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Archive name: the-note.txt (MMF, reluc, blkmail)
Authors name: Spookee (spookee67@yahoo.com)
Story title : The Note

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This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 2001.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
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The Note (MMF, reluc, blkmail)
By Spookee (spookee67@yahoo.com)

***

This is a blackmail story. I've always wanted to write 
such a story so I decided to go for it.

*** 
 
A chill went down my spine as I read the anonymous note 
that accompanied the pictures.
 
You wouldn't want the school board to see these, would 
you Pammy? Or your husband? If you do not do exactly as 
I say, they will see these and more! I have quite a 
collection, some even worse than these. Your 
instructions will be forthcoming. When you receive your 
instructions you will obey them to the letter or your 
marriage and career will be over! Think about it, Pammy.
 
Pammy? No one had called me Pammy for years, not since 
college. Who could this person be? Someone who knew me 
in those days? Someone I worked with at the school? My 
mind was buzzing.
 
All afternoon I did my best not to think about the note 
or the pictures but it was just impossible. Who sent 
them? What did they want? Money? No, it couldn't be 
money. Mark and I earned a decent living, but that was 
all. We had a few thousand in savings and the mutual 
funds, but it certainly wasn't much. Not enough for 
blackmail anyway. So what was it? Someone who just 
wanted to embarrass me? Or destroy my life? 

Yes, I thought, I had somehow made an enemy and now that 
person was out to get me and they were going to use 
these pictures to do it. They were going to ruin my 
career and possibly even my marriage. But who could hate 
me enough to do that? And what could I have done to 
them?
 
By the time Mark got home from work I was a mess. I had 
been crying most of the afternoon and although I tried 
to hold it together in front of my husband, he could 
tell something was wrong.
 
"What's the matter Honey?" he asked.
 
"Oh, um, nothing. Dad's sick again." I lied. My father 
had not been feeling well on and off for the last year 
or so. It was an easy lie.
 
"Well, I'm sorry Dear. Should we go see him?"
 
"NO! -er, I mean, no, there's no need. Mom has things 
under control. She'll call if she needs us."
 
"Okay Pam. I'll tell you what, why don't we go out to 
eat tonight? It'll take you mind off things and you 
don't look like you feel like cooking."
 
He was being nice; usually I had dinner ready by this 
time. It was just like him to do something like that. He 
was always so wonderful to me.
 
"That's nice of you Mark, but I really don't feel up to 
it. If you want to go that's okay. I really couldn't."
 
"Well, alright. I'll be back in a few hours. I might go 
to the Inn to catch the game afterward." 
 
"Sure, Mark, I'll be fine." 
 
After Mark left I tried to put it all out of my mind. I 
concentrated on grading the papers from my 11th grade 
English class, but my mind kept wandering back to the 
note and those awful pictures. I took the letter out 
from where I had hidden it earlier and read it again. I 
have quite a collection... it said. I looked at the 
pictures and remembered where and when they were from. 
Some even worse than these... Oh God, how could they be 
worse? 
 
The pictures were of me, of course, back when I was a 
freshman in college, and showed me having sex with three 
members of the football team. There were shots of me on 
my knees sucking their cocks, on my back with one of 
them fucking me, and even one showing me with cum on my 
face. The pictures weren't of very good quality, but you 
could obviously tell it was me. One thing was for sure; 
I couldn't let anyone see these pictures. I would do 
whatever it would take to get them back. 
 
I kept going through the pictures, from one to the next, 
to the next, to the next, and I realized that something 
had changed. The shame and anger I had been feeling all 
day long was giving way to something else. Oh I was 
still mad, mind you, but there was another feeling as 
well. It started as just a tingle but soon my nipples 
had hardened and I felt myself getting hot. As I stared 
at one of the photos that showed me sucking a big cock 
with a blissful look on my face, I felt my panties 
getting damp. Oh God, how could I be excited by this? I 
was being blackmailed and my job and marriage were in 
jeopardy and here I was getting hot over pictures sent 
by the blackmailer! 
 
