The Anonymous Blacmailer

The Anonymous Blackmailer Ch 1

Terry and Eve meet in a dark, cold park.

[Author's note: This 7-part arc is obviously one of non-consent: it's about two people being sexually blackmailed. Along the way, there are many kinks explored... exhibitionism, femdom, maledom, BDSM, pegging, a little gratuitous cock-caging and, yes, adultery (though non-consensual). Triggers for you? If any of this isn't your cup of tea, please pop off to a different story. But if you choose to endure the ride, please enjoy...]

*Tuesday*

This is terrifying. It's nighttime and I'm sitting on the edge of a ditch near a culvert under the road in the city park. There is no one around... except for all the muggers, murderers and rapists I've imagined in every bush I've passed, but I was told to wait here at 10:30 for instructions. I'm cold, terrified and fighting between despair and anger.

The internet is a marvel. So many things we can do, so many things we can learn. But it has that one tiny little social flaw.

Anonymity.

The anonymous messages. How she got a virus on my machine, I'll never know but she knows everything. I call her 'she' only because of her email address. She has enough to put me away for life, destroy my relationships with my family, my wife, my friends. She can prove everything. Anonymously. It's too late to make a difference, but she won't let me run an antivirus or turn off the computer anyway. And I have to leave it on with the camera and microphone running all the time.

The blackmailer has forced me to give her access to the cameras around the house. She has my passcodes, bank accounts, etc. And she's committed enough crimes with my identity that I'll never be able to prove it wasn't me.

Plus, some pretty nasty work engaging in illegal porn and verbal harassment of innocent women - Sandy, my girlfriend, will never speak to me again.

It wasn't me, but... damned if I can prove that. And damned if it doesn't look like me.

It's chilly: I should've brought a sweater. Are the chills from the temperature or from my fear?

I am startled to hear a noise approaching me. Is it one of those murderers? Am I being set up for something even more nefarious? I have no weapon and really don't know much self-defense - I'm an artist, damn it!

The noise goes quiet, but I think I see a shadow moving at the edge of the bridge over the culvert. Is it a kidnapper sizing me up? What is happening? My heart is beating fast, a pulsing throb in my chest. This has been a hell of a week. I haven't slept, haven't been able to eat well. But the terror I feel now is so real, it's palpable? The figure disappears again into the shadows.

"Hello?" a small voice comes from the other side of the culvert. It sounds female. And it caught - as if there's fear there too.

"Hello? Are you... who I'm supposed to see...?" I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to see, exactly, but I assume it has to be another person.

"I think so? I think you're who I'm supposed to see..."

My heart calms. She seems as nervous as I am. Unlikely she's my blood-drenched, multi-fanged, curly-horned demon murderess. Just my damn imagination in the shadows.

"We're not seeing each other like this." I stand to present a full body to her.

And she walks under the bridge. She's thin and has a fluidity to her walk, like she was once a dancer, but she's stumbling in the dark on the uneven surfaces. And as soon as she comes out from under the bridge, in the wan moonlight, I see that she's got long blonde hair, glasses and seems relatively pretty.

Evil people aren't pretty. Are they?

She approaches cautiously, but with a certain strength. An act of will. I see she's shorter than me, maybe 5'4", and wearing sensible jeans and a light parka. Why didn't I bring a jacket? Its's cold!

How do you meet a complete stranger who's part a mysterious plot to ruin your life? No clue. So, I simply hold out my hand, and say, "Hi, I'm Terry." Damn that sounds as weird here as dressing in a bathing suit for a wedding.

She's got her arms crossed over her chest, but takes a deep breath and shakes my hand, a tremor in hers. "I'm Eve."

"Uhhh... what brings you here tonight?"

"You first."

Well, the blackmailer didn't say what I could or could not say here, so, what the fuck? "Uuummm... Yeah... I'm being blackmailed. You?"

"Fuck, yeah. Me too. I'm being blackmailed!"

Well, damn. So she's not the blackmailer, indeed. "So you're not friskyC..." I find this hard to say out loud, "frisky... and pardon me for quoting this, but 'clit'?"

She looks at me dumbfounded. I'll take that for a 'no.'

"That must be why we're allowed to talk to each other, huh? We're both being blackmailed. Who is it, do you know? Who is blackmailing you? What for?"

