Blackmailed 2 - Extract

 

It was around eleven, just as she was returning from the coffee station and just as she was going to ask Sandra where Gerard was that her phone made its familiar double-beep, announcing that she had received a text.

It was strange. There was a number, but no name, so it wasn't anyone in her very extensive contacts list, but even more strange were the five simple words.

'Do you want to play?'

Emma's thumbs became a blur on the small screen.

'Who is this?'

The reply was instant.

'Who I am is not important - Do you want to play?'

Emma's eyebrows furrowed. This was all very mysterious? Thumbs went to work.

'Roger?'

Instantly, the phone beeped.

'Maybe my name is Roger and maybe my name is not Roger - Do you want to play?'

Emma spun her chair around to look out of the window. The office occupied the fourth floor from a total of six, and at the rear were extremely well kept gardens, exclusive to those that worked in the building. There was a small pond, paths that meandered here and there and lush green tree's. She spotted a pair of birds squabbling over a worm or maybe a piece of bread?

A deep sigh wasn't an expression of frustration, but rather reflected how she felt and nothing could alter how she felt. The mysterious caller was obviously Roger and he was playing his mind games. She should know. Since their wedding day almost two months ago, he had taken her to the very limits.

'Maybe'. Emma replied.

'Beep-beep'.

'There can be no maybe'.

'Beep-beep'.

'Do you want to play? Yes or no?'

Now Emma was frustrated. It spread across her face. She was being offered a choice and women don't do choices very well and besides, didn't the mystery caller know that when a woman says no she means no, sometimes, and when a woman says maybe, she really means yes, sometimes?

After several minutes, Emma typed-in the word 'Yes'. Her thumb hovered over the send button and then she pressed the delete button three times and replaced 'yes' with 'no'.

Then she decided that it was Roger and that he had some new game planned for tonight. Maybe, she thought, just maybe, it might involve the woman who wears Channel No. 5, the mystery woman that was no mystery to Emma at all?

Emma typed 'Y', 'E', 'S' and with a sharp intake of breath, she hit the send button and quickly spun around, scanning the office to see if anyone had been watching.

Emma felt frightened and excited. She just knew she had become wet, but frustratingly couldn't share the moment with anyone.

***

'Beep-beep'

It wasn't yet nine. Emma had not even switched on her monitor and made a piping hot cup of black coffee. Emma felt sick. She recognised the number.

The message was simple.

'Are you ready to play?'

Turning toward the coffee station, Emma immediately typed back.

'Sandra?'

'Beep-beep'

'Maybe my name is Sandra and maybe my name is not Sandra - Are you ready to play?'

Switching the kettle on and making coffee did nothing to reduce the slight shake in Emma's hands.

'Yes', she replied, wishing she had said no the instant she sent it.

'Beep-beep'

'Very well - It begins'

'Beep-beep'

'Log onto www.emmasdiary.com'

'Beep-beep'

'Your user name is emma and your password is emmaisaslut'

Emma's jaw fell wide open. 'Who the fuck is this?'

Emma waited impatiently at her monitor as it slowly warmed up. Finding the web site was all too easy. A thump banged violently at her chest and she wanted to vomit. The screen was filled with an image of her face, but if she had to describe it, she would say that it was her cum-face.

Quickly, Emma typed in the user name and password. It opened. Across the top it said in very large letters 'Emma's Diary' and in the centre of an otherwise blank screen was a small box. Underneath the box it said, 'Click Here'.

Emma clicked and instantly recoiled in horror.

In full colour, the screen filled with the moving images of Emma's hotel room at the convention, her with her very tight and very short white dress, a burning cigarette in one hand and a bottle of Scotch in the other. It was very clear that Emma was pissed out of her brains. The volume was quickly turned down.

'Did you know?' The person on the screen that looked like Emma slurred, 'that Gerard here touched my pooshey? Yup! He poked his finger inshide my pooshey!'

Emma hid her face in her hands. The Emma on the screen had lifted her short dress up very high, fully revealing her shaven pussy and pointed at it.

