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Clover sat in the sweltering DC heat, bored out of her damn mind. The lockdowns had dried up the jobs available, as banks were carrying less cash than ever and the criminal underworld fell on hard times. The only jobs available were pulling security on fentanyl shipments for peanuts, or at least peanuts to someone who had an offshore bank account whose compound interest would make both Lehman brothers blush. Most of the gang were holed up with their families, safe and sound. They had all been pretty far ahead of the curve when it came to wearing masks in public. Huston had stayed with Dallas, leaving Sydney as the last member of the payday gang with nowhere to go.
Clover had nothing but time on her hands. The shooting range downstairs had occupied her time for the first few weeks as she and Sydney shot down their stockpile of a few thousand rounds in time trials. Clover could shoot tight groups, but for time Sydney blew her out of the water. Sydney would josh her for it, slapping her ass after every course of fire and recording the embarrassing difference in their times on the wall. Clover had frozen up with each smack. When Sydney “coached” her, Syd took a page out of the Tennesee fuckboy’s playbook and would press her body against Clover’s, placing her palms against the back of Clover’s hands and whispering common knowledge about marksmanship fundamentals in Clover’s ear, her hot breath making Clover’s skin twitch. After a long enough time of this, she sat down Sydney to try and tell her that it wasn’t the catholicism holding down the “real” sexuality, she really didn’t like girls. Sydney simply didn’t have what Clover wanted, sexually. She liked muscles, and knob, and working hands and thick forearms and stubble and revealing, but not vulnerable eyes. Sydney had seemed understanding enough.
Clover knew she hadn’t turned Sydney off though. She knew her… habits… weren’t a secret. For security reasons, and personal reasons, having a Tinder profile floating around didn’t suit her. Given that she never really got to a real bar, having most of her drinks from the Guinness tap in the safehouse, her opportunities for hookups were non-existent even before the lockdowns. She’d take a few weeks off one or two times a year, and try to find a man. Being a bank robber, she’d always get to the second or third shag and be presented with the impossibility of maintaining a real relationship. And so she took care of herself. A lot.
On those warm nights in the safehouse, when she’d curl up on the couch in Dallas’ heist planning office and pull up some porn on her phone, the house was silent. There was the occasional siren and delivery truck outside, but other than that, the hum of the refrigerator was the only noise she could hear, even if she strained. She could hear the fabric of her panties slide off her thighs, and hear the soft sound of her lips parting as she slid her fingers between them. Normally, Sydney would make some noise around the house, mostly the thud of boots as she meandered from the bar to the room beneath Dallas’ office where she slept. These noises would stop whenever Clover masturbated. Clover would try to be less noisy, and would for the most part fail. Girl liked to moan a little, simple as. Over a full month and a half of lockdown, her control over the noise she made started to slip a little. She didn’t know why Syd always got quiet at just the right time, until one night when, humping her hand while reading about a cowgirl giving a truly exquisite blowjob to a cattle rustler, she let one, victorious yelp signal her orgasm. An echo of her yelp punctuated her heavy breathing and ran a cold stake through her post-orgasmal bliss. She re-adjusted her panties, having simply pushed the crotch aside this time, and pulled her arm from under her shirt. She tried to rearrange her hair as she stomped out of the office and turned down the stairwell to confront Sydney. It’s not so much to want to get yourself off in peace is it? To not have your own damn coworker creeping on you.
Sydney came into view kneeling, her naked legs spread wide with a pink rabbit vibrator planted between her petals. Her phone was on the ground beneath her, recording.
“What the ever-loving fuck, Sydney” Clover growled. Sydney held up a “one second” gesture, let out a sigh of relief, and pulled the damp vibrator out of her body.
“It’s not...Fuck it. It’s exactly what it looks like”
“Can’t you respect my fucking- why are you filming yourself?” Sydney smiled at that. Panting, she said
“Pussy pics. Send em to boys”
“Later on that. Why me, can’t you just fucking google minge licking or muff rubbing or whatever?”
“Not horny a lot of the time. You make a lot of noise, makes me horny. What’s that expression you use? Simple as”
“And the ‘pics’- you don’t even like knob”
“Aye and they do send me a lot of knob. But them starin at my pink bits makes me feel like a hot piece a’ arse. And I do like a hot piece a’ arse” She winked at Clover. Clover didn’t notice. Gears were clicking in her head.
“They send you knob?”
