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The Blackmailer and his Slave

A story about a reluctant blackmailer and his willing slave. He is in the dark even at the end

Sometimes I feel a bit claustrophobic in my small apartment. At those times I quiet my soul with a leisurely stroll through our park nearby. I might even be lucky and enjoy the occasional flaming sunsets from the top of the little hill where my view is not obstructed by trees.
Tonight there had been such a colorful sunset. It had bathed everything around me in shades of pink, and of red, and of purple. I was at ease with the world and myself. It was a time to relax on the couch and read.

I had just cracked open my book, looking for the old birthday card I used as a bookmark, when the doorbell rang. I was slightly annoyed. I am an avowed bachelor, somewhat shy by nature, and so have few friends. I could not imagine any of them calling on me that late in the evening.
I was not in the best of moods when I opened the door. A stunning young lady of maybe thirty looked at me for a second and without a word brushed past me into my apartment. I was stunned for a moment. I slammed the door shut and walked over to my table where she stood staring at me. I was very angry when I confronted her.

"What is the meaning of this, just barging into my apartment? Who are you? What do you want?" I was so angry I asked questions without waiting for answers.

"OK," she spat at me. "I will have to play your idiotic game, and I will. But you better hold up to your promise."

"Listen lady," I countered, "you seem to mistake me for somebody else. Who are you looking for?"

"Oh no," she replied with anger in her voice. "This is the apartment alright. Your letter is pure blackmail and is also absolute nonsense." She opened the large manila envelope, pulled out a letter and threw it on the table.

I picked it up and started reading. It indeed told her to come to this, my apartment. She was to be the blackmailer' s sex slave for the next two Saturdays, it ordered. More instructions were to follow by e-mail. The blackmailer said he will deny being the blackmailer and she must play his game to get the negatives.

"Wait a minute, lady, I don't have any negatives. This is either a joke or a mistaken identity," I informed her.

"I know, I know," she said, now with a more even voice. "You said you would deny being the letter writer, so I expected you to answer the way you just did. But I know you have the negatives somewhere and I want them. I will even let you keep the prints."

She reached into the manila envelope again and drew out three 8x10 white sheets of paper and threw them on the table next to the letter. I picked them up and turned them over. They were glossy color photos of a gorgeous nude model in suggestive poses. I looked closer and then it registered. The model was no other than my visitor.

"I am sorry, madam, I wish I could help you, but I am definitely not the blackmailer. But I will have to tell you that you are very beautiful and attractive." I handed the photos back to her.

"You might as well keep them with the negatives," she replied, laying them face up on the table where they could stare at me. Then she turned and walked over to the couch, treating me to the sight of a shapely backside. Her walk to the couch was more of a sensuous dance than a walk.
I was still standing next to my table when she sat down and looked at me, obviously expecting a reaction from me. By now my anger had evaporated and had been replaced by curiosity. I slowly walked to where she sat and introduced myself.

"Judging by your attitude so far, you will probably not believe me, but my name really is Bert Hanson," I told her.

"Thanks for the introduction. Bert it will be." She smiled at me and added, "Don't just stand there. You might as well sit down. It is awkward for me to keep looking up at you."

There was no reason for me not to play the game, after all, she started it and I wondered where it would lead, and it might be fun, I thought. She was sitting in the middle of the couch, leaving just enough room for me on either side of her. I decided to sit on her right.

"That is better," she said as I eased myself into the space she had left me. "I was beginning to wonder if it was proper for a slave to sit comfortably while her master is standing in front of her like a school boy being lectured by his teacher." Her voice had lost its edge and had become silky smooth. She even had added a small low key giggle to the end of her sentence.

"I don't know how to behave as a slave; I have never done this before. I hope you will forgive me and not mete out too harsh a penalty if I at times should fail to meet your expectations. As I said, I am new in this role. But I will try my best."

She scooted her body tight against mine and placed a hand on my left thigh. This got the attention of my hormones and they began wiggling their dance inside me.

"You are doing just fine as a slave, Monique," I smiled back at her.

"I knew it, I knew it," she laughed while she jumped off the couch. She danced around the room a few steps and then stopped in front of me, pointing an accusing finger at my chest.   

"You gave yourself away just now, you are the blackmailer. I had not told you my name, but you know it. That tells me that you wrote the letter."

"Hold it, hold it," I protested. "Your name is on the manila envelope you threw on the table. That's where I got it from."

"No way, you couldn't have. Not with the envelope lying face down. I was careful to lay it down that way," she explained.

