Defending Her Thesis (Closed for BornYesterday)

[DunyainWolf]

Anna Bonville was a brand-new professor at the University of T-, well-liked by her students both for her humorous lecturing style, and - frankly - for her exceptionally good looks. Her resemblance to the actress Uma Thurman was often noted, and as one might expect, in a rather complimentary sense. She was generally understood as 'taken' by the faculty, because of a three-year relationship she had been engaging in, and naturally this was disappointing for her many would-be suitors. Nevertheless, her general likability, and undeniable charm, paired with considerable academic competence, made for a package that was generally regarded as a very pleasant addition to campus.

Dr. Bonville...she still shuddered to type that onto a document, so new was her doctorate...was just taking a bath, when her phone gave a ping. It always did this when she received an email. With only her head above the soapy bubbles, Anna hardly reacted for a moment, until she remembered that her mentor on campus had been intending to email her an important administrative document.

Raising herself from the water for a moment, she grabbed a small hand towel to dry her hand. With the bubbles concealing everything below her waist, she was quite a vision with nobody around to enjoy the sight. Her breasts were smallish, but like the sort seen on an Italian sculpture - perfectly rounded, marble-white with a faintly peachy glow that seemed to radiate from within, and expertly sculpted nipples. Bubbles streaked over her body in a glossy pattern. Her chest was slightly rouged by the warmth of the water, and her face was attractive - the sort most men called cute rather than 'beautiful', but almost the very definition of the cute archetype. Anna's hair was moderately long, and the sort of blonde that was the object of many poorly-conceived jokes. Anna failed to match the 'dumb blonde' profile - she was fairly witty, if inclined towards being quiet and reserved. The sort of woman who listened while a group of her friends got increasingly excited about some triviality, and then dropped a single line that showed she had been listening, and was one step ahead of everyone. But without the slightest look of superiority, as though the line was just hanging in the air, and she had reached out to pluck it.

http://www.thewallpapers.org/photo/6181/Uma_Thurman-026.jpg

When she saw what was on her phone's display, she stopped smiling.

-------------------------------

Two weeks ago, Anna had been bolting through her weekly schedule with nary a moment to spare. Young professors received a ridiculous workload, and one they were not usually prepared for - psychologically or physically. Anna was almost pulling her hair out in bunches by the end of the week. And Brad, her boyfriend, had suddenly wanted to meet for dinner Friday night.

Never the type to show her emotions, Anna quietly suppressed the scream that his sudden wish to meet up brought up in her. There was no time already, and now she had to work him into the mix? She had told him a thousand times that week, that she was going to have no free time. And now he had made reservations, and a whole fancy plan...

She had to cut something out of her lesson plan. Then she thought of something. An upcoming conference presentation was going to cover cytoarchitechtonics, basically the structure of cells themselves, and how different cells lead to functional changes in the brain. A very obscure topic. And since she was a new professor, it was for a reasonably low-key presentation for the psychology faculty - she was mostly covering it, because a grad student in her lab was studying this material himself. James Whitmore. He had gotten her interested in the subject, and here was a good opportunity to showcase what she knew.

Her presentation cited one paper. A lot of the one paper, by Golditz and Braun. It was a rush job that was just not very good, the way it was written out. Anna made a snap decision, and one that was very foolish. She decided to pretend that the latter half of the lecture contained her own ideas, so she did not seem to just be aping the same authors. However, these ideas were cribbed from one Professor Ovelstein. Instead, she would just say that the empirical findings were things she had explored a few years back, in an informal, unpublished way. Clean, neat, simple.

No one would ever know the difference. Ovelstein was an obscure academic who had written two books on cell structures, before dying in his fifties. No one ever cited him. Technically the books were at the school library, but nobody ever took them out. Anna only knew about him through James Whitmore, anyway. And she gave Ovelstein enough credit in the first part of the presentation. Besides, the remainder was even more obscure, from an appendix at the back of one of Ovelstein's books. She was only using it because it provided a great 'quick glance' at brain structure.

No one would ever know the difference.

-------------------------------

Anna had completed the presentation on the main lab computer, and emailed it to herself. Unbeknownst to her, she had also emailed it to Whitmore himself. There had been an automatic prompt that she had unthinkingly clicked in her haste, and the recommended contact WHITMORE J had been added as a CC. As per usual, Anna emptied her sent email (which had an annoying tendency to clog up with huge file attachments) and did not notice the difference.

If she had noticed, she would have been careful to de-select that name. James and Anna had beef.

Working together in the same lab that Anna was still engaged in until she could form her own, James had always been a problem case for Anna. A lot of misunderstandings had bred bad blood. Little ways that Anna phrased things, James seemed to take as an affront, and explaining always came across as condescending. At one point, James had made a pass at Anna for a date, and had taken her declining as a personal rejection. They did not speak after that for about a month, and the damage was permanent.

Later, James had to apply for a scholarship that would be a big part of his graduate funding. He needed to get his major partner - who happened to be Anna - to be his reference for this task. She had agreed, though reluctantly, and when the scholarship did not come through, James took it that Anna had not praised him very highly. After all, his other accomplishments were extraordinary. She was the one weak link in that scholarship application.

By now, the two rarely spoke at all, an uncomfortable balance at the best of times.

-------------------------------

In her bathtub at home, Anna stared at her cell-phone. "How could anyone know?" she muttered. Quickly, she texted back: "Who are you? What do you want?"

 

[BornYesterday]

It wasn’t a carefully crafted plan at all. More of an impulse, a desire to exact a little payback when the opportunity presented itself. James was sure Bonville was the reason he didn’t get that fellowship. His grades were excellent, his prospectus had passed easily, and the other faculty assured him he was one of the top students in the program. She shouldn’t even have been his supervisor, but when Professor Gustafson developed health problems and took early retirement he had to scramble for a replacement. As a relatively new faculty member, she wasn’t working with many grad students, so they’d kind of been pushed together. She hadn’t seemed enthusiastic about writing him the recommendation letter at all, and while of course it was confidential, he had a very strong feeling her letter had been lukewarm at best. He’d managed to get another semester of funding from the department, but the graduate director had made it clear that was it: he’d need to get outside funding after that or the past few years would all be a waste. He didn’t have family resources he could fall back, and he had needed that fellowship.

Then there was the way she had turned him down. He hadn’t even really asked her out; just suggested they go for a beer one evening. Word around the department was she was going out with some guy, but no one ever saw him. Sure, he was sort of hitting on her, but the way she had explained that it would be inappropriate for them to have anything other than a professional relationship had been so patronizing. He had flushed deep red and stalked out of her office. She could have just said she was busy or something and let him save face, but no. It was embarrassing.

James Whitmore was not one to forget a slight. He’d gone to boarding school on scholarship and he still remembered the way his classmates would flaunt their wealth in his face. Same with some of his fraternity brothers in college. He was tall, good-looking, reasonably athletic, and at the top of his class, which is why he’d been accepted in the first place. Most of the guys were fine, but one particular group just couldn’t let things go: making fun of his car, sneering at his clothes. It had rankled him, and he had taken great pleasure in informing the administration when he had overheard how they had bought the answers for a final exam. They had been kicked out of course, and while there had been suspicions that one of the brothers had ratted them out, no one had found out it was him.

So while working one evening on his lab report, he was surprised to see an email from Anna. He rubbed at the couple of days’ growth on his chin as he opened it, the monitor casting a bluish glow on his face in his dimly lit room. He was even more surprised by the contents. At first he couldn’t figure out what it was or why she was sending it to him. Then he realized she hadn’t meant to; she had just meant to send the presentation to herself. He smiled as he understood what he had. She was passing off some of Ovelstein’s findings as hers. He knew the exact book she had borrowed from. If he just sent her presentation to the department chair and the dean and showed where she had plagiarized, her career would be over. They’d have to fire her for academic misconduct. He couldn’t believe she had been so careless. There was a rumor going around that she hadn’t been the first choice for the position, but the department had been pressured to address diversity in the faculty. He’d thought it was grumblings from the old boys, threatened by a young, attractive woman. Maybe it was true. Whatever the reason, he knew he had her.

Initially he had planned to do exactly that—report her to the administration—but he wanted to wait until she actually gave the presentation and over those couple of weeks, he began to have other ideas. Ruining her career would be satisfying—and might still be a possibility—but there were other ways he could have fun with her first. He wouldn’t mind taking the bitch down a peg or two. She was definitely a babe and while she tended to dress pretty conservatively, she looked like she had a smoking body. Why not see if she’d reveal it? He began to like the idea more and more as revenge for how had she turned him down. Making her expose herself to him would be sweet justice. He had to be careful though. Turning her in for plagiarism was one thing, but blackmailing a professor was quite different and he could get himself kicked out. Still, the risk would be worth it if he could get her to show her bra or even flash her boobs. He grinned at the thought.

So one evening when his roommate was out he set up a new Hotmail account at his apartment; he didn’t want this traceable to his university account. For a little extra security, he went through a proxy server. As a joke, he picked G.Ovelstein as his username. Let her stew about that. Then he typed an email to Anna:

Dear Prof. Bonville: What an intriguing presentation. I was particularly fascinated by your use of my published work without proper attribution. I’m sure the administration at your university would be very interested to learn that you attempt to take credit for other scholars’ work. Perhaps I’ll let them know. Sincerely yours, George Ovelstein.

James sat back, his green eyes twinkling as he read it over. Satisfied, he hit “send” and went to the fridge to get a beer, twisting the top off effortlessly as he sat back in his desk chair. Now he just had to wait to see if his lure caught anything. He didn’t have to wait long; she emailed back nearly immediately. He grinned thinking how nervous she must be. "Who are you? What do you want?"

Taking a long sip, he set his beer down and wrote back.

Why, Miss Bonville, surely you can read? I’m George Ovelstein, the scholar you tried to rip off. As for what I want…I want people not to steal my work. But since I can’t have that, I’ll have to settle for something else. I’ll be in touch with further instructions. And I will expect prompt compliance, unless you want your administration to find out what you did.

Laughing to himself, James sent the message, and then turned back to work on his lab report. He wanted her wondering what she might have to do. Let her feel some of the anxiety he felt when he was wondering whether he’d be able to complete his degree.

The next day, James found a quiet moment in the library when he knew Anna didn’t have a class and would probably be in her office. He used his phone to logon to the Hotmail account and sent a message her. “Good morning Miss Bonville. Here’s your first order. I want to see that lovely cleavage I imagine you have under your professional attire. Unbutton your top enough so that your bra and cleavage are showing and send me a picture. I hope you picked out a nice bra today. And remember: prompt compliance is necessary.” He smiled giddily. He could hardly focus on the article he was reading, wondering if she would actually do it.

 

[DunyainWolf]

"C'mon, wear it."

"Jesus, Ian, I said no."

"But baby..."

This tedious conversation had been going on long enough. And just a week ago, Dr. Bonville would have terminated it with some quick compliance, a shrug, and the word "fiiiiiiiiiine", spoken in a tone demanding eventual re-payment. But since the text last night, Anna had not been feeling sexy. Not at all. The words had suggested a kind of easy familiarity, as though her stalker (she did not know what else to call the man; Ovelstein seemed a bit too eccentric for someone so clearly real and alive) had reached out and...touched her hair.

That was it. As though he had reached through her telephone, and flicked a lock of her hair. She shivered at the thought.

Ian was trying to convince Anna into wearing sexy lingerie at work, so that after her day at the college they could meet for dinner, and go straight home for...well, something involving the said sexy lingerie, and certain things that would follow from their unwrapping. And Anna, who was thinking of calling in sick to work just to avoid the place where her guilt was so thick and omnipresent, was not in the mood.

In the end she complied, simply to shut him up. But the look on her face made Ian uncomfortable. He apologized. "Look, baby, you don't have to do anything that..."

