weeks later because it turns out this lady who used to work for him was running a sex service behind her family’s back and making good money at it, but she couldn’t let her family know she was a dominatrix for hire so she had the boxes sent to her old work. How bad would that screw your teen daughter up, anyway?)
After I tell the table, including investors and business associates (glug glug glug) about how horrified I was and how deftly I re-taped the package to look as though it had never been tampered with, and how proud I was of my handiwork, the table falls silent.
So this one guy looks at my boss and says, “Your secretary has been walking around for weeks thinking you’re a sick pervy bastard! She must have been terrified to fly out here to Chicago with you!”
Hey man, sometimes I was paid in wine. Nipple clamps or no nipple clamps, that’s a good deal.
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This will be quite a long read, since I need to provide some background and context to highlight the extent of what had happened.
I met my wife 19 years ago, on the day her sister J gave birth to a girl W. They had severe argument and my then-would-be wife stormed out and went to park to cool off her nerves; that’s where I met her. We dated for a while, started living together and had a daughter who’s eight years young now. The important thing is that both my precious girls sometimes had to stay at their parents home for family and legal reasons, the house being not in their full ownership and J being bitchy on these matters. So we got quite used to live separately for extended periods of time, yet I was able to visit them there almost daily to act on my parental duties.
Meanwhile J wasn’t as lucky as her sister; her husband and W’s biological father left them and her personal relationships became complicated ever since. Most of the time they lived with J’s parents too, sometimes moving out for some months or a year. My wife made me play with W when she was just a little kid, and that probably left me somehow imprinted on her as a kind of father figure for the absence of her actual father or stepfather. When our daughter was born, W would often join us when I came to babysit, play, take a walk or do a homework, despite being 11 years older than my daughter. I felt good in her presence, especially when she matured, often more pleased than an uncle should be in the presence of his niece, but you know, biology and instincts reinforced with pronounced boobs and nice ass do the trick regardless of relation. Yet I never expressed or probed any intimate advances towards W. I’ve got my family.
Introducing two more brothers of my wife and J. The elder brother S who had long history of mental illness and aggressive behavior towards people. The younger brother M with his wife L and their daughter. That makes up ten people living in the same house, which, quite frankly, wasn’t big enough to accommodate them all, hence the aforementioned conflicts.
S was a personal tragedy for his parents. They couldn’t afford interning him in a mental institution, despite him being dangerous even to neighborhood inhabitants. Motherly love had played some part here too. The guy was a serious concern though. Once he struck my wife on the head with a frying pan, he also attacked M with a kitchen knife. When shit like this happened, they would call an ambulance and pack him in for a month or two. But the doctors would release him eventually in a kind of normal state. In about a year, the whole situation would happen again. All that went on for years and we’ve got used to it.
In retrospect, M and L were more concerned about their kid’s safety than I and my wife were about our. When S ran away and hid from the ambulance called by his parents, M decided that enough is enough and they moved their daughter to L’s parents house, while keeping frequent stays in M’s parental house as well. When I raised this matter to my wife, she assured me that situation is fully under control of her mother. I wasn’t in a position to argue or try to ban my daughter from visiting the house where she’d spent almost half of her life. So I shut up.
On an otherwise uneventful day of August, M and L were away at L’s parents place with their kid. W stayed at her mother’s friend’s house, my daughter stayed at her godmother’s place, and all that seemed to lower the body count drastically. S attacked and brutally singlehandedly slaughtered my wife, her sister J, and both their (his own) parents, effectively halving the population of the family. It was not until next day the remaining family members grew concerned of the unresponsiveness of their loved ones and we came to investigate. The door was closed, phones turned off, which is unusual for such large family. I called the police, they forced in to find four bodies in a bloodbath and S sitting right there all too sure of himself claiming it was a self-defense. But I digress. Before M and L returned, it was my duty to inform my daughter of the situation. After they returned we went to talk to W and it was my duty again to inform her too. The place she lived by then belonged to J’s friend N and her husband B with whom she had kids. The place was located in a deep rural area some 70 miles from the city where all that happened so naturally we asked her to return to help us and generally keep the survivors stick together. I thought, since W and my daughter were cousins and very much enjoyed spending time with each other, that may help to relieve their stress from losing their mothers. When W refused to return, I should have been suspicious, but I haven’t. I finally asked her to at least come to the funeral, and she agreed.
