Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 This story is a complete fantasy that deal with blackmail, immoral
behaviour and sex.  If you are offended by any of those things it's likely
better to not read it.

   ****************************************************

   My daughter was so excited for Halloween, it was the first year I think
that she fully appreciated just what this day means.  In previous years she
wore whatever we put on her, went to a few houses and got some candy, candy
she wasn't allowed to eat.  That was then and this is now; what a
difference a year can make.  Now she gets to be anything that she wants. 
This is a desire that many of us can somewhat understand, but at the age of
six you actually get to realize it.  In that moment in time, for that
night, you really become whoever or whatever you want.  I love seeing the
look of wonder and excitement in her eyes as I fit the different pieces of
her costume and the enthusiasm she has for it all coming together.

   She picked and I promised to make the costume.  It sort of made me proud
that she wanted to be Link instead of princess Zelda.  Her dad made her a
very cool sword out of some left over baseboard trim and metallic tape, the
handle fastened together with blue electrical tape; she loved it.  My job
was to sew a green suit.  My knowledge of video game characters being
pretty much nonexistent I had to rely on the internet, and my son's
reluctant tips, on how to get it just right.  Also, being years since I
sewed anything this had turned into a project of blood (needles and
fingers), sweat, and gruelling hours.  Of course, there was also a firm
deadline of October 31st.

   In the end it really paid off.  She was utterly adorable as her blonde
hair flopped out of her cap as she struggled to keep it under, I was
willing to go far but not to the point of drastic hair cutting.  She wasn't
allowed to bring her sword to school, so their was a bit of pouting, but a
few promises that she could use it in the night and off she went.

   The entire thing reminded me of how much fun these things can be, fun
that you lose sight of when it all becomes something else.  In high school
I would just pretend it wasn't happening because I really wasn't invited to
any of the parties and later it just became a sense of anxiety.  It was one
of those days that reminded me of some of my awkwardness, and even later
when I was invited to the parties they made me feel very uncomfortable and
out of place.  All these insecurities made me forget what it was all about.
That day I decided that I would dress up to take my daughter out; maybe
vicariously join her in the fantasy of the day.

   I had to work with what I had, which wasn't really all that much.  I had
a few older black dresses that I didn't mind mutilating.  I decided, given
the resources, that being a witch would be the most accessible.  I hadn't
dressed up since I was little, I figured at the very least my daughter
would prefer a costumed chaperone to a plain clothed reminder of the real
world.  I needed to make a loose fitting gown, but my ego wanted it to fit
in the right places.  I took my measurements, 32-28-40, I wanted a gown
that showed my hips off.  As I was letting out, and taking in, my mind
drifted to dirty thoughts about some of the dads having wicked thoughts
walking behind this witch.

   My sewing skills must have been in hibernation, because once I got into
it, the machine was pounding and the gown was looking spectacular. 
Something completely childish, and strange, always made me think about sex
when watching the needle of the sewing machine go up and down.  I laughed
to myself about the juvenile nature as I worked through my well deserved
day off my normal work.  I even made a totally awesome witches' hat out of
the cut fabric and the cardboard from some of my husband's shirts that I
kept.

   The costume was close to perfect, it hugged my waist just the way I
wanted, was loose around my chest but gave the impression that it could
fall open; it looked sexy.  Despite that, I couldn't help but think that
something was missing.  I got out a pair of high heels.  "Now we are
talking!" I said to myself as I strutted in front of the mirror.  My other
inside voice wondered if wearing these "fuck me" shoes to trick or treat
was the most mature thing to do.  I finally won this internal argument by
citing the spirit of the season, and the interest of being a bad girl,
after all I was becoming a witch here not trying to be myself.  In that, I
made up my mind to go all the way, I was going to change my hair to black.

   Dying my hair wasn't something that came naturally to me.  I didn't
really understand the first thing about it having never done it.  Living
vicariously can sometimes take of life of its own.  I wanted to jump in now
with both feet.  I've had a love-hate relationship with my hair my whole
life, but the relationship is a decidedly conservative one.  Growing up I
had long hair that was prone to frizz, the only thing that changed as I
grew up was how I managed it.  I never got into any crazy style and never
thought about changing the colour.  My natural colour really is quite nice
too, being a deep brown that gets lighter at the ends.  I didn't have any
dissatisfaction with my hair, I just wanted to complete my seasonal look.