"Shut up, Ian. You won."

He suddenly felt guilty, felt as though he had done something seriously wrong without knowing it. Anna was a sensitive woman, but this was strange. Well, he thought to himself, at least she agreed. He thought with an idle smile about the sexy bra that he had been talking about, and all the bad feelings washed away down the drain.

After he left, Anna stood by the window, her morning coffee smoking. It was meant to rain later today. She should have said that. As good an excuse as any. Easier than saying - I don't feel like dressing up like your doll, when some hideous blackmailer is closing the net around me. But given Ian's inflexible, almost dogmatic set of personal ethics, she had imagined what confessing would be like. Not. Pretty.

Sighing, she turned away, put the coffee down, and stripped off her morning robe. "So," she said with a sad smile at the edge of her lips, "the sexy lingerie it is."

------------------------------------

Later at work, her computer chirped, and Anna almost jumped out of her skin.

It was him. It was him. It was fucking him.

"Oh no," she murmured, and stood up suddenly, looking out into the hallway. There were a few people chatting a few feet away, and Anna quietly closed the door. Locked it. Suddenly she felt her old worst enemy, Fear, creep up on her. It had been many years since an attack this bad, but Anna had always had a tendency towards nervousness. Her mother had called it 'nerves'. Her father called it 'the Bogeyman'. Both had been trying to play it down by giving it a cutesy name. But to Anna, it was just: Fear.

She had a tendency to over-react to any minor threat, to treat it like the Apocalypse itself had arrived. Already, Dr. Bonville was buzzing around her office. Why? In case someone was watching through the windows. The worst thing about this 'attack' - and it was an attack, no doubting that - was that any paranoia was justified. Perhaps he was looking through her windows. Why not?

When she sat down, and opened the message, she felt a fool. He didn't need to be looking through her windows. She was going to have to send him a private view all of his own. That was the one window he would not let her close the blinds of - her computer.

She sat in silence for a time. Who could say what was going through her head. Her fingers drummed on the desk repeatedly. Patta-patta-patta-patta-pat. More and more nervous. The Fear kept her rooted to the chair, paralyzed her brain, shut everything down. She did not think of calling Ian, of any kind of fancy technological attempt at a trace, at pleading with the attacker. She suddenly felt that it was fixed, that she would have to follow his orders. And the possibilities spiraled before her like the winding staircase that led deep into a dungeon. And she could hear the pebble she had dropped clattering, step by step, into the endless black.

Luckily, the damn computer did have a web-cam attached, for Skype services with possible graduate students for her lab, who might be coming in from around the world. She looked at it. Switched off, it seemed intimidating. Switched on, it would seem worse. For now, the black lens seemed like an unblinking eye judging her. She leaned in closer, saw her own eye grotesquely distorted, staring back. Leaning back in her chair, Anna sighed a long, slow sigh. Trying to control her breath. She fingered at her shirt collar.

Anna was wearing a dark denim shirt, mostly to prevent any showing of nipple given her bra 'choice'. She picked at herself a number of times, until she became aware of what she was doing - a silly little evasive game - and stopped herself with what felt like real physical effort. There were four buttons, one already open at the neck. Anna began to unbutton her shirt. A single tear was welling in one of her eyes, but it refused to leave and just hovered at the edge, making it hard to see. She wiped it away. "This is bad," she said quietly to herself. Still - he didn't say my face should be in the shot. That's something.

Her fingers trembled at the first button, managed to work it out of the slot, and unfastened it, pulling open the sides of the shirt a little more to expose her collar-bone.

Her fingers trembled at the second button, managed to work it out of the slot, and unfastened it, pulling open the sides of the shirt a little more to expose the tops of her breasts.

Well, there they were. Oh God, this was humiliating. She could see her own nipples. She stopped. She couldn't do this. Her breathing started to speed up, and she had to count to sixty, a very slow sixty, to stop herself from losing it. No. No. Control. Control. This is probably some sick undergraduate prankster. He'll get shy at some point. He knows this is illegal. He just wants a taste of his professor to make himself feel big in the pants. This will all end up okay.

Anna prepared the email ahead of time. Delaying the picture until the last possible second, as though it made any difference. As though the cavalry were just about to burst through the door and save her from herself. To George. I won't call you Ovelstein, because that is clearly not your name. As you know very well. You dishonor his...

She deleted the last three words. The irony caught her like a slap in the face. Who had dishonored the great researcher? The one who borrowed his name, or his plagiarist?

As you know very well. I did as you demanded. The picture is attached. But don't think that I'm going to play your game. This is bullying and blackmail, and your crimes are vastly more serious than mine. Don't dare to push me again, or you will find me inflexible. I have not hurt you, and you have a very private picture of me that I expect you will respect. The trade is entirely to your advantage. If you try to push me, I will turn you in to the police, and we'll both go down, but you the harder.

She bolded the word 'will', then un-bolded it. Then bolded it again, then un-bolded it again, then underlined it, then reversed the underline and bolded it once more. Just to show how ironclad her will was.

The email posed at least a minor obstacle for the blackmailer. It was not completely stupid to think that someone might give a photo of their breasts without a face in the frame, but refuse to go any further. And it was not insane to think that someone might prefer to confess their crimes to bring down their blackmailer. So at a casual reading, it might have been convincing. The issue, obviously, was that Anna turning herself in would in no way hurt Whitmore. For one simple reason: he was anonymous. It was the dark power of the internet, that nobody knew who was pressing the buttons. It was one thing to turn oneself in to catch one's tormentor; it was quite another to simply avoid dirty pictures and some little sex games.

She switched on the web-cam. Lined it up carefully. Anna spent at least five minutes getting the angle correct. She kept her face out of the shot, so that only her neck was in the picture. She did have a mole on her neck that was usually hidden by her shirt-collar, so it technically betrayed her, but the lion's share of people did not even know it existed. Otherwise, the doctor's breasts were partially on display. On the smaller side, but beautifully shaped and rounded for her bust size, and advertised by her current bra: a kinky little piece from Victoria's Secret. It was a fine mesh down to the very bottom of each breast, so that her nipples were entirely on display from the front.

In the picture, at least, they were partially masked, but the edge of each could be seen like a dark wink at the edge of each revealed surface. Her sexy underwear, hand-selected by Ian himself as a gag Christmas gift. He had unwittingly gift-wrapped his girlfriend for her anonymous voyeur.

http://anvello.com/web/files/products/1089/women-shirts-domenica-long-sleeve-shirt-dark-blue-thumb_600x800_image_1.jpg

http://www.gethotshots.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/0000640_v-bra.jpeg

 

[BornYesterday]

http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ll0yiqOuyl1qc0x3ko1_500.png

Although he had his phone set to notify him, James couldn't help checking every couple of minutes after he emailed Anna, wondering if and how she would respond. After a while, he began to give up and tried to concentrate on his reading, musing about what to do. He could still turn her in of course, but he really wanted to have some fun with her first. He ran his hand through his hair and frowned. Did she not believe he would do it? What else could he say to convince her?

Then his phone pinged, sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet library. He grabbed for it and opened her message, his eyes widening at what he saw. Oh, Anna. He'd been expecting a dull plain bra from Target or something like that, not something this sheer and revealing. With her shirt opened the way it was, he could see the dark edge of her nipples. Unconsciously, he licked his lips. She's hotter than I thought. It was clear the way she normally dressed concealed what she had to offer. His plan had worked. And she thought that would be the end of it? Really? She had made the emptiest threat he had ever seen. He did not believe she'd willingly ruin her career rather than show her boobs. She had already indicated she wouldn't.

Now he had to be careful. Psychology of victimization wasn't his specialty, but he knew the basics of how it worked. First step was to isolate her. That seemed to be accomplished. If she were going to tell her boyfriend or the chair, she wouldn't have sent the picture. She was trying to handle it herself, exactly the way he wanted. Then push, but not too fast. One step at a time, each one going just a little farther than the previous, so she could justify it to herself. Keep her off-balance and worried about the future. Be the source of reward and punishment: make her want to please him so it would become a source of validation.

This first glimpse was lovely, but James wanted more. He checked the time. He still had about a half-hour before he had to go TA Prof. Schuster's class. Time to push a little more.

Dear Anna,
You don't mind if I call you Anna, do you? Oh, that's right: it doesn't matter what you want. What matters is what I want. Please don't insult me by pretending you'll go to the police. Is your career really worth a glimpse of your bra? I didn't think so. That is a beautiful bra you have on. I'd like to see more of it. Unbutton your shirt entirely so I can see all of it, and your nice flat stomach, too. I appreciate a woman who takes care of her body, as you clearly do. And give me a sexy look: bite your lower lip.

And Anna, just in case you are thinking of reporting me, I have just one word for you: don't. I don't want to ruin your career, but I will if we can't work things out between us. And in case that's not enough for you, let me mention that I could send your first picture to your boyfriend. Maybe you think not showing your face means you won't be recognized, but I'm guessing he'll recognize that bra, along with your little mole. He'd have to wonder why his girlfriend was sending such a picture to some other guy, wouldn't he? I don't imagine he'd like that very much.

One more thing: I said prompt compliance. It took you almost 30 minutes. That is not prompt. Be quicker this time or there will be consequences.

Sincerely yours, G. Ovelstein

That threat about her boyfriend was a lie, of course. He didn't even know the guy's name, much less his phone number or email. But Anna didn't know that and she'd have to worry about it. He checked the time again. He had to go to class in about ten minutes, and if he remembered her schedule right, so did she. So she'd either have to hurry up, or beg him for more time. Either was fine with him. Keep her off-balance.

Just then his roommate Gary came by and whispered, "Dude, time to go to class."

"Yeah, I know," James replied, gathering his stuff and stuffing it into his shoulder bag. "Let's go." Why not share the wealth a little, he thought. He pulled out his phone and thumbed over to Anna's picture. "Check it out," he said, showing the screen to Gary.

Gary let out a sigh. "Nice! Who is it?"

James wasn't going to let Gary in on his secret; not yet anyway. "I'm not even sure. Probably some undergrad who wants to sleep with her TA. She didn't give a name."

"Fuck man, you're lucky. Just wait until the semester's over or don't get caught, eh? You remember what happened to Pete last year." Pete had slept with one of his students, and then the girl told her prof that he had threatened to fail her unless she did. Pete had protested that she hit on him, but it didn't matter. He was gone.

"Don't worry, I won't do anything stupid," James replied as they walked across the quad to the psych building, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket in the fall chill. He was being careful; he was always careful. The awkward part would be seeing Anna in the lab in the afternoon. He'd have to make sure he didn't do anything out of the ordinary that might arouse any suspicion. On the other hand, maybe she wouldn't even show up. She'd seemed distracted lately anyway and he'd certainly given her things to worry about besides work. She might just want to leave early on a Friday afternoon.

 

[DunyainWolf]

The phone did not take as long to chirp as James might have worried. Some five minutes after his newest demand, it went off again. Apparently, the time pressure had worked. Perhaps it was the renewed threat regarding Ian that had pushed her button, but Anna seemed unwilling to risk angering her blackmailer. This time, there was no message at all. There was only an attachment.

The picture showed her pushed back from her desk. More of her office was visible in the shot, including all the pulled-down blinds and a couple of small bookshelves. Dr. Bonville was sitting in her large, black leather chair with her shirt entirely off. Whether this was misunderstanding or willing exaggeration was for James to consider; but it was most likely a product of haste. After all, the direction about promptness was clear - and Bonville did not know that her blackmailer knew her schedule so well as to understand why a delay might have happened. Her black bra - if it could be called that - was now the only thing protecting a trace of her modesty. Her two shapely breasts were entirely visible through the sheer material, her nipples outrageously on display. Her midriff, smooth and pale and bare, was lit up by the stark lights above her. Her chest was not pushed out, exactly, but the straight back of the chair kept her at least straight-backed and nervousness kept her alert. Her nipples were still soft, under the close, intimate material; but were so perfectly advertised that one could hardly ask for more.

