Confessions Of A Blackmailed Widow

"How did I let it come to this?"

This is the question that fills my thoughts as I find myself in my current predicament. It is the question I reflect on to try to take my thoughts away from the pain emanating from my bare nipples, which are being harshly pinched by the clamps of a skirt hanger. I'm sure I would be a sight to behold, naked, my clamped nipples hanging from the bar in this closet, my arms tied behind my back, my legs tied at the knees and ankles, balancing on two softballs beneath my feet, my entire weight supported solely by my nipples. My legs and arms ache. And yet my mind wanders.

"It's all his fault."

Yes, my late husband is to blame for this. When he died six months ago, I stood to receive his vast estate, or so I thought. I remember my shock when I found out that in order to receive my share of the estate, I would have to earn it by working as a secretary for the president of my late husband's company. Not only that, but I had to remain employed for a period of no less than a year to receive 50% of the estate, with the remainder coming in 10% increments for every year of employment after that. But my anger turned to humiliation when the final stipulation in his will was that I had to remain celibate the entire time I was employed by his company.

My feet begin to go numb, and I fight to maintain my balance, my nipples protesting in pain as the softballs beneath my feet begin to shift slightly. Trying to ignore the pain, I refocus my thoughts to the events of the last 48 hours. Two nights ago, I was invited to a dinner party by the new president of the company and two of the top sales executives. The evening was fairly uneventful and the conversation was boring in all honesty. In fact, my only significant memory was of feeling surprisingly lightheaded after a few glasses of wine. When I woke hours later, I was being driven home by Anita, the president of the company. She told me that I had passed out, and that they agreed it was best to let me sleep it off. When I begin to regain consciousness, Anita felt it was safe to take me home. I was very grateful for the ride as the pounding headache that I had would likely have made it impossible for me to drive myself.

"How long have I been hanging here?"

It feels like hours, though I know it has only been twenty or thirty minutes. The pain is almost unbearable. The sharp teeth of the clamps almost piercing my nipples. My breath is ragged at this point. I think back to earlier in the day, to when my fate was sealed.

I was called into Anita's office at noon. As I entered, I found Anita standing in front of her desk, looking as elegant as usual in her perfectly fitted gray business suit, her black silk blouse, her perfectly shaped legs encased in black silk stockings, the 4" black heels giving her legs extra definition, her steel gray eyes filled with equal parts passion and compassion, her amber hair gently flowing down, encasing her chiseled face like a picture frame. Without saying a word, she turned her computer monitor to face me and my heart froze. There on her screen was a video of the two sales executives having sex with me. What alarmed me the most is that I was obviously awake and enjoying it. I could hear my voice begging these men to use me over and over again. In shock, I looked at Anita, then back to the screen. As Anita turned the screen away from me, she pulled out a copy of my late husband's will.

"We both know that if this video were to find itself in the wrong hands, you would stand to lose millions. Isn't that true Rebecca?" Anita asked, a slight smile forming on her lips.

I was frozen. I could not move. I could not speak. I was in shock. It was then that I felt the back of her hand fiercely attacking the left side of my face, knocking me to the ground.

"You will answer me when I ask you a question, bitch!" Anita yelled.

From the floor, I looked up at her, filled with terror. "Y...y...yes, that's true!" I sobbed.

Anita placed her left foot beneath my chin and lifted my face so that our eyes met. "Yes what, bitch?" she asked coldly.

"Yes...Anita?" I offered, uncertain as to what she was suggesting. Feeling her pointed heel driving into my left breast told me that I had said the wrong thing.

"Try again, bitch."

I looked up at her, tears filling my eyes, and whimpered "Yes M...m...ma'am." Even as I said the words, I couldn't believe I was saying them.

Anita lowered her foot and walked behind her desk. I heard one of her drawers opening, and without warning, I was hit by a heavy leather dog collar. "Put this on now, bitch." Anita demanded.

Not wanting to risk further pain, I complied, pulling the tight collar around my neck and locking it in place. As I was doing so, Anita ordered me to stand up, which I did. She walked behind my and pulled my arms behind my back, and I could feel cold metal closing tightly around my wrists. It took only a second to realize my wrists had been cuffed. As Anita walked back in front of me, she leaned in and whispered in my ear, "You are my pet now, bitch, and you will do as I say or that video will find it's way to the estate lawyers. Am I clear?"

"Yes Ma'am" I said in a low voice.

Smiling, Anita turned back to her desk, then turned back to me holding a large pair of scissors. She moved closer to me, reaching for my navy silk blouse, pulling it from the waistband of my khaki knee-length skirt and began to cut it away from my body. As she cuts my blouse, she looks me in the eye and tells me that her pets are not allowed to wear clothes in her office except for a collar. I want to fight, to protest, but I am still in shock. Frozen with fear, I stand there and allow her to cut away my blouse and my skirt, my bra and panties and even the straps of my heels. She takes the remnants of my clothes and puts them in a brown paper bag, rolls it shut and writes "trash" on the side of the bag.

It was then that the knock on her door came. My eyes filled with overwhelming fear that someone might come in and see me naked in Anita's office. Anita looked surprised as well, until she remembered that she had a meeting at 1:00. Hurriedly, she pushed me into her closet, placing the clamps of the skirt hanger on my nipples and hanging me up like a piece of her clothing, putting the softballs under my feet merely to torture me. She closed the door only enough so that a slim crack of light could enter the closet.

That is how I got to this point. Hanging in the darkness, Anita had positioned herself so that she could see me through the slight opening of her closet door. This is why I cannot scream out, expressing the extreme pain I am in. This is why I must fight to maintain my balance, for if the balls were to slip from under my feet, the door would open further, exposing me to my co-workers who had gathered in Anita's office.

I can see Anita looking right at me, smiling mischievously. In her gaze, I realize that my life as I know it will forever change from this point on.