   It was hard to convince myself that I had done it, looking into the
mirror to see jet black hair looking back at me.  It still sort of curled
at the end and looked just like my long hair, but just now it was black,
really black.  Unsurprisingly, my son, the first one to see it, didn't care
one bit.  I don't think he even noticed.  His mind was squarely on other
things, being six years older than his sister his intentions for the night
hopefully didn't culminate with a police report.  He was just getting his
stuff and then going to his friends house.  I'd already made my peace to
not get involved.  I made one parting speech, and then tried to distance
his nonsense from the rest of my night.  My daughter smiling and running
all the way from the bus to the place she left her sword was an easy, and
almost complete, remedy to his obvious trouble inducing intentions.

   "Mommy your hair!!" Lisa exclaimed as if the shock was almost too much
to take in.

   I smiled almost in embarrassment to the look of awe on her face.  It's
not like she was upset or anything, this just wasn't the mommy she knew. 
One thing is for certain, she was completely fascinated with this
incarnation of her mommy.  She stood under foot for the next half and hour
asking every question she could think of.  About the hair, about the dress,
the sparkle I added, and in the end the fun we were going to have.  It was
relieving to know that she absolutely loved my embrace of the day.  We
spent the rest of the afternoon craving the pumpkin, talking about how much
candy we would get, hair dye and dresses.

   We had to wait for her friends to get there.  I had offered to take a
few of her friends out and they only added to the general excitement. 
Usually I don't put up with that much, but this day I was just going to let
them squeal, yell and generally make noise in their anticipation.  The
other mothers were thanking me over the overwhelming noise of hyper
children, when I noticed the sort of disapproving look I got from one of
them.

   "Hope your shoes stay on." She said to me as she was leaving.

   "Excuse me?" I was taken back by the brashness of her comment.

   Undeterred and unembarrassed, she gave me a serious look and said, "I
think you know what I mean, I just hope you're wearing underwear"

   I was so offended that I was at a complete loss for words.  I couldn't
just send her daughter back with her but the thought did cross my mind. 
How could she be so rude?  I know I was having those thoughts when I was
putting the whole thing together, but I didn't think it was really on
display, I figured it was just my inner thoughts exaggerating the reality.
My offence soon gave way to embarrassment and I went upstairs to
re-evaluate my decisions as the kids spoke to each other in a language only
their understood.

   "Is it really that bad?" I said out loud looking at myself in the full
length bedroom mirror.

   I saw a witch looking back at me.  Maybe the heels were a little much,
but it was halloween, it's supposed to be a little sexy.  I liked how I
looked.  I was even proud of it.  Maybe she was just jealous.  I started to
get indignant in my mind, feeling that I still had to right to wear heels.
I didn't matter to me that part of me was doing it to get looks from men, I
figured that I was proud that I knew I would get them.  Snide comments from
other women were nothing new, just usually they weren't directly to my
face. I can even admit that I have said a few of my own when I felt a
jealous twinge about a woman's bust or something, but never to her face! 
Who did she think she was?  With that little pep talk I decided not to
change a thing; except I loosened the front a little just because I though
it looked better.

   My husband got home and expressed, likely, the right amount of shock
over my hair, Lisa laughed along with his dumbfounded amusement.  I took
the girls out while it was still light, following not too far behind.  I
noticed some of the sly looks from some of the men out with their kids and
got a mischievous feeling of self satisfaction from them.  I instinctively
angled my hips a little more suggestively with each bump to my ego.

   The girls achieved their objective and came away candy rich, Lisa
beaming with smiles from everyone loving her costume.  I gave her the sword
back that I was carrying, and the girls went inside to compare candy. 
Being a little kid tired, I offered to take over the candy handing out duty
from my husband, and he went in to supervise the girls to make sure their
candy was safe.  It was a comfortable fall evening, I enjoyed sitting
outside, every now and then giving some candy to the later coming kids.

