Blacmailed by Unnown

The following very dark story has themes of misogyny, non-consent sex, humiliation, abuse and other dark themes. If such content offends you, please do not read. This is an erotic FICTION story not meant as any sort of gender, political or societal protest. This is purely for entertainment and never meant to happen in reality. If you have issues with such kinks, please do not read.

As I sit in front of my laptop, I feel that all too familiar feeling of being disconnected from reality, again. It's the same feeling I had the first time the pervy, disgusting creep messaged me to show he was blackmailing me. And I was sitting in the exact same place too, my chair, in my room, in front of my laptop.

Two months ago, a loser, creep blackmailed me over a naked picture I posted on a subreddit. It wasn't meant to be a dirty picture at all. I posted to a "Rate my body" subreddit as I was curious what strangers thought of my naked body.

The creep knew who I was, that I was an 18 year old girl and that I was heading to college on a scholarship. A scholarship that most likely would be revoked if that picture was sent out, as it would show "clear moral failings."

From that, he blackmailed me into doing a webcam session with him, or else he would post my naked picture everywhere he could, not to mention email it to every possible email he could find. Despite losing my scholarship, I don't think I could face my friends or family if they saw that picture. Everyone knows me as a sweet, kind and innocent young woman. Seeing that picture would destroy that.

That night, I thought the creep was just going to want to see me naked. Or maybe make me talk to him sexy-like. But no. He wanted so much more. He proved he was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, an evil pervert. The evil pervert.

Getting naked was the least pervy thing he made me do. Not only did I have to get naked, but he humiliated me in ways I didn't know existed. I mean, he made me refer to myself as "Ms. Big Boobies." Had me hop up and down while calling myself that, making me hit my own face with my boobs.

Oh, I had to do so much. Like tying up my own breasts, or put clothespins on my nipples. He focused so much on my tits, like he was mad at them or something.

And he wanted to make sure there was risk that I was seen doing this perverted crap too, because he forced me to throw my bras and panties

out of my window

. Sure, that doesn't sound all that bad, but say that after you do it on a very windy night. My fucking panties went everywhere! I had to chase them down from several neighbor's yards! A week later when in the car with my mom, I saw one in a neighbor's rosebush, to which I had to pretend it wasn't mine as my mother decried about "loose women."

I say he is evil, because he recorded all of that session. Recorded all that he made me do to myself and made the good bits into gifs, which he threatened to unleash online unless I did more. Not just one or two gifs either, but dozens of them, all having my face.

In short, I had to let him rape me. Well, to be completely honest, I did enjoy the sex. Well, I did and I didn't. It's complicated. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that he had me sneak into my own backyard, where he violated me. As I was bound and helpless, he used sex toys to torture me, then fucked me hard from behind.

And now he's back.

Reading the IM on my screen, I can see he's back and wants more. A lot more from the tone of his message.

Here's the kicker....I know who he is. At least, I'm pretty sure I know who it is. I can't be one hundred percent for sure, but it adds up. And I can't believe he would dare try anything again as I so kindly pretended it didn't happen the first time.

Who is it? Who is the one that sexually abused and humiliated me? The one that made me feel more pathetic that I believed possible? The one that made my pussy sore for days?

My step-father.

Yes. My step-father.

I'll be honest, he and I never had a close relationship. My mom got with him a couple of years ago, so it's not like I grew up with him. He seemed ok, a bit boring but ok. He treated my Mom nice, provided for her and didn't do anything weird or crazy, like hit her or watch kinky porn in the living room. Best of all, he left me alone, so I didn't really care. We really have nothing in common, so outside of a few pleasantries every so often, we don't talk.

How do I know it was him? Because of all the facts. First, he works as a software engineer, so he is fluent in all sorts of different programming languages. That would make it easy for him to make any number of programs, such as a spy program to monitor everything I do, such as uploading a certain "rate my body" pic. And he's been on my laptop too. Like an idiot I asked him to make sure all security patches were installed not too long ago.

Second fact, the night I was blackmailed, he and my mom went out of town.