Still I could not deny the effect that the pictures were 
having on me. My nipples were stiff and my panties were 
drenched. One by one I looked at the pictures and I felt 
myself getting hotter and wetter. I remembered the day 
that the pictures were taken and the feeling of being 
controlled by those boys. Had I enjoyed it so much? No, 
that part of my life was over, I told myself. I have a 
wonderful husband and I don't need that sort of thing 
anymore. I am a mature woman with a career. I'm a good 
wife and a great teacher. I won't let these memories 
confuse me. I was young and made some mistakes back 
then. And I was just experimenting with sex, as all 
young people do.
 
As I tried to reassure my mind with these thoughts, my 
body was betraying me. My left hand had found my right 
nipple and my right hand was fumbling with the buttons 
of my jeans. I squeezed my nipple and it was as if an 
electric shock went though me straight to my wet pussy. 
I slid my jeans off and removed my blouse and bra, 
carelessly throwing them on the floor.

As if I was possessed, I stood-up and viewed myself in 
the full-length mirror. I still looked just as good as 
the college girl in the pictures, not bad for a twenty-
nine year old woman. My dark hair was shorter now, but 
my breasts were still as perky as ever. And if anything 
my belly was flatter now, thanks to many hours at the 
health club. As I watched myself in the mirror, I slid 
my hand into my soaked panties and began slowly circling 
my clit. My God I was hot! There was no stopping now.
 
It was then that I got an idea. I went to the nightstand 
and got out my pink vibrator. It was a big latex model 
that I bought on the Internet. I pulled the bed close to 
the wall, slid my wet panties off and laid down the bed 
with my feet resting against the wall on opposite sides 
of the mirror. This way I could watch myself as I played 
with my hot pussy. The vibrator hummed wickedly in my 
hand and I shivered as I slowly brought it across my 
hard nipples, down over my stomach and into my hot hole.

Usually it took a while to work the vibe into me because 
of its size but I was so wet it slid in almost 
effortlessly. I watched myself as I began pushing it in 
and out of my steamy pussy and began imagining that it 
was the boys from the pictures that were fucking me 
instead of the vibe. I remembered the awful things they 
said, calling me slut and whore, and the terrible things 
they made me do. 

Then I remembered how much I had gotten off on it, doing 
those things, hearing them call me those names, and the 
small fire that had begun in the pit of my belly grew 
and grew. By now I was ramming the vibe deep inside me 
with one hand while the other was furiously strumming my 
clit.
 
"Fuck me! Oh yes, fuck me!" I shouted to the boys who 
weren't there.
 
"We'll fuck you slut, hard and good. Just like a whore 
like you likes it!" I imagined them saying.
 
"Hard and good" I babbled, "Fuck me hard and good!" It 
became a mantra.
 
I became aware of the orgasm welling up deep inside me 
as I pounded the vibrator harder and harder.
 
"Fuck... Me... Hard... And... Good!" I spat with each 
stroke.
 
"Fuck... Me... Haraaaahhh! I sang as the orgasm ripped 
through me.
 
Wave after wave of pure pleasure washed over me as my 
pussy spasmed around the fake cock. My feet kicked and 
knocked the mirror off the wall while my eyes rolled 
back into my head as I came hard. Tears formed in my 
eyes as the convulsions tapered off. Never had I cum so 
hard, not since college anyway. It took me a long time 
to come back down to earth.
 
When Mark Dodson finished eating he drove to the Inn to 
watch the football game. As he walked in he noticed 
Peter Sloan sitting at the bar drinking a beer, watching 
the game intently. Mark had known Peter since college 
and although they worked for competing firms they were 
still friends and even sometimes threw some business 
each other's way.
 
"Hey Pete, how's it hanging? Can I buy you one?" Mark 
greeted him.
 
"Sure Mark, that is, if you can afford it after losing 
the Nicholson contract to us?" Peter teased.
 
"Well Pete my boy, that hurts, it really does." Said 
Mark, taking mock offense. "I guess we did drop the ball 
on that one, but we've got other things in the works."
 