Days flew by as we were busy rebuilding our lives, working with police investigators, obtaining permission to retrieve the bodies, organizing funeral, cleaning the apartment etc etc. W did came, and stayed at J’s former boyfriend’s place, but the moral climate there was unbearable for her. So I asked her to visit us (me and my daughter) often and I tried my best to make their lives as bright as I can. We walked in parks, watched movies, played games together, I cooked for them. My dad ironically noticed that “you now have two daughters, son”. W often stayed with us for night, even sleeping on my bed beside me but I still didn’t make any advances.
That need some explanation, I believe. What was visible on the outside is easily scared, fragile, very shy flower-like late-teen virgin with childlike appearance and more-so behavior, no self-confidence and self-esteem whatsoever, raised by strict Catholic mother J who even sometimes had beaten her. And she’s also epileptic with a bunch of other illnesses combined, making her a category 2 disabled person with state pension assigned. The seduction of this flower was the least concern for me then. Oh boy, was I wrong….
Here comes the part where things start to get ugly. W used my daughter’s computer to access her social network profile. Being weirdo I am, I could not resist sniffing password and checking in to see what’s going on. The sheer magnitude of my shock and disbelief had no match in my entire life, and believe me, I’ve seen things. The following reconstruction is based on her discussions in social network, eyewitness accounts, SIGINT and other intelligence I gathered on the matter.
Some time around a year ago, W (then 18) made kind of a vow to herself to get a boyfriend. Being extremely asocial, having no experience, virtually no friends and under constant strict supervision of her mother J, she decided on two strategies.
The first involved setting the “active search” status in her social network profile and talking to whoever skirtchaser wrote to her. The conversations went by the same scheme:
I am not kidding, there are literally dozens of short conversations like that with only slight variations. Very few of them resulted in actual dates due to general remoteness of the village where N and B lived (W never went to the city unsupervised). I have reasons to believe that even fewer, if any, encounters went anywhere beyond basic hugs and kisses.
Seeing this strategy failing, she decided on more desperate measures. Such as grabbing the crotch of neighborhood boys and massaging them there. Or inviting N’s brothers (one at a time, thank heavens) into a barn to talk but instead asking them to have sex with her, threating to commit suicide if they refuse. But to no avail.
Finally she managed to establish more or less regular sex with B. Who was allegedly her first. Let me just reiterate that: N and B is a poor family living in a remote village with two minor kids one of which is still infant. They let J and W stay at their place out of friendship and hospitality. And W made B cheat on his wife in their own house while still living there on their expense.
Shortly before W’s mother death, B departs to another country to see his parents. Lovebirds W and B continue keeping in touch via social network. That involved exchanging pictures of his erect penis, her masturbating spreading legs, cursing at each other extensively, fantasizing about the ways they will have sex upon his return and so on.
Death of J seemed to reinforce recurring theme of suicide in their conversations. At one episode, she shared a fantasy about her going to the river to drown herself and B stopping her from doing so and having sex with her right there on the bank, preferably against her will. She also admitted to have sexual urges towards N (B’s wife), to having had BDSM-themed dreams since 15, and many other similarly shocking things I don’t care to remember now, because they pale in comparison to the situation in general.
At the time of my initial discovery, I knew almost none of this besides the fact that W is sexually active with a married man. So I decided to push things a little further, we had a private talk and I confessed that I liked her as a girl, a woman and would like to start a relationship. Yes, I’m a pervert, but we’re not blood relatives and I didn’t care about social stigmata.
She resorted to not giving any definite answer. Not knowing I was aware of her affairs, she didn’t say yes, no or may be. Few days went by and then, knowing that most girls are kind of “actions over confessions”, I let our hugs go a little longer than usual, kisses go from cheeks to neck and lips, my fingers slipped into places and in no time I was giving her oral pleasure.
Here comes part where things get even more uglier.
