A Voyeur Pays the Price

This is the conclusion to the three part story, and was always intended to tie everything up. I do however have a sort of epilogue in mind, that I might get around to writing one day. Thanks for reading, and as always, comments and feedback welcome!

*

I'd had the phone in my hand for nearly an hour now, if I held it much longer the sweat would render it unusable. I knew the number, I knew what I had to do – why was it so hard to just do it?

I had spent the last seven days alternating wildly between fear, excitement, lust, and shame, thinking of nothing but the plan that had germinated in my mind and strangled all other concerns. Looking at the worn printouts now, for the hundredth time, it seemed a lot less simple.

The printouts were emails, which I had printed a week ago during my last... meeting... with a woman called Heather Dean. Heather was about as successful as you can be – she had an excellent job, was wealthy, respected, and beautiful. And she

hated

me. Ever since she'd first come across me, watching her undress in her hotel suite (at this point I cannot pretend to feel guilty about that), she had devoted herself to destroying me. Twice now she had 'summoned' me, so that she could harass, demean, and humiliate me in the most graphic and obscene way possible.

Except last time, I stumbled across something rather interesting in her office, once she'd had her fun and left me. Something which could get my tormentor in a

lot

of trouble.

Two days I had spent holed up in my little apartment since then, sat at my computer and obsessively researching what I had found, and making sure it meant what I thought it meant. I didn't even bother phoning work. When my manager e-mailed me telling me not to bother coming back, I barely registered it – all that mattered now was this. And as it turned out, I was right – she was stealing thousands from her company, unbeknownst to anyone. Until now anyway.

Not that she had any idea of course – I'd printed the evidence and bolted, clearing my tracks. She was still sending me her taunting little e-mails, dropping sly hints that she might release her humiliating videos of me, or report my voyeurism to the police. They used to make me quail. Now I just burned with anger.

Anger in the safety of my apartment was one thing, but I still had no idea what to do with this information. Report her anonymously? She'd know it was me, of course she would. She'd take me down with her, without a doubt. Maybe I could confront her myself with the printouts? Yeah, right. The thought of marching up to Heather, whom I could barely look in the eye most times, and threaten or blackmail her, was absurd. She'd take one look at me and laugh, and then start giving more of her 'commands.'

But yet, every so often wild ideas would rush through my mind, ideas of what I could demand of

her

if I did blackmail her. Images of Heather subjected to all the ordeals I had been subjected to raced through my head. I would picture

her

stripping for an audience,

her

having to abandon any trace of modesty for a video camera,

her

lying naked on her back with a dildo deep inside her... It was almost impossible to picture it properly though – she would never allow anyone to do that to her. The ideas would die almost as soon as they came to me.

And then, five days after our last meeting, she sent another of her emails. It was typically short, and simply said 'Hope you are free next week...' Attached was a picture of a truly monstrous red dildo, thicker than any real cock, and her video camera. She knew full well that my imagination would take over from there, letting me know exactly what she had planned for our next meeting 'next week.'

I snapped. Suddenly the whole situation rearranged itself in my mind – there was no way I was going to throw away this golden opportunity. She had wrecked my life, lost me my job, humiliated and degraded me sexually for the amusement of her followers, with no end in sight, and I was going to let that go because I was scared to face her? I would just have to deal with it...

Now that it was time to make the call though, all the meticulous planning and mental steeling seemed hopelessly inadequate. But, enough was enough – I either did this now or forgot about it. I dialled the number.

"Heather Dean's office." It was her secretary.

"Hello this is Peter Baines can you tell Heather that I want to see her this evening at 6 pm please." I groaned inwardly – I could not have rushed that more.

"Excuse me?"

"This is Peter Baines," I forced myself to speak slower, louder, more confidently. "Could you please tell Heather Dean that I need to see her this evening at 6pm, at her hotel suite. It concerns..." I glanced down at the printout "...account 776809. She'll know what it entails. Thank you, good bye." I hung up and threw the phone onto the couch as though it were a live grenade. Had I sounded too nervous? Had I made it clear enough? Would Heather get the hint? God she'd be

furious

when she got that message. Had I done the right thing?