And her face. It was perfect. Trapped. Scared. The muscles of her face were slightly taut, and tension hovered around her eyes. Her eyes were slightly widened, as though caught doing something naughty (which, of course, she was), gazing into the webcam. Her front two teeth nipped her lip so that the side of her mouth was turned slightly down. More of her pearly white teeth were visible within. Opened wider as they were, Anna's natural sexiness emerged from its cave. Normally she walked about being attractive, sure; but this was more like a bedroom look - James' wicked direction had made the picture far more condemning than the previous one.

Not to mention that any scrap of her anonymity was now thrown to the wolves.

http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7071/7165619252_20de52775f.jpg

The camera, although bad for video uploading, was perfectly adequate at giving a good-resolution shot, and Anna knew nothing about technology, certainly not enough to lower it. The result was a hot little number. A hottie professor sitting with her tits on almost full display, her blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders. And her face, at a casual glance, seemed to be a willing participant in this perversity, in this pornographic display. It looked like something that someone might send a boyfriend - and a very intimate and trusted boyfriend at that. Her legs were straight out before her, and clearly quite slim judging from the dark trousers she still wore.

-----------------------------

The reality was not so...comfortable, for Anna. Walking towards her class, she was barely able to hold back a string of profanity. Not normally one for swearing, she could not believe she had done something so stupid. As she walked past undergraduates and faculty alike, her mind was racing. What exactly had been his wording. Her lip...her lip, her teeth. Had she done it right? Had she done more than what was right? Her face. She didn't have to have her whole face in it, just the lip. Just the mouth, biting - sexy - sultry.

When she had clicked SEND it had been on auto-pilot, a kind of reflexive action, a blur with a minimum of thought involved.

"What have I done?" she murmured subvocally as she approached the lecture hall.

Inside the classroom, the necessity of giving a lecture managed to swallow up her attention. Although she normally turned her phone off, she left it on vibrate this time. She had little choice. Who knew when the bastard might send another demand? He seemed quick to follow up one monstrous demand with another.

"Today we are talking about gender differences in psychology. Now, I know that many of you consider this a controversial topic. Indeed, many of you may have the opinion that any psychological difference professed by an academic is a confession of...shall we say, bias, or prejudice. Is the mere observation of gender differences a political action? What do you think; are there any opinions on this?"

From time to time she checked her phone, nervously.

 

[BornYesterday]

Settling in the lecture hall next to Gary just a couple of minutes before class was to start, James's phone pinged again. He smiled, knowing who it had to be. Good, she was learning to be more obedient. Shielding his phone with his body, he opened up her message, not being able to resist a quick glance. What he saw surprised him. She had gone far beyond his instructions, taking off her shirt entirely and showing her entire face. He closed the photo hurriedly and glanced around, hoping no one had caught a glimpse and that his face wasn't turning red. Gustafson hated tardiness, but he had to have a better look. "Be right back," he whispered to Gary and headed to the nearest exit. His back to a convenient corner, he opened the picture again. Fuck, she looks good. Especially the contrast on her white teeth biting her scarlet lip. He'd always thought she was pretty, sure, but he had not envisioned this kind of raw sexiness. Or that she'd go beyond his instructions in this way. What else could he get her to do? There was one way to find out, but he didn't have time now. He hurried back to the lecture hall, earning a glare from Prof. Gustafson.

He half-dozed through the class. He knew the material by heart and didn't see the point of being there, but Gustafson insisted that TAs attend all the lectures, some bullshit about setting an example for the students or something. Afterwards, Gary asked, "You want to get lunch?"

James shook his head. "Nah, I'm just going to get a sandwich and get to the lab. Got some catching up to do." What he planned to do was write back to Anna. "I'll catch you tonight." He went down to the sub shop on the corner for a sandwich, then headed to the lab, which was still empty. Perfect. He quickly typed another message.

Good, Anna. Very good, in fact. I like that you showed your whole face this time. It shows you realize that attempting to conceal your identity is futile. You are beautiful, you know. Does your boyfriend tell you that? He should. Or maybe he doesn't appreciate you enough. I'm so pleased we were able to reach an understanding and there is no need for me to resort to any unfortunate measures. I've really enjoyed your pictures, but I think it's time for a short video. 30 seconds or so will be fine. I want you to take one hand and play with your nipple, and I want to see your face while you do it. Do be careful about your facial expression and don't let your nipple get hard, or I'll start to think you're actually enjoying this.

James smiled to himself as he typed. His attempt to get her to question her boyfriend was probably too transparent to work but he enjoyed playing with her mind. He purposely didn't instruct her to remove her bra: he wanted to see how she would choose to follow her instructions. Would she again go beyond the letter of his command? Perhaps there was more to Anna than the image of the serious, efficient professor that she always projected.

He sent the message and began to eat. The pictures were great, but how far would she actually go? He found her extremely attractive now, even more than before. He wanted to be able to touch her body, not just look at it. He didn't care about her boyfriend; figuring out how to deal with him was Anna's problem. What he was worried about was revealing his identity. He remembered Gary's advice about not doing anything stupid. How could he manage to meet without losing his hold over Anna? That was the tricky part. He put his mind to the problem as he finished up his lunch. Then he remembered to shut off the email alerts on his phone. He didn't know if Anna would show up today, but he knew she wasn't stupid. If she heard his phone sound right after emailing George Ovelstein, she's start to suspect him. He'd just have to check his phone every so often. He started on his actual research while awaiting her next message.

 

[SteelAntlers]

To people following the thread: I am taking over, with permission of BornYesterday. If the original 'Anna' writer returns, please contact that writer for clarification; they did provide you with a window to respond.

"Good, Anna. Very good, in fact. I like that you showed your whole face this time. It shows you realize that attempting to conceal your identity is futile. You are beautiful, you know. Does your boyfriend tell you that? He should. Or maybe he doesn't appreciate you enough. I'm so pleased we were able to reach an understanding and there is no need for me to resort to any unfortunate measures. I've really enjoyed your pictures, but I think it's time for a short video. 30 seconds or so will be fine. I want you to take one hand and play with your nipple, and I want to see your face while you do it. Do be careful about your facial expression and don't let your nipple get hard, or I'll start to think you're actually enjoying this."

Anna looked at the newest email from her blackmailer, and shuddered. Her face turned scarlet, and she felt a trembling running through her body. This was escalating. At first she had thought that he would give up if she just played along for a bit, but the speed of her blackmailer was, if anything, increasing. First her bra, then practically a bare-chest shot, and a now a video of her essentially masturbating herself?

The word 'masturbation', as it rippled through her thoughts, deepened her blush. Could she really do it? She had to do it. She had to. A coin toss between her career, and exposing herself? She had to do it.

She waited until her class ended before she attempted to make the blackmailer's requested video. In her office, she closed and locked the door again. Pacing the room for a few minutes, putting off the inevitable, she eventually fell back into her chair, covering her face with her hands. She did not cry, but she felt on the verge of tears for five long minutes that felt like five hours.

Finally, waking her computer up from sleep mode, she checked the webcam, got it running, and began.

From his last message, Dr. Bonville knew she had to be quick. The bastard had claimed that a half-hour did not count as prompt. What the fuck did count as 'prompt' to this guy? Quickly, she unbuttoned her denim shirt, hating how this was beginning to feel natural - disrobing in her office. Throwing the top to the floor angrily, she toyed with her hair, fussing with it, suddenly needing to look good. If she was going to be this bastard's little fuck toy, she might as well look good doing it. It was somehow more humiliating to imagine going through all this - becoming his whore - if she had to be an ugly whore, besides.

She cast off the webby lingerie top she was wearing, so that it joined the shirt in a pile on the carpet, and flicked the recording on. For a few long moments, she gazed into the camera lens with the eyes of an animal caught in the headlights. Slowly, her hand came up, trembling as it began to touch her breast. She stared into the camera lens like a woman hypnotized, frozen in nervousness, mouth trembling slightly but otherwise hardly showing emotion, and then finally began to circle, tweak, and then pinch her left nipple. For the whole video, she only touched the left breast. She found that with the cool air of her office, her nipples became hard quickly, and embarrassed by this her face turned away, her swan-like neck craning away so that only her blushing right cheek was visible, and the agonized tug of her lip as it trembled and shook.

Her eyes closed. It was from shame, but a casual observer might have thought it was from pleasure. The difference was a thin line.

The fingers kept toying, rubbing, nudging her nipple, focused primarily on this because the instruction had been specific about this. Slowly the movement became more natural, more graceful. It hardened and engorged further, becoming a thick nub that gleamed faintly in stark scarlet against her pale breast.

Finally, her mouth flickered. There was an expression like the briefest of moans, and her neck trembled slightly as her chin came up. She made a brief noise: mm. As if remembering herself, she suddenly broke out of the spell of whatever 'zone' she had put herself in. Anna swung to the computer, visibly flustered, and took several moments shutting the software down. In these last few seconds (she did not edit the video, feeling too rushed) her face was burning red, her hair fell around her face in confusion, and she swore twice (the first time she spoke) as her hands clumsily clicked away the appropriate boxes: "fucking bastard".

The video ended abruptly. The attached message simply said: "please leave me alone. I'm asking nicely. I'll pay you cash if you'll stop."

 

[BornYesterday]

James was so engrossed in his work that he nearly forgot all about his message to Anna. He knew he needed to receive some outside funding if he were going to be able to continue, and having some definite results was critical when it came time to apply for grants. It wasn’t until he yawned and stretched that he realized the time. It was unusual for Anna not to have arrived by this point; maybe she wasn’t going to show.

He checked his phone. Again she had managed to surprise him. She had taken off her bra, and her touch on her nipple was surprisingly delicate. The hardened flesh could be due to a draft in her office, but her flush and barely audible moan could hardly be anything but an expression of pleasure. He replayed the video twice, half an eye on the door in case Anna or anyone else should walk in. Then he put his phone down and stared at the wall, pondering his next move. Getting her to strip in her office was all very well and James had more than enough to humiliate her if he chose to.

He cupped his chin in one hand, considering the possibilities. It was evident that Anna was getting aroused by following his instructions, but her message still indicated she was nowhere near ready to play along willingly. He could imagine the internal struggle: becoming aroused at exposing herself to him, and hating herself for it. How it must feel for her to be at the mercy of an unknown blackmailer. He just wasn’t yet sure how he could turn that to his advantage. James wanted more from her. Seeing her touch herself for him was no longer enough. He wanted to touch her, too. But that still seemed impossible. If he blackmailed her into it as George, she’d know he had been behind it from the beginning. And she’d made it quite clear that she wasn’t interested in sleeping with him as James.

He shook his head. There had to be a way, but he had other matters to focus on. The more immediate question was how much more he could push. And he had to show her he wasn’t going to be gotten rid of so easily. Keeping an eye on the door, he composed his next message.

That is just insulting, Anna. Whatever gave you the idea I want money? I’m not someone who’s going to go away for a few hundred dollars. You need to pay for what you did.

Or such was my original plan. Then I watched your video. I watched it several times, Anna. You remember how it felt recording that, don’t you? I’m sure you’d deny it, but that flush on your face, the little moan at the end, the unmistakable erection of your lovely pink nipple…they all give it away. You were aroused, Anna. Save your protests, we both know the truth. Would you like to tell George your troubles? Is your boyfriend inconsiderate of your needs? Not forceful enough in the bedroom? The stress of your job getting to you? Or is it just that Professor Anna Bonville, rising star of the psychology department, has a secret desire to be told what to do, to be a man’s plaything?