'This pooshey! Whaddya all say to that?'

***

From a darkened living room, she heard the very thing that she didn't want to hear.

'Your training continues!'

That was it! That was the last straw! That was the moment that with fists clenched and in utter defiance, Emma screamed at the top of her voice 'Go fuck yourself!'

It didn't help.

Within seconds, Emma found one piece of clothing ripped from her body in a indefensible frenzy. Thrown over his shoulder, Emma punched and kicked as he almost ran up the stairs. Cold water, freezing cold water cascaded over her body, instantly hardening nipples to the point of pain. He began with her arms, scrubbing and scrubbing hard with that toilet brush. Then her legs, her tummy, her back, her feet, her hands, her neck and her ass. Only her face and pussy was spared. Emma howled in pain, but mostly in despair.

Without even so much as offering a towel, she was hoisted once more over his shoulder, taken downstairs where he flung open the back door and all but threw her onto the centre of the lawn. Without a word, he turned and went back inside.

Emma was sure she heard the door lock.

***

'Beep-beep'

Emma, who had been consumed by the image of a much older woman frigging herself, leaped out of her skin.

'So you have chosen to play?' The text message read.

'Good for you'

'Your first command is this'

'After work you will not go home'

'You will drive to a car park in the woods on the edge of town'

'You will receive the map coordinates later'

'You will park the car'

'You will not lock the doors'

'You will open the window'

'You will undo every button on your dress'

'You will lower your seat'

'You will masturbate'

'You will keep your legs wide open no matter what'

'You will not leave until you have cum three times'

'You will answer every question with a yes'

Emma put the phone down in shock. She was sure that in this very moment she had never felt so alone or so afraid.

She wanted to scream. It was all too much. Her husband was crazy. Who could do this to the woman they married? How could she have been so wrong about Geraldine, or perhaps it was just a lie to throw her off, after all, Geraldine had warned Roger than she knew. Then there was Sandra, the much older Sandra, who had clearly got the wrong end of the stick and now she was expected to go to the woods, display her naked body and masturbate. What should she do?

***

As ordered, at nine in the evening exactly, Emma stood outside a fairly non-descript door at the far end of a non-descript alleyway, with the exception that the door was painted pink and above was a small illuminated sign that read 'Ladies Only'.

It felt cold and although the blackmailer was very clear about what she should wear when she went inside, fortunately he didn't say that she couldn't wear a coat outside. At least the coat hid the hugely embarrassing clothes she had on beneath.

Feeling as nervous as hell, Emma tried to alleviate her dry throat by gulping. It didn't help. Slightly shaking hands clutched at the door handle. Unfortunately the door opened. As she tiptoed inside, she was instantly hit by some eighties dance music. To her left was a cloak-counter and a sour-faced middle-aged woman.

'That will be five pounds please!' The woman said, sticking out an open hand and not even looking up.

Emma dug deeply into her bag, produced a five pound note and placed it into her hand. Seconds later the hand was held out again. Emma was confused and for a moment both glared at each other, the woman clearly less than impressed.

'Coat!' She cackled dryly.

Emma quickly peeled off her coat, not in the slightest wishing to get on the wrong-end of this one, especially now that she could see what Emma was wearing, or perhaps more to the point what she wasn't wearing. The woman stood with her clenched-tight hands on her waist and looked Emma up and down in pure disgust.

'Young people today!' She mumbled as she gave Emma a piece of paper with a number on it.

'That way!' She pointed. Emma followed the direction of the woman's pointed finger to another door from which the music obviously came.

Emma took a deep intake of breath for courage, straightened her back, pulling up to her full five foot four inch height, and stepped toward the door.

Emma had thought it impossible to find the piece of clothing demanded by the blackmailer, but as always Geraldine knew exactly where to find it, which only served to strengthen the absolute certainty that Geraldine, the mysterious Channel No. 5 woman, and her husband, Roger, were the blackmailers, getting kicks out of Emma's dying shame on a weekly basis.

