Christen slid thankfully into the pool. It had been a long week and she needed the break to just detox and unwind. Junior year of pre-law/political science, head of the student activities budget panel and founder of the student-run soup kitchen looked good on the resume but they really took everything she had to juggle it all.
She wondered if things would be easier, down the line, or just as hard. She had her life all mapped out; from ADA to DA to judge to senator. Who knows, she might even become president some day. She'd just have to figure out that fine balance between femininity and discipline that had finally brought Hillary down. A few tears and she was an emotional wreck but before then she was frigid and inhuman? Fortunately, Christen had a couple of decades to work that part out.
The spot she'd discovered was the perfect place to sooth the tension out of her body. Deep in the forest by the college, there was a Geo-thermal hot-spring. Somehow, a tiny meandering stream had found its way over the small cliff that bordered one side and into the same pool. As a result, one side held the chilled water of the brook while the other steamed from the spring.
Sometimes, Christy would brace herself with a shower from the waterfall and then jump over to the hot side. Other times, she would lounge in the steaming heat and let her troubles boil away. Other times, like today, she would relax on the shelf just inside the pool and enjoy the conflicting temperatures on either side.
Christy's arm dropped from the side of the pool as her hand slipped under the water. The spring wasn't the only thing to provide heat. Although he droned on and on, Professor MacNamera was difficult to watch and not fantasize about. Men who looked that good shouldn't be teachers. Their mere presence distracted female students too much for retention, particularly when the subject was so boring!
If not for the warm spring temperatures, she could have blamed her diamond hard nipples on the weather. As it was, she knew the real problem was how long it had been since she'd been with a guy. A guy who wanted to go into politics could do whatever he wanted in his youth. Bill had inhaled and Dubyah hadn't even bothered to deny his partying. A woman, however, would be instantly labeled promiscuous and hedonistic.
In the absolute solitude of nature, however, she could at least pretend. Her hand slid beneath the water. She didn't imagine anyone specific, as her hand slid across her trim stomach. Better to let the anonymous man of her dreams form into reality. It was his hand that reached up to pluck at her nipple, while the other gently sought access between her tightly closed legs.
Christy relaxed further and spread her legs slightly. The tips of her fingers brushed against the already swollen bud of her clit and elicited a moan of relief. Electricity seemed to jump straight from her groin to her breast in a circuit of pure pleasure.
Her fingers began to flicker back and forth. Sensitivity increased with each twitch. Once fully aroused, she switched tactics and began to press harder. Instead of flicks, her ministrations became a slow massage that pressed her swollen clit and excited the nerves deeper in her core.
Her breath began to catch. She had to fight the instinct to roll her hips into the motion. She wanted the pleasure to build slowly. There never seemed to be enough time to escape out here. She had to make it last. Unfortunately, her body remembered how long it had been just as surely as her mind did and had other ideas.
It seemed like she lost control over her own fingers. Before she knew it, her pace had crept from leisurely to frantic as her hand swirled circles around the base of, and occasionally across, her clit. She tried to slow herself down only to run afoul of a pulse of pleasure that ripped a loud, heartfelt moan from her lips.
Christy leaned her head back. Her body shook with the need so quickly built within her. Somehow, the tempo never faltered. Her own sure hands continued to pluck and grind and build her interest and excitement. The pressure that began between her hips built and spread until it consumed her entire frame. Fire seemed to burn in her veins, unaffected by the misty splash of chilled water from the fall.
Pleasure began to spill over as the first hints of orgasm crashed through her. Without missing a beat, two fingers dove farther between her legs. Her palm continued to caress her flaming mound but it was almost incidental to the joy that her fingers drove deep inside. They fought against the spasming muscles and spread her wide, even as they traced out the most sensitive spots buried within her core.
Fingers might not be as good as the real thing, but they were a decent substitute. Tears sprang to her eyes with the joy of release after too long cooped up by roommates and classes and responsibilities. She allowed her moans free reign to wander the thick forest as she called out her wonder.
Too soon, the sensations began to subside. She could never keep herself going long enough, it seemed. Her hands shook and broke the perfect rhythm. Her muscles went lax and could not drive as hard or as deep. Even her mind became accustomed to the lessening degree of pleasure.
Christy slumped back against the edge of the pool. Her limbs drifted in the water, as boneless as some sort of aquatic plant. Her head lolled lazily against the grass and she stared up at the puffy clouds high above. Eventually, she would have to get back to her programmed future and the stress it entailed. Until the alarm on her watch blared, she could simply relax and let the world drift by, safe in her solitude.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Fucking bastard asshole of a shithead!"
