"Stephen," his supervisor called, and he looked up from the sheet of typed data to see the bustling busybody waddle to his desk. She passed him a piece of internal mail and he tore open the orange envelope and picked out a smaller white envelope. Hand-written, "Stephen Morris, Data Entry. Private and Confidential."
The teenager lifted the flap and pulled out a letter, attached to which were three photographs. His heart sank as he looked at the pictures of Victoria with her fingers in his rectum and cum draining from his cock.
Stephen,
Would love to see you at 8pm - no later and no earlier - tonight. At my house. You will wear my dressing gown and nothing else. We have something to discuss.
Victoria.
Butterflies in his stomach did somersaults as his eyes focused on the photographs. His classmate had blindfolded him and hadn't realised that his ex-classmate had recorded their session. The thought made him feel queasy.
Victoria had a reputation; she was not known for her friendliness, and all of his friends had avoided her where they could. Even Hugo, who had been close to her for awhile, now refused to mention her name. Stephen didn't know what she would do with the photographs or recordings or what her plans were. He didn't trust her enough to believe this was a prank, and his imagination ran wild as he worried.
Neither he, nor his family, were flush with money. He lived in a terraced house that was worth half what Anne-Marie's abode would be worth. He earned £8 per hour for a job that he would have for three months. If Victoria was trying to extort money from him, she wouldn't be able to raid him for very much.
He thought about little else for the rest of the afternoon; his work suffered. The night before, he washed the pink dressing gown and hung the thick toweline garment to dry in the lounge. It smelt fresh and soft, and he changed into his swimming shorts and T-shirt, and stuffed the pink gown in his backpack.
Stephen ate half his dinner; fear and excitement crept up on him at every opportunity. Without a bike, and the paucity of public transport, he had to walk the two miles to the end of Victoria's street. He checked his watch; ten minutes until Victoria's deadline.
At the end of her road was a park. A few bushes and trees provided some cover from passing cars and pedestrians, although the warm early evening had enticed dog walkers onto the grassland. Stephen stepped behind the bushiest trees - a cherry laurel hedge that the council had allowed to become overgrown. He snagged his shorts on a bramble bush, and painfully caught his grazed thigh on a rough branch, but the overflowing fruiting hedge gave him cover.
He could see three walkers and one dog owner from his position, but he was at least twenty metres from them and the foliage helped disguise and mask his activities. He knelt on the ground and removed his shoes and his shirt. Stephen pulled the pink fluffy dressing gown from his backpack and slipped the fluffy, comfortable garment around his shoulders.
Tentatively, he stood up. The dog walker strode across the park towards his pet, advancing on Stephen's position in the secluded corner of the green. He pushed his shorts to his ankles, and stood out of them, feeling the cool draught of the fresh air around his nether regions. He tied tightly the gown around his waist.
He slipped his shoes back on and stuffed his clothes in his backpack. "Oi," a voice called as Stephen emerged from the bushes. "What you doing in there?" Stephen broke into a run, and the dog walker yelled again. "I'm calling the Police."
Stephen ignored him. His heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted across the road and recognised Anne-Marie's car turn out of Forrest Avenue, moments before he tore up the shallow incline to Victoria's house.
The dressing gown was flimsy as he rushed. His cock bounced freely underneath the towel garment and he felt chilly as the air circulated. Stephen kicked off his shoes at the bottom of the driveway and stuffed them in his backpack.
One minute to eight. He waited for the grandfather clock to chime in the hallway and then rang the doorbell.
Victoria, dressed in a cherry pink and black basque, with matching briefs and stockings, opened the door. "Come in," she said with a wide grin.
"What's this game you're playing, Victoria?" Stephen asked the moment he stepped into her home. He brandished the photos, and she gave a chuckle as she surveyed the images.
"A prostate massage," she replied. "Or proof that you like a bit of a finger up the bum. All men do, but some are so homosexually repressed they can't take it. You, however, adored it. You're in touch with your ... sexuality. A bit. Now, go through."
"I want those photos."
"And you shall have them. Eventually. Go through to the lounge."
"And what is the meaning of telling me to dress in this outfit?"
Victoria jabbed her fingers into his ribs and pushed him towards the open door. "Take a seat," she demanded and followed her ex-classmate into the long living room. He took a brown leather armchair and tucked the dressing gown underneath his legs as he sat down. Victoria smirked as she sat opposite. "So many questions."
"Look, Victoria, this is all ..."
"Why did you follow my instruction to wear the dressing gown?" She asked, interrupting him. He spluttered and then she rubbed her chin. "Because it excited you. And after yesterday, you wanted to play a bit more. I am not sticking my finger up your butt hole today. Oh, don't look so disappointed! I am going to give you back those photographs. Taken from the cameras in the massage room."
"Good. Where are they?"
"In good time," Victoria soothed. "In so much of hurry." She stared at the fidgeting man and tucked her dark brown hair behind her ears. "So, if you want those photographs, which I think you do, then I have a challenge for you. Twelve tasks. I am going to push your boundaries a bit. And then I'm going to break them."
"What sort of tasks?"
"Oh, they'll be a little humiliating, very sexual and highly submissive. But then, as you found out yesterday, that's not really a problem, is it?" He grimaced as she spoke. "And this is the fourth time I have broken the guys in my college and all the little piggies have done what I told them to. Very few boys want the video of them squirting their little prick when a finger gets whizzed up their poop-chute sent to their friends and families. Or put on the 'net."
