Blacmailed Exhibitionist

This series about an adventurous streaker offers plenty of nudity but very little sex, along with drama, comedy, adventure, heartbreak, and the occasional introspection. All of the characters are over 18 years old.

Chapter One

Seeking My Fantasy

I had been reading exciting stories of exhibitionism on the internet for several years. Mostly women going out in public, nude, taking a risk that people might see them. There were many variations of this theme, and I loved them all, though I would never do such a thing myself. Would I?

I decided to experiment. Going down to a local park, I decided to take off my clothes, run naked through the woods, and return before anyone saw me. It sounded very adventurous. But what if someone did see me? What if it was someone I knew? What if someone stole my clothes? I hid behind a tree for an hour and never unzipped my jeans.

My name is Tracy Anders. I'm twenty-four years old, a college graduate with a degree in finance, and work at a suburban real estate company reviewing contracts. My parents still live in Ohio with my younger sister, but I moved to California where the real estate market is much stronger. I'm petite, with long brown hair, big brown eyes, and a cute button nose. Men admire my figure.

* * * * * *

Two weeks after my failed experiment, I tried again, this time at the beach. Being nude on the beach is not unusual. My state had few laws against it, and those were rarely enforced unless sexual activity was involved, and I had no intention of doing anything lewd. This time I took my jeans and t-shirt off, hiding under a big towel, but I couldn't remove my bra or panties. I was too scared.

I went back to the internet, reading all my favorite exhibitionist stories over and over, getting intensely excited. I would need to do this, but how? I wouldn't. Not unless I was forced to.

Then a story about blackmailers came to mind. If someone I knew, maybe a friend, was given devastating things to use against me, they could force me to take exhibitionist journeys. It got me so hot that I went into my bedroom for an hour working the excitement off. But who?

I did have one old friend who I trusted implicitly. Donna Manning. She was twenty-seven, tall and shapely, though a bit stout. She had short black hair and vivid green eyes. We had slept together a few times in college, when I was a freshman, and she was a senior. Not long after, I decided that's not the direction I wanted to go. Donna was understanding. We met at the corner café almost every Wednesday for lunch, the Racoon Diner being our favorite hangout.

"You want to do what?" Donna asked.

"This is very embarrassing," I confessed.

"I should think so. You've always been a little wild, but I would never have imagined this."

"There are stories on the internet. I can send you links," I offered.

"And you want to live out these exhibitionist fantasies?"

"I want to, but I can't. I'm not brave enough. I need motivation."

"What sort of motivation?" Donna asked, clearly intrigued.

"Blackmail."

"Blackmail?"

"In some of the stories, a person has photos or evidence that would wreck a young woman's career. They use the evidence to make them carry out their demands. Ruthlessly. It's very arousing for me. I get off on it a lot."

"Tracy, it sounds crazy, but if this is what you need, I'm onboard. You know you can always count on me," she promised.

"Yes, I know, and thank you," I gratefully said, glad she wasn't being judgmental.

"How would it work?" she asked.

"I haven't done anything bad that I know of, and I'm not a student anymore. I'm thinking of photos. Maybe take naughty pictures in my bedroom, and you can threaten to post them on the internet if I don't follow through on a plan."

Donna took another sip of her wine, looking thoughtful.

"Honey, I don't think boudoir photos are going to do it," she pondered. "They are common these days. My girlfriends take them all the time, and no one cares. You need something more dramatic."

"Like what?" I asked.

"I can take care of this. Do you trust me?"

"Of course."

"I'll get a few things together and give you a call. Leave Saturday and Sunday nights open."

"This is so exciting," I gushed.

"I'm sure it will be," my best friend agreed.

* * * * * *

Donna called Saturday morning and said to meet her at Poppin's Department Store after 8 o'clock, where she was the assistant manager. I should bring sexy lingerie and a red bra, but dress normally going into the store so she wouldn't get in trouble. I arrived on time.

"The store is about to close," Donna said. "I've set up a bed in the rear storeroom. Wait for me there."

I'd been to the store many times, just like I'd been to her home, having spent a lot of time together. There was a queen size bed set against badly painted white walls in the corner, and three male mannequins lying on the floor. They had been dressed in plain pants, three different shirts, and three different styles of shoes. Donna arrived fifteen minutes later with a digital camera.