"You are right and you are wrong," I told her. "You are right about putting it on the table face down after you took out the photos, but you are wrong about the first time when you took out that silly letter you claim I wrote. It was face up then and I read your name on it."

"I don't believe you," she answered. "I feel it in my bones that I am right. So we continue with your little game of you the master, me the slave. It might not be all that bad now that I have inspected you for a while. You seem to be an OK guy except for the blackmail." Her answer was accompanied by a smile that warmed my heart and kicked my hormones into high gear.

While she was standing in the middle of the room I had ample opportunity to study her. She was all the photos had already told me. Simply gorgeous, and sexy; most attractive, and sexy; deliciously feminine, and sexy. My hormones screamed at me not to let her go without getting to know her better.

"Don't stand there like a statue," I begged. "Come sit down again and play the slave if you want to. Who knows, in the end we might have reversed the roles and you are the master. A beautiful woman with a luscious figure like yours and a sunny smile and twinkling eyes is hard to resist."

She did return to my side and snuggled tight against me again. I inhaled the fragrance of her skin and felt the warmth of her body and I knew that I could not resist her.  

She moved slightly forward on the couch as her hands came up to take my face and turn it towards her. She kissed with such a passion that I was carried along like a feather on a swift stream.

I have no idea how long I was held captive by her. But even so I was vaguely aware of her hands doing something with my shirt. Suddenly her kiss broke and I found her fingers playing with the top button of my shirt.

"He really wants me to do everything," she mumbled to herself, but loud enough for me to hear. "Doesn't even know how to take off his shirt. Well, I guess that is why guys keep us girls as slaves."

"I don't recall having told you to play with my shirt buttons," I warned her. "I don't want you to take off my shirt. I want you to take of my sandals."

 She slid off the couch and bent down to remove my sandals, which she placed next to the couch on the floor.

"If it pleases my master I would like to continue my tasks unless my master has other instructions for me."

I had an idea where this could lead and I didn't like the ending. I am a confirmed bachelor and I may pick up a girl from time to time for a short evening. But this lady was putting out hard to resist tentacles, trying to ensnare me. I felt myself falling under her spell and decided to get out from under before it was too late.  
It seems I was not really successful. She kept me under her spell for almost one hour before she kneeled at the foot of the bed and whispered her apology.

"Master, I hope you will forgive your slave for her amateurish performance. I promise to try to do better the next time."

I must have drifted off to sleep then. But I hazily remember her laying on my left, snuggled in the crook of my arm, our bodies molded into just one.  

At seven I woke with the sun shining on my face. She also woke. After cuddling a few minutes she kissed me and jumped out of bed.

"I have to go home," she announced. "Mother calls around seem thirty every Sunday." She was dressed within seconds, blew me a kiss and was gone, leaving a big void in my chest.  

By Thursday I had conquered my shyness and looked up her number in the phone book. I imagine I stuttered a bit when she answered her ring, but I finally managed to talk sensibly.

"Since you insist that you are being blackmailed by me I might as well give you an order for Saturday. I will pick you up at your home at six for dinner. A black dress is my first choice." She promised to honor her master by looking presentable.

I arrived at Monique's home at exactly six; I am known to be punctual. There was a winding path lading from the driveway to her front door. The landscaping on either side of the path was a riot of shapes and of colors. I even stopped once and bent down to enjoy the fragrance of some red carnations, which happens to be one of my favorites.

I hesitated slightly before ringing her door bell, giving me time to picture Monique in my mind's eye, but I was not prepared for what the door framed when it opened.

My slave was a goddess. Her auburn hair hang loosely to her shoulders, her eyes were burning coals, flecked with twinkles of impishness, her long legs seemed to gong on forever. And then there was a body worthy to be a sister to the Venus de Milo.

She wore a black mini dress that more showed off her body than concealed. It was a body that screamed 'look at me, admire me'.  And I did look and I did admire. Her breasts were smaller than most, somewhat cone shaped, topped by nipples that tented the fabric. They made my mouth water in anticipation.

I had wondered how she would greet me after what had happened last week at my apartment. It was obvious that she knew the effect she would have on me. She was such a blatant display of sexuality that I wondered if I really dared take her out into the public.  

 Her amusement at my reaction showed openly in her twinkling eyes as she greeted me.  She was such a blatant display of sexuality that I wondered if I really dared take her out into the public.

"Your slave is ready to go where her master will lead her and assume her duties." This greeting was accompanied by her assuming a pose that said 'I am Aphrodite, the goddess of love, beauty, and sexuality'.