"Oh yeah?" said Peter, his curiosity aroused. "Like 
what?"
 
"Nothing you won't find out about soon enough Pete, but 
listen, if I'm right, there may be some side business I 
could let you in on."
 
"Now your talking Mark. Clue me in when you know more."
 
"I will Pete, now how about those beers?"
 
As Mark went to the end of the bar to order, Peter Sloan 
thought about their relationship. They had been friends 
in college but they had also been fierce competitors. 
They took a lot of the same classes, both being business 
majors, and it seemed Mark had always bested him. If 
Peter got 97% on a test, Mark would score 98%. When 
Peter would show up with a hot date on his arm, Mark 
would find an even nicer looking one. Mark had even 
dated and eventually married Pam Miller, a girl whom 
Peter had tried to woo but had rejected him on several 
occasions. After college, the two men had hoped to work 
together at the same firm, but the prestigious firm that 
hired Mark had turned Peters application down cold.
 
 All of this caused Peter to harbor a deep resentment 
toward Mark. Small victories like winning the Nicholson 
contract helped Peter feel a little better, but deep 
down he knew Mark would always get the really big 
scores, just as he had with Pam Miller. Just thinking of 
Mark slamming it home to that hot piece of ass made the 
jealousy bubble up inside him.
 
"I'd really like to rub his nose in it just once." 
Thought Peter to himself. "If I could only think of a 
way to get him good."
 
Mark returned with the beers and the two men sat 
drinking and watching the game, but Mark could scarcely 
concentrate. He had a lot on his mind, especially the 
note and pictures he had sent to his wife.
 
When Mark had first seen the pictures of Pam in the 
porno shop he tried to convince himself it wasn't his 
wife. Sure it looked a lot like her, but the girl in the 
pictures was younger and her hair was styled 
differently. The pictures weren't very good quality 
anyway, black and white and a little out of focus. It 
wasn't until he noticed the mole on her hip and the 
wreath tattoo around her ankle that he was sure. It was 
Pam all right, but how? When? The pictures had to have 
been taken years ago, he told himself, before we were 
married, probably before we even met.

He had heard some wild stories about Pam in college from 
some of the guys on campus, but once they started dating 
she had behaved only like a proper lady. He thought it 
had been just talk. But now as he stared at the pictures 
of his wife doing unspeakable things he knew the stories 
were true. He could hardly contain his anger as he paid 
for the pictures and quickly left the shop.
 
"How could she do those things?" he asked himself as he 
drove home that evening, "And how could she let them 
take photographs?" 
 
By the time Mark arrived home that night he was a wreck. 
He thought about confronting Pam with the pictures, but 
decided against it. For one thing, he didn't know if 
there was an explanation behind the pictures, and for 
another, he really did love Pam and didn't want to fight 
with her. He was very confused. Mark sat in the driveway 
for a few minutes to collect himself and it was while he 
was sitting in the car that he came up with the idea of 
sending the note to his wife. 
 
The idea was for Mark to send the note to Pam, let her 
sweat it out for a few days and then when she told him 
about it, confess to her that he had sent the note. He 
thought that would teach her a good lesson about 
honesty, since she had never told him about the 
pictures. And later, when they both confessed and were 
even, he would lovingly coax the whole story out of her. 
Afterwards, of course, he would forgive her, but for 
right now it would be fun to see her squirm a while.
 
Now, as he sat in the bar drinking with Peter Sloan, a 
week after he had first seen the pictures, Mark began to 
regret sending the note. She had seemed really shaken, 
Mark thought, perhaps it was a little too cruel. Maybe 
he would tell her about it tonight instead of waiting.
 
"Listen Pete," Mark said, "I really should be getting 
home. Pam's waiting on me and I do have a lot of work to 
do before my meeting tomorrow." He had made up his mind 
and was going to tell her about the note and pictures.
 
"Okay Mark, give me a call about this deal when you know 
something."
 
"I will Pete," Mark said, pulling on his jacket.
 