   After a while the kids started to thin out, and I started to take more
notice of the houses around me.  Across the street, there was the
neighbour's son, Matthew, handing out candy from time to time and looking
like he was in an awful mood.  I knew that he went away for school last
year, but I didn't know he was back, he must have been 19 or 20.  He was
tall, and sort of lanky, not really filled out yet and had a slouch in his
walk, brown hair that was sort of purposely messy and some acne left from
his teens.  He looked rather sad so I went over to talk to him, just to ask
what was wrong.

   "What's wrong?  It's one of the biggest party days of the year and I'm
here giving out candy." Sounding familiar I had a bit of sympathy for his
plight.

   "You know my parents didn't even ask me if I had plans before they went
out, just told me to hand out candy." He continued as if he couldn't wait
to get this off his chest.

   "I don't care anyways, they're just years I will never get back."

   He went on and soon I felt like I invited myself to a pity party.  He
certainly was sulking and it was sort of starting to ruin my night.  I
really did feel bad for him, partly because I sympathized with a lot of
what he was saying and partly because it reminded me of my nights handing
out candy while my parents went out.  It really sucks when you think that
your parents are cooler than you at that age.  At the same time his whining
was pretty pathetic, I tried to let the first part of my empathy when the
day and give him someone to talk to.

   I tried to change the subject.  That wasn't happening, he was dead set
on being the most unfortunate boy in the world.  I asked him about what he
was doing for school and this was a big mistake.  It turned out that he was
sort of forced into taking a year off after some sort of mistake by his
parents in the loan application.  I was given all the details on that, and
while he should have been more active in making sure everything was in
order, I know I wasn't one to talk because I took care of none of that
stuff at his age.  He was working at a restaurant in the kitchen and hating
every minute of it.

   Matt obviously was having a pretty bad year, but the negativity was
starting to overwhelm me.  At the same time, I did notice the young man's
eyes wandering when I thought I wasn't looking.  The shy glances were
amusing to me coming from a guy more than 15 years younger than me.

   "You want to have a drink with me?" I asked him abruptly cutting off one
of his many complaints that night.

   "Drink what?" He responded throughly confused by the question.

   "Oh, I'm sure your parent have something, you keep going on about
everyone getting drunk tonight, so have a drink, maybe relax."

   "Yeah, I guess they have something that can be mixed."

   We walked into he kitchen and I sat on a stool beside the island in the
middle.  It soon became pretty obvious that Matt had no idea how to mix a
drink.  It was sort of funny in a cute way.  All at once I had a very dirty
idea and one that in time I would come to regret.

   "Sit down Matthew."

   "Err, why?"

   "Just sit down honey, and take your pants down, ok?"

   He was like a deer in headlights.  I gave him a sultry look, but he was
frozen in his place.  I'm really not completely sure why I did.  I wasn't
attracted to him and I didn't go over there with anything like that on my
mind.  A lot of it was sympathy, I wanted him to have a good night, just
something to remember.  I didn't really think it over long enough to think
of the implications and the fact that I was an older married woman.  Part
of the nastiness drew me to it.  We weren't going to have sex or anything,
I was just going to give him a blow-job.  I'd been having sexual thoughts
all day too, from my new look, to the comments and the looks that I'd been
getting.  I also figured it was no real harm.

   He sat down on the chair, but made no motion to take his pants down.  I
helped him start the process as I crouched in front of him.  His cock
seemed to flop out of his underwear, fully ridged and hard.  Whatever his
apprehension was to make any move, his cock wasn't sharing the same
reservation.  I took it in my right hand, put it in my mouth and started to
bob up and down on it.  His whole body was tense, he was holding the chair
with both hands with a grip that looked like it was going to leave an
impression.

   In less than 30 seconds.........."ahhhhh ahhhhh ahhhh...urrrrgh"

   He gave me no warning so it hit the back of my throat with a bit of
force, I took it out as Matt continued to cum.  This was a really big load
of cum and I used my hand to help relieve the whole thing.  His entire body
went limp in the chair, except for his cock, which was still semi ridged.
His face had the look of complete satisfaction and I returned my attention
to his twitching penis.  I kissed the head, it was still leaking with cum,
I used my tongue to spread it around the sensitive part.  He recoiled from
the sensitivity that some men get after a release, I didn't let him off
that easy and did some more swirls with my tongue.  I finished the blow-job
with a nice kiss to the tip of his penis.