"You don't look like a slave girl," I informed her. "You look like all the goddesses of love, beauty and sex wrapped into one body."

"You seem to forget," she reminded me, "that you are blackmailing me into being your sex slave, therefore I should not look like a farmer's wife in the potato field. Anything wrong with that?"
 "Monique," I stammered, "you are the most beautiful slave ever. I didn't know anyone could be so alluring, and sexy, and sweet, all wrapped into one body."  

Then I noticed something else. There were no lines anywhere. I knew that she did not wear a bra, what for? Her tits did not need a support. But there was no line anywhere below, either. Did she really go bare bottom? I made a mental note to find out later.

As I led her to the car she tried to walk about a foot behind me as is proper for a slave. I had to order her to stay by my side like a proper date while in the public.

I was glad I had made my reservations at the Pink Flamingo where the sight of movie stars and rich playboys with their dates was not uncommon. Sure we got admiring glances but no one ogled openly to make her uncomfortable. And the envious looks from her sisters she relished. And so did I.

The evening went much too fast and the time to quit dancing arrived much too soon. When I tried to say good-bye at her door after a fiery last kiss she shook her head and pulled me inside. I have to admit that I was not resisting.
She steered me through her living room to another part of the house, not giving me a chance to protest by just talking to me. I am a very polite person and could not bring myself to interrupt her talk.
"Bert, dear, it is after midnight, so say bye-bye to the slave and say Hello Monique. I also want you to know that I will be magnanimous. You may keep the negatives. I will not mention them ever again, they are yours."
Her voice had a smiling quality to it and she finished her little speech with one of her girlish giggles. She obviously was in an especially good mood.
"Sit down here," she commanded, pilling me to what appeared to be a bed. I was not quite sure if I really was where I thought I was or if I had gone to heaven. Maybe I had had too much alcohol, but I am sure that I saw an angel in a clack mini dress.
I must have looked somewhere else for a short moment because now there stood Monique, the way I had seen her in the photos.  
"I want you to look closely, this is Monique, the former slave girl. The chief of this house, who is commanding you to undress with all haste and take her in your arms." And again, there was that merry giggle of hers.

How could I possibly disobey such a lovely, delicious vision of femininity.
I did take her in my arms for a few moments.  
From here on my memory is getting hazy. I remember the smell of her hair; it was a bouquet of wildflowers. Her soft skin that exuded pheromones that  transported me to another world, a world of sweet music and low lights of color glowing  in the dark.. And the reigning goddess in my arms.

I do remember exploring our bodies, but I can't remember the details. We must have fallen asleep in each others arms, because this was the way we woke up late in the morning.

Monique decided not to get dressed after her shower but get breakfast started instead. As I was toweling myself dry I could hear in the kitchen calling me.

"My coffee maker doesn't work. I cleaned it and plugged it in and now it doesn't work. How handy are you, Bert?"

It was a simple task. She had accidentally moved the little switch in the back from 110 volts to 220.

After breakfast we sat on the couch in the living room. I put my arm around her and she nestled close to me, resting her head on my shoulder. I opened my mouth to tell her that I loved her, but my voice failed.
I knew I would have to conquer my shyness if I was to tell her what was on my mind.  
'Go and tell her that you love her,' a voice in my mind said
'I am afraid to make a fool of myself,' answered a timid voice
 'She will embrace and kiss you,' replied the first voice
'But how do I know she loves me?' the timid voice countered.
'You don't want to lose her, do you?" said voice number one
'I will try to be brave,' the timid voice promised.

"Monique," I started, "I want to tell you something, I mean I would like… I just don't know how to tell you."

I took a deep breath and then blurted out, "Monique, I love you."  

She was all over me, hogging me, kissing me. Then she jumped to her feet, pulled me to her and danced me through the room.

We finally fell exhausted back on the couch. The dam was breached and I found it now easy to speak the next words.

"Monique, you sweet, loveable, delicious, adorable women, I want you to marry me." Another round of hugging and kissing filled with happiness followed until her exuberance landed us on the floor.

We finally came back to reality and got up.

"Sit down and rest," she suggested, "I have to tell my sister or I will die. I will take the phone in the guest room. You know, we girls always have some little secrets you guys don't need to know about."

Just before the door closed I heard Monique telling her sister that it worked fine and also that I had proposed. OK, that was news, but I didn't think that it was worth telling that the coffee maker now worked again.

Oh, well, we guys will never fully understand how a woman's mind works.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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