When Mark got home from the Inn he found his wife Pam in 
the bedroom changing the sheets on the bed. Incense was 
burning on the nightstand and the room smelled musky. 
The full-length mirror was not hanging on the wall, but 
was propped up in the corner with a slight crack at the 
bottom.
 
"Hi Baby, what happened to the mirror?" asked Mark. Was 
it his imagination, or did Pam jump a little?
 
"Oh, hi Mark." Said Pam. She could feel the heat in her 
cheeks and wondered if her husband could see it. "I, ah, 
knocked the mirror while I was cleaning up in here. I 
hope you're not angry." Pam's face turned crimson with 
the lie. "How was the game?"
 
"The game? Oh yeah, it was okay, and no I'm not angry 
about the mirror. Just be more careful next time." 
 
"Yes Honey." Replied Pam as Mark walked out of the room 
and went downstairs.
 
Downstairs in his office Mark pondered his brides' 
behavior. He had been all set to tell Pam about sending 
the note when he got home, but now he wasn't sure. She 
had obviously been lying when she told him about the 
mirror, he could see it in her face. Maybe that wasn't 
all she had lied about over the years. She certainly 
hadn't told him about the pictures, and now he thought 
that maybe there was more about her he didn't know, 
other secrets his wife had kept from him. He decided he 
would wait, at least for a while, to see if she would 
say anything. 
 
She didn't. All week long Pam went to work and did her 
best to act as if nothing had happened. Mark had been 
sure his wife would confess her sins to him, but he had 
been wrong. And besides from appearing a little 
distracted at times she, seemed like the same-old Pam. 
This confused Mark Dodson to no end. Why hadn't she said 
anything? Would she tell him about the note, and her 
past? And what would he do if she didn't tell him? 
Confront her? He didn't quite know what to do...
 
These were the thoughts running through Marks head on 
Friday as he finished his fourth scotch and water in the 
booth at the Inn. He barely noticed when Peter Sloan 
slid into the booth next to him.
 
"The hard stuff, huh?" said Peter, "Bad day at the 
office?"
 
"Hey Pete, ...no. Bad week is more like it. Listen Pete, 
I've got a lot on my mind so..."
 
"Ah", said Peter Sloan, "Wife trouble. You should have 
stayed single like me. Less to worry about."
 
"And less to come home to."
 
"That's where you're wrong, Mark ol'boy. I do just fine, 
and with no headaches. Look at you. You look like the 
world's done you wrong." Peter was kind of enjoying 
this.
 
"Not the world, Pete, just Pam." There, he'd said it. 
And for the next twenty minutes he kept on saying it, 
telling Peter Sloan the whole story of his shock over 
finding the pictures, sending the note and his not 
knowing what to make of Pam's non-reaction. He even told 
Peter about his suspicion that he had barely missed 
walking in on Pam masturbating that night. He just had 
to tell someone and Pete was one of his best friends. He 
ended by saying, "What do you think I should do Pete?"
 
"Jesus Mark! Whatever you do don't tell her you sent the 
note, not after letting her stew for a week."
 
"But why didn't she say anything?" said Mark.
 
"Look Mark, she didn't say anything because she's 
scared, scared that someone is out to ruin her life. She 
did some things in the past that she's not proud of and 
she doesn't want them to get out. She's probably hoping 
this will all just go away, that someone was just 
messing with her. And after a week of hearing nothing 
she's probably convinced herself of that and is 
beginning to relax. But if you tell her now that it was 
you who sent the note she'll never forgive you for 
putting her through all this. My advice is to never 
mention it again." 
 
"I guess you're right," said Mark, "I thought it would 
be fun to toy with her a little, but now I'm just sorry 
I ever sent the note. I'll just forget the whole thing. 
Thanks Pete, let me buy you a drink." No, thank you, 
thought Peter, thank you very much!
 
I had been walking on eggshells the entire week waiting 
for another note to appear in the mailbox, but by Friday 
nothing had arrived and I was beginning to feel better. 
Mark had gone to the Inn and I was home alone thinking 
about what the note had said. Maybe there would be no 
instructions forthcoming. Maybe someone was just trying 
to make me sweat. Maybe this would all just go away. I 
certainly hoped so. I was busy grading papers when the 
phone rang.
 
