Blackmailed Into Bondage

An eBook By Reese Gabriel.

Tiffany, who maintained a svelte nineteen-year-old figure without the slightest effort, ridiculed her mother for her devotion to exercise and health food.  What the girl didn’t understand was that it was a constant fight to keep even a modicum of Conner’s attention.  Without his ever saying a word, she could see him looking at her, evaluating constantly.  More than anything she wanted to please, wanted to be like those other girls, the sexy, submissive ones she knew he kept on the side.

Girls like the ones in the magazines, the special sex magazines Conner didn’t know she’d seen.  There were stacks of them, in specially made cabinets, beside the very same mahogany desk she was typing at now.  She’d had no problem getting at them; actually, it was sort of funny that so careful and secretive a man as Conner employed such easy to pick locks.

Melissa’s pants were a puddle on the floor.  She stepped from them, feeling the goose bumps on her legs.  Tick, tock went the seconds.  This was taking much too long.  Sucking in a deep breath, she dealt with the basic white panties, skinning them down so she could put up the okay.  Which meant that X99 was now free to feed her image to the rest of the watchers in the electronic room.

‘Stand back.  I can’t see.’

       Melissa pushed away the high-backed chair, rolling the wheels over the plastic mat to make room behind her.  Her feet stuck to it as she put herself in position.  On her own monitor, she could see herself, headless, neck to knee.  X99 never asked to see her face and she’d been warned by other on-line friends never to do that for anyone, ever.  That would be as bad as revealing one’s address or phone number.

‘Pull up the blouse for me, get it out of the way of your crotch.’

‘Yes,’ she took the time to type first.  ‘Master.’

       Melissa’s mound was shaved.  X99 demanded that of her.  At first she’d been afraid Conner would comment, but the fact is she could have a cornfield growing between her thighs and he wouldn’t notice the difference anymore.

‘You’re wet,’ he noted of the glistening lips.

‘Yes...Master.’

Typing that one word never failed to make her horny.  Melissa liked to see it, written out.  A lot of people on this particular chat program used microphones.  She had a decent one, even on the laptop, but she didn’t like using her own voice.  X99 didn’t either.  In a lot of ways, he was pretty easy going.  After two months, they’d clicked pretty well.

Except that lately he’d been pushing her harder and harder to things that could result in her getting caught.

‘Shall I get started, Master?’

       Melissa swooned.  ‘Please, sir,’ she rapid fired, calling on the skills acquired in personal typing her aborted sophomore year of college.  ‘That’s too scary.’

Silence.

Which meant she had to do it, or else log off.  Forever.

       Cool, conditioned air wafted between Melissa’s legs as she walked obscenely to the lacquered French doors.  Putting the clothes into as nondescript a ball as possible, she opened the doors a crack, slipping the bundle along the floor, just out of reach.

With her luck, Skipper would come prancing along and decide it was some new game to grab mommy’s clothes.  Labs were like that, finding play in every situation.  In a strange way, X99 had made her playful, too; awakening parts of her that had been asleep since girl hood.  Except this was crossing the line.  If Tiffany ever walked in-or God forbid-Conner came early for the first time in a good five years, she’d be mortified. Not to mention screwed royally.

"Baby," Conner would croon, on those rare occasions when they snuggled or made love, "Don’t ever fuck around on me.  I’d take you to the cleaners."  It was a running joke, but they both knew he was deadly serious.  The man’s reputation was such that his opponents generally settled out of court rather than face the lethal combination of his courtroom antics and the sleazy investigating techniques of his right hand man, Harold Rooker-that beady-eyed gorilla of a private detective who gave her the creeps even after a decade in her husband’s employment.

       "I’d never do that to you, sweetie," was her stock answer to Conner, to which he would come back with something along the lines of, "I sure hope so; Christ, I mean, think about it Mel, who do you know my age who’s still fronting his first wife, anyway?"

Conner Crenshaw never let his wife forget how much she owed him for his generosity.  By the time Melissa got back to the screen she found X99 had left detailed instructions for her.  The words were coarse and brutal, glowing brightly in the tiny box reserved at the side of the monitor screen for one-on-one text correspondence.  They were stage directions, the part no one in their little audience would see.

       Melissa’s behind stuck to the Corinthian leather as she sat down.  For some reason, it felt more perverted for the fact that her blouse was still on and that she was wearing the shoes again.  She lifted and moved forward, just enough to reach the desk.  X99 wanted her feet on the edge of it, nice and wide, like she was in the gynecologist’s office.  He also wanted her sex lips open.

She took a moment to adjust the tiny eye of the camera mounted on the monitor.  There it was.  Her pussy on full display.  Dripping wet, the folds swollen and waiting.  Using the tips of her nails, she parted them, letting them see her canal...

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