“Girlie, they’ll send their damn credit card numbers”
“So you’ve gone from being a bank robber to a camwhore”
“Hardly, I just send it out to old mates from the recovery ward”
“Sydney. I show you more respect than you deserve, could you be so kind as to not fucking creep on me when Im havin a wank?”
“Damn hard that. Look, doggie, if it’s really such an issue I’ll put on headphones so you can scream and whimper all you want”. Clover nodded, and turned to go back upstairs.
She couldn’t sleep. Something about getting called a dog by a woman who clearly lusted after her was messing with her head. She’d hated the touching, and the spying, but some part of her liked the attention. She ran her hands over her body, first over the thin sheet that covered her, then over her skin. She felt good-looking, usually, but not……
She never really felt like a “hot piece of arse”. It was a good thing really, to not draw eyes when she was walking around mask-off, casing a place, but sometimes- sometimes she wondered if others felt the same sort of lust she felt when they’d drive by a construction site on the way to a job. She wondered if any cops got the deer-in-the-headlights hesitation to strike at her, the same way she had once frozen before knocking a broad-shouldered banker to the floor with her rifle. She wondered if any of her hostages imagined her naked. She wanted to know if any of them touched themselves in the weeks that followed, thinking about that crazy bitch. The more she turned it over in her head, the more something that had seemed ridiculous to her came into the realm of reality. She wondered if the men whose pictures she fucked herself to ever thought about their audience. If they ever imagined her, frantically rubbing herself to a mere microcosm of their body, a small picture, a representation of what she was imagining having above her and in her. And she imagined men with her on their phones, grunting and moaning and cumming on themselves to the thought of her. Clover. She wanted to be a slut in their minds, to be a harlequin bent into uncomfortable positions and fucked hard. She wanted to be wanted.
It was late, and would be morning in Ireland soon. There were some old mates who would be waking up alone, with throbbing morning woods. Would they think of her? That boring girl who had never really liked makeup and shopping, but listened intently when old man Finnigan’s boy talked about his dad’s shotgun? That girl who had watched their midsummer shirtless football practices from afar? Would they think of her, or would they think of those hot little whores who risked demerits with their dress-code defying miniskirts and visible slivers of midriff? Those who swung their dyed hair and shouted at games and ran out to kiss their footballer boyfriends after the clock ran dry.
This morning, they would think of her. She dug her phone from her pants pocket and opened a messaging app. She found some prep school mates, who had loved her for her shared knowledge of “guy stuff” but had been fascinated with the pert asses and social clout of other girls. One had a wife now. No matter. She opened her camera and looked at the preview. Under the white sheet and dim lights, she looked like a corpse. She paused. She had never sent a “nude”, as she’d heard they were called. She wasn’t going to start with a full on, pussy-and-asshole shot like Sydney. There had to still be some buildup, right? The art of tease still applied, no? She reversed the camera to show her lower body, and pulled the sheet to the side. Her silk underwear reflected the weak light coming in through the windows. Gotta spend those ill-gotten gains somehow. The view wasn’t particularly scandalous, you could see the same at any beach, bikini-clad bodies better than hers a commodity in most places. The implication, however, made her tingle. The idea of the late-night sext. If a picture tells a thousand words, this didn’t say “look at my new underwear”, it said “I want to fuck” two hundred and fifty times. Her phone made a soft shutter sound effect, then four “whoosh” noises as she sent the picture out.
Clover awoke the next morning without a thought to the picture. She walked over to the kitchen- having it on the second floor was an unparalleled innovation in early-morning laziness- and cracked some eggs on to a pan. She sat in one of the barstools, cooking them slow. The cheap ass pans were a bitch to clean. Sydney sat next to her.
“I put three eggs on for you, Syd”
“Thanks Clover. I’m really sorry about last night”
“And?”
“And creeping on you, and touching you”
“Good. Don’t worry about it too much, I’m fine” Clover pulled her phone out and immediately regretted leaving message preview notifications on. Two cocks and a string of heart eyes emojis flashed before her.
“Yooooooooooooooooo” Sydney shouted. Clover placed the phone face down and smiled, trying to show Sydney she didn’t mind. “Clova’s hot property eh?”
“I- I suppose?” Clover sighed, still smiling.
“Yeah among gorillas. Damn. If these guys are harassing you you know you can just send em back a pic of an even bigger one, right? I do it all the time.”