"Hi Pam it's Peter, is Mark there?"
 
"Hello Peter, no Mark isn't home, he's at the Inn 
watching the game, or whatever you guys do there. I 
don't expect him for a while."
 
"Okay Pam, I just wanted to remind him about our golf 
game tomorrow. The clients he wanted to meet are members 
of Crestwood and he has to be there at 8:00 sharp or 
he'll miss them."
 
"Alright, I'll remind him when he gets home."
 
"Thanks again, oh and why don't you join us tomorrow 
Pammy?" Peter asked innocently.
 
Did he say Pammy? "No thank you Peter, I have a lot to 
do tomorrow and the idea of following you men around the 
golf course while you discuss business just isn't all 
that thrilling, I'm afraid. You guys have fun without 
me. Goodbye Peter." 
 
Something puzzled me after ringing off. Peter's tone 
seemed... different. He was always very polite to me, 
but I had the funny feeling he was making fun of me as 
we talked. It was nothing I could put my finger on, but 
still... And did he call me Pammy? I had never really 
liked him especially since he wouldn't take no for an 
answer when he asked me out in college. It wasn't that 
Peter was bad looking, but he just wasn't my type and at 
that time I had the hots for Mark. How he and Mark were 
friends always amazed me, they were complete opposites. 
Still, I had to be nice to Mark's friends. 
 
When Mark got home I could tell he'd had a lot to drink 
and seemed to have something bothering him. When I asked 
him what is was, he was elusive and just babbled on and 
on that he was so sorry and that he wouldn't mention it 
again. As I tried to make sense of his words I helped 
him out of his clothes and into bed. It wasn't the first 
time he had come home this way and it was becoming all 
too regular. I had to talk to him about his drinking, 
but this wasn't the time. I set the alarm for 5:30 and 
turned out the lights.
 
After several failed attempts I got Mark up, into the 
shower and on his way to his golf game. He had a two-
hour drive to Crestwood and I knew he would be gone most 
of the day. I had planned to go to the gym for a few 
hours and catch up on some house cleaning. I was just 
settling in to my first cup of coffee when I heard the 
doorbell. Thinking Mark had forgotten something, I 
opened the door in my bathrobe to come face to face with 
Peter Sloan.
 
"Um, Hi Peter," I said, conscious of the way I was 
dressed, "Mark left already, were you supposed to pick 
him up?"
 
"No, Pammy, I wasn't. It's you I'm here to see. May I 
come in?"
 
"Peter I don't think..."
 
"-I don't care what you think Pammy," He yelled as he 
pushed past me into the living room, " Just Sit Down and 
Shut Up!"
 
"Peter what..." was all I got out before he backhanded 
me across the face.
 
"I know you got my note slut, and I'm here to give you 
your instructions. First of all, it's Mister Sloan to 
you, and second, you don't speak unless commanded. Do 
you understand bitch?"
 
"You? What? Peter please, " I cried, "What is this all 
about?"
 
That outburst drew another backhand from Peter and I 
began to sob uncontrollably. I had quickly come to the 
understanding that it was Peter who had sent the note 
and the pictures. I sat on the couch and listened while 
the tears flowed down my cheeks.
 
"Mister Sloan is how you will address me from now on. 
And you will do whatever I say if you want to get the 
pictures back. I will address you as Slut, because 
that's what you are. If you follow my rules, and let me 
have my fun, I will return the pictures and nothing more 
needs to be said. Mark will never know a thing and you 
will keep your secret. Or, you can refuse me and I will 
leave now and never bother you again, however I can't 
say what will happen to the rest of the pictures. 
Perhaps, the school board might receive them in an 
anonymous letter or maybe Mark might get some sexy e-
mail. Or it could be that old Mr. Miller is looking for 
some smut to excite him these days. One never knows what 
might happen..."
 