You’re enjoying what I’m doing to you much more than I expected. Did your panties start getting wet as soon as you saw my email, before you even read it? That wasn’t really a question, so you don’t have to lie to me. That’s the thing, Anna. You can lie to me, you can lie to your boyfriend, and you can lie to the world. How long can you lie to yourself? Look back at my last message. I never said you had to take off your bra. That was your decision, not mine. And I appreciate it, because you have beautiful breasts.

Then James had a brainstorm. How to encourage Anna to do more for him. He continued:

I reward compliance, and you definitely went above and beyond what I asked. So here’s your reward. No new instructions for now. I’ll give you a little time off. Check your email by 8pm tonight; if I want anything more from you tonight I’ll contact you by then.

He sent the email, and leaned back thoughtfully. He’d laid the bait, now he just had to see if Anna took it. She’d be smart enough to see that threats and offers of payment were not working, and going beyond the letter of his instructions bought her some more time. Would she be willing to do more to please him to buy herself a little freedom? He’d find out.

James finished his work and left. He’d get a drink with the guys and then decide what to do with Anna later tonight.

 

[SteelAntlers]

With a tremendous sense of relief, Anna slumped in her chair, trying to put herself into a meditative state of mind. A break. At long last. This day had been taxing enough. But what was this mention of 8pm? Some kind of foreshadowing of worse things to come? Anna groaned, resting her head on the desk and exhaling long and hard. She had dressed once again, tried to tidy her hair with a few quick brushes, and put herself back into some semblance of order.

The panties were still wet. She could feel the moisture, more than a mere spot, where she had grown aroused, her excitement leaking slightly into the fabric. Standing up, she paced the room a little, opening the window for a moment. The breeze washed in. Standing illuminated by the incoming daylight, she felt the terrible harshness of the bright sun after a long time in the dark. It felt too exposed to be standing by the window, and she closed the blinds again.

What could she do to put him off, to delay him, to get him to leave her alone? Who the hell was he, and what were his longer goals in this? Did he have any?
Why was she wet?

"Horrible. Horrible." She felt so disgusted by herself, and angry at the reaction her body had had, that she pulled off her jeans and tugged off the sheer panties, slipping them around her ankles and into her hands. Held them. Felt the warmth of her treacherous body still on them.

Then she realized. Something she could do to stall him, put him off, maybe to show him that she would play his game if it meant keeping her job. She could give him these.

Other ideas rolled in. She would tell him that this was proof that she was not aroused by him, that he was full of shit. Of course, they were a little wet, but that was easily dealt with. On the one hand, she could respond objectively - although lying, of course - to his little suggestive bullshit. Also, she might be showing him that she wasn't enjoying this. And on the other hand, perhaps she could get on his nice side, maybe to the point that he would cut her some slack. A card in her hand.

Anyway, it felt wrong wearing them now. Now that she knew that being controlled by him was...

Exciting?

She carefully folded them into her purse, and then left the office, heading for the computer lab. She did not want to be late for the dinner with Ian.

Perhaps her behavior signified some baseline attack on Ian - a way of unconsciously attacking him. Giving the thing he had requested of her, sexually, to another man. And perhaps she was playing into her blackmailer's hands purposefully, because it gave her some secret thrill. But it also allowed a kind of calm to seep into her. Enough calm to pretend that nothing was wrong.

I left you something, to show my good faith in this. Also to show you that you are wrong, and that you have to stop. They are my panties. It is in the third floor computer lab in the WEX building, in the locked cupboard for which I have the only key. The key is hidden under the rug as you come in. As you will be able to tell, I WAS NOT WET. I am not enjoying this, and this is proof. But you didn't 'demand this', so I also want to show you that I'll do what it takes to keep you off my back, so you don't have to get stupid and leak YOU KNOW WHAT. Okay? I hate you, but I will play your game, as long as you PROMISE NOT TO SHARE THIS, and PROMISE NOT TO BETRAY ME.

Can you at least tell me when you will stop? Please?

- A.

----------------------------------

Later that evening, after a quiet supper in a generic french restaurant, Ian began to rub Anna's shoulders. "You're really tense, babe," he said, "is everything okay?"

"Yes."

"You just seemed really quiet over supper. I just want to know that I didn't do anything to upset you."

"No, no."

"Okay, well I was wondering, since it's my birthday, maybe..." He nibbled at her neck lightly, and Anna shrugged him off slightly, turning away almost shyly.

"I'm not...I just don't really feel..."

She turned back. He was looking at her with piteous, puppy-dog eyes. Anna sighed. "Okay, okay."

She shrugged off her shirt, baring her breasts once again through the filmy bra. "Just what the doctor ordered."

Ian sat down in his big chair, eyeing her like an excited schoolboy. "Can you...do the rest, like...you know, like..."

Anna blushed a little, and began to dance slightly in place, cupping her breasts, rolling her hips somewhat reservedly. Ian didn't know the difference, and seemed to think this was the greatest striptease ever performed. The small bump in his pants indicated so, anyway.

She began tugging down her jeans, so that her ass showed, little by little, eventually stepping out of them, unsnapping the bra.

"Babe, what happened to those panties?" Ian asked, far from suspicious, but certainly surprised.

"I just got so excited thinking about you..." Anna lied easily, staring him down, and pacing towards him with hips swaying. "I just wanted to do this..."

She sat on his lap, kissing him, letting her nakedness rest against his clothed body and loving the contrast. Suddenly, she was feeling horny. Something had sparked in her. Groaning, she began to kiss him hard, very hard, almost aggressively. Her breasts jutted into him forcefully, and she began to grind against his erection with her bare cunt, leaving her sudden rush of wetness against the fabric of his own jeans.

"Babe, this is...oh wow, thank you...but a little...too fast, babe, okay? Slow down a bit?"

Four minutes later, Ian was apologizing, hustling off for the bathroom. Anna began to pull her clothes back on, feeling still buzzing with arousal and far from satisfied, when she saw her phone had received another email...

 

[BornYesterday]

James was working on his second beer at the bar with his grad student buddies before he thought to check his email. Anna had written back surprisingly quickly. He read through the email once, and then again. Interesting. Anna reiterated her disgust and loathing for him, yet her actions said otherwise. Leaving her panties for him? He hadn't asked for that. Her protests that she hadn't been wet were a little too vociferous to be taken very seriously. He was becoming more certain that he had been onto something: for whatever reason, she was starting to enjoy this. What he had to do was figure out what was motivating her and play up that aspect. And reward her when she did what he wanted. Simple techniques, but effective.

He finished his drink and excused himself, whispering something to Gary about needing to take care of business with a chick. Gary would fill in the rest of the story himself, which was fine with James. He wanted to get away and see if Anna had really left her panties for him, which would provide further proof that her denials were meaningless.

He was opening the building door when he realized how stupid he was being. Sure, she wants to give me her panties. This was obviously a set-up. She'd have the campus police waiting for him. A webcam recording whoever went into the room and opened that cabinet. There were so many ways this could be a trap to find out who he was. He laughed to himself and let the door close. He had almost fallen for it. He had to remember Anna might be losing her cool, but she was not stupid.

He'd have to let her know there was a cost to trying to trap him. He found a convenient bench and pulled out his phone.

Nice try, Anna. I'm sure you did leave your panties for me in a cabinet in a computer lab. There's no way this is a trap. Did I say I was on your campus? I might have left you alone for the rest of the evening, but there's a price for trying to trick me. Since you say you're not wearing panties, show me. Then stick two fingers in your cunt and pull them out. Prove to me you're not wet. I'm pretty sure what I'm going to see.

When am I going to stop? When I get what I want. The more you act like a little bitch about it, the longer it will take. You have no control here. Learn to accept that fact. Clock's ticking, Anna. I'd better have those pictures in fifteen minutes.

Applying more time pressure should add to her stress, especially since she might still be out at dinner or home with her boyfriend. That was her problem, not his.

His problem was the same as before: how could he move to physical control without putting himself in jeopardy? Maybe she'd been telling the truth and her panties were in there, but he couldn't risk it. And if he couldn't get to her panties, how could he hope to control her body? The pictures and videos were exciting, but just made him want more. Yet he was under no illusions that Anna would go along willingly at this point. She'd turn him in if she could and he'd get kicked out, if not arrested. He could wear a mask or something so she wouldn't recognize him and maybe disguise his voice. But where to take her? He could hardly have her come to his place and it's not like he could afford hotel rooms. Then he smiled. He was just a grad student scraping by, but Anna was a professor. She could afford a hotel room, and what better way of extending his control than by making her pay for the privilege of being used by him? The details would have to be worked out, but the general idea was extremely promising.

It was all coming together. James was in such a good mood he decided to go back to the bar to see if his friends were still there. This called for a celebration.

 

[SteelAntlers]

The pictures came. Fourteen minutes later, the email was sent, just barely in time to avoid the wrath of Anna's blackmailer. As requested, it was a series of photographs. Strangely, Anna had found that sending the files as a sequence of photos was actually dirtier than a film clip. Pictures felt more deliberate. They had a pornographic element that video lacked, video filling in the 'prime moments' with all the accidents of life: breathing, momentarily awkward angling, coughing.

The first set the stage. Anna had somehow placed the camera in a hook or holder in the bathroom, perhaps in the dock of the phone she was using. It showed her entire body from head to roughly her knees, and in very crisp quality. She was wearing dark jeans and a grey blouse. It was clearly a second bathroom, judging from the size, although the room's dark grey was less than clear due to the flash that focused fire on Anna herself, at the expense of identifying the room's details. In the first, Anna merely stood, clearly trying to place herself in the frame and figure out the setup.

In the second, she was dropping the jeans that she had changed into. They were halfway down her thighs, and her eyes were gazing down at her legs, in a look that was unconsciously sexy, in that they ignored the camera and seemed in this sense demure. Because she was leaning, nothing was really exposed, but it was clearly a leadup to pornography in itself.

In the third (it grew obvious that the camera was set to flash and snap a shot every few seconds), her pants were down around her knees, and she was standing straight again. The flash focused fire on the lower half of her body, and her patch of blonde pubic hair was starkly revealed in the shot, trimmed in a neat triangle, that trailed down to the top of her pussy, which was just barely visible in the form of a small pink bump. If she leaned back slightly, it would leave little else to the imagination. Her face was already growing slightly pink, and her eyes were closed.

In the fourth, she was still standing still. Nothing had really changed, but a chance reflection of the light made the picture better illuminated, her breasts seeming larger in the blouse, and her pussy slightly more visible still, a brief line with soft lips.

In the fifth, she had reached over, leaning forward to grasp the jeans, as if having forgotten that she had to prove that she was not wearing underwear. The sixth completed the motion, showing her rather awkwardly bent so her hand could drag the jeans up slightly, showing there was nothing in them, proving she had not just pulled the panties down along with them. Her face was gazing at the camera, eyes burning in annoyance and humiliation. Her cheeks were blushing red, her hair growing disheveled and confused.

By the seventh picture, she was standing straight again, and had kicked away the pants, leaving her naked from the waist down.

Strangely, the eight and ninth were no different. She was looking at the camera with an oddly distant look of vague anger. It was as though it was a mask of anger, and the emotion had 'gone out' from behind her eyes. The implication was that she was 'just standing there'.

In the tenth, she was turning away from the camera and appeared to be speaking, her mouth slightly open. She seemed annoyed, her mouth slightly curved in a negative expression.

By #11, Anna's face was obscured as she wrestled with her top, arms up around her head. #12 and 13 completed the action, so that she was suddenly completely topless. Close scrutiny made it obvious that she had not been wearing a bra, and by #14 her breasts were bared to the camera's devouring eye. They were full, and slightly flushed to match her face, her nipples seeming to be slightly hardened, and she gazed into the camera now with a look of forced pride, a confidence that she clearly did not really feel.