Despite the anxiety that had descended on me, I couldn't help but feel a little exhilarated. I'd done it, this was happening! Now I just had to wait.

The afternoon passed quickly. I went over the plan I'd prepared over the last couple of days, rehearsed what I would say, and just generally tried to calm myself down. No word from Heather – would she even turn up? What if she just called the police now?

No

, I told myself,

she'll need to know what I know

.

5pm came. I showered, dressed, grabbed the prepared backpack, ran over the plan one last time, and headed for the hotel suite.

Circumstances could not have been more different from the last time I had walked into the lobby of the Playfair hotel, but I found I was just as nervous, if not more so. At least last time I'd had no idea what I was getting into. I'd only been to the suite once before, but my feet seemed to know exactly where to go. At six o' clock on the dot, I was stood in front of the Elizabethan suite once again, telling myself to breathe normally.

I knocked. Three loud knocks.

The door burst open violently, and a set of hands seized me by the collar and pulled me into the room. By the time I'd recovered from the shock I was pinned against the wall of the suite, the door creaking closed beside me. So much for 'she might not even turn up.'

"

What

, do you think you are

doing

?" hissed Heather. She was still holding me painfully against the wall, not that I would have dared to move anyway. She looked like she had just come from work – she was still dressed for work anyway, just like all our previous encounters she was smartly dressed, albeit without the suit jacket now. "You think you can just

summon

me? Is there some confusion about how this works? I own you.

I

summon you, you ignorant low-life pervert."

Nothing had prepared me for this, for getting the full force of her rage in person.

What the hell had I been thinking

? I thought miserably.

Why had I thought I could get away with this

? I tried to come up with some way of backing out of this, of apologising...

"And why were you bleating about that account?" she demanded, after a slight pause. The instant she said it all my doubts and regrets vanished as quickly as they had materialised. She was afraid, I realised. She might be trying to wear the mask of her usual anger, but I had rattled her...

"Let me go," I demanded quietly. With a snort of disgust she released me, backing off a little. Still, I couldn't help but notice the way her eyes darted to my rucksack, the way she was pacing...

"Well? Explain yourself before I call the police!" Without a word, I took off my backpack and pulled out copies of the printouts that I had devoted the last week of my life to. Once I was reasonably sure I could control my hands, I gave them to her.

Heather was doing her best to keep her face expressionless and calm, but I knew I had just confirmed her fears. She scanned the pages, all of them, without moving, before hurling them angrily at the couch behind her.

"You used my

computer

? You

stole documents from my computer

?" For a second I genuinely thought she was going to hit me. I had seen her angry before, but this was different, she looked out-of-control angry. I tried to look calm as her rant continued. "You are going to

pay

for this, you have

no

idea. You think what you've had so far was bad? You think that was humiliation? Just you wait! Did you like the look of the lobby downstairs? How would you like to have to march naked through there? Jerking your pathetic little cock? You think last week's little show was embarrassing? I'll have you fist fucking your own asshole on the

fucking

street corner for this! I-"

"No." I cut her off, before she lost control completely. I wasn't so sure I could handle this anymore. "W-we aren't going to do that," I stuttered, "because this is what

I'm

going to do." This was it.

Please let this work

. "I'm going to send my copies of those transactions to the police, and to your CEO. If by some miracle you don't go down for embezzlement, you'll definitely lose your job,

and

your money. A-and you'll never get a position above 'typist' ever again."

I let it sink in for a few seconds. At least she wasn't tearing my skin off straight away. As a matter of fact she looked briefly like she wasn't sure what she would do.

"You don't have anything concrete," she said finally. I only just held back my snort of derision. Between her enraged reaction when she had first read it, and her oddly deflated look now, I knew I had her. My confidence was building with every second.

"We both know that's not true."

"Yes well I could take you down with me

Peter

," she hissed.

"What, an embarrassing video, voyeurism and stealing a document, versus blackmail and embezzlement? I'm going to need more than just for you to leave me alone

Heather

." It was the first time I had called her by her first name. I think we both felt the weight of it.

"What do you want?" she asked stiffly.