"Peter, um, Mr. Sloan, those pictures, th-that was me, 
but it was a long time ago. I, I was j-just, you know, 
experimenting with s-sex. I was young and I was away 
from home for the first time and, and things got out of 
control. I never knew there were pictures taken," I 
cried, "Please, I'll do whatever it takes but you can't 
show them to anyone!" 
 
"Well then," he said, " if you'll do whatever it takes, 
Slut, We'll get along just fine. All you have to do is 
follow my instructions for one week and I'll give you 
the pictures back and we'll both be done with this mess. 
Now for starters, Slut, you can suck my cock!"
 
My eyes blazed with pure hatred as I asked him, "You'll 
give me the pictures? And Mark will never know? Or the 
school board and my parents, um, Mr. Sloan?"
 
"Yes Pammy, this will be our little secret, if you do as 
your told. No one will ever know. And after all, it's 
just for one week. Then you can resume your normal life. 
And, who knows, you may have some fun. I know I will." 
He leered. "Now make up your mind Slut!"
 
Knowing I had no other choice, I stood up and got down 
on my knees in front of him. I could tell by his bulge 
that he was already hard as I tugged on his zipper and 
fished out his dick. When it sprang out I got my second 
surprise of the morning, Peter Sloan was hung like a 
horse! It had to be nine inches long and thick too, who 
would have known it? I stared in awe for just a second 
too long I guess because he grabbed my hair and forced 
his big cock between my lips. It was all I could do to 
fit it in my mouth but I did my best. I wanted this to 
be over as quickly as possible. And then he started 
pushing his big rod deeper in my mouth as he spoke.
 
"Yeah Slut, suck that big cock. You know you like it. 
You've never had one this big, have you? I didn't think 
so. Imagine how this big cock would feel up your pussy. 
If you do a good job sucking me I'll let you ride it. 
Would you like that? Huh, Slut?"
 
"Mmmfff..." was all I could answer as he continued to 
assault my mouth with his massive tool. I did my best to 
make him cum quickly, thinking he would leave me alone 
afterwards. I sucked his fat dick deep into my mouth as 
I ran my fingers across his balls. I even played with 
his ass as I sucked him knowing that always got Mark off 
as fast as possible, but Peter had staying power.

For 15 minutes I sucked, licked and fondled him trying 
to bring him off while he said the most terrible things 
to me. He called me a cock-sucking slut more times than 
I can count. He said I was his little whore and that I 
had better get used to his cock in my mouth, as I would 
be sucking it quite often. He asked me what kind off 
teacher I could be if I was such a slut. He even 
suggested that I had sucked off my students and let them 
fuck me. 
 
His verbal abuse was unrelenting. He asked me how and 
where the pictures were taken and when I didn't answer 
him he pulled his cock out and grabbed my hair telling 
me I had better answer him. When I told him that it was 
in college, he became angry asked why, when I was 
putting out for everyone, I had rejected him. 

When I tried to answer he told me to shut up and suck 
his cock, as that was all I was good for. It went on 
like that, me sucking him and he asking me questions and 
getting mad when I didn't answer. And when I tried to 
answer he just told me shut up and sucked his cock. I 
was sure he was about to cum when he abruptly pulled out 
of my mouth and told me to stand up.
 
"That was pretty good Slut, you suck cock well, but I'm 
sure you've had lots of practice. Now let's see what's 
under that robe." Slowly I slipped the robe off my 
shoulders and stood before him in just my panties. "Get 
those white panties off!" he commanded, "Sluts don't 
wear white. They wear red or black or nothing at all, 
understand Slut? Now get them off your fat ass!"
 
"Y-yes Mr. Sloan," I answered as I slipped my panties 
off and stood naked before him, "I u-understand."
 
"Good Pammy, now go get your vibrator, yes Mark told me 
about it, you're going to put on a little show for me." 
I silently cursed Mark as I went to the bedroom to get 
my pink toy. How could he have told anyone, and Peter of 
all people? The vibrator was our one little dirty 
secret. I got the vibe out of its hiding place and 
turned to find Peter standing in my bedroom doorway.
 