   "What was that thing......that thing....the thing you did at the end?"
He almost exhaled the words.

   "That was just my little specialty, I know how sensitive it can be after
so I give it a little tease." I was smiling looking up at him.

   Most of the cum was on him, although some did hit me in the chin.  I
went to get the paper towel from the counter to wipe it up.

   "Do any of the girls do that?"

   "errr"

   I noticed from the look on his face that I just probably gave him his
first blow-job.

   "Oh I'm sorry, I shouldn't have." All at once I felt like a dirty old
woman stealing something that should have been special.  Although my
"victim" didn't seem all that upset about the matter.

   "No, no!  It was wonderful, please don't be sorry, it was amazing, I've
never felt anything like it, I'm sorry I was so quick." His whole demeanour
had changed and he couldn't get the satisfied look off his face.

   "Was it........you know......your first?"

   "Yeah, but it was the best thing ever, thanks Mrs......"

   I cut him off, "just call me Michelle honey, my surname is a little
formal after that." I said it laughing and feeling a bit of humour in what
I did.

   It really was a morally awful thing to do, but I didn't feel bad about
it.  I felt more like it was a harmless little blow-job, hardly long enough
to qualify as one.  I suppose it wasn't that bad I thought to myself.  It
was reckless and pretty thoughtless on my end but it did seem to make his
night.  He still hadn't pulled his pants up and his body seemed to be
draped over the chair.

   "Well, I better get out of here before your parents get back." I said in
a winking tone.

   It was in some ways the perfect crime.  I hadn't even been over their 15
minutes in total, it happened so quick that nobody even realized that I
wasn't in front of the house.  I struggled with my balance a little bit on
the walk home as my heels suddenly became hard to walk in as I amused
myself with the depravity of my exploit.  When I got the light in the front
of our house I looked down and saw a long rope of cum that must have
dripped from my chin onto my dress.  I rubbed it into the black fabric, it
felt cold and sticky.  I was so light headed that I almost walked in with
something that would have been hard to explain, luckily I caught it before
anyone else.

   The kids were all sleeping in front of the TV.  Their slumber party was
heavily leaning to the slumber side after all the excitement.  I went
upstairs to brush my teeth and get out of the stained gown.  Looking in the
mirror I was almost out of touch with the woman staring back.  My look had
changed, but there was more, something in my eyes that seemed foreign to
me. If someone told me about someone doing what I just did, I would have
been horrified and completely judgemental.  Yet there I was and I wasn't
shedding any tears, I felt almost high from the moral bankruptcy that I
hit. I looked in the mirror and my disheveled black hair and naughty eyes
and couldn't stop smiling about it.

   I left the washroom feeling completely horny.  I texted my husband two
words, "Fuck me" he wasted no time getting to the bedroom.  I didn't want
to waste any time with anything else, I jumped on the bed on all fours, he
got behind me, grabbed my hips and gave me what I asked for.  After he came
on my back, I collapsed on the mattress and him on top of me.

   "Michelle, you need to change your hair more often." He said while
trying to catch his breath.

   It was just in time too, as our son was just making it back home, and
without a police escort.

   "Honey, can you go down and ask him what he did?  I don't feel like
moving."

   Alone in the bed I felt so alive and dangerous.  Whatever led me to this
spot had just ignited a reckless and calming feeling.  I felt very free in
the moment.  I justified my mood by thinking that it was ok and nobody got
hurt.  It wasn't like I was considering having an affair with the boy next
door.  I just made his night, he never even touched me, well not with his
hands at least.  The only thing I kissed of his was his penis.  I told
myself that this was a bit of mischief, not an argument of my heart.  I
felt no actual emotions for Matthew, I wasn't even attracted to him. 
Although I didn't allow myself to admit that he had a nice hard penis and
more cum than I had seen in a long time.  All these thoughts were dancing
in my head as I drifted off to sleep.

   When I got up it felt almost like nothing had happened and life would
just go on.  I left the house for when the mothers came to pick up their
daughters.  I wasn't in a confrontational mood and part of me was also
embarrassed by the accuracy of her sentiment.  In any event, I didn't give
the entire night that much thought outside of that.  It didn't change me as
a person, it more felt like a brief step outside myself, in a way I got the
real halloween experience.  That year I was a nasty and naughty witch.