“Syd, it’s all right. I, I uh, sort of uh. Asked for it”
“Don’t talk like that, posting a picture in some tight jeans isn’t fucking-”
“No like literal-” Sydney laughed out loud
“You what? You slid in their DMs, said ‘send knob’?” Sydney was beside herself
“It’s a long story. I mean it’s not, but- you said something yesterday, and-” Clover decided it was easier to just open one of the conversations. She tapped a notification, and there it was. A shot of her tummy, legs, and expensive, but not by any means visually provocative underwear. Under it was a long, thin cock with a fist retracting the foreskin. At its base, a veritable rainforest of thick, curly black hair grew.
“Eh, its a 4” Sydney said.
“Maybe the other one will be more pleasing to your queer eyes” Clover said as she flipped to the second respondent. This one was thicker, with light orange hair at the base and pale skin with red and purple blood vessels showing through it, engorged. It was taken in landscape, unlike the last one, leaving Clover’s panty shot visible in the chat log.
“Great anatomy specimen, not good for much else, 5” Sydney said
“Fuck do you know about cocks”
“Some are pretty, some aren’t. I don’t have to want one in me to see that much. Nice of him to go all out for that dogshite up there though. Good gracious, was your flash on?”
“I don’t exactly have practice, Syd.” The insult went right over Sydney’s head
“I can loan you some of mine. Woah woah woah there. Cool it girlie, I mean clothed. I show you how to frame your minge in the mirror, walk out, you can take as many shots as you like” Clover recoiled. She wasn’t about to let Sydney that deep into her personal life. One thing tugged at her though. Four recipients, three respondents. She opened the fourth. Opened, 2am. Damn it. Maybe it was the subject, maybe it was the picture itself. She wasn’t going to give up on this one. It was Finnigan’s kid. He’d once offered to “show her how to kiss” when she’d mentioned she hadn’t done it yet. She’d kicked herself for not understanding that one at the time. For what it was worth, she wanted to know what the Finnigan line had in their trousers.
“You know, Sydney, I might have to take you up on that” Sydney beamed
“You’re taking the piss”
“Na”
“Well then, get those eggs off the burner, let’s get you to a mirror”
“Shouldn’t we eat?”
“Flat tummy, hard cock. Easy.” Grumbling dissension, Clover followed Sydney to a walk in closet.
“Ok hun, you’re going to use this mirror”
“Sydney, I’m not sending foot pics”
“No, you’re going to kneel. Make it look like you’re begging for their cock”
“Mother of God” Clover dropped to her knees. She was wearing business slacks with an italian leather belt, and a Megadeth T-shirt. “Syd, are you sure the closet full of suits sends the right message?”
“Sends the perfect one. Husband’s away at work, poor wifey wants to play. Don’t give me that look, I know about you and Wolf. Marriage isn’t sacred to you, is it?”
“Sydney-”
“Now, drop your ass down to your ankles. Angle your knees a little to the mirror. When I leave, take that shirt off. If you’re wearing a bra, it’s not doing much, but if you have it, lose it. Grab a tie and pull it tight around your neck. Stick a hand down the front of your pants, get a finger in ya. If you want to get sloppy, drool down your tits a little. Hold your phone up and look directly into the camera in the mirror. The most important thing is you look into their eyes with a look that says ‘I want to suck you until it shrivels up and falls off’”
“Um. Thanks Syd.”
“No problem” Sydney walked out. Clover paused for a while pondering what she was doing. She started to strip. Shirt, no bra. Grabbed a few ties, looking at what looked best. Black didn’t stand out in the shitty phone camera. Green was tacky. Silver worked. She pulled it tight, and thought about letting it cover one of her nipples before deciding to stop being cheeky, and letting it rest between her breasts. She stuck a finger in her slit, sliding it in easily. She looked in the mirror. Her hair wasn’t great, but that somehow made it hotter. Damn. She looked like… well, like a slut. She gave her best stare to the camera, saying in her head, “I want your cock. I want your cock” her finger touched the button, and she whispered aloud “I want to suck your cock”
She selected a longer list of contacts this time. It was a good picture, simple as. Probably the best she’d looked in a phone’s camera. She’d set it as a profile picture if she’d had her tits put away, hadn’t been penetrating herself, and wasn’t trying to fuck the camera lens. But then it wouldn’t be such a good picture. When she focused on just her face, and not the eyes telling the viewer to fuck said face, it seemed mediocre. Waiting for responses from the mostly-Irish list of recipients, she wanted to dive deeper. She didn’t really know what to look for, but after trying a few search terms, she made it past the professional photoshoots and came to “amatuer nudes”. Not euphemistically, she hadn’t come in quite a few hours, as each erotic response trickling in remided her. A warmth grew in between her legs, and she rubbed them together, passing the time as she did her research. She found a wealth of young women with their tits out, vaginas spread, assholes presented, mouths sucking fingers. She saw them in mirrors at work, lying in bed, spread wide open in front of bathroom mirrors, playing with themselves in the bath. She saw snapchat-captioned images of pink, hot, excited skin covered in cum and pinched between fingers and teeth. She picked out some poses she wanted to try. The only one she refused to replicate was the image of two naked women embracing in a McDonald’s bathroom.