OK, this was the payload

.

"This is my proposal. For the next two hours, you will do whatever I ask- whatever I

tell

you to do. You won't ask questions, you'll just do it. And, after two hours, I'll leave, and we'll never contact each other again. I'll keep my documents, you'll keep the videos, but we'll both keep quiet."

The bombshell hung in the air for an agonisingly long time. I held my breath until I was sure I must be going red. I honestly hadn't been able to predict how she would react. Despair? Fury? Would she even care?

"Do... whatever you want?" she said at last. We both knew exactly what I meant by that. As if to emphasise the point, I pulled out the video recorder I'd bought yesterday.

"Yes. And, I'm going to record everything that happens. Seems only fair..."

"I won't. I won't do it." She looked serious. "Do your worst Peter, you don't have the balls to take

me

on." I laughed humourlessly.

"After everything you've put me through, you think I'm going to bottle out?" I looked her straight in the eye (God I hated doing that) and I saw the realisation stir in those icy blue eyes of hers. She knew I was serious. She knew I had her.

"Fine, whatever," she snarled. She gave an uncharacteristically frustrated groan and sank back onto her leather couch. It was weirdly unsettling seeing her like this. Nevertheless, my whole body sagged with the sudden relief. I knew she was thinking she could impose her will on me somehow, control what happened for the next two hours, but I was determined to make this count.

As I went over the plan again, I began to smile. Now that hard part was over, I could finally focus on the

fun

part...

I walked over to her minibar and pulled put a bottle of white wine. I could feel her eyes on the back of my head as I shakily poured myself a glass. I couldn't stand wine, but that wasn't the point. This was what she had done on our first meeting, and I wanted to make it clear that I

was

in charge.

"Stand up." My first command. She seemed to toy with the idea of refusing, but she did sluggishly get to her feet eventually. I looked her up and down hungrily – natural blonde hair, slim, well-toned figure, pale skin, It had been a long time since I'd thought of Heather as a sex idol, as anything other than an evil, sadistic tormentor bitch, but now it seemed my anonymous Ms. Tits was back, the sexy businesswoman I used to watch from that rooftop. I made a show of turning on the video recorder, making sure it was working. "Take off your clothes."

We both knew that was coming, but still she did not take it well. She grimaced at me, teeth bared, and not for the first time I wondered if she might just attack me.

"I was right about you," she snarled. "You're just a low-life pervert."

"As you say." I took a sip of the wine, trying to hide how disgusting I found it. "Now please, the clothes, take them off." Another pause. "I will report you Heather..."

Heather gave another angry snarl, and started furiously undoing the buttons on her white shirt.

This was really happening!

I stared unashamedly as her cleavage came into view, held up alluringly by her white bra. No sooner had I run my eyes over the rest of her exposed torso, than she began unceremoniously pulling down her black work pants. This was almost beyond belief – after everything she had done to me, after that whole month feeling like everything was hopeless, I now had my torturer standing before me in her underwear. She didn't look at me.

I know that feeling

, I thought. An excited glance at the video camera confirmed it was all being recorded.

I took a few steps toward her. She started to take a step back, before apparently deciding she wanted to appear defiant and unconcerned.

"The bra too." Heather tutted with derision, reaching behind her back for the straps. I almost put in a remark about how she would have reacted to my 'tutting,' but suddenly the bra was falling to the ground and all other thoughts went away.

I had never seen her naked tits up close before – from a distance yes, but this was so much better than even my over active imagination could have made them. For a woman well into her thirties they were very perky. Not overly large, but firm.

I'm staring at Heather Dean's nipples

, I thought to myself incredulously,

the mighty Heather Dean has got her tits on show like some cheap stripper

. How could I have almost not done this?

I knew she was fighting the urge the cover herself, that she was trying to seem unfazed. Well, that was fine by me. It struck me then, gazing at her as she stood with nothing but her panties, that if I could get her to do that, the rest would surely be easier, now that she had agreed to this first humiliation.

"Happy now?"

