Triced

I get to the office on Tuesday, about noon. I check and double check both of the cameras. Everything is working fine. I'm not going to have a repeat of whatever happened last week. I've become more than normally obsessed with Sandy. I know my ruse will run its course eventually and I want to make sure that I have great recordings to watch, in order to savor the moments of pleasure I had with her.

At 1:30, there's a light knock on my door. I call to Sandy to come in.

She looks different. She's not dressed in the semi-slutty way that she was last week. But that's not what catches my attention. She carries herself differently—with strength and confidence. I gesture toward the couch for Sandy to sit down but she ignores me and sits at one of the chairs by the small table that's a prop to look like a place where business deals are closed.

"You should really sit on the couch," I say, frankly a bit flustered by her assertiveness. "That's where the camera's set up."

"Oh, we won't need that ... yet." What the hell did she mean by that? I don't know. But, I take some consolation in the 'yet'. That means that we're going to get around to my plan later, I figure. Okay. If she wants to talk, we can do that first.

As I sit in the other chair, Sandy pulls a tablet out of her purse. She sets it on the table, but doesn't turn it on yet.

"So, what do you want to talk about, Sandy?" I say, trying to reassert my control of the situation. "I don't have the whole afternoon so we'll need to get to making another demo tape soon."

"Oh, this won't take long. We'll have plenty of time for taping, Ralph."

"Good," I think, until the last word registers. 'Ralph' is my real name. I'd never told Sandy, or any of the girls, my real name. What the hell is happening? How does she know my name?

I'm in a panic but ... I'm an actor myself. What do you think being a preacher in a mega church is all about? So I keep calm, trying to see where this is going.

"Do you know this girl?" Sandy says, firing up the tablet for the first time.

It comes on with a headshot of a very cute 20-something girl who looks familiar, but I can't place her.

"I can't say as I do."

"Well, probably there have been too many girls for you to remember them all," Sandy says, her words dripping with scorn.

I remember the girl now. Not well. I don't remember her name. But I remember that she is one of the girls I scammed. She probably was one of the run-of-the-mill ones. If she'd been particularly good, or particularly bad, I would have remembered her better.

"Well, she's my cousin—more like a sister to me. She's been living with our family since her parents were killed eight years ago."

I don't really know what's going on here. I get it that Sandy's figured out my scam and is angry. But why did she fall for the scam just last week. Maybe, I think, she just figured out the scam in the past few days. Wait, maybe things are better than I feared. Maybe Sandy's not on to my scam at all. Maybe she's just talked with her cousin and wants to know why I've never gotten any gigs for her. Maybe I can bowl through this thing. But, what about Sandy knowing my name? I'm still not sure what's happening here. But my uncertainty doesn't last long. And the truth is worse than I'd feared.

"Carrie's a nice girl—a little wild and maybe too needy when it comes to approval from men—but a nice girl. And you took advantage of her naïveté. You raped here, really. Didn't you?"

"No see here. I've never raped anyone. Carrie ... that's her name, right? ... Carrie came here of her own free will and everything we did here was consensual." I feel like I'm on a moral high horse, defending myself from a scandalous and false allegation. "So let's not be throwing around words like 'rape'."

"Call it what you want. I call it 'rape by deception', and your description really doesn't matter."

"Courts don't recognize rape by deception, not when the deception is about an inducement to have sex."

What the hell is this? I think. Some kind of legal seminar? Why the hell am I explaining thing to this woman?

"Oh, you don't need to worry about courts," Sandy replies, with complete calm. "You can lie to courts, just like you can lie to yourself. " And here she pauses for an uncomfortably long period of time. I say nothing because I don't know what to say.

Sandy goes on, "but you can't lie to God" and she says 'God' like we bible-thumpers say it when we're preaching. "And you can't lie to me."

Okay, so it's clear she knows all about my "real" life. She was at my sermon on Sunday. She's right that my concern shouldn't be about legal issues. If what Sandy knows gets out, I'll be ruined ... completely. So now my mouth is dry and my pulse is pounding.

"I don't know ..." and my voice dribbles off.

"Don't play stupid, asshole." Sandy's voice drips with disdain. "You're a shit, but you're not a stupid shit. You know what the situation is."