She sat on one of the couches and scrolled through her messages. Somehow the cocks coming in weren’t the same as those on the internet. They seemed more intimate, Clover figured, for the same reason those men responded to the kind of softcore imagery they could probably find on an advertisement on the train to work. There were a variety of angles, but most of them were the simple, dead-on, down-the-chest dick pic. One was a short video of a man stroking a pink shaft, and one was a picture of a muscled chest, streaked in cum, with only a fat purple cockhead visible. The caption read “thank you baby”. Of the twelve men she had now sent these to, she had gotten no response from one, and two text only responses. A string of emojis and a phone number. She dialed the phone number, leaned forward and placed the phone face up, ringing. She looked around in the living room, and didn’t see any trace of Sydney. Downstairs, maybe. In a brief moment of horny judgement, she began to rub herself through her pants.
“Hey, Rochelle?” A man’s voice came over the speaker
“This is she” Clover said
“Heyyyy” There was a brief moment of silence
“Is that it?” Clover asked
“Well uh, um. Nice tits” Clover sighed.
“Look Liam, I’m going to fuck myself silly, and you’re going to say nasty things”
“Um. What do I get exactly?”
“I promise you, I make a lot of noise. Enough for you to have a nice wank to.” Clover slid her hips forward on the couch, laid back and undid her belt. She slid a hand into her pants, over the bare skin of her soft pussy. “Tell me what you’d do if you were here”
“Well Rochelle, if it wasn’t for the ocean, I’d lift up your shirt and kiss ye”
“On me tits?”
“Nay, on ye belly button. Saw it in prep school for a glance I did. Clean, small. Cute.” Clover pulled her shirt up and looked at it. She supposed it wasn’t a bad belly button, whatever that was supposed to mean
“Aye, I’d lick ye and drive my chin into ye. Pull ye arse closer to me with my arms, then go lower” Clover liked the sound of that. She hiked her pants lower, bare ass on the couch. Her juices began to run down her legs and ass, on to the couch. She took two fingers and slid them down her slit, before sliding them back up and making small slow circles around the hard nub poking out from the hood at the apex of her womanhood. Clover closed her eyes.
“Liam, are you touching yourself?”
“Yes miss”
“Spit on your cock”
“I don’t usually-”
“Spit on your cock” Clover waited, and heard Liam spit. She imagined the bubbly fluid flowing over his cock, spread by a frantic hand. “Good.”
“Rochelle, I want to see you spread open. Change it to a video call.” Clover grabbed the phone with a sticky hand and turned on the video chat. She appeared in the corner, flushed and sweaty. A moment later, the rest of the screen came alive. His camera was close to his knob, between his legs. His heavy balls lay on his legs. He was nicely trimmed, close-cropped brown hair around the base of his cock. His cock though, was a spectacle. Clover presumed she had seen what Sydney would consider “better”, but his cock, alive and being squeezed and stroked, was captivating. His spit had made the head shiny, and she had to take a moment just to watch the light play over it. Clover held her phone at a distance, placed a hand over her pussy, and spread herself wide with two fingers. The cool air of the safehouse washed over her.
“Want me to take a titty out?” Clover panted
“No, no, just keep playing with it. Make me cum” Clover started to rub herself again, getting closer. She heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Fuck it, she was putting on a show, might as well put on a damn show. She put her legs up on the coffee table, stared at the top of the staircase, and dug two fingers into herself. The footsteps grew louder. His voice came over the speakers once more. “Rochelle. Rochelle. I’m close”
“Come on, cum” Clover took a glance at the blur of a hand working the shaft on her phone screen, then back at the stairs, just as Sydney rounded the top of them. She withdrew two wet fingers from her snatch and made a “come hither” gesture. Sydney stared. Bewilderment turned to bemusement as she pieced together what was happening. With a chuckle, she said
“What is it, hon?” Clover swallowed before replying
“Film me”. She handed the phone to Sydney, who waved to the furiously masturbating man in the chat.