Why had she stripped bare? Was it a wish to show off for him - was she really warming to this perverted concept? Was it a mere annoyance at being 'half naked'? A stockholm syndrome driven hope to please her 'master' for her own selfish sake?

In #16, she was moving closer to the camera. It caught her mid-stride, and the movement parted her legs, giving a perfect view of her cunt, looking tempting and delicious in the half-light.

Finally, lucky #17: her right hand cupped around her thigh, as if preparing herself for the embarrassment of the inevitable next image. In #18, her finger was brushing against her labia, which were now almost excessively close to the lens. She was close enough that only her stomach down to about her thighs was visible.

A close succession of photos, the numbers ceasing to matter: the finger pushing in to the first knuckle. A pause. To the second. Out again. Wetness clearly visible along this part of her finger's length, simply from the intense shine on the flesh. Then two together, curling around her pussy from behind, as if concerned that her hand might block the view if she approached from the front. They probed, inching just a little inwards, and then suddenly #27 showed a glorious image of two fingers penetrating deeply into her sex.

A few more images showed the two fingers displayed before the camera, so close that both the closely-trimmed fingernails and her fingers glistening, soaked-wetness was perfectly obvious.

The last photo was an anomaly in the set. While most had at least suggested her resistance in some fairly obvious way, the last was a side-shot, a profile, that again took her at a distance, so that her whole body was visibly naked in the shot. She was looking over her right shoulder at the camera, breasts jutting forward in front of her, hair tumbling over one cheek down to her shoulder. One hand was pressed against the doorframe in a mundane 'leaning' posture, but the other was clasped in a position against a point on her flank that touched her thigh, and fairly obviously her ass.

The look in her eyes was like something you might see in a pin-up girl. Bold, intensely sexual, and almost slightly imperious. 'Bedroom eyes'. Of course, there was plenty of evidence in the opposite direction, but one would almost think that she had included as if to say -

- Well, something positive, anyway.

There were no words attached, except " - A."

 

[BornYesterday]

James strolled through the campus at a slow pace, enjoying the crisp evening. He was in no hurry, wanting to wait out Anna's deadline before getting to the bar. The paved walkways held the usual mix of students on their way to various bars and parties, many of the girls in very revealing clothes despite the chill. Yet James spared them barely a glance. He had someone else on his mind. He thought through the various steps he would need to protect himself. There was inevitably a degree of risk, but that had to be accepted. He was more convinced than ever that it would be worth it.

Reaching the main street in front of campus, he took a seat on a stone bench, half-listening to snatches of conversation from the passing students. He checked his phone a couple of times, and then there was the email he'd been waiting for. A little past his deadline, he found as he checked the time. But when he opened it, he forgot all about that. In place of the three or four pictures he'd expected, she'd sent a couple dozen. She'd followed her instructions, but also so much more. There was the gradual strip, the proof that she wasn't wearing panties, her fingers easing into her pussy and then withdrawn with the tell-tale glistening clearly visible.

Yet oddly, he found himself focused on her face even more as he looked back. Her expressions told their own story, a story he couldn't entirely figure out. There was smoldering anger and some shame, which weren't surprising at all. Even the gradually increasing flush and a photo or two with closed eyes and parted lips were not unexpected. He already knew her forced exhibitionism was turning her on. The hint of defiance he saw made him smile: wasn't she already doing everything he said and more?

The last couple were the ones he studied the most. Heavy-lidded eyes, a deeper flush on her cheeks, and a hint of a smile. It was hard for him not to read a little challenge into her expression. Is that all you've got? she seemed to be saying to him. It was almost like she was asking for more, whether intentionally or not he couldn't tell. She'd find out soon exactly how much farther he was prepared to go.

But first, a reply:

Excellent work, Anna. Once again you've gone above and beyond what I asked for. Did you come while you fingered yourself for me? If not, you should go finish the job: you're obviously dying for it. Boyfriend not doing the job, is he?

You've earned yourself another break. You won't hear from me again tonight. I will be in touch when I have more instructions for you. Good night, Anna.

He was about to head over to the bar when he stopped. Sure, she could have just taken off her panties and then put her jeans on halfway to make it look like she hadn't been wearing them, but that didn't seem too likely. He'd already given her the idea that he wouldn't be going to get them, so if she had something planned she probably would have called it off. And maybe there was a way to check....

He approached a couple of younger-looking undergrads. "Hey, can you guys can do me a favor? I'll get you some beer if you can."

As expected, they immediately looked interested. "What do we have to do, bro?" one of them asked.

James lied easily. "I forgot to get a key my adviser left for me and I'm already late on a beer run. If you guys can go pick it up for me, I'll give you some beer. Third floor computer lab in the WEX center. Key should be under the rug as you walk in." He just hoped the building wouldn't be locked yet. "Meet me back here in 10 minutes with the key, and some of the beer's yours."

"Sure, man, no problem," one said while his friend nodded enthusiastically. They were probably nearly wetting their pants at the prospect of getting their own alcohol.

James chuckled as he walked over to the nearby liquor store. If by chance the campus police were waiting for someone to pick up that key, those kids would get busted. If they came back with it, he was probably in the clear. It was so easy to manipulate people when you knew what they wanted. He got a couple of 12-packs. Worst-case scenario, he'd have some extra beer, and spending a few bucks to ensure his safety was well worth it.

Sure enough, in a few minutes they came back with the key. James let out a breath, realizing how much he'd been hoping they would. He handed over the beer and they disappeared into the night. James walked back the way they had come. No more trip to the bar. He had to find out if Anna had really left her panties for him.

He walked casually back through campus, to all appearances just another student on his way to a night of drinking. It seemed to James that everyone passing by could hear his heart, such was its pounding. He entered the building, making his way up to the third floor by the stairs and cracking open the door cautiously before stepping into the dim, quiet corridor smelling faintly of cleaning chemicals. The janitors must have been by recently. He set the beer down by the stairs and soundlessly crept to the computer lab. Nothing seemed amiss, the only sound the soft hum of computer fans. He pulled his jacket up to conceal his face in case Anna had hidden a camera somewhere and entered. In seconds he had the key fitted into the lock, which opened with a sharp click.

He opened the cabinet smoothly, and inside found a scrap of black lace. It was still damp to his touch, or was that just his imagination? There was no time for a more careful examination. He stuffed her panties into his jacket pocket, locked the cabinet, wiped the key off on his jeans, and replaced it under the rug before retrieving his beer and leaving the building, his pulse thundering in his ears the entire time. Not until he had turned the corner did he begin to relax. She had told him the truth.

No longer having any desire to find his friends, he began heading home. He wanted to examine his prize, and think about why Anna would give him her panties. She couldn't really have thought that more confirmation of his power over her would get him to stop. And what did that look in the last picture mean? What did she really want, and how could he show her he was the only one who could give it to her? If he knew that, his control would be strengthened.

The apartment was dark when he arrived; Gary must still have been out. Perfect. James opened a beer and then took out his prize. Rubbing it between his fingers, it was clearly still slightly damp. Furtively, he lifted Anna's panties to his nose and sniffed. The scent of her arousal was evident, and James felt himself beginning to harden in response. His first whiff of Anna's wet pussy made him react powerfully. It certainly wouldn't be the last. He thumbed back through her pictures, this time imagining it was his thicker fingers exploring her sex.

 

[SteelAntlers]

Once again you've gone above and beyond what I asked for. Did you come while you fingered yourself for me? If not, you should go finish the job: you're obviously dying for it.

Anna sat, cross-legged in the living room, with her phone in sleep mode before her. The light winked at her occasionally, little flashes indicating a new email, flashing irritatingly at the edge of her vision. She was sitting before the gas fireplace, which was flickering in a little dance before her. Its light cast dizzying spells over her form, as she sat in a bathrobe, having showered and quietly descended the stairs to sit alone.

Upstairs, Ian was asleep. He had been knocking on the door gingerly during the little striptease that Anna had performed, and it was he who had elicited the angry look on her face. But why had she looked angry? She wondered that. If anything, should not she have felt guilty - or if anything, angry at the blackmailer? But she felt rage towards him, towards her dutiful lover, and this surprised her even now, as she contemplated it.

Wink. Wink.

Spontaneously, Anna turned on the phone and looked at the most recent message. Her eyes, sweeping over it, seemed hooded in some darkness of the quiet chamber, giving her a faintly conniving light, and she read quickly, then read it again. The words felt hot, the phone warm in her hand. She could hear a kind of voice that she had come to associate with the blackmailer - a heavy, throaty voice with a kind of knowing drawl on the ends of those seedy sentences. She heard it now, loud in her ears, reading the message. Particular words kept resurfacing even with the phone closed.

Did you come while you fingered yourself for me?

The heat of the fire caressed her neck as she sat gazing into it again, the phone lying down on the carpet with its screen pointed down. That fucking fucking fucker, she thought. With his disgusting, knowing little expressions, like he already understood her, like she was already his.

Did you come while you fingered yourself for me?
Fingered yourself for me.

The situation was clearly a disaster, and she had no idea what to do. For some reason, she had added more fuel to the fire with the panties - why, she could not say. More ammunition for a gun that was already pushing against her from behind.

you should go finish the job: you're obviously dying for it.

She shivered, feeling a creeping warmth touch her intimately. She was dying for it. Suddenly, a wall fell apart and she admitted it to herself - she needed a damn orgasm.

Things had been different with Ian, even just a few months ago. He had always been supportive, always been excited about her - almost too excited. His attraction to her was practically slavish. But he had never really felt like a great man. Oh, certainly he was her man - but that was just it - she wasn't 'his woman'. There was no sense that he possessed her in the way that she possessed him.

The turning point had come in a bar, when an older 'cowboy' type from somewhere in the southern States had sauntered up and made a pass at Anna. His drawling voice had dropped a few insinuations. Ian had been at the washroom, and Anna - perfectly capable of standing up for herself, and said a few things back. Suddenly, the man had grabbed her wrist under the counter, and Anna felt herself freeze up. Ian, meanwhile, had been coming back, when he saw her from a few tables away. He froze in place. He was watching, hands open and utterly still, as Anna made eye contact with him, her gaze pleading. The cowboy put a hand on Anna's inner thigh, and she made some kind of noise of panic. Suddenly, some college kid saw what was happening, put 2-and-2 together, and separated the man from Anna, with some rather forceful gripping of the 'cowboy''s arm.

She did not feel safe with Ian, and yet --- it was not as though she were 'safe' with the blackmailer. But...

Did you come while you fingered yourself for me?

...but fuck, at least the danger here was intoxicating, at least it ran through her. She was wet again.

you should go finish the job: you're obviously dying for it.

Her legs parted, as if automatically, and she felt the cloth of the robe slightly damp beneath her. "Fuck", she muttered, suddenly reaching for the remote control. She turned up the gas, until the heat of it was actually unpleasant, almost painful. The heat rolled over her, and she let the robe fall from her breasts, beginning to touch herself in earnest now, not for any camera. Her nipples were obscenely stiff, and she began to play with them roughly, rolling and pinching.

One leg pushed out further from her body, while the other arched up. Naked from the waist up, breasts painted by the fire's mad dance, she felt her hand hitch up the robe from below and plunge into her cunt, two fingers at once. She masturbated hard, unforgivingly, but with a knowledge of herself that transcended the touch of any man she had ever met. Within moments, she felt a bucking wildness in her abdomen, and raising herself up, the robe fell away as she tore off the sash.

Naked, glorious, her thumb rolled onto her clitoris and she bucked in the empty night without a lover, her orgasm wild and violent, her body writhing in sweat from the fire.