"What do you want?" My voice is quavering now. I can't help it. I see my whole life crumbling. I knew I was playing with fire. That was part of the thrill—maybe a whole lot of it. But now that my life is getting burned up in the fire, I don't like it at all.

"Oh ... I want a lot. And you're going to give me everything I want. Or you're destroyed. You decide." Sandy's voice is confident, almost smug. "First of all, we're going to change the dynamic a little." She paused and I had no idea what she was talking about.

"Take off your clothes," she barked.

"What?"

"Oh, Jesus!" she says sounding exasperated. "You heard me. You've told enough girls to do that. And they did. Now take off your clothes. I mean it. Now!"

I stand up slowly, trying to figure out some way out of the predicament I was in. Without success. As I begin undressing, I realize that it is incredibly embarrassing—humiliating, really—to undress at another person's command. It symbolizes complete submission to their dominance.

"Come on ... hurry it up!" Sandy prompts. "I don't want you to put on some sort of a show. You're too disgusting for that. Just get your clothes off ... all of them."

As I slide my boxers down, I find myself shaking slightly. I try to control it; I don't want to give Sandy any more satisfaction than she's already getting.

"Now, put these on." Sandy pulls a wad of clothes out of her purse and tosses them toward me. As they fall on the ground, I see that she's given me a bra, panties, a garter belt and stockings—all in black.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," I complain.

"It's ridiculous, all right. But you're going to do it." She's determined. "And you're going to do it right now if you don't want to make me mad." Sandy smiles, "And I assure you, you don't want to make me mad."

As I put on the lingerie, feeling even more humiliated, Sandy digs into her purse and pulls out some black high heel shoes. Shit! She's like some X-rated Mary Poppins with never-ending string of things she can pull out of her purse.

"These, too," she says as I finish hooking the stockings to the garter belt.

The shoes are too small, but I manage to stuff my feet into them.

"You're flat chested," Sandy blurts out as if that's a surprise. Walking over to my desk, she pulls out lots of tissues from the dispenser and hands them to me. "Here, stuff your bra like a flat-chested teenager would."

"Now practice walking ... a sexy girl walk. I want to see your hips swinging invitingly."

Sexy girl walk, my fucking eye! I can barely stand up in these four-inch spike-heel shoes. But a few minutes of practice allows me to at least keep my balance if I'm very careful.

As I'm practicing my "sexy girl walk," Sandy's setting up my cameras, one on the tripod and one that she's holding.

When she thinks I'm walking well enough—and it's surely far short of a sexy girl walk—she begins recording me. She gives me directions about when and how to stop and pose or turn slowly for the camera.

I don't need to see the recordings to know that I look ridiculous. I'm fairly slender and hot terribly hairy, but I certainly look like a man ... and, right now, like a man preposterously dressed in sexy women's lingerie.

Sandy stops recording and I take the opportunity to ask her what she plans to do with these recordings.

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about that," she replies condescendingly. "I already have everything I need to ruin you. You know that. These recordings are ... well, let's say, they're going to be part of your road to redemption."

I'm confused and she seems fine with that.

"You know all about redemption, don't you. You know, sin and redemption—all that shit you preach about on Sundays."

I guess I know as much as most about redemption, but I have no idea how these recordings will lead to my redemption. And Sandy has no intention of enlightening me now.

"We have a lot to do so let's get started," she says, as if we haven't already gotten started on some path I don't understand at all.

"I want the recordings of all the girls you took advantage of—and I mean all of them ... and every copy."

I nod—maybe too quickly.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking," Sandy said—and, as it turns out, she's right. "You're thinking, 'How will she know whether I keep copies for myself?' You're thinking, I can still have some fun reviewing hidden copies."

That's right. That's exactly what I'm thinking. How could she know?

"So maybe I'll have to use some 'enhanced interrogation techniques' on you. Maybe if I twist your balls in a vice grip, I'll get from you an honest answer about whether you've given me all of the copies. Maybe a jolt of electricity in a dildo shoved way up your ass would get me the truth. What do you think?"

What I think is that I'd completely underestimated this bitch. What I say is, "I'll give you everything." I blather on in a rather undignified, but I hope effective, way, "I promise. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done this. I don't know what I was thinking. It was wrong."