He knew I would be home alone

. And wouldn't you know it...my mom said she had a virus that very night? Seems she doesn't remember much as she went to bed super, mega early. Sure seems like she might have been drugged to me.

Third fact, I did the math. My step-father could have easily driven back home to rape me, then right after driven back to my mom. He could have been holed up in his car, chatting with me on his cell, then leapt into action. That way it would make my mom think that he never left because he was there when she woke up.

And maybe the most damning reason I know it's him is because of the aftershave he wears. I've smelt it on him nearly every day he's lived in the house. It's not a bad smell as I know it is pretty expensive, but after smelling it each and every day, I've come to recognize it. And I recognized it...on my rapist. In my entire life, I've never met or smelled anyone else that wears it.

After that night, it was awkward to be around him. Every time I saw him, I remembered all of that night. All the things I had to do. All the things my rapist did to me. So I made sure to leave the room as soon as I could, without trying to be weird. Without bringing attention that I knew it was him.

The only real reason I have doubt it was him is from the way he acts. He seems, well, normal. This threw me because I thought there would be something, you know? That he would give me an evil smirk. Or I would catch him staring at me as I bent over. Just something, you know? But no. He's his normal, boring self. I haven't gotten so much as a hint of anything different from him.

Without proof it was him, I can't do anything. And, if I'm being honest, if it wasn't him and I accuse him, I would feel really bad. It would ruin him and the poor guy didn't do anything wrong Not to mention it would kill my mom too.

Oh, but I'm so damn sure it's him. If only I could prove it.

That's why a part of me feels excited that he's contacted me again. It's a chance to be able to prove it's him. A chance at revenge. I dunno, it sort of feels like he messed up. That he opened himself up and I'll be able to get my proof.

Getting proof shouldn't be hard. All I need is for him to talk, or maybe to get a glimpse of his face. Any tiny bit of proof would work and then I'll have him. Hell, maybe I'll blackmail his ass to see how he likes it.

"What do you want?" I type into the IM box after staring at it for a while. Even now, looking at the IM app that suddenly popped up on screen, it reeks of my step-father. It's a specialized program that I know I didn't have on my laptop before. The IM just popped up and it has no app or website name on it. Just a blank box you can type in. And if you try the task menu, it displays nothing but squares for this program, so I have no clue what the name of it, nor can I close it.

The IM makes a ping noise which is an alert that a pic was received. I frown at this, as I really hope it's not a dick pic. That's the last thing I want to see, and isn't the way I want to try and ID that it's my step-father. I don't think anyone would take me seriously if I demanded to see my step-father's penis to prove he's a rapist.

Opening the pic, my stomach drops. It's not his dick. But it's much, much worse. It's a picture of me, from that night. A horrible, dirty, lewd picture. Yet another picture that would surely ruin my life. A picture I have never seen before.

In the picture, I'm bent over the tree stump that's in the backyard, naked. My face is lifted and looking forward so you can clearly see the vibrator that's been shoved in my mouth. I remember that vibrator clearly because he had turned it on while in my mouth, making it vibrate horribly. I just forgot how huge it was. Dear me it looks like my mouth can barely contain it.

The worst part is my face. It's clear that I'm having an orgasm. There's a look of extreme sexual joy on my face that makes it look like I'm in a trance. It's so lewd and shocking that I can't believe it's me. Even through it is clearly my face, it looks like it belongs to another person. To some kinky, fetish made porn star.

"Nice picture, don't you think?" the bastard writes in the IM window. My anger flashes at this, making me angrily click to close out the picture. Instead, I accidentally maximize it, making it fill my entire screen. With it so large, I see my orgasming face in perfect HD quality before I get it to close.

"Want to see more of them?" He types next. I'm just about to type "fuck off" when he posts a hyperlink. Seeing it makes my heart sink as the link reads "MsBigBoobiesSite". Ms. Big Boobies was the name he made me call myself all throughout that night.

My hand trembles as I click on the link. The site then loads to which I see a black background. Then, much like a porn site, dozens and dozens of thumbnails fill the page in a neat, orderly fashion. Only all of the thumbnails are of me.