   The next weekend I skipped my usual Sunday trip to the gym and decided
to clean up a bit at home and cook for the family.  Most weekends my
husband and me split the kids to give ourselves some alone time.  We both
value that sort of thing and the kids having lessons or activities gives us
a chance to have a bit of time to ourselves as the other one does the
driving or activity with the kids.  I was lost singing along with the music
I was playing, cleaning the kitchen and at the same time counting my
ingredients when there was a knock on the side door.

   The kitchen in toward the back of the house, the side door is almost at
the back of the house and it opens to the kitchen.  Nobody really uses it
except the kids coming home from school for some reason so the knock sort
of threw me off.  My stomach sank as I realized it was Matthew.

   This is not something that I wanted to have to deal with, but life sort
of has a way of paying me back for my misdeeds.  As I would come to know,
this time it was going to pay me back a lot.  Really I was just hoping that
he would see it like I did, something nice, but a one time thing and not
something that would be carrying on.  I didn't want to have to tell him and
see the disappointment but it was pretty clear that I didn't really have a
choice.

   "What are you doing here Matthew?" I tried to keep as detached a voice
as I could.

   "I don't know, I saw them leave and I came over." His eyes were darting
every which way, he was clearly a ball of nervous energy.

   "You can't come over here you know?"

   "Oh come on, just open door." His eyes almost begging.

   I knew that nothing was going to happen and I really didn't want my
neighbour to notice me having a long conversation with the boy across the
street.  Part of me also knew that I did in fact owe him an explanation. 
After all, I was the adult and I was the one that initiated the whole thing
and in the process somewhat initiated him sexually.  I couldn't just raise
my shields and shun him, I had to talk with him and then maybe he would
understand.

   "Matthew, I know we did something last week." I had no idea how to start
this or what to say, I didn't even want to use the terms for what happened.


   He just burst out talking, "Yeah Michelle, and I loved it, I want to do
it again, I swear I won't tell anyone."

   "Matthew, it's not about that, and I think it's better if we are back to
Mrs.  again." Implying that my status as a married woman very much hadn't
changed and wasn't about it.

   "Don't you like me?" His eyes screamed rejection.

   I felt jus awful and I tried to think of the softest way to tell him and
not make him feel rejected.  This was all my fault and I didn't want to
make it even worse.

   "Matthew," in my most maternal voice, "I do like you and what we did was
special but it was special in it's uniqueness." I thought I was off to a
pretty good start.

   "You know that I'm married and can't be doing that all the time, it's
just something that was nice for both of us but we don't want to ruin it."

   I continued in this way, it seemed to be pacifying him.  His eyes
avoided my gaze, but at least he wasn't looking me dead on with the
completely rejected look.  I was trying to tell him that it wasn't about
rejection, tried to make a few jokes about how much older I was and threw
in some compliments that would perhaps let him leave with his ego still in
tact.  All in all it seemed to work, eventually he left, left with slumped
shoulders and still disappointed but there wasn't much else I could do.

   Once he was gone, I felt like the worst person ever.  The gravity of
what I did was plain as day.  I wasn't just making someone feel better, I
was sending messages that I should have never been sending, to someone that
couldn't have been mature enough to receive them.  He couldn't possibly
think that I was going to be his on call blow job giver, but that was
exactly what he thought.  He wasn't mature in the ways of sexuality among
adults, or aware of women like me.  Yep women like me, I had crossed over
to a dark corner and I was despaired to say that I even had a victim.

   It didn't stop there.  I thought that at the very least he understood
the problem.  He kept watching me, I could see him from the upper window or
their house, sometimes he would hide and other times he just looked dead
on. The guilt was starting to give me a cold demeanour and I wasn't giving
him soft looks.  A cold December morning I saw an envelope on the front
seat of my car when I was going to work.  Inside was a letter, it was a
three page hand written love letter.  I could barely read it all as it went
back in forth pleas and exclamations of true love.  I was everything he
ever wanted, the perfect woman, the very expression of his soul.  He wanted
to make love to me and share the closeness of being one person.  I knew
that I really fucked up this time.