Because she had no name to cry, she bit her lip until it bled, bit it hard enough to leave a mark for the morning.

She crawled into bed beside Ian, feeling faintly ashamed with the energy of arousal passed, and fell asleep instantly.

 

[BornYesterday]

Even the next day, James could not get Anna out of his head. He had already finished once the night before; he'd found a video starring a blond actress that bore just enough resemblance to her and watched it, her panties wrapped around his cock as he stroked himself. His breathing had quickened as he focused intently on the moans of the blond on the screen as she got railed. It had not taken him long to add his fluid to hers already on the lace.

Although he had a number of things he had to do before Monday, his first priority on Saturday was finding an appropriate location to take the next step with Anna. The local motels would be cheap but inconvenient and hardly suitable atmosphere; besides, Anna could afford something a little nicer. The inn on campus was too close. Either of them might be recognized while going in, which is not what he wanted. That left just a couple of good options. He called the Sheraton first, and upon reaching the front desk began, "Hi, I have a question. My wife and I have a reservation next weekend, but will arrive separately. Can she leave a key for me to pick up at the front desk after she checks in."

The desk clerk at the other end replied, "Of course, sir. Just tell her to leave your name and show your ID to pick it up."

"Thanks," James replied and hung up. Not unexpected, but it wouldn't work. He couldn't possibly give Anna his real name and it wasn't as if he had a fake ID for George Ovelstein. He tried the Radisson and asked the same question.

This time the desk clerk said, "No problem. As long as your wife is there I can call up and check with her that it's OK."

"Perfect, thank you," James replied, and hung up. So it would be the Radisson. He'd have Anna arrive first and wait for him. He'd have to make sure she was bound and blindfolded so she couldn't tell who he was, and he have to avoid talking as much as possible. The sticky part was if she tried to go to the police once he was done with her. She'd have his DNA of course, and someone at the hotel might be able to recognize him. It wasn't very likely, but he had to be prepared. It would be best to have some evidence that their encounter was consensual. A voice recording should do the trick. He could have his phone recording the whole time, and make her ask to be tied up, to suck his cock, and for him to fuck her. Once his commands were edited out, that should be enough.

He worked out the details until he was satisfied that the risk was minimal. It was just hard to know how Anna would react. Her arousal was obvious enough, but taking orders to masturbate was one thing. Fucking a stranger (or someone she thought was a stranger) was an entirely different matter. He remembered his promise to Gary: not to do anything stupid. He wasn't sure he was living up to that, but he was trying.

He made himself a sandwich for lunch. It was odd that he hadn't seen Gary; he didn't seem to have come back the night before. Nothing worth worrying about yet, but definitely unusual. He didn't recall Gary hooking up with anyone since he broke up with "that wench" (as he referred to her now) Denise in the fall. He sent Gary a quick text: "Everything OK?" and went back to eating, washing an apple from the fridge after he finished his sandwich. Then his phone buzzed. "Something came up. It's fine. Tell you about it later." James shrugged and went over to the couch to start the reading for his seminar. At least his roommate was all right. He'd give Anna a break and send her the instructions tomorrow.

On Sunday around noon he wrote back to Anna.

Here's what you will do. You will get a room at the Radisson on 6th Street this Saturday. Tell your boyfriend anything you want: you were invited to a conference, whatever. Or you're just going out for the evening; you won't have to stay there overnight if you don't want to. I don't care how you do it, just do it. Tell them your husband will be coming later and to give him a key. Email me the room number once you have it. At 8pm I will come to the hotel. The desk clerk will call you to make sure it's all right to give me the key. You will tell him yes.

After you get that call, strip down to your underwear, blindfold yourself, and sit on the bed facing away from the door waiting for me. I will be up soon. I think you know what will happen then. I will use your body the way it wants to be used, the way your boyfriend can't manage. I will take possession of you and make you mine. You can tell yourself you don't want this, but we both know the truth, don't we Anna? In any case, it doesn't matter: I want you, and I will have you. You know the consequences of refusing. If you don't get the room, fail to follow my instructions once we're there, or try any funny business, I will expose what you did. I have arranged with a friend to send the proof to your dean if I fail to return by a specific time, so don't think you can escape by trying to involve the police.

For the rest of this week, you will not come. You can fuck your boyfriend and you will touch yourself everyday, but you will not orgasm. You come when I tell you you can, not before. If you have any questions about what you need to do, you can ask them. Otherwise you won't hear from me until I meet you on Saturday.

And Anna? Wear some nice underwear. It will be our first time, after all.

 

[SteelAntlers]

The week passed in a blur that caught Anna off-guard.

First, it was Monday, and she was teaching her classroom of eager undergraduates about cell biology.

Then it was Tuesday, and her cellphone remained silent as she sat in the break room of her department, staring at its black, reflective surface without moving, not seeing the familiar wink of the light (like a lighthouse luring her to shipwreck).

Wednesday she took a day off of work due to 'sickness', coming down hard with a migraine that almost took her off of her feet. She had not had a migraine since she was a teenager. Lying in a dark place beside her bed, eyes closed, she had slept dreamlessly and thought about sailing away on a cruise ship.

Thursday, she met James briefly in their lab, and she had felt a strange hostility towards him. Barely able to keep her temper towards him, she felt somehow that he knew her secret. She did not imagine him to be her blackmailer, but somehow he felt his eyes on her in a way that made her uncomfortable. She imagined that he thought that she had a lover. And because such a guess would not be entirely untrue (and would be entirely true come Saturday) this irritated her more. She had managed to divide up lab duties between James and one of his coworkers, in a way that clearly disfavored James (giving him the unpleasant duties) while making it seem as though they had an 'even' number of jobs to do (objectively the same number of tasks). During this, Anna felt her voice taking on a coldness, a kind of sterile numbness, that made it clear that she disliked him, while never quite breaching her professionalism.

Friday, she had a momentary panic attack while waiting at an intersection for the traffic lights to change. For a time, face almost scarlet, she drove at random through the downtown core, looking for parking, and bolted through a parkade to reach a lingerie store. She had realized that during her encounter with the blackmailer, anything might happen to her undergarments, including their being destroyed (he seemed the type). So to make matters sensible to Ian, she couldn't have her undergarments go vanishing. Instead, she decided (in a momentary decision that made complete sense as she acted) to purchase a new set of underwear.

http://media-cache-cd0.pinimg.com/736x/af/32/83/af3283d41904a727e9a616386c5c5b57.jpg

Why she chose the sexiest, most 'fuck doll' set of underwear was unclear even to her. To some extent, she was thinking 'if I wear drab clothes, it will seem like I am not cooperating'. To some extent, she was thinking 'if I make him happy, he'll be gentle'. To some extent, she was not thinking. The set cost her $97.

To some extent, she was thinking 'I look beyond sexy'.

While in the mall, she picked up an inexpensive red wig, and a pair of sunglasses, as well as a cheap, slick jacket that one might mistake for a travel garment (a light, rainproof piece of clothing). She did not want the hotel staff to think about her as anything but 'just another tourist'.

During the daytime on Saturday, she spent all day fussing over Ian, taking him coffee, kissing him randomly, and being giggly at all of his jokes. A powerful guilt was kindling in her, and she felt a tremendous need to keep him happy, as if to kiss away what she was doing, and its treachery to him. She told him that she had to go out in the evening, because a high school friend had called her in the midst of a divorce, needing a "girl's night out". Ian had not thought to question this.

In her trunk, she had kept everything she needed, including a suitcase filled with a number of textbooks used for weight to imitate a traveler's needs. It also contained her 'disguise', which she donned in a McDonalds bathroom on the way to the hotel.

She booked the room as ordered, wearing her simplistic disguise. Because she had no idea how to obtain a fake credit card, and the room required a legitimate card, she used her own. She paid in cash, claiming that she was trying to keep her card payments to discourage over-spending on the trip. Anna was polite, and almost charming with the front desk clerk, and mentioned that her husband would be joining later, if they could allow him to phone her room to be authorized to come up. She made a joke about men and their sense of time, which the female clerk apparently found briefly amusing.

In the elevator, she almost cried, but managed to hold herself together.

Inside the room, she hung her coat up, and settled the suitcase down on the floor, and for a long time simply looked around the room, just as a real tourist might have. Anna paced the room briefly, and eventually ordered room service, saying she would pay cash for the order; she only ordered a bottle of mediocre wine, for which she naturally paid an exaggerated cost.

She discarded the sunglasses and wig, and shrugged out of her shirt and skirt, leaving her in the underwear she had purchased. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she began to drink directly from the bottle.

She no longer felt aroused. Her mouth felt impossibly dry. Her clothes did not excite her; they made her feel like a wretched whore.

(She was a whore. Not, she wasn't. She went to her purse and applied some red lipstick. Yes, she was. No, she wasn't.)

The hairs on her arms were standing on end, and she observed this with something like the dispassion one feels towards the false embarrassment of a hypocrite. "You're disgusting", Anna said at one point, before drinking again, and noticing the bottle was half empty. She was not a particularly light drinker despite her frame, but she felt a faint buzzing in her hearing.

When the phone rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Speaking directly and calmly, she permitted her blackmailer to come upstairs. Taking another long pull from the bottle, and then putting it down on the carpeted floor, away from where her stocking-clad feet rubbed one another in a kind of daze, she drew a short piece of black fabric from the suitcase. It was a large sash from a robe, and she secured it around her eyes, so that everything became black.

His words floated back into her mind, in that strange drawl she had given them, once again floating up from a deep place inside her:

I will take possession of you and make you mine.
I will take possession
Possession

Against the cool of the fabric, her buttocks felt exposed and she felt naked. "Mmm", she briefly sounded. I will take possession.

She had not obeyed his order to touch herself every day, because she had assumed that he would not know the difference. How could he? This petty defiance had been satisfying for some reason; a flaw in God's omniscience.

She had a vision of herself with a strong, well-figured man behind her, standing her up, turning her slowly in place, hands holding her possessively as they explored her curves. "Mmm," again. The thought came into her head that no matter how things played out in the next couple of hours, she was about to be fucked. Hard. He would probably throw her onto the floor and mount her like a bitch, fuck her with her cheek pressed against the carpet and rubbing.

He would make her suck his dick. Make her smell it. Press it against her resistant lips until she gave in. Large, and moist with his pre-cum, and he would laugh at her whenever she gave in. "Mmm." He would laugh at her, and call her his little slut. I will take possession.

The g-string pressed insistently through the cleft of her ass. More than anything else, it was a constant reminder of her cunt. It was like a finger, never penetrating her pussy, but always about to. "Fuck," she muttered, realizing that there was a modest moisture after all.

Perhaps she was drunk. She did not feel quite drunk, but slightly elated by the soothing calm of having the taste of wine in her mouth.

She found that she did not know what to do with her arms.

For some reason, she was angry that the blackmailer had not told her what to do with her arms.

 

[BornYesterday]

He was almost surprised how easy it was. There he was, standing in front of the door to room 608, key card in his hand. Anna was waiting inside. He hoped. No, he knew. The desk clerk had spoken to her before giving him the key. He was annoyed to notice his hand was shaking a bit.

There had been no emails from Anna after he told her to get this hotel room. No pleading with him, no more threats, not even a simple question about what time he would come. James wasn’t sure what that meant. It had been difficult not to lash out at her on Thursday when she was obviously sticking him with the shittier jobs. He almost thought she suspected something then, but she’d have done a lot more than just give him a few unpleasant tasks. His plan was going to work. He realized that he hadn’t really expected that.