A dainty foot, adorned by a rich-red, four-inch, stiletto-heeled shoe made its first hesitant step. Slim, accentuated ankles preceded taught, slim and shapely legs that went on and on, way, way above her knees, only to be abruptly screened by the thinnest, most satin, most lightest, most swishy and most shortest deep-red skirt Emma had ever seen. The hem and the waist of the skirt matched the requirements exactly. The hem was level with the lowest part of her pussy and the hem was level with her pubic bone. In all, the skirt was no more than three-inches in length. As instructed, Emma went commando and as instructed, Emma was freshly shaven. What wasn't instructed was how shiny and puffy her pussy lips were. The smell of Emma's love juice flooded the short corridor.

Displayed above the waistline of the skirt, endless acres of naked flesh thrilled the eye from pubic bone, to belly button to within a quarter of an inch of her pointed-upward nipples. Most of the curves of her breasts could be seen clearly, along with several inches of bum-cleavage.

Barely covering her nipples was a tee-shirt that, in Emma's view, was as pointless as Spartan in material. At least it covered the red, excited patch on her chest, irritatingly obvious since she put the tee-shirt on not more than an hour ago.

Shoulders, arms and neck were naked. Full Cherry-Red lips remained, as ordered, opened slightly and long, fiery-red hair flowed down her back, now almost as far as her bum.

Everything about Emma exuded red. She felt filled with shame, uncertainty and fear, but looked more radiant, more ravishing, more beautiful and more sexy than Aphrodite herself.

Sure she would vomit at any moment, Emma pushed the door open, stood inside and halted in her tracks.

***

It was clear to Emma, that Roger was still not happy with her and she became resigned to having her flesh scrubbed raw and spending the night in the garden. Emma turned to leave, climbing the stairs, each step making her feel tired and weary and then she suddenly stopped, almost choking, her throat filled with a thumping heart.

'STRIP!'

Did she hear right?

Unsure, if he had barked out his order or if her mind was playing tricks, Emma turned, made her way back down the stairs and stood in the doorway, eyes fixed firmly on the carpet.

Emma jumped, positively yelping as Roger suddenly leapt from his chair, a whip with a four-inch by four-inch leather strap firmly in his hand.

'Bend over!' He commanded.

Emma leaned forward and pushed her ass high into the air.

The dress that Emma had painstakingly made sure was perfect, was yanked over her ass and the whip, the evil leather strap crashed down on a fleshy cheek stinging, burning, becoming blue almost immediately. Again it crashed down on the same place. Emma howled in pain, but didn't dare move. The other cheek was struck and soft inner-thigh flesh buzzed with life. Emma could feel the heat radiating from her backside. Tears flowed unrestricted and thick, white, almost transparent, syrup-like juice formed, smothering a fleshy hood, that contained a hard, angry and sensitive nub, forming a string almost an inch long.

'I SAID STRIP!'

The whip smashed into Emma's ass again.

Almost dancing in stinging pain, Emma leapt into action, kicking off shoes, removing earrings, unzipping herself, allowing the dress to fall to the floor and standing straight, shoulders back, chest out, knees together, head bowed and looking directly at the floor. Emma's ass stung like hell, but she just took it.

From his chair, Roger tossed a leather neck-choker to the floor directly in front of the open window. Not even waiting to be told, Emma stepped forward and glaring out through the window onto the lamp lit street outside buckled the strap into place. The leather full-face hood was new, but nevertheless, she placed it over her head, two small holes in line with her already flared nostrils and a larger one, large enough to feed an erection through, aligned with her mouth. Emma could see nothing.

In the darkness, Emma fiddled with wrist and ankle straps, but all were locked into place securely. With ankles stretched wide, wide apart, Emma bent over and attached the wooden pole that prevented her from closing her legs and then attached the chain to her ankles and neck-choker. Standing with legs straight, Emma's ass filled Rogers view, Emma's head only inches from the carpet.

'Touch yourself!'