"I guess. I mean it's nothing I haven't seen before." I knew she would rise to that taunt and I wasn't disappointed. She bolted for me, ready to strike me any way she could. All I had to do was take out my phone though, and the once formidable Heather Dean stopped dead. For another second or so I thought she was going to just go for it anyway, but no. She saw sense, even if it made her hate herself.

"Fuck you," she said quietly. I smiled grimly, picked up the camera, and walked out to stand before her. Even scowling like that, she was still beautiful, still unbearably sexy.

"You think this is embarrassing?" I queried. I began caressing and squeezing her left breast with my free hand. She made to push my hand away, but I persisted. "You think this is degrading, being filmed like this?" I unbuckled my jeans, letting them fall to ankles. Still she didn't answer. "You've got a lot of catching up to do Heather..."

"You can't 'degrade' me," she said at last, with a trace of her old defiance. "We both know you'll always be my little bitch Peter." The angry retort died in my throat, and I smiled instead.

"On your knees." I made to put my hands on her shoulders, in case she needed encouragement, but she threw them off angrily, and crouched before me. She had nothing to look at but my crotch, and the very visible bulge where my dick was straining against my underwear. "I'll let you take them off..."

"It never was very impressive," she muttered as she pulled those too to my ankles, letting my cock spring out. "You should read some of the comments on that video – they all thought it was pathetic." Once this little reminder about my first humiliation might have cowed me, but now I was just caught between amusement and mild irritation. Time to show her just how pathetic it felt.

"Yes, yes. Put it in your mouth," I said simply. She looked up in disgust. "Don't make this difficult Heather..."

She gripped my already hard shaft gingerly, as though it were poisonous, and hesitantly wrapped her lips around the head. I had never had a girl go down on me, and it was unlike anything I could have imagined. Not even Heather could take away the overwhelming warm, wet envelopment.

When it became clear she wasn't going to do anything else, I thrust my hips into her face, burying my cock in her mouth. She made a surprised noise of protest but there was nothing she could do. As she swallowed around my hard shaft, her tongue rolled over me, sending me further and further into ecstasy whether she wanted or not. She was all but sucking me off now.

I greedily fucked her open mouth faster and faster, my eyes fixed on the top of Heather's blonde mop of hair. She looked flustered and angry, but I was in my own world by then, no longer caring.

I had fantasised about this for days, and now it was finally happening I knew I was going over the edge very quickly. There didn't seem much point in resisting. For a brief second I thought about warning her, but then her smug face swam before me, the one she wore so often when she had just sprung some hideous surprise on me.

"Gnah!" I spurted my load into her, the first jet hitting the back of her throat, making her gag and throw herself backward in horror. The second jet sprayed over her face. She almost got out of the way for the third one, but I turned just in time to land a stream of cum over her tits.

When I came back down to reality, I was face to face with a visibly disgusted Heather, covered in my ejaculate. I brought the camera up to take in the sight.

"Why the fuck didn't you warn me you couldn't last past one minute?" She didn't even seem able to bring herself to touch it. "OK fuck this. Fuck this and fuck you!" She stormed away to her discarded bra. "Do your worst Peter, we're done here. Turn off that fucking camera."

"If you really thought that was an option, you wouldn't be standing here topless with cum dripping from your nipples." We both knew it – if she'd had the slightest hope that there was another way, she wouldn't have gone this far. She looked down in dismay at her almost naked body – her chest was covered in the sticky white stuff, as were her cheeks and nose, not to mention the load she'd had to swallow.

"Yes, well... you've had your 'revenge.' We're even," she replied lamely.

"Even?" I stepped out of the jeans still around my ankles, casting aside the shoes and socks too. "We're just getting started here." My shirt came off too, leaving me naked. I had been naked in this suite last time I had been here – I had been so mortified I couldn't even look up. It could not be more different this time – this time I took a perverse delight in making Heather see me naked. Still, it wouldn't do to have only one of us like this. "Now take off the last of your clothes Heather, you're still a little overdressed."

She threw down her bra and swore under her breath, but only when I started to walk toward her to yank them down myself did she obey my order. I zoomed in the camera to her crotch to capture the moment, the moment Heather Dean was forced to get her pussy out.