   It was really bad.  I figured the only way to handle this was to ignore
it.  It would stop if I didn't fuel it, it just had to.  I was also scared
about what I just might say to him, the sympathy was gone by this point, he
was being obsessive and completely creepy.  We didn't even know each other,
he was calling us soul mates and writing about our life together.  I really
was past the point of crazy.

   More letters followed.  Dark letters about being shunned by his true
love.  They also started to take an angry tone.  This was pretty
disturbing, I couldn't do anything expect be disturbed though.  Who was I
going to tell?  I couldn't tell anyone because of what I did.  In essence
this was my fault, if I didn't do what I did then this would never have
happened.  By this point if it were something trivial I would have taken
the heat and admitted it, but it wasn't trivial I had cheated on my
husband. Cheated with a boy nonetheless, it was completely embarrassing, I
couldn't face my husband, I couldn't face his mother.  I destroyed every
one of his letters as to leave no evidence.  I was really stuck, I couldn't
give into him and I couldn't seem to stop his obsession which really seemed
to be getting worse.

   A very cold day in February came the letter that would turn bad to much
worse.

   I know you hate me and I don't care I don't care about anything anymore
my life couldn't get any worse and you are the cause.  Well now you are
going to pay and you are going to give me what I want and I want it all. 
Im not messing around the next letter will be to your husband and I'm not
messing around.  There's nothing more for me to lose in this world so I'm
just going to take.  I will tell what we did and I don't care I will tell
unless you give me what I want.  Tell me when their gone tell me when to
come and then this doesn't have to happen but I will tell I swear I will
tell.  I want it all and that mean everything you have five days to answer.
Leave you response in your car at night and the door unlocked since you
loath so much to talk to me.

   I sat silently in the car trying to formulate my thoughts.  I was being
blackmailed.  This little fucking boy was blackmailing me!  Who the fuck
did he think he was?  I felt sort of sorry for him before but now I just
hated this obsessive and utterly disturbed boy.  I was going through my
enraged thoughts and as if struggling for air.  Then the solution hit me
all at once: There was no evidence of anything, I would just say he's a
psychopath and that would be that.  My husband would never believe this
crap and he has absolutely no proof.  I wasn't going to write this in a
letter but I was willing to say it to this little shit's face.  This time I
would enjoy to look of disappointment when he realized he had nothing over
me.

   I thought about it all day, I wanted to make sure not to fall into any
traps.  I would tell him without ever making reference to the actual
incident.  If he tried to tape me saying something incriminating I wouldn't
fall for it.  All of my words would be carefully chosen for as much impact
as I could have and to hopefully rid myself of this.  I paid enough for my
actions, this blackmail was over the line.  He was now playing a dangerous
game and he didn't hold all the cards.  I would say he is blackmailing me
with lies, if he didn't stop I would go directly to the cops.  This was one
letter I kept.

   I typed a very short response and left it in the car.  I told him a
public place to meet me and discuss this.  I didn't bait him and I didn't
tell him anything about what I was thinking.  We met at a food court in a
mall at a non-busy time.  For me, there would be enough tables with nobody
around and security guards if he tried anything violent.  At this point I
wasn't making any assumptions about what he would or wouldn't do.  Being
blackmailed had really shaken me but I wasn't about to fall over for him.

   I talked and he listened, his bravado that he displayed in his letters
was all but gone from his physical being.  This was my blackmailer, a thin
and lanky boy who I wasn't even sure could over power me physically;
something that wouldn't take that much strength to do.  It was pathetic and
I was meant to put him in his place.  I avoided any actual mention of the
truth of his accusations, just calling him lies with a knowing look.  I was
just about done and ready to conclude this meeting when he spoke up with
almost a cracked voice.

   "If this is such a lie..........how is your husband going to take it
when I tell him about your "speciality".............how you kiss the head
and swirl your tongue........" He just about trailed of with a timid look
of satisfaction in his eyes waiting for my reaction.

   I think I turned white on the spot.  My carefully chosen words were no
longer any help to me.  He was right, that was the usual way I ended a
blowjob, I'd done if for my husband 1000s of times, there was no mistaking
it.

   "No.........don't................you can't." I was defeated in that
moment.

   "You now have three days." He said this with piercing eyes, he could see
me crumble in front of him and he knew that he had a detail I couldn't
refute.