"Those are all good sentiments, of course. But I know I've got a foxhole Christian here. I know that, given half a chance, you'd go right back to exploiting naïve girls for your selfish pleasure."

"No ... I promise. This was wrong. I won't do it again."

"We'll see about that. I've got a plan. But first, I want every copy of every recording you've made of you raping these girls."

"I didn't rape ..."

She cut me off. "They consented to sex with an agent who would try to get them offers for movie deals and modeling. Are you that person?"

I shake my head.

"Then they didn't consent to sex with you. You're a fucking rapist." Sandy glares at me and I shrink from her gaze. "But I don't want to argue semantics with you. I want the recordings."

"Okay, I kept them only on this laptop and this external hard drive. There aren't any other copies. Here, I'll show you where they are on."

I navigate to the folder on my laptop's hard drive with all of the videos. They're carefully labeled with dates and names of the girls.

"This is a good start. Show me the hard drive."

As she's looking at the folder, she asks if I have all of the girls' names and contact information stored. I tell her I have the hard copies of the agreements they signed and a spreadsheet with all of that information.

"You practice walking some more. You're really not very good at it yet. I've got work to do here."

Sandy busies herself at my computer and I try to keep an eye on what she's doing while complying with her command enough to escape her attention.

"Okay, you've got files on Google Drive and Dropbox. Give me your passwords."

"I'm not going to give you ..." I start.

"The hell you're not! The passwords, or your family and every member of your church gets to see the videos of your activities."

Okay, she's got me by the balls, of course. I give her the passwords and she logs in and begins poking around my files on the cloud servers.

"And were you going to tell me about these back-ups?" Sandy asks accusatorially. She knows that I wasn't. I told her the only copies were on the internal hard disk and the local external back up drive. I'd put the best ones up on Google Drive so I could watch them remotely whenever I had the desire and opportunity.

Sandy deletes the copies on Google Drive and does to the trash folder to permanently delete them from that folder. She's not missing a trick.

I see her put two thumb drives in my computer and begin copying files. Why two? When she sees me looking, she orders me to get back to my practice walking.

While the file transfers are taking place—and I can see from the status bar that she's copying lots of data—Sandy gets up and walks to her purse again. "Oh, shit!" I think to myself, "What now?"

What now was a large, realistic black dildo, complete with balls and a suction cup at the base.

"That's enough walking practice for now. You need to practice some other girl skills." She licks the bottom of dildo and sticks it to the wall, just below waist height. "Get down on your knees and work on your sucking skills. You're going to need them."

"What does that mean?!"

"Never mind ... just get down and suck. And do it right, like you're pleasing a real cock."

I get down on my knees, wondering when this exercise in degradation and humiliation will end. Sandy gets back to my computer to check on the progress of the file transfer. Satisfied, she comes back and starts recording my fellatio practice. She's again recording with both cameras, getting varied close-ups with the handheld one.

She scolds me for being, in her words, "lackadaisical" about sucking "my lover's cock." I start trying to be more convincing in what I'm doing. Now that she's paying attention to me, she starts giving me orders to "lick his balls," "tease his shaft with my tongue," and "kiss the tip of his cock," in addition to sucking the dildo and pumping the shaft with my hands.

It feels like this goes on interminably. Sandy goes back and checks the computer. When she sees that the transfer is complete, she tells me that I can stop for a while.

She pulls out the USB drives, leaves one on my desk and drops the other in her purse. She goes back to my computer and begins typing.

"You can get up and come over," she says as if she's being generous.

I stand up, nearly falling because I'm not thinking about the high heels I have on. I walk toward the desk.

"What the hell are you doing?!" I scream. The bitch is running a wipe disk routine on my hard drive. I see the progress bar as it reports scrubbing the hard disk.

I lunge toward her with the ill-considered intention of stopping her.

"Forget it," she barks. "First of all, you can't stop it now. But even if you could, you couldn't do it without me revealing your activities to the world."

That freezes me in my tracks. I watch helplessly as all of my data is erased.

"Hey, I did you a favor," Sandy says. "Before I wiped your disk, I copied all of the documents you had that were clearly not things you could use against your victims to the thumb drive. You'll just have to re-install your programs and you'll be up and running—minus your perverted recordings, of course."