He had already been standing outside the door for too long, or so it seemed to him. Anna would probably be wondering. He slipped the ski mask out of his jacket pocket and put it on. Just in case Anna hadn’t obeyed her instructions. He had an extra blindfold as well in the bag he had brought with his other equipment, in the event that she had something see-through. He wished he had brought a bottle of water. His mouth was unaccountably dry.

He inserted the key card, hearing the lock disengage. The handle turned easily to his touch and the door swung inward. The room was much dimmer than the bright hallway and it took him a moment to adjust. The entryway blocked much of the rest of the room and he couldn’t see if Anna was sitting on the bed as she had been told. He took one step in. Your voice. Remember to disguise your voice. You’re Batman. Don’t forget. Another step in.

Then he saw her, blond hair tumbling over her shoulders. Blindfolded, facing the windows, just like he had said. Her back was nearly bare; he could just see the thin straps of her bra and the garter belt encircling her waist. Perfect. She was fidgeting with her arms a little as if she didn’t know what to do with them, but wasn’t trying to turn around. She must be able to hear him now. He let the door close behind him and bolted it. Then he walked in and set down his bag. He was less nervous now. He was going to go ahead with it. He knew that once he saw her.

“Put your arms behind you,” he rasped in a guttural voice, as different from his normal voice as he could manage. He had to suppress an urge to cough. Obediently, slowly, she crossed her arms behind her back. Roughly, he pulled her arms straighter, so her wrists were crossed over the small of her back. “Hold still,” he ordered in the same voice. Now the tricky part. He had practiced this as best he could, but managing it on another person was a different story. She had some kind of perfume on, some scent he couldn’t quite recognize.

He had prepared the ties as much as he could ahead of time. He pulled up the video on his phone, watching each step carefully as he bound Anna’s arms together, then connected the tie over her shoulders and across her chest, making sure it wouldn’t put pressure on her neck if she struggled. She remained passive throughout, not making a sound other than elevated breathing, which James took as an indication of nervousness. He checked the knots to make sure they were secure and, satisfied with his work, closed the video and pulled up his voice recorder, not turning it on just yet.

http://37.media.tumblr.com/6c0709140c047c5a8a8aa956ac520b56/tumblr_muda9r9P8g1rfxpbko1_500.jpg

He moved in front of her and waved his hand in front of her face. Then he made as if to poke her in the eyes. She did not flinch at all. Her blindfold seemed effective. You’re Batman: don’t forget. Again the raspy growl: “Here’s what’s going to happen, Anna. I am going to use your lovely body.” Here he paused to run a finger over her perfect cheek, touching her for the first time. “If you do what I tell you, you won’t get hurt. If you try to fight against me: biting, spitting, anything like that, I will hurt you.” James realized it was true as soon as he said it. “When I tell you to say something, you say it. When I tell you to do something, you do it. Are we clear? Then tell me you will follow my instructions. And tell me you want to taste my cock. That you’re dying to have it in your mouth.” He hit the record button.

 

[SteelAntlers]

Anna spoke with as much indignation as she could muster, given that indignation requires dignity, and dignity she lacked entirely at the moment. "You. Are a fucking. Bastard." Each word come cleanly, with the sound of being prepared, but utterly natural. Nothing could be more true from her mouth than that. Everything that followed would, inevitably, have to be lies, or at best half-truths.

She sat still for several long moments. Her hair, spilled around her cheeks, looked beautiful, fresh and soft, but her face burned with unspeakable anger and humiliation. There was a quiet sob in her voice, that she managed to suppress within several words. "You want me to beg for your penis, was that it? You want me to beg. It isn't enough that you blackmail me, force me to do this perverted shit, but now you want to pretend that this is my idea? You are a fucking. Fucking. Bastard!" She all but yelled the next word, barking it in the vague direction of the man, and suddenly at war with her bondage, raged against it. She tried to pull her arms apart and away from her back, finding it impossible, and so merely flailed ineffectually for several moments, until she was forced to stop, breath panting, breasts bobbing slightly.

Almost at random, she kicked a leg out, which James easily avoided, given the blind nature of the thrust. Her toe nicked the wine bottle, which objected with a quiet rattle, somehow failing to fall over.

She hated that her hands' bare skin was placed over her exposed buttocks, a little reminder of the underwear she had chosen to wear.

It was strange, but it seemed as though she knew the voice that was speaking to her. Like she had heard it many years ago, or in some foreign place that she was failing to connect. It was certainly unsettling, the possibility that she knew this person from her 'real life'.

"I'll...I'll follow your damn instructions, okay? You want me to blow you, fine, I'll blow you. You're fucking pathetic. This is the best you can do, cornering someone. 'Mister growl' with all your threats and bullshit. You must think you are some man, huh? But if you think I'm going to pretend to beg for it, you are sadly mistaken."

 

[BornYesterday]

Anna’s words rained down like blows. James didn’t even flinch. She had brought this on herself by screwing him out of the fellowship he needed. That he deserved. And if that weren’t enough, her pictures had made it obvious enough she was getting off on his instructions. He watched her struggle against her bonds, but his ties were secure, more than enough to render her struggles ineffective.

He let her rail against him, calling him “pathetic” and a “fucking bastard,” until she was almost panting and her bosom was heaving. Her attempts to preserve some dignity were understandable, but useless in the end. James realized he wanted her to beg not just to record her, but to humiliate her the way he had been humiliated. So he waited until she drew a shaky breath, nearly sobbing in anger and frustration. Then he moved.

He grabbed by her hair on the back of her head and yanked back and down, pulling her head back painfully and forcing her to expose her neck. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, Anna,” he rasped again, this time not fully able to suppress a cough. “I give the orders here. When I want you to say something, you will say it.” He slapped her across the face with his other hand, her head jerking with the force. She tried to move away, but he just tightened his grip on her hair as she pulled on it, making her yelp. He watched her cheek turn white, then gradually a red handprint etched itself onto her skin.

Still grasping her firmly by the hair, he dropped his other between her thighs and let his finger glide over her slit, the g-string now wedged between her lips. It came away glistening. “Your protests would be more believable if you weren’t so wet, Dr. Bonville,” he said, contempt clear in his tone as he used her title. He wiped his finger on her thigh, letting her feel the moisture. “What are you so angry about? Are you really angry with me, or are you angry with yourself for reacting like a bitch in heat?”

She flinched when he touched her again, but it was just to run the backs of his fingers over where he had just slapped her. Her skin was warm to his touch. In a voice barely above a whisper, he rasped, “I’m going to tell you one more time, Anna. Tell me how much you want to suck my cock.” He yanked on her hair again. “Otherwise you might have a long night ahead of you.”

 

[SteelAntlers]

When the hand snapped across her firm cheekbone, Anna give a little noise like a whipped dog, a low whimper that somehow sounded more like shame than protest. She swallowed hard, feeling an echo of the sharp pain lingering in her face. She fell silent, hearing him insult and mock her, feeling his hands touch her, emphasizing her wetness, her abjection. Her head was spinning, and there was a dull sound in her ears, a kind of soft roaring. She could hear her pulse crashing in her head.

When he yanked her hair, she yelped again, quieter this time. Her thigh flinched beneath his touch. But ultimately, the message had been laid out, and there was little misunderstanding to be done.

"Fuck", she said again, but softer, and more to the ground or to herself than at James. As though it were the situation that deserved her anger, rather than her blackmailer. As though the blackmail had independent life.

She sighed, a low and irritated sound, and her voice took on a strange tone as she began to speak. It was the sound of a horse's whinny when it surrenders to the crop for the first time. "May I please..." She faltered momentarily, wincing behind the blindfold, and rolling her tongue in her mouth as though not liking the greasy taste of the words. "May I please have your...have your cock in my mouth?" A pause. "...Sir?" She breathed again, noisily, through her nose, as though needing to signify her protest in some way.

Finally she snorted slightly. "Not that I can do much with my hands tied behind my back. Maybe you've never had a blowjob before, hmm? They're a big help. Do you have a condom?"

 

[BornYesterday]

This time James couldn’t help laughing. A condom? Was she serious? “Don’t be ridiculous, Anna,” he laughed. “When it is time to fuck your pussy—and I will—I’m not using a condom. In fact, you will ask me to fuck you bare. When the time comes. Right now,” and here he gripped her by the chin hard enough to hurt, “I’m more concerned with your mouth.”

He released his grip and stepped back to undo his belt and then his pants, the click of metal and the sound of cloth against skin clearly audible over Anna’s heavy breathing. He took a moment to look at her, her head moving slightly from side to side as if she could find him that way. His handprint was still scarlet on her cheek, and he thought it made her even more beautiful. He reached around her, feeling her shrink as his hands brushed her sides, and undid her bra. With her tied the way she was it was impossible to take it off, so he just pushed it up over her firm breasts, letting out an involuntary gasp as he saw them for the first time. She was even better-looking in person, especially tied up and at his mercy, and his body was already reacting to the sight in front of him. Your voice. Don’t forget.

He rasped again, “You’re right that hands are useful for a blowjob. I didn’t say I wanted a blowjob, however. Have you ever been mouth-fucked, Anna? You’re going to be, and you don’t need your hands for that.” He approached her again, his cock inches from her face, close enough for her to smell him though she still couldn’t see. He reached a hand down to pinch one hard nipple, with enough force to teeter on the brink between pain and pleasure. “One more time, Anna. Say you want me to fuck your mouth.”

 

[SteelAntlers]

She was going to cut in and object when he talked about fucking her without a condom. That was - madness. He was a stranger! He might have any kind of disease, and anyway - Anna was not a swallower. Condoms did more than protect partners, they kept the whole act clean.

But she didn't have a chance.

First there was the sound of him losing the pants. That made her nervous. It made the oral sex real. It was going to happen. Now. Her head swiveled slightly, trying to track what was going on properly, unable to get a strong sense of where he was. She half wanted to object, but her face still burned and she imagined that he might smack her again if she said anything too far out of line.

By the time she was going to speak, he had adjusted her bra, flipping it over her breasts so that they hung free. "Mmmph", she said in wordless annoyance, breathing noisily through her nose. She was beginning to feel it. That she was his toy. That she would just have to sit there while he pulled her clothes off, or interfered with her, and that there was nothing she could do to stop it. The room's air skirted over her supple skin, lightly brushing her nipples. "First time you've seen boobs, huh?" she said quietly, although the insult lacked the assertiveness to have any real sting. It was muttered almost at the floor.

When his hand touched her nipple, she jumped where she sat, almost comically, reflexively bolting as much as she could. This only caused her to twist her own nipple slightly as James held his grip steady. Again, a wordless objection. It was beginning to sound less like angry objection, and more like piteousness, the way a dog begins by barking before a strong hand teaches it only to whine.

In answer to his question, she got about halfway through a response: "I don't...", trailing off as he continued: Say you want me to fuck your mouth. She was confused. He was close. She could smell his cock; it was right beneath her nose. Her head swam. Blindness, and his slap, and the grip on her flesh, was making her confused and scared. She spoke almost in autopilot, though not without the illusion of sincerity:

"I...I want you to fuck my face. I want your cock to slide between my lips, and then I want you to...to pump into my mouth and use me..."

Something broke. Almost crying, the sound of the near-tears sticky in her voice, she concluded: "tell me exactly what to say. I'm sorry if I did it wrong. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I...I...I don't want to...to choke on it. Be gentle. Please don't hurt me...sir?" The last was a naked appeal to his ego.

She tried to look up at him from this angle, or give the impression of 'looking up'. Her lips parted slightly, her clean straight teeth partially visible. From her angle sitting, her body seemed neat and compact in the limited clothes that were left, breasts and nipples like smooth sculpture, thighs parted slightly. The arms being bound behind her pushed her tits out further, and because they were out of sight, made her seem all the more ridiculously helpless, a creature unable to fight back, or even to run without likely falling.