   I didn't leave the mall until it closed.  I sat blank stared and
immobilized with what can only be called fear.  I had nothing I could do.
If I only had to face my husband and had he been older I would have
admitted to the whole thing.  Under these circumstances, I saw my picture
in the paper, I saw women like my daughter's friend's mom whispering, I saw
every horrible outcome that there was.  This was worse than being a bad
wife, this was being a bad person.  Sure I could prove that he was
blackmailing me, but at what cost.  Matthew was certainly playing a high
stakes game and he was willing to gamble.

   I had to take his threats seriously to tell my husband.  He had shown
the willingness to be brash and demonstrated that in his mind he had
nothing to lose.  I tried to stall for time, I asked for another meeting
and explained that the house wouldn't be empty for a while.  He wasn't
buying it, not the man who had been watching my house for months, he knew
our patterns better than we did.  I tried to plead to his sympathy, but he
had none of that either.  Finally I resigned to what I had to, told him
that next Sunday he could come to the back door at 10:00 in the morning and
I would let him in.  He was going to win, I felt like I had no choice, I
wasn't willing to pay the same price to avoid it that he was willing to get
it.

   I spent the rest of the week as a zombie.  By blackmailing me he had
stolen my willpower.  It was the complete opposite of the carefree and
light feeling I had that night, this was heavy and oppressive.  I started
to think that maybe he wouldn't go through with it, he was just a kid, he
couldn't be this evil.

   When Sunday did come so did he, right on the minute he was there; 10:00.
I was watching the clock and apparently so was he.  Nobody would be home
until evening.  If I was going to pay his price it would be now.  I only
had one more thing to say to him.

   "Once this is done, this is it, I've kept your letters and I will go to
the police.  I will be forced to accept my humiliation and let you ruin my
life.  I can't be your slave, but I will pay the price."

   He was unmoved by my last attempt to make him see the gravity of what he
was about to do to me.  At the same time he seemed less than in control of
the situation.  He looked timid, he looked afraid really, but part of him
must have been determined.

   "I want you to go upstairs"

   "And just what do you want?  At least say it once." I fumed back at him.


   He once again looked like a deer in headlight and he stumbled with his
words, "I wanttttt..  I wannn...I want you to go upstairs."

   He was scared but his eyes looked angry.  I started to realize that he
wasn't really having that much fun doing this.  He was doing it, but he had
no idea how to and he was loathing himself for doing it.  His mind was
completely deranged and this was a manifestation of it.  I didn't move from
my spot until he shouted in frustration.

   "GO UPSTAIRS!"

   I just wanted it over with, "Can it just happen here?"

   "No," he was almost pouting now, "on a bed."

   "Please no?" I pleaded with him, "don't fuck me on my bed"

   That was the first time that either one of us used the world that we
both new was involved here.  At least it was out there now, that is what he
came to do and we both knew it.  I looked him in the eyes to try to read
any sense of withdrawal, any sense of sympathy, but I didn't find any.  He
was timid but cold and it was a cold determination.

   "Go upstairs!" He pointed, still too intimidated to touch me.

   I relented and went to the bedroom, him following not that far behind.

   "Take off your clothes." His teeth were almost grinding and his eyes
were empty.

   I stripped down to my panties and stood in front of him.  The cool
morning sunshine lingered in the rooms sending shadows across the room. 
Everything looked still and in a way peaceful.  I didn't feel embarrassed
being naked in front of him.  He hadn't removed any of his clothing yet, he
was still wearing a winter jacket.  This was a bizarre twist of roles, my
attacker was like a determined mouse who somehow killed a cat and was
trying to figure out what to do with it.

   "You're......panties.." He nearly signed this under his breath as his
breathing was becoming laboured.

   I did as I was told and stood in the same way completely naked now.

   "On......the.....bed..." His commands were reduced to syllables now.

   I went on the bed and layed on my back.  This bizarre episode just kept
getting weirder.

   "Cl...ose.....you...r....e...yes"

   I closed my eyes and heard his clothes coming off.  My extortionist was
actually shy for me to see him naked.  He settled between my legs I could
feel his shirt on my chest as he looked for where to put his hands.  He was
clearly naked from the waist down as I felt his penis looking for a place
to enter.  His one hand settled beside my head and I opened my eyes to look
up at him.  This whole thing felt so mechanical, with no warmth of love
making, we were naked on the bed but we were strangers.

