I'd been in work for almost an hour now, and I'd put this off as long as I could, but it was time to get it over with. I had to check my emails.
I let out an audible groan when my inbox loaded – I had two messages from
her
, both with the usual subject: 'for Peter.' My eyes darted timidly around the room, paranoid as usual that someone would see them. Only John, the manager of the second hand computer repair shop where I earned my meagre paycheck, was in, and he was paying me no attention whatsoever. I opened the first email, sent last night.
They were from a woman called Heather, a rather successful businesswoman whom I had met in person almost one month ago. It was not an encounter I liked to think about, not that I had much choice. You see up until that meeting I had very unwisely been spending my lunchtimes watching Heather (whom I had once idolised as some kind of kinky, blonde, sex goddess –
ha
!) in her hotel suite, where I would usually find her entirely nude. Only it had turned out that she was fully aware that I was spying on her, and the whole time she had spent coming up with a very cruel revenge plot.
This email in front of me now had no text or anything, just a picture. Most of her emails were like this. The picture was one of me bending over with legs apart, naked. There was no trace of modesty about it; my cock and balls were clearly visible, dangling between my legs, and my ass cheeks were spread open for the camera. I quickly closed it, unable to look at it. My face wasn't visible in that one at least, but it was in many of the previous photos she had emailed to me.
For that had been her revenge. She had confronted me in my hiding place, made me turn up at her hotel suite, and humiliated me in front of a live streaming webcam. I had been stripped, forced to 'pose' for the camera, and completely broken. It's hard to understand unless you've been in that situation, but the shame and humiliation was almost incapacitating. All the followers on her damn blog had been watching, and ever since that day, the day she had promised that I was 'hers' now to torment as she liked, I had been receiving veiled threats about exposing the photos she had taken throughout – showing them to people I knew. And having seen plenty of them, I was resigned to just doing whatever she wanted. There were shots of me jerking myself off, spreading my legs for the camera, lying spread-eagled on a table with a dildo sticking out of my ass... Let's just say I was in no mood to anger her.
For the past month I had been desperately searching for a solution, but there was no way out. I had even contemplated just running, getting out of town and as far away as possible, but it would be pointless. She had my name, she had my details, she had everything she could need to distribute her little video to all my contacts, or just go to the police to report me as a voyeur and a pervert.
It was barely 10am and I was already utterly miserable. The second email was from earlier this morning, no doubt another humiliating shot of me in some depraved position to taunt me.
But there was no picture, just a short message. I read and re-read it over and over, my heart sinking further every time. This was much worse than any picture.
'Peter.
I trust you have been getting my emails. You know there is much more where they came from, and you know my followers are eager to learn your full name so that they can send their copies to... the right people. They feel it would be justice.
I am inclined to agree. To convince me otherwise, you are to report to my office downtown, at 12pm – I'm in the Grover building, twelfth floor. If I do not see you there, there will be repercussions.
Heather Dean'
I had known that eventually she would get tired of holding this over my head and that sooner or later things would come to a head, but actually reading this made me feel physically sick. Even my hands were shaking.
From the sounds of things, she had all but made up her mind. Did she just want to make me watch her as she destroyed my life? Or did she want to subject me to another ordeal for her enraged followers?
"You alright there Peter?" chuckled John. I was sat with my head buried in my hands. I looked up startled.
"...Yeah." I glanced at the still open email. '12pm' it said – I would have to leave soon, straight away in fact, if I was going to get downtown by then.
Damn her.
It struck me just then that this was actually happening. I had no way out. I got shakily to my feet. "Actually John. I, erm, I have to... go."
"Go?" John was quick to irritate at the best of times, and he had no great fondness for me to begin with. "Peter you've been here for barely an hour."
"Yeah, well..." Maybe if I'd been thinking clearly, or if I had any kind of backbone, I might have made up an excuse that didn't put my job in danger. But I had other worries right then. "I'll explain tomorrow," I mumbled, walking hurriedly toward the door. "I'm sorry..."
"Hey!" But I was already outside. So on top of everything else this woman had inflicted on me, now she might have made gotten me fired. But if she said 12pm, I didn't want to question it...
It was a very hot day, but I was in no mood to enjoy the Sun. I had a vague idea of where the Grover building was, and in my journey there I alternated between aimless ambling and panicked bursts of speed. I dreaded arriving there, while simultaneously dreaded being late.
Half formed thoughts rushed through my head. I tried to come up with some sort of speech,
something
that I could say to her that would appease her, make her see sense, or have mercy. But whenever I pictured myself confronting her, the image of her in my mind made me quail. I had fantasised this last month of being able to blackmail
her
in some way, to turn the tables on her. I knew there was nothing else that would get me out of this mess, but finding any leverage over her was out of the question. She had been completely and depressingly right in what she had said when we last parted company – I was hers.