 

[BornYesterday]

He wanted to hurt her more. He wanted to let her know it would be all right. It was hard for him to tell what he really wanted. One thing was clear. He wanted her mouth, to see her full red lips against his shaft, to feel her throat around him.

She was trying to do better, to please him. That was good, and he remembered to reward her. Positive reinforcement when she obeyed him was important. Make her look to him for approval. All part of the plan, and it seemed to be working just fine. He stroked her hair gently, like a lover. In a softer tone, but remembered to rasp, he said, "That's good, Anna. You said exactly what I wanted you to say. That's perfect." He sat down beside her on the bed, kicked off his shoes and pants and slid his socks off. His movements jostled the bed, and he saw Anna turn toward him, seeking him out again, brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what he was doing.

He stripped off his shirt and sat naked next to her. Putting his arm around her, he pulled her closer, her face against his hairy chest. He stroked her hair again. "I told you I wouldn't hurt you if you did as you were told. Now you know I'm serious about this. I'm not here to hurt you, but I will not hesitate to do so if you don't obey." He stood up abruptly and grabbed a handful of her blond hair, his erect cock sticking up in front of her although she couldn't see it. He was uncircumcised, not especially long but fairly thick. Anna might have some trouble if she really hadn't done this before. That was none of his concern. She'd have to learn. He grasped his shaft with thumb and forefinger and slide his foreskin back. "Now open up, Anna. Relax and don't fight me."

He pulled on her hair, not too hard, but forcing her forward until his head touched her lips. His cock throbbed reflexively at that first touch. He was eager to fuck her pretty mouth, but he would be gentle at first since she had been compliant. He'd let her get used to it first, then he'd use her harder. He began to push himself into his professor's mouth, his hand in her hair giving her no choice.

 

[SteelAntlers]

"Wait, look, wait, I - "

Anna's voice cut off as her lips pressed against a fat cock head, the glans muffling her voice as it suddenly slid into her mouth. He was inside her. Violating the first barrier that he wanted to cross. If things, before, had been dancing at the line of cheating on her boyfriend, things were now completely beyond that. An anonymous man's dick was slowly making its way into her, and her mouth was his.

She thought of her lipstick, which must be rubbing onto him. She thought of her teeth, as they briefly bumped at his thickness. She did not even consider biting him, much as she would have loved to.

Immediately, she began to resist to some degree. As much as was possible. His hand deliberately pushed her onto him, and her terrible angle made resistance entirely futile, but she made it an effort anyway. She made huffing sounds when her lips were near the top and her mouth was relatively free, and 'uh-uh' sounds when it pushed in deeper, obscuring her voice. Behind the blindfold, she felt her eyes squeezing shut pointlessly.

She hated giving oral to this bastard. She had the mental image of a sneering face, one hand pressing Anna's head down the length of his cock, the other recording this for his own later amusement, maybe to share with his friends as he desired it. A shiver tingled in her spine at the thought. Electric. Why was she reacting like this?

She felt like his slave: doing whatever he wanted. For his pleasure, without any thought for her position. Fellatio was a gift a woman gave a man. In this case, it was one that he snatched from her greedily, cruelly, and all too effortlessly.

Spluttering on him, she continued to make a fuss, whining wordlessly as his shaft made it consistently impossible to arrange a sentence, stuck in the grammar of a stretched mouth and a slowly aching jaw.

The professor could smell the man's cock, and the slight musk of his balls, as her mouth worked him.

I want your cock to slide between my lips, and then I want you to...
She had said. Why so many words, when he had asked for her simply to beg. She could have just said 'fuck my mouth, please' and it probably would have sufficed for him to leave off abusing her with his cruel slaps.

slide between my lips
my lips

He was only doing what she asked. No, what he had asked her to ask...but thoughts were slipping through her head like water between rocks, paying attention only to the gaps where they could bypass her intelligence. He was so big, or felt so thick anyway. Fellatio had a habit of making a man feel like a giant. He filled her mouth to the point of choking at points, even as gently as he was working her.

Her resistance slipped for a second, and she began to work slightly under his hand, echoing his own movements, as though if he were to stop, she would continue. She wanted to...what did she want? Why was she here? Why had she bought such expensive lingerie?

Her breasts rubbed slightly against his thighs as they hung below her. It reminded her that her nipples were hard.

She could feel her saliva rolling down his shaft, to places she had not yet touched, in little rivulets like her fleeing thoughts, warm on his flesh. His cock was so hot, it made her wonder how it would feel...other places. At the thought, she choked slightly, the cock working itself deeper for a moment. The glans aside, he was thick, an almost uniform thickness down his length. She tasted the salt that leaked as pre-cum from his head, and it made her mouth wetter still. She could feel a few bubbles where her lips contacted and sealed around his shaft, greasing him, easing his penetration.

She could taste her own lipstick, reminding her of some essential cheapness that she felt she now represented. It must have left a reddish streak on his fat monster.

His tip brushed the back of her throat, and she struggled violently against her gag reflex, suddenly resisting hard against his hand, hard enough that nothing but an iron grip would keep her there, coughing, face streaked with the flush of confused half-submission. If he freed her mouth for a second, she would beg for a break - "please, please, I'm not used to...I don't this...for years...", chin shining slightly with her juices.

http://ohfree.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/Uma-Thurman-Fake-Nudes-by-www.ohfree.net-03.jpg
[Fake, but beautiful. Fits the Uma Thurman bit.]

 

[BornYesterday]

It seemed like Anna was trying to say something, but James didn’t care. He pushed himself into her warm mouth, his hand firm on the back of her head. She didn’t try to pull away, and just made some soft grunting sounds when his cock went in deeper. Her teeth bumped against him a couple of times as he thrust before she matched his movements and kept them out of the way. He expected a little more resistance, but was pleasantly surprised to find she seemed resigned to what was happening to her. James even thought he heard a whimper or two and she seemed to start moving forward to meet his thrusts, the head of his cock bumping against her throat. Anna made some strangled gasps, but still didn’t pull away.

Positive reinforcement. He let his grip in her hair loosen slightly and murmured, “That’s very good, Anna. Your mouth is so wet and inviting. You’re doing a great job. Just like a real cockslut.” He watched his shaft turn reddish as her lipstick rubbed off on him every time he slid past her lips. Her gasps quieted and he began to thrust harder, hitting the back of her throat more forcefully. He felt her push back against his hand and he tightened his grip, holding her there while he forced himself into her throat. He held it there for a few seconds while Anna coughed on his cock and her breasts pressed against his thighs. Then he backed off to let her catch her breath, strings of saliva still connected to him while she coughed and heaved.

He stroked her hair again, as a real lover might. “Good girl. Easy now.” He let her regain control, then unceremoniously shoved himself back in, quickening his thrusts while grabbing her hair again. It was easier now. It seemed Anna was figuring out how to take his cock down into her throat while controlling her gag reflex better. James pulled her even closer, her face pressing into his wiry pubic hair and her lips at the very end of his shaft, holding her there a moment before continuing to thrust in her out of her mouth. “You’re getting very good at this, Anna,” he breathed, his voice thick with lust, “Such a good cocksucker. Have you ever had a cock this deep in your mouth before?” He gave a low chuckle. “Of course, you can’t answer with your mouth full, can you?”

He continued thrusting, using her mouth like he would later use her cunt. He was enjoying shoving his full length down her throat and holding her there, her head pressed against his abdomen until she began to struggle and then he’d back off a little to let her breathe. Tears were streaming down her face now, but she didn’t seem to be pushing back against his hand. In fact, he felt like she was actually moving forward onto him, as if trying to keep him in her mouth when he began to pull back.

And there was one other unmistakable indication that she didn’t completely hate what he was doing. He pulled out completely and rubbed his cock over her face, smearing her lipstick further and wiping her tears with his thick shaft. “Do you smell yourself, Anna?” he asked in his raspy voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever smelled that much arousal. How wet would you be if I touched you now?” Not waiting to see if she would answer, he reached a finger down and brushed it across her slit, barely tickling her clit. His finger shone with her wetness in the dim light. He wiped it on her cheek, letting the moisture from her pussy mingle with her tears. He smiled, though of course she couldn’t see. “Open up, Anna. You’re doing great, but we’re not done yet,” he whispered throatily. And he shoved himself in once more.

 

[SteelAntlers]

As the mouth-fucking began in earnest, Anna became more quiet beneath the 'gag' of James' cock. Perhaps she was just giving up, and perhaps she was 'submitting' in earnest. Perhaps there was little difference. What was clear to her, was that the discomfort was sliding to one side, and the perversity of the situation was becoming arousing to her. This was something that would never happen with Ian - not in a million years. The sheer selfishness of her blackmailer; his greed, his lust, his appetite for her body unfiltered by considerations for her needs. It was fucked-up, but it was like escaping into some kind of twisted erotic novel.

Like the ones Anna hid under her bed. Where sometimes, just sometimes, things like this happened. She had touched herself reading them, once in a blue moon. Now there was nothing touching her, but the situation asserted itself, and her body responded.

Her nipples almost painfully throbbing, she felt her chest skirt over his legs time after time, as she bobbed over his fat dick. Each time she rose and fell, there was a brief - barely noticeable - flash of wakefulness from her taut nipples, the only pleasure she was liable to receive from this position. Like a long-sleeping machine, her arousal came to life, gears turning, heat building. Her hands squeezed slightly in their bonds, and she squirmed slightly against the bondage, uselessly, finding their tight insistence a cruel pleasure.

At a few points, she felt herself growing light-headed from the lack of oxygen. Just when she thought she might faint, he would pull her up again, keeping her almost on the brink of unconsciousness. She felt the blood pounding in her ears; felt her throat almost being forced to stretched around him.

Where it wasn't being gripped by his iron hand, locks of her blonde hair flickered over her cheeks, tickling at his invading flesh whenever it emerged for a moment, and half-veiling the action in an appealing way. She could sense it caressing his thighs, like her caged sensuality emerging and playing without her permission.

Her mouth leaked until she was swallowing a mix of pre-cum, lipstick, sweat, and spit with the taste of some stale varnish. It did not taste bad, because it matched her feeling; like drinking gin at the funeral of her dignity.

His scornful words showered over her, feeding the madness in herself - the madness that whispered that she liked this. All the praise - that she was a good cocksucker, a "real cockslut". Although she knew that he was saying these things to cement his power over her, not because he appreciated her the way a lover would, the feeling of the chain forming around her brain was somehow crudely appealing.

She knew he was 'reaching the bottom', and it was a kind of perfect fit; taking his entire length in was possible, at a stretch, but only for a few moments before the air loss made her almost panic. The vulnerability of her breath being seized by his invading cock was so personal that it made her shudder. As though he held her life in his hands. Of course, in many ways that was true - her life as she knew it rested delicately on the trust that he would not just betray her after having his fun, and leak the information regarding her plagiarism, not to mention the extensive porn collection he was building of her, despite her sacrifices.

Discard her like a used condom.
Like an unwanted whore.

Then his finger again humiliated her, spreading her wetness onto itself, then onto her face. As he mocked her, her face (already red) grew burningly scarlet. Not that she could respond, with his entire penis pinning her tongue to the floor of her mouth. She was tearing up - not crying, so much as involuntarily leaking from her eyes due to the intense strain.

Pressed all the way into his flesh, she felt his pubic hair against her chin.

He asked her whether she smelled herself, but truth be told she could not. His own smell was too immediate, too intoxicating. Damn the man, his balls were practically jostling on her face. Christ, this was humiliating. She was utterly his slave, and she knew it.

But at least when he climaxed, he would be done, right? The refractory period usually knocked Ian out for the night. He would probably get the cold stab of regret flash through him, the way men so often did, and run for the door, scrambling to get his pants up, leaving her discarded on the bed.

Right?