Remember, from her early childhood W observed me and my wife loving each other with all the subtle details of our tenderness, habits, playful names and so on. All of a sudden she started to imitate all that. She dressed in my wife’s clothes, she started to talk and walk like my wife, she attained her hairstyle too. That even went so far as me giving her my wife’s nightgown before we went to sleep, and when I observed that my wife didn’t wear bra for night, W removed it too at once. She took a bath in exactly same way she saw in the picture I took of my wife, letting me observe and touch her in the bath like I did with my wife. I was completely mesmerized, Rachel and Deckard my ass… And remember: not a month passed since my wife’s death and about two weeks since funeral. I justified my actions by the urge to give my love and care to someone besides my daughter and I’ve got exactly that. My intentions were serious and I may have considered marriage proposal should she agree.
Yes, we finally had sex, and I can’t say the initiative was entirely my own. She helped a lot.
Of course this could not have continued for long. A week into our newfound happiness I received an intel of B’s imminent return. By then I hinted her of my awareness of their affair while not spoiling my intel sources. I knew B would want to come to the city to visit her in her family house but W assured me that they will only talk to possibly end their “relationship”.
And of course I did not believe her, since you don’t invite your lover to stay together for night in an empty house to just talk (M and L were absent that day).
So being all that Jason Bourne-ish I set up a makeshift IP-camera in her room and stood in an ambush just outside the house. They came in, entered and of course there were no any bullshit talking, just straight away kisses and undressing.
I admit to have lost my usual adherence to reason right there and then. Even though she didn’t promise me anything and had no obligations to me, I considered myself deceived. I called her on the phone supposedly from my house and voiced my suspicions on their activities. Half-naked she still maintained they’re only talking, but I said I’m going to her place as well to validate that. She predictably pissed off but by then I didn’t care and was adamant.
I “arrived” in appropriate time and talked to W on a doorstep. I said I knew exactly what they were doing there (not telling her how I knew that) but she still lied to me all the same against everything. Soon I grew tired of that and proceeded inside to find B sitting in the kitchen.
Surprisingly, we had much more intelligent conversation with him. B admitted that it was W’s idea to invite him and that they did indeed planned to fuck here all night. I told him of my intentions towards W to which he reasonably replied that I’m her uncle and almost twice her age. I retorted that he is a married man and have kids and that fact promises even less future for W than being with me. During our conversation W was running around, crying and cursing us both. Finally I insisted that I and B must leave the house and let her be. He agreed.
That’s when I realized that I relied too much on W’s inherent indecisiveness, hoping she wouldn’t do anything stupid before we leave. I was wrong. Right when we neared the exit, she came forth and whispered that she wanted B to remain. At first I didn’t believe my ears, but she confirmed.
Bitter heavens. I was destroyed. My male ego utterly blown to dust. I could forgive and forget almost anything. Cheating, lying or preferring someone over me, I can forgive all that. But not this. Not the humiliation in front of my competitor in a skirmish for the female. Outraged, I cried “happy fucking, lovebirds”, stormed out and slammed the door.
The following week I accumulated and organized all incriminating evidence I had and presented it to N. This is when I learned the rest of W’s adventures about grabbing crotches etc. N was deeply sad and angry at W for betraying her friendship. N called W and asked her to go get her belongings and be gone for good. W cried and cursed at me right at the 40th day remembrance service we were attending, publicly and loudly calling me stupid and dull bitch. To which I calmly replied that I’m not dull, but sharp and one might hurt herself handling me like she did and that I am not sorry for what I’ve done.
W ignores my existence ever since. She also went to N’s place but returned seemingly blissful. Apparently this manipulative little slut knows very well when to cry, when to say she misses her mother and when to say sorry to melt even the angriest hearts. She still lives there sometimes, thought not as often as before.
And a pair of cherries on top of all that. It seems W asked for forgiveness and N granted it but only to catch W and B fucking again in her house shortly afterwards.
Plot twist: now W shows some symptoms of pregnancy, but have repeatedly denied aunt L’s invitations to see the doctor together (aunt L is legitimately pregnant) on the ridiculous grounds, while also denying being pregnant.
I didn’t finish inside her, of course, but we had unprotected sex and there are chances that either I or B my have contributed. I haven’t asked her yet, who’s going to be happy daddy. That’ll wait.

See, that’s what the app is perfect for.
Sounds perfect
Wahhhh, I don’t wanna

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