"The doors are locked," she announced. "What do you think?"

"What am I looking at?"

"You are going to have really nasty sex with these three gentlemen. We'll angle the photographs so they look like real men. The store uses this camera for our advertising, and I have enough experience to get good shots."

"Wow, what a great idea," I said. "What should I do?"

"Get into your nightgown, and the bra, and look slutty. I have dark eyeshadow and bright red lipstick for you."

I changed quickly, looking over my shoulder. Donna had seen me naked at the gym, and during our brief trysts many years before, but never in a public setting like this. She busied herself by setting up the first dummy. The black lingerie was very short, barely covering my butt. It was thin enough that the red bra stood out. We spent half an hour on my makeup with Donna reading instructions from the internet.

"That's perfect," Donna said, holding the camera. "Now lay on the bed like you're expecting some jerk to come along and fuck you."

"Donna!" I protested.

"If we're going to do this, you can't be shy about the words we use," she lectured.

I got on the bed, rolling around and looking sexy.

"You're doing great, Tracy. You have a terrific body. So tight and hot. Have you been working out?"

"I've been running at the park almost every morning," I confessed, for I wanted to keep my girlish figure as long as possible. "I haven't been to the gym lately."

"We'll work on that. Okay, now I want you to take off the panties and show me your bush," she instructed. I was shocked but did as I was told. She obviously had this thought out.

After the first round, we lifted a dummy on the bed. Donna brought out a large bag and produced a ten-inch dildo. The size and color looked like a real penis. She opened the dummy's fly and taped it in an erect position.

"Set two, start sucking that man's dick. Look passionate. And sometimes, look back at me like you're bored and doing it for the money. Keep your ass in the air and flash me."

"Gosh, Donna, I don't know," I demurred. "It's not like I've done that very often."

"This has to look good. I've spent a lot of time and money on it," she insisted.

That she had, so I got in the spirit of the photo shoot, following her directions to the letter. After the first dummy, we used the second, wearing different clothes and shoes. It was the same for the third, each dildo with varied shapes and colors.

"Put everything into it," Donna kept saying. I did, trying to think this was genuine, and happy for my acting skills, which I'd learned in drama class.

"These will be the last shots with the props," Donna announced. "Take the nightgown off and ride him naked."

It sounded embarrassing, but she was right. It was natural for the scene. I climbed up, straddling the fake cock, and rubbed my body against it. The motion was getting me excited. Donna moved in for a close-up. When I pushed harder, the dildo came loose, falling on the floor. We had to stop and tape it back in place, which was awkward.

"Remember, it's fake," Donna lectured. "Don't kill the poor guy."

I rode it more carefully the second time but still found myself getting moist. I hoped Donna wasn't noticing.

After several more scandalous photos, we pulled the dummy off the bed and she took nude shots of me playing with myself. It was getting very arousing but I didn't want her to know that, dabbing my wet undercarriage with the sheet when she wasn't looking.

"That's a wrap, Tracy. Good work. I sure wouldn't want my family or co-workers to see those."

"How do they look?" I asked.

"We'll save the best images and delete the rest," Donna answered. "We should have enough for what we want."

It was still only 10 o'clock, and Donna had another mission. We drove downtown. In the car, she had me change into a short red skirt, a cut-off top that barely concealed my nice boobs, lots of silver and gold necklaces, and knee-high boots. My bad make-up from the photoshoot needed to be touched up.

"I look like a streetwalker," I realized.

"That's exactly right," Donna said. "We're going to a popular street corner to hang out with the working girls. Maybe you can stir up a john."

"Donna!" I exclaimed.

"Don't worry, I would never take business away from the girls. It's only pretend."

We parked her blue Honda in a deserted business lot and walked to Madison and First Street. There were three girls there. I didn't see any pimps. I did feel my outfit was very embarrassing. If I was really selling my body, it was the ideal costume. Donna had done her research.

"Don't worry, ladies," Donna said as we approached, showing her camera. "We're not here to invade your turf. My friend works Lawndale, but she hasn't had much luck lately. Any advice? I can pay for it."

Mentioning money got their attention. "What do you need to know, dearie?" a buxom black lady named Loretta asked. It was a fake accent, not really Southern. I had spent several years in Alabama and knew the difference. Had she also taken acting classes?