"On the bed Slut!" he ordered. "And you had better put 
on a convincing show for me. I want you to fuck that 
fake cock like it was your last ever, even though we 
both know it won't be, not by a long shot. Now get to 
work and make it good!"
 
I laid on the bed and did my best to look sexy while I 
ran the vibrator up and down my wet slit as Peter Sloan 
made me tell him what a slut I was and how I loved to 
suck cock. There I was on my marriage bed masturbating 
in front this animal telling him I was a slut and a 
cocksucker and a whore, when I felt my body betraying 
me. As much as I tried to deny it, my shameful 
performance was turning me on. My pussy as wet as I ever 
remembered and my nipples were as hard as rocks. I 
worked the vibrator between my pink folds and into my 
hot pussy as I felt myself getting hotter and hotter.

Unknown to me, Peter had slipped a camcorder out of his 
pocket and begun filming me. When I saw the camera I was 
startled but I couldn't deny the fire in my pussy and I 
continued push the big vibrator deep in my hot hole as 
he filmed me. Soon he began asking more questions.
 
"What are you bitch?" he asked.
 
"A slut." I answered. By now I knew what he wanted to 
hear.
 
"And what do you like to do Slut?"
 
"Suck cock, " I moaned, "and fuck." 
 
"And what else, Whore, what else do you like?"
 
"Everything!" I cried as I fucked myself hard, "I'm a 
slut and I like it all. I like to suck cock and eat cum! 
I like to be fucked hard and I love it in the ass! I 
like to act like a whore!" It was like a dam had burst, 
and I was beyond any control. How could he have known I 
longed to be treated this way? "I want to suck your big 
dick! And taste your cum! Please can I?" And with that, 
Peter Sloan, the man I disliked so intently, made me beg 
to suck his fat cock.
 
"Please Mr. Sloan, may I suck your beautiful cock? I'm a 
slut and I need to. I live for it! Oh please, may I 
please!" My hands were a blur as I rammed the vibrator 
deep in my wet pussy and strummed my hot clit. He stuck 
his cock in my mouth and I sucked it with abandon as he 
continued to catch my depraved display on video. I was 
acting like a complete slut and loving it, sucking cock 
like a whore and getting off on a vibrator. Soon Peter 
said he was ready to cum and asked me where a slut like 
me wanted it.
 
"In my mouth." I said, but he shook his head.
 
"Sluts like cum on their face Pammy, now where do you 
want it?!" he demanded.
 
"Uh-uh o-on... my... FACE! Yes!" And when I felt the 
first spurt hit my lips I began to cum uncontrollably. I 
thrashed and moaned as more and more of his hot cum 
drenched my face. I had never seen a man cum so much and 
was amazed while I writhed and moaned. I pumped my hips 
and wagged my tongue at him telling him over and over 
how much I loved his cum on my slutty face. Never in my 
life had I had such a powerful orgasm. When I came back 
down to earth, I began to realize just how terrible I 
had acted. I looked up to see Peter smiling at me as he 
shut off the camcorder.
 
"Now that will make very good addition to my collection, 
too good to keep to myself. I wonder whom I'll show it 
to first?" he teased, "It's not suitable for children, 
but maybe the football team at your school are mature 
enough to handle it."
 
"P-please Peter, you can't s-show that to a-anyone! You 
said this was just b-between me and y-you. I did what 
you asked me to..." I began to cry furiously, my tears 
mixing with the cum on my face.
 
"Shut your mouth Slut! You don't understand what's 
happening here do you? I OWN YOU! DO YOU UNDERSTAND 
THAT!!?" He screamed, "You will do what I say when I 
say, without complaint. And if I hear you address me as 
anything but Mr. Sloan I will sell this tape to every 
circus geek in town for a stick of chewing gum! Now get 
your fat ass up and make me some breakfast while I 
explain what's going to happen this week. And be Fucking 
quick about it!"

And with that I got up and quickly walked to the 
kitchen.


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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 16