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My name is Albert and I’m a long distance truck driver.  I bought a house in a small development near a ski area in New England.  While I like the privacy of a house, it is difficult to maintain it when I’m on the road so often.  Therefore, when I met a single mother who was struggling to make ends meet, it seemed like a perfect solution for her and her daughter to move in with me.  Doris was in her mid-forties, as was I.  Her daughter, Karen, was twenty-three, taking college courses online, and working for a local real estate agent.  She was very petite, with blondish brown hair, and well proportioned.My house has three bedrooms.  Doris and I have a king bed in one bedroom.  Karen has a queen bed in another bedroom, and the third bedroom is my man cave.  There is a large flat-screen television on one wall.  Facing the television is a recliner and a very comfortable full-size couch.  A desk and computer are tucked into a corner alcove of the “L” shaped room.  With my now extended family, my man cave has become the only point of refuge for me in my house.  I declared my sovereignty of it early on.  There I can watch the porn channels on cable or surf isvecbahis the porn sites on the internet. The company I work for has several facilities throughout the U.S. including one about ten miles from my home.  Generally, I drive my car to the facility, then drive their truck/trailer to a facility in the Chicago area where I drop the trailer and pick up another.  I take that trailer to Oregon, drop it off, and take another trailer to Northern California.  Finally, I switch trailers, again, and take it back to New England.  This round trip has me on the road for ten days followed by five days off before repeating the process. Doris takes care of the house while I’m on the road.  When I get home, usually in the evening, I shower, eat, and then get on the internet in my man cave and catch up on the Lush chatroom.   A few months ago, I sat down in front of my computer and my password didn’t load automatically.  Since I’m not highly computer literate, it took me a while to stumble through the issue.  It seemed like someone else had used my computer.  I didn’t think much of it until it happened, again, a few weeks later.I asked Doris if she had used isveçbahis giriş my computer.  She said no.  She had her own laptop and had no need to use my older less sophisticated desktop terminal.  That evening I asked Karen if she used it.  She gave me a funny look but claimed she did not use it.  My relationship with Karen was typical step-father or mother’s boyfriend.  While we got along okay, we still seemed distant. The problems with my computer continued and began to spread to the television.  I was becoming more frustrated and suspicious, but I didn’t want to make any accusations.  A few days later, as I was watching television, I saw an advertisement for a tiny little spy camera.  There is a large mall along the highway on my way to Chicago that has a store that sells “as seen on TV” items.  I stopped there on my next trip.  Sure enough, they had the device for about fifty dollars, so I bought two of them.When I got home a week and a half later, I opened up the box and read the instructions.  It was fairly simple, even for me.  It had a SIM card and a cord.  The cord was used for charging from a computer and transferring the pictures isveçbahis yeni giriş to a computer.  The camera itself was only an inch or so square.  I set one up on the window sill facing the computer and the other on top of the big screen TV.  Then I sat down at the computer for a few minutes and moved to the sofa for a few minutes.Afterward, I used the cable to transfer from the camera to the computer.  They worked great.  I could clearly see myself sitting at both the computer and the television.  The following week before leaving for work, I charged both cameras and put them in place.When I returned home ten days later, I took both the cameras and downloaded them into the computer, after fixing my password, again.  When I clicked “play” I found the problem.  The video showed Karen coming in, sitting at the computer, and using it.  Now I had her red-handed.  Then I clicked “play” on the other camera. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing:  Karen walked into the camera view and sat in the recliner in a nightshirt with her legs spread wide open and her feet hanging over the arms of the chair.  She put her hand in her panties and she was fingering herself with her right hand.  I couldn’t see the television screen since the camera was facing away from it, but I’m guessing she must have been watching something pornographic by her actions and attention toward the screen. 

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