Christy stared down at the envelope in her hands in disbelief. She knew she could get in trouble if the wrong people heard her talk like that, or worse, recorded it, but it didn't exactly matter to her at that moment. The torrent of curses wanted to stream out of her at an unbelievable rate and only a sheer force of willpower kept it in check.
Classes were over for the day, so she'd decided to hop by the Memorial Union Building to check her mail and grab a bite to eat. Food was now the last thing on her mind. She flipped the manilla envelope over and glared at the neat penmanship that spelled out her name and box number. She had to respect the intelligent mind that produced such diligent letters even if she condemned it to the lowest levels of Hell for all eternity.
Christy clutched the envelope tightly to her breast and scurried out of the way of the other students anxious to check their mail. It didn't take long to find a relatively secluded corner to press herself into. She kept the envelope close to her body as she pulled out the note and accompanying pictures.
The note had been typed. It was probably from one of the computers in the lab. The information on it was sparse and to the point. Meet the mysterious sender at a specific booth in the corner of one of the restaurants on campus that catered to those who preferred to avoid the cafeterias. Just to make sure she complied, there were three accompanying eight-by-ten glossies.
The quality of the pictures was really quite remarkable. If she didn't know better, she would have thought they came from a professional shoot with the photographer only a few feet away. As it was, she hadn't even seen the camera.
The first picture had been taken while she stripped for the pool. Whoever had taken it had gotten lucky. Although the pose screamed of a candid shot, the quality suggested that it had actually been a carefully scripted scene designed to look off-the-cuff. Even the moment she'd been frozen in had that pin-up feel; her pants just below her butt as she bent over to take them off, the cleft of her ass and groin in primary focus but with her breasts clearly visible in soft focus to one side.
There'd been more than one person who'd questioned her desire to get into politics. They'd insisted that she had the looks to model. She'd always assumed they were just out to get in her pants and flattery was the best method available. Unfortunately, the photos in her hand belied that theory.
The next picture had been taken just after the first. As part of her ritual of escapism, she used the waterfall as a quick shower. It helped to relax her, almost as if some ritual of purification and cleansing, before she sank into the pool.
Once more, her back was to the camera. This time, she was completely naked, her firm, round, ass exposed to the world. Her hands were tangled in her hair as she worked the water through it and tried to pick out a knot. The position of her arms allowed a hint of her bare breasts to peek around the sides of her body. The clincher was the way her head was turned. Although her eyes were closed, it gave the impression she played to the camera.
There should have been no question that she was unaware of the photographer in the case of the third picture. No one could possibly believe that she would have allowed herself to have her picture taken while she masturbated. Unfortunately, there were plenty more than enough women out there who did just that. For the right price, or maybe just the cajoling of an especially charismatic artist, some people would do anything.
Ripples in the water prevented a clear image of her hand's actions. Despite that fact, there could be little doubt what the picture portrayed. The blissful expression on her face, the slightly parted lips and round mouth, the way her head lolled back, all spoke of a woman in the middle of orgasm. The fact that her fingers pinched at her large, pert, nipple was almost excessive.
Christy knew what the pictures and note meant. She could not afford to allow them to get out there. Never mind her dream of politics, she'd have difficulties being taken seriously as a lawyer, much less a judge, with these in public. Her rivals would find them and make certain to spread them around, discreetly, in order to discredit her. There was no choice but to see what the photographer wanted.
It was always possible that she'd gotten lucky and managed to pick up her mail just before the appointed time. Unfortunately, she suspected that the person who sent them to her knew her routine well enough to time it properly. Enough time had been built into the window that she wouldn't have had to worry if something had distracted her but otherwise it left her the opportunity to immediately take care of the situation.
No, there was little doubt in Christy's mind that the blackmailer knew her very well indeed. While it was possible that someone had stumbled upon her as she relaxed in supposed solitude, the likelihood that they had quality camera along with them was vanishingly thin. Even if both of those were taken as a coincidence, that same person had to have researched her to find out who she was and where to send the photos.
She suspected that it was a male, though she couldn't absolutely rule out the possibility that it was a woman. Something about the choice of pictures suggested that her voyeur had intimately appreciated the view. Those could have been the best out of a large number of hastily snapped shots but they had been chosen for erotic content as much as artistic quality.