Feeling like all the blood has drained right out of me, I stare at the screen. My rapist made a porn website of me. A website devoted to him forcing me that night.

I click on video after video, only letting a few seconds play each time. Each one is of me having something done. From me punishing myself, to him fucking me from behind while he's in darkness.

My brain does broadcast the thought that this is how I can catch him. Just watch the video were he fucks me, and I'll catch something to prove it's him. But I can't. I just can't. There's no way I can do that. If I do, it'll make me lose it. My mind will snap and I'll be lost in a coma of reliving that night over and over.

My eyes move upward where I see the banner at the top of the page. Reading it then makes this terrible situation just about hopeless. What I see makes me scared in a way I've not felt before. Probably because what might happen is that my life would not just be ruined, but over.

The banner of the porn site lists everything about me. My name, address even my cell phone number. It lists everything about my daily schedule and routine, from my college class schedule, to the stores I shop at, even the type of shows I stream. It lists so much about me that any potential rapist could easily use it to kidnap me.

"What do you want?" I type after closing the site. This time I don't feel the slight tingle of excitement like I did before at the thought of catching him. Instead I feel a sort of shameful arousal at the knowledge I'm going to be used again. That I'm going to be that pathetic, scared and helpless little bitch all over again.

But the bastard doesn't reply. Minutes pass, but there's no response. It starts to make me terrified as what do I do if he's left? What if he's decided to ruin my life and is sending that site to everyone on my contacts list?

"Try the link again," my blackmailer types, finally responding after a few more minutes. When I click on the link again to my porn site, I get a 404 error. That can only mean that the site was taken down.

"If Ms. Big Boobies is a good girl tonight, the site will stay down. Otherwise, it'll go live and stay live," my rapist writes into the chat. Reading this, I can hear his evil smirk.

"I'll be good," I type into the box, but don't hit send. Instead, I stare at the box and my reply for a long while, not believing I'm about to send that. Nor do I believe that my only real choices are to be used and humiliated all over again or have my life ruined. It's basically do as he wants, or possibly end up as a sex slave after being kidnapped.

"Ms. Big Boobies will be good," I modify what I typed and then send it. I figure it is a better way for him to know that I'm serious. That I understand just how dangerous he is now and will do whatever he wants. He's no longer some online perv that got lucky by finding my picture, but a true, evil criminal.

"You want me to get naked, throw my underwear out the window and find more clothespins?" I type, figuring this is what he's going to have me do. That it'll be a repeat of that first night since he liked it so much. That it'll end much in the same manner.

"There's a light pole at Fiendend and Charley street," my rapist types into the IM, confusing me. It takes me a moment to understand what he's talking about. Those are the names of two streets in my neighborhood. They are streets way in the back of the neighborhood in a new section that is still being built.

This is a huge clue that it's my step-father, believe it or not. This fucker knows all about me, so he knows I live with my parents. Yet he hasn't said anything about them. Not just that, but how lucky for him that he does this on a night that they aren't home. In fact, tonight is the first night since he raped me that my parents are gone for the night. They've gone to some fancy fund-raiser.

My rapist knows I'm home alone. And the only way he could, is if he knows my parent's schedule. It has to be my step-father. It just makes too much sense. And I bet I'll hear some story from my mom about how my step-father disappeared for a long time at the fund-raiser. That she couldn't find him anywhere.

"K," I type into the IM window in response. I try to think how I can use this information to get him, but can't think of anything. At this point, it's still not concrete.

I then wonder what's so special about that light pole? I think I know the one he's talking about. It's just a light pole lighting a section of street on an empty block. There's no houses built near it that I know of, but that could have changed. The only time I ever go to the back of my neighborhood is when I need to clear my mind as there's a lake back there.

"Ms. Big Boobies is going to walk to that light pole, and cuff your hands behind the pole, over your head," he writes, stunning me.

I stare at those words, feeling another wave of disbelief. Then comes the fear. All over again I get that panicked feeling of him trying to end me. That he isn't going to be happy until I end up as a sex slave. Where my life is a ruination of humiliation and shame.