   "Just go slow, it's ok." As the universe turned upside down I was
reassuring him.

   It all just felt so out of place.  Nothing really made any sense.  I
couldn't believe that this was my rapist.

   "I want......you to............llike it..." He looked completely scared
in that moment.

   I couldn't believe what I was hearing.  He was asking me to like it.  I
remembered that he had never done it before and that sexuality can break
down shields and expose weakness in ways that words and looks just can't. I
was overcome with confusion, confusion that I felt like I understood him in
that moment.

   "It's ok, we will get it right." With that I promised to be complicit in
his initiation and that seemed to ease his fears.

   I felt the head push in first and he held it there for a while before
all in one motion plunging the rest down hard almost collapsing on top of
me.

   "Errrrhhgggg"

   "Are you ok?" It was almost cute if it wasn't so messed up, my rapist
was actually worried if I was ok.

   "Yeah, I'm finnne..." I assured him.

   He pulled it out half and then back in really deep.

   "Ah ah ah ah." I let my breath out in sharp sounds.

   "Are you ok?" he asked again

   "Yeah, just ..........getting fucked" I said exhaling.

   At that moment, he pulled it out and came all over my belly and chest.
He was breathing hard and apologizing profusely.

   "I just couldn't hold it...........are you ok?..................was it
ok?"

   "Just take a break, catch your breath." I tried to calm him down a
little.

   He sat beside me on the bed looking down at me when I looked away and
looking away when I caught his gaze.

   After only about a minute, he said, "I'm ready again." I wasn't
completely surprised.

   We never really talked about when this was over, but I think we came to
some sort of understanding when we got on the bed.  He was back in and
completely hard once again.  He was able to control it a little better this
time.  I helped him get his armed under me so he could wrap them around my
shoulders for leverage.

   What started out clumsy was starting to gain some rhythm, he went slowly
but measured his trusts to sync with my breath.  His stiff and rigid body
even started to relax into it.  I could feel confidence building as he
worked his cock in and out of me.  He fumbled as he took his shirt off but
for the first time he seemed to be having fun.  He wasn't asking if I was
ok anymore, he seemed to sense that my body was responding to his repeated
advance and withdraw.

   "Fuck me.............hard." I managed to say through the grunting and
heavy breathing of this to this point slow affair.

   He took it from there and took a more aggressive potion on top of me,
pinning my legs beside my ears.  His lust was so pure, so demented and so
focused on me.  I was almost impossible for me not to get turned on by
that, in my twisted mind those things all turned me on.  I didn't want him
in me, I didn't want him on my bed and there I was welcoming the intrusion
with ecstasy.  Nevertheless my orgasm took me by surprise, it was a
culmination of the mechanical emotions turning to lust.  He took no notice
of what just happened and continued to fuck me like I was all that mattered
in the world.

   "You just made me cummmm" I managed to tell him.

   "ahhhhhhhhhhhhh....ooommmgnn.........cummmmming..."

   "Please take it out!!!" I said in desperation.

   He listened to this plea and took it out and shot more on me, this time
hitting my chin and neck.  He didn't seem bothered by the formality of
asking me if it was ok to cum there.

   We were both out of breath, and he almost fell on top of me.  "Oh God"
were the only words he could utter.  We didn't speak to each other for some
time.  I think we were both trying to register what just happened.  He had
just finished playing with every emotion I had, from sympathy to loathing,
from utter hatred to complete ecstasy.

   He brushed my black hair from in front of my face and looked me straight
in the eyes.  This was something he was not completely able to do until
this point.  He was sitting up with one arm draped over me and I could tell
he was savouring this victory.

   "Are we done now?" I said as if to remind him of the circumstances that
led to this tryst.

   He nodded and stood up.  His composure had changed and he made no
attempts to cover his naked body.  He didn't look any different, but at the
same time he didn't look like a boy to me anymore.  However it came to what
it came to, we were the most unlikely of partners, but the intensity of the
affair made it something I knew I would never forget.  I had to trust that
he would respect our agreement and leave it here and for some reason that I
don't understand I had complete faith in that.
   Mich