“Nice cock, bro” Sydney said, before reversing the camera. Clover slid off the couch and turned around, face in the couch cushions, ass in the air. She felt the air on her tight asshole as her cheeks parted. She pressed her face flat against the couch, and shifted her chest back and forth so the couch would rub her nipples through her shirt. She looked back at the camera, and tried to ignore Sydney’s smirking face behind it. Give me your cum. She was so close. She heard moaning behind her and closed her eyes, halting her wrist, and forcing herself into orgasm with three sharp flicks with her fingers. She shuddered out her orgasm as the heat faded from her cheeks. Sydney placed the phone face-up in front of Clover, a panting man wiping cum off himself slowly. She got up on her elbows and watched.
“Thank you, so much, Rochelle” He said, before logging off
Clover pretended to be out of breath for a few more minutes than necessary. She was slowly running through ways to defuse the situation, with Sydney sitting on a stool, waiting for her to speak. She had clothed herself, and was desperately trying to think of something to break the silence.
“Thanks Syd”
“Aye, any time mate”
“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m teasing you. I really just needed to free up a hand. Horny judgement, you know...”
“Oh yeah, I get it. Don’t worry doggie, I’m not going to push you.”
“Thanks”
“Already said that”
“Yeah....Hey Syd”
“What”
“Could you take some more pictures for me”
“I suppose” Sydney grinned
They ran around the safehouse giddy, taking pictures wherever lighting and setting came together to make a nice opportunity. Clover laid out on the kitchen counter, Clover with a cucumber shoved up inside her, Clover with some fingers in her ass, Clover straddling the thanatos .50. Sydney locked her to the bars of the vault with a pair of practice cuffs, and rushed through a series of angles as Clover whimpered, the cold steel stinging her naked skin.
The images found their way through various messaging apps to Clover’s list, and eventually Clover approved mixing a few of her faceless shots with Sydney’s nudes, and having Syd post them publicly. Later that night, they sat together, watching Wheel of Fortune. Sipping down tallboys, they checked their phones, watching comments trickle in. Sydney leaned over, showing the reposts and reactions to Clover’s body.
“Now you have to temper your expectations a little, most of these guys are so thirsty they think you’ll burst through the screen and fuck them if they kiss your ass hard enough”
“Mhhmm” Clover murmured. “That’s a lot of guys who want me to burst through a screen though.” Low thousands. Not great numbers by Syd’s standards, but for Clover, it was overwhelming
“Damn straight” Sydney said.
“There is one thing that’s grinding me though”
“What?”
“This one Finnigan boy, hasn’t responded. Would you be willing to help me with that?”
“Sure, what do you have in mind?” Sydney looked over to Clover, and watched as Clover unbuttoned her white shirt, spread her blaser open, and removed her tits from her bra. “Cloves, I don’t think that’s gonna do it. You’ve already sent ‘im-”
“Take your out and kiss me”
“Clover-”
“Sydney, curiosity’s killing me”
“About the lad, or-”
“Kiss me” Clover slid over to Sydney. “Please”. Sydney pulled her tank top up, already braless. She leaned into Clover, eyes closed, and felt Clover’s flushed chest touch hers. Hard nipples pressed into her chest, Clover pulled into her body. It was a weird mix of a much-delayed platonic hug, and an oft-denied curiosity. Sydney heard the shutter sound effect as Clover’s tongue swirled in her mouth, tasting like mouth and Guinness stout. Clover relaxed the embrace, and began to back away, and Sydney sucked on her tongue, trying to hold her in for even a second more. Clover sat back, away from Sydney. She nodded once, and said “yep. Definitely straight”. Sydney smiled and turned back to the TV.
“Any time, doggie”
In the morning, Clover’s discreet DM, sent to nobody else, sat opened. Four hours ago. Her breasts against Syd’s, eyes closed, passion overflowing the frame of the picture. She sent one last missive to the Finnigan kid
>SEND ME YOUR COCK DAMN YOU
-I’m gay.