I found myself downtown with just twenty minutes to go, and I had to jog a little to make it to the Grover building in time. I had seen it before without paying it attention, but looking at it properly for the first time now, I could tell Heather would be quite at home here. It was tall, ornate and majestic looking, with people bustling in and out frequently. I took a breath to steady myself and walked in.
The receptionist in the main foyer glanced up as I entered and looked as though she would say something, but I hurried past her with my eyes averted. No doubt she thought I had no business being in a place like this but I had enough to deal with without explaining things to her. I scurried into an elevator, and headed for the twelfth floor.
I found myself in a wide, professional looking corridor, with sunlight streaming in from a window that offered an impressive view of the whole city. I ignored it – I was perilously close to being late. I passed a sign that read 'H. Dean.' This was it. I followed it down the corridor, and turned the corner.
"Yes?" A middle aged woman looked up at me. She was seated behind a wooden desk, at the edge of a fairly expansive room furnished with comfortable looking leather chairs and magazines. Opposite me was a closed, polished oak door. This was presumably her secretary.
"I'm here to see Heather Dean," I mumbled inaudibly.
"I'm sorry?"
"Heather Dean," I said a little louder, feeling foolish already. "My name's Peter Baines, she asked me to come see her." I saw her look me up and down. Did she know who I was? Had she seen the video? Terrified thoughts rushed through my head in the eternity-filled second of silence that hung in the air.
"Very well, have a seat." I collapsed into a chair by the window. It was a few minutes past noon. That couldn't count as being late, surely? I avoided the secretary's gaze and stared intently out of the window. Any minute now, I'd have to face her again...
A minute passed. Then ten minutes. Then thirty. Did she know I was here? I shot the occasional glance at her secretary, but she was staring at her computer, ignoring me. An hour had passed. I couldn't bare the tension any longer.
"Excuse me. Err, are you sure- does she know I'm here?" I asked her timidly.
"Yes Mr. Baines, I have told her," she said, rather snappishly. "She will call you in when she is ready, please be patient." I slouched back into the chair. Of course she was making me wait. Making me rush out on my boss to be here for 12, and then making me loiter, was exactly her style.
I watched the Sun cross the sky outside the window. The view was truly spectacular, but I honestly did not care. Every minute seemed to last an age, as two o' clock came, then three. There was a toilet in the waiting area, but nothing to eat, and by four o' clock I was starving. Could I just leave? Certainly the secretary didn't seem to even notice I was here – she took calls and typed away, but paid me no heed. Finally, at four thirty, four and a half hours after I had arrived, my reverie was interrupted.
"Ms. Dean will see you now," the secretary declared, glancing up briefly before returning to her screen. I jumped to my feet as though shocked, staring at the closed door that I had been fixated on for most of the afternoon. I was aware that I was shaking again.
Please let this be quick,
I thought as I shuffled over to the door. My hands were actually trembling as they opened it.
And there she was. She was sat behind her desk, the sunlight streaming in from the window behind her and lighting up her sleek blonde hair, which was tied back behind her head. She was staring at me intently as I closed the door behind me. As usual, she fixated on me with a look of casual loathing. Neither of us said anything. For a second I could meet her gaze, but her icy blue eyes seemed to pierce me, and I had to look away. It was she who broke the silence.
"Hello Peter." I had not missed that voice. "Come closer please, we don't want you bolting for the door now do we?" She was almost smiling now, she had always seemed to enjoy how afraid her presence made me. I walked toward her desk.
"Hi," I muttered, stealing a furtive glance at my tormentor. She was wearing another suit, professional but close-fitting, and very expensive looking. The black contrasted alluringly with her beautiful pale skin, and made me long for the days when this woman had just been a nameless sexual fantasy.
"So, have you been following the blog?"
"No," I lied. In truth I had followed it obsessively, afraid that every entry would reveal all my information to her followers. Instead I just had to read through comment after comment of abuse directed at me.
"Well, the verdict seems to be that it's about time your filthy exploits were made public. They seem to think you haven't quite been punished enough for your appalling voyeurism." She was smiling now, like a predator whose prey is cornered. To my own surprise hatred welled up within me. I snapped.
"You're not the only one who could go public!" I blurted out hurriedly. "You blackmailed me! Humiliated me! You-" I stopped short. Heather had stood up, her brief smile vanished.
"You think
you
can
threaten
me?" she spat. "You spend an entire
month