As Donna took pictures, I loitered with the women, listening to stories, sharing shots of tequila out of a brown paper bag, and watching as cars slowed down to speak with them. After a while, I started getting a little tipsy.

"Tracy, you take this guy," Loretta said.

"But this is your corner," I replied.

"This fuck never buys the product," Loretta responded. "He just wants to show his dick and drive off. Tell him it's too small."

The girls laughed. I wasn't going to insult a pervert while standing on a street corner in a skirt that didn't even cover my bright pink panties. I said a few polite words and thanked him for his interest, starting to back away.

"Show me your tits," the driver suddenly said,

"What?" I replied.

"Show me your tits." He waved a $10 bill in my face. I was shocked. And intrigued. I looked around, scared but inclined to obey. I lowered my top, letting my perky boobs flash for a few seconds. He grinned and handed me the money before driving off. Donna was taking photos the whole time.

"This belongs to you. This is your corner," I said, giving the $10 to Loretta.

"Not bad for a creep like that, but you should have demanded more," Loretta said, tucking the money in her top. "Let's see how you do with the next one."

"The next one?" I asked.

"Honey, watching a sweet young thing like you scrambling around like a frightened rabbit is worth the price of admission," Loretta answered. Another car stopped before us. "Here, this guy likes blowjobs, but don't get in the front seat. He'll drive off with you. Last month, he left Tricks naked at the beach. Do it in the backseat."

"Loretta, I'm not going to suck some creepy stranger's cock," I denied. "I process contracts for a living. Let me know if he wants to be notarized."

The second girl, Candy, crawled in the backseat, making $50. I could see her head bobbing up and down as the john put his feet up on the seat. I watched them in horror, glad it wasn't me.

"No wonder you're not getting any business," Tricks said, a slender white woman who appeared to have a drug problem. "You are way too choosy."

"I'll try to do better," I said, with no intention of doing so.

"We'll be calling it a night, ladies," Donna said when the church bells chimed midnight. "Can I get a group shot?"

"No problem, dearie," Loretta said, wrapping a big arm around my shoulders. At the last minute, she cupped my breast, giving it a hard squeeze. My eyebrows shot up, but she was too strong to pull away from. I heard Donna's camera clicking away and saw her smile. It seemed she had planned that.

While I headed for the parking lot, I saw Donna loitering with the three friendly ladies, giving each of them money. I don't know how much, though I wished them well, and was very glad to have my own profession. Their lives were harder than mine. That didn't stop me from getting out of the hooker costume as fast as I could, riding back home in a loose shirt and jeans without my underwear.

"Two more missions tomorrow and we should be good," Donna said. "Let's meet at Neiman Marcus around five o'clock, then we'll have a nice dinner and visit a club in the evening."

"What kind of club?" I asked.

"You'll see," she answered.

We met the next afternoon. I noticed Donna had a smaller camera that was easier to conceal. She took photos of the store's elegant exterior, the arched entry, and the gold-trimmed counters where the cash registers were. The walls were decorated with travel posters of Paris, Rome, and Madrid. Several well-dressed saleswomen were helping a dozen discerning customers. Donna was looking for something.

"The salesgirls get a little careless sometimes," she told me. "Keep an eye on that low table near the couch."

"Why?"

"After showing these rich bitches the good stuff, the salesgirls get distracted. I have a friend over there in the corner waiting for my signal. Don't look! You don't need to know. When I give you the sign, stroll over to that table, kneel down where the security cameras can't see you, and put that brown leather purse in the bag." Donna gave me a fancy cloth sack with the Neiman Marcus logo. "Then sneak back out without attracting attention."

"I'm not stealing a purse," I rejected.

"It's part of the plan. The blackmail evidence," Donna insisted.

"I don't care. I've never stolen anything in my life and I won't start now," I answered.

Donna seemed unhappy about that, recalculating.

"Okay, put the purse in the bag. It's a Ferragamo Hug, worth about $3,000," Donna decided. "Pause for a moment while I'm taking the pictures and then put it back on the table. When you get up, look like you still have it and are sneaking out."

"That works better," I agreed, though I could tell she was still displeased with me.