If I do what he wants...it'll be dangerous. Beyond dangerous. It's crazy! That's how people get themselves killed or kidnapped. The best outcome is if someone calls the police to save me, but even then, I'm not sure I could convince them I was forced to do it, so I might end up in jail.

"Did I forget to mention you will be walking there naked?" My blackmailer types next, making me groan. I actually put my hand to my mouth in shock of this, finding it beyond horrible.

Yet as I reread it, my womanhood tingles. It tingles just like it did that first night with a sort of dark arousal. That I'm being asked to do something I would never, ever do, but that I find secretly exciting. That it's something that is both a fantasy and a nightmare.

"WHY?! Can't you just do what you did last time and get it over with?" I type out quickly, my fear getting the better of me. Even if this is my step-father, it's still crazy dangerous. It makes me wonder if the man that lives in my house has always been some sort of secret psycho criminal.

"Just for that, you aren't tossing your bras and panties out your window. You are putting them down the drain out in the street," my blackmailer types next, where I feel my stomach drop again.

Memories of me running around trying to chase after my underwear play in my mind. Of doing it in the cover of darkness with a trash bag, hoping no one was seeing me as I tried to recover all of my private garments after he was done with me.

But as terrible as that was, I still had most everything in the end. After I washed them, they were perfectly fine. But this? This is crazy. He's going to leave me with

NOTHING

. I'll have to go to the store without anything underneath to buy more. That's if I even survive what he's thinking of doing. Hell, what if he bans me from wearing panties or a bra ever again?

"I'm not arguing. I just want to point out how dangerous it is for me to walk naked in public. The cops could be called and you wouldn't be able to do get what you want in the end," I type out fast as I try to think up a good argument to make him reconsider this. If I get arrested or kidnapped, then he wouldn't get to do anything to me. Surely he would think twice about making me do this.

I discover I'm excitedly terrified for anything to happen in public. Terrified and excited. In a way, it's like thinking of doing some intense, hard drug like Ecstasy. Most of me knows I will never do it as it is incredibly dangerous, but a tiny part of me will always want to. That a dark part of me wants to feel such intense feelings.

The part that scares me the most is if this happens, if I have to go through with it, it'll change me. I'll be changed forever, and not necessarily for the good. I'll lose a part of me and it'll be replaced by a more sexualized version of myself. And I can't let that happen. It'll break me.

"For that, you are now walking to the light pole with your hands behind your head," my rapist types out. After seeing this, I let out another long groan as it goes from bad to worse.

He isn't going to listen. No matter what I say, he'll think up some way to make it worse. Even if what I'm saying is true or smart, he won't care. He'll make me do whatever he want, just because he wants it, even if he doesn't get to do anything to me.

I stare at the screen, still trying to think of a way to convince him. Surely there's something that will make him listen. To get him to listen to reason.

"Now you will be bouncing your fat titties as you walk," my blackmailer types without any sort of prompting from me. I didn't even say anything out loud.

My eyes widen at this command, making that fearful humiliation wash over me even stronger. Panicking, I quickly type on my keyboard, but when I do, my fingers are one letter off and it comes out as a garbled mess. This makes my anxiety worse because more time passes.

"Why? I didn't say anything," I type. I then lean over in anticipation of what he's going to write next. My heart is now pounding as I hope I didn't just make it worse, which I probably did.

"You know better. You are to acknowledge what your dumb ass has to do," he writes, making my face go red. At this, I begin to fume as anger and humiliation roll over me in equal measure.

"And I've changed my mind. You will walk with your hands cuffed behind your back. You will use your fake cuffs so you can get out of them when you reach the light pole. If you remove them before you reach the pole, or if those tits stop bouncing, the website goes live," my blackmailer writes out, but he enters one word at a time, making the presentation look crazy.

Like the night he used me, I feel that defeated feeling. That helpless, submissive feeling that lingers in your bones. The one that makes it feel like there's a weight pressing down, making me small and stupid. The sort of feeling that is freeing as much as it is confining. Where you figure things can't get any worse.