I stand there speechless, looking and feeling ridiculous in my black lingerie and still wobbling a bit on my high heels.

"Now for some more fun," Sandy says with twisted cruelty.

"What?" I say timidly, knowing I can't control what comes.

She walks over to the dildo and pulls it off the wall. Pushing my chair out of the way, she sticks it to the carpet protector I keep under my chair.

"What now?"

"I'll tell you what now," she says. "What now is this. You've shown what you can do with your mouth. Now you're going to show what you can do with your ass."

"No," I plead. "Don't do this."

"Did you ever fuck any of the girls in their ass?" She looks at me accusatorily. She already knows the answer. "Did you?" she shouts and I nod in defeat.

"Okay. Now let's see how you like taking it up your ass." She pulls a bottle of some sort of lube out of her purse. (Shit! Will that purse never cease to produce unwelcome surprises?) "Here, this might make it easier and more enjoyable."

Easier, I believe; enjoyable, not at all. She hands me the lube and I get down on my knees to begin slathering it on the dildo.

"Not yet," Sandy stops me. "First I want you to suck the dildo right where it is. Pretend that you need to get it hard to fuck your tight little ass."

To comply, I have to stick my ass up in the air. Sandy seems to like this. She re-aims the camera on the tripod to record it and grabs the handheld again.

"Take it all the way to the bottom."

This makes me gag and cough at first. After a few tries, I'm better at it. I notice that she's behind me taking a close up from the floor, between my legs.

"Okay, Sweetie," she oozes. "I think you got him hard and wet. Now it's time to use him for your pleasure."

I get back up on my knees and grab the bottle of lube. I might have gotten the dildo wet with my mouth, but that wasn't going to be enough. I squirt some on my hand and spread it on the dildo. It feels like I'm jacking a cock off, though never having touched another guy's cock, I'd never experienced it from this angle.

"Good girl!" She's feeling pretty powerful and clearly liking it. "Now stand up and pull your pretty little panties down to your ankles. ... Don't take them off," she cautions me as I pull them down.

What could look more foolish and be more humiliating than to be dressed in women's lingerie and heels? To be dressed in women's lingerie and heels with your panties down around your ankles!

"Okay, now squat down and take his cock in your ass." I hate the way she's talking about the dildo like it's a real cock and there's a real person attached to it. I hate the way she's referring to me as a girl, too. In fact, I hate everything that's happening. But I see no recourse for me.

It turns out to be hard to squat down with panties around your ankles—harder still in the "fuck me pumps" Sandy had me wearing. (I guess "fuck me pumps" is a pretty apt name right now.)

I have to hold on to my desk to keep my balance but I manage to squat down and I suddenly feel the cool, slippery tip of the dildo between my cheeks. Sandy moves behind me to get a close-up shot of this thing taking my virgin ass.

It's a little difficult to line it up right while I'm squatting on these high heels but, a bit clumsily, I manage. As I lower myself down slowly on it, wincing as it opens me in a way I've never been opened before, I bite down on my lip to manage the pain I feel.

"Oh," Sandy coos. "That's a good girl. You're a natural."

It doesn't feel like any of this is natural; it feels very unnatural to me as I feel the head of the dildo press against my sphincter.

I've engaged in ass play before. But this dildo is bigger, and more realistic, than anything I've put up my bum before. It hurts a little, but not too much. I can feel the ridge of the helmet push past my sphincter. It feels strangely erotic. For just a moment, I think about the fact that I've been missing something when I've toyed my ass with the smooth vibrators that my wife and I have used in our play together.

"Now ride it like the little bitch that you are." Sandy's command draws my attention away from the feeling in my ass and focuses me again on the humiliation I feel.

I go down as low as I can, squatting as I am in these high heels. Sandy decides I'm not going far enough and she orders me to stand up and take my panties completely off, then get down on my knees, straddling the dildo, so I can take it all the way in my ass.

In this position, the only thing preventing me from taking it as far as she wants me to is the dull pain I feel as I lower myself down on to the shaft. For a while I can't take it all the way. But Sandy's taunts soon become more excruciating than the pain in my rectum.