We waited for the right moment as the salesgirl worked with a ritzy woman customer, then wandered off to look at something else. Suddenly, there was a crash from the other side of the department. Broken glass. Everyone went to look, and that was my cue. I rushed down the aisle, knelt near the expensive purse, and dropped it into the logo bag as Donna took pictures. Then I put the bag back on the table, slowly stood up, and walked out like I still had it.

"That worked well," Donna said outside, checking her photos. "Good, sharp images. You look devious and gleeful."

"Donna, if I had taken that purse, wouldn't an alarm gone off at the door?" I asked.

"I had a plan for that," she answered.

Plan? I thought.

* * * * * *

We had a nice dinner at Bon Temps, a very expensive restaurant. More than I could afford. The lamb chops and asparagus were great. Donna had two drinks and made me have four. I wasn't driving. She paid the bill and I left a generous tip. We killed time in Midvale Park, Donna showing me the many paths, tourists spots, and restrooms. Ducks filled the lake, and birds chirped in the tall trees.

"We're going to a rather exclusive club," Donna said as we walked up 4th Street. I was staggering a bit, causing her to hold my elbow. It felt like the drinks had been stronger than usual. "I've been a member for a few years but haven't mentioned it to you."

"Why?" I asked.

"It's a bondage club. I wasn't sure how you would react, being so quiet and submissive."

"Submissive?"

"You don't take charge. You allow others to tell you what to do. I was afraid you'd find a bondage club intimidating."

"It sounds kind of fun, though I don't know if I'd want to be whipped," I responded.

"Which is exactly my point, my dear friend. It would never occur to you to be the person who does the whipping."

I realized she was right. My first reaction was to think of being whipped, not whipping someone else. I didn't even think I could whip someone, the idea completely foreign to me. Being whipped, on the other hand, could be exciting. To be naked, and helpless, under another person's total control. If it wasn't too intense. I declined to mention that to Donna, not wanting to find myself stripped and hung from a chain.

The club was behind a green door at the end of a dank alley. Not someplace I'd go if Donna wasn't holding my hand. A fearsome guard stood just inside the door with forearms as big as Popeye.

"She's with me," my friend said.

"Yes, Miss Donna," the guard acknowledged. He stamped the back of my hand with a green dragon and draped a lanyard around my neck with a tag saying "guest".

Inside was surreal. A full bar to the right with a dozen tables to socialize. There was a stage straight ahead, without current entertainment. Maybe they had no shows on Sunday nights. I wasn't really interested in drinking more, but Donna bought me a gin and tonic, saying the bartender was the best in the city.

"Have you ever seen a club like this before?" she asked.

"No, but I've read stories about them. And seen a few videos."

"What you see on the internet is crap," Donna rejected. "This club has high-class clients. Rules to protect their submissives. Everything is professional. Dominants are not allowed free reign, and their slaves only get what they're asking for."

"What do they ask for?" I wondered.

"Attention, above all. Love. Discipline. And punishment. Many of the bottoms, as they are called, find this liberating."

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Just a little trial run. Fun and games. Nothing that will scare you."

I should have said no without a second thought, and if I hadn't been so drunk, I would have. It didn't help that I found the whole thing intriguing, and a little arousing. Which Donna was well aware of, as I had shared many of my fantasies with her.

"I've reserved a private room," Donna said. "I'll get you ready but won't participate. We don't have that kind of relationship, after all."

"Someone else?" I asked.

"Mistress Rolanda. She's into domination. Though there will be a man present to give you masculine authority and watch out for your safety."

I should not have agreed, but my head was swimming. All I could hear were Donna's encouraging words that sounded so sensible. She led me to a room on the periphery, passing a middle-aged couple dressed in leather and doing god knows what. The small room was quiet with black walls and a tile floor. There was a padded bench with rings on the sides, and harsh fluorescent lighting overhead. Mistress Rolanda was there, taller than Donna, with dyed red hair and broad shoulders. She had a strange, predatory smile.

My clothes were removed. I don't know by who. Then I was laid face down on the bench, my arms and legs tied to the sides, my butt hanging over the end. It felt strange. Was someone going to whip me? Rape me? I couldn't tell. I put my head down and fell asleep, only remembering that Donna was taking pictures.