She shakes her head... she appears to be on the verge of tears. I get that: I've been tied in knots for days now and the adrenaline is high. But maybe, like me, she's relieved to finally be able to talk to someone about it. "Some asshole with an address of suckmyd!ck... But the 'i' is an exclamation point."

I'm frozen. That's one of the accounts on my computer that the blackmailer created. It's me - well, at least my identity - that's blackmailed this woman. I know the email address, because the asshole blackmailer gave me access to see what a dirtbag I've apparently become.

"Oh."

"He has nudes of me... but they aren't me - I swear! Must be fakes. And apparently, I've got a huge Onlyfans following where I've posted some lewd stuff - all deepfakes. And he's made it look like I'm smuggling drugs and selling them on the darkweb and laundering the money through some Swiss bank; oh, my god, have you seen the dark web? It's horrific! And apparently, I've been cheating on my husband with a couple lesbian lovers and a BBC; My husband, Ben, would never stand even a little cheating: it will be an ugly divorce.

"This asshole will ruin me!"

"Sounds like my blackmailer. Maybe the same person?" And a sense of dread clouds in on me when I put it together.

"Is there an account in your name called ffriskyc!t.suckme? Where the 'i' is an exclamation point..."

She looks a bit shocked. Apparently, I've put it together before she did.

"Fuck! Is suckmyd!ick you?"

"Yeah, no... I mean... whoever it is that used my identity to blackmail you used yours to blackmail me. 'Suck' is an account she made for me and 'ffrisky' for you.

And then I consider my pronouns. "Oh. Now it strikes me: I keep calling my blackmailer 'she' because of your username. You call the bastard 'he' because of mine. We don't even know what sex they are... I thought at least I had narrowed it down to only half the population of the Earth..."

She plops herself down on the side of the ditch where I sit. She looks at me with ironic wistfulness for a moment reacting to my meager attempt at gallows humor. Then her face gets sad and she actually starts to cry. Letting out all the anxiety that she, like me, must have felt over the last several days.

I want to cry too.

I move next to her, as depressed and scared as she is, but I try to hold it together since I feel a responsibility to comfort her. Something primal about it... I'm the male here, it's my job to care for the female, right? And, yes, maybe I'm lusting for some of her body warmth: why didn't I bring a sweater?

"I'm freezing."

I look at her, hoping she'll take the hint. But she's in her own thoughts. I think she's sobbing and I want to comfort her.

"Um, look. I think both of us are in a bad place emotionally and it looks like we're in this together. But I really am cold. May I put my arm around you? To help both of us emotionally and also because I'd appreciate the warmth."

She looks at me like I'm an alien from another galaxy. Then I see her resolve fade and she takes a deep breath between sobs. She nods a bit, looking at me with doe eyes. I guess all social conventions go out the door as soon as two people realize they're alone together, in a world about to crumble in on them.

I scoot closer yet and put my arm around her. At the first touch, it feels awkward, like I don't know where to put it. Then she slowly leans into me and rests her head on my shoulder, still crying and we adjust a bit until we're both as comfortable with the awkward embrace as we can be.

Between sobs, she laments, "I've felt so alone in this...

"Is this the point? What the fuck is happening here? Do you know why he... she... IT!...has decided we are fair game for... it... to blackmail? What does it want?"

I snicker a bit "Y'know, it feels better to call the blackmailer 'IT.' An 'IT' isn't human. Who... no... WHATever did this to us is inhuman..."

"Yeah. Fuck, 'IT!'"

I snicker and restate myself: "Fuck IT! Commas matter."

She looks at me with that terrified, sad look, but I start to see the edge of a grin start on one side of her face and she chuckles for a thousandth of a second. It's kind-of endearing.

I hug her tighter.

"You told me your blackmail... Only fair I tell you what IT has done to me. Apparently, I'm harassing and blackmailing innocent women - like you? - and forcing them to give me lewd nudes which gets them more under 'my' control. I'm selling the nudes on the internet and setting up auctions, promising the high bidders... oh, I can't even say it... but... 'I' have arranged for them to be kidnapped when I get the high bids and... and I'm having an affair and... I can't even say what else. It's awful."

We both have the basic outlines of what's happened to us. I don't share with her the full depths of my identity's depravity. She doesn't share any more of hers. We're both too terrified to talk.

Four days ago, I was a successful artist. Whatever I paint during the day is calm, serene, peaceful. But what I paint at night: it's dark, moody, heavy brushstrokes. It all sells well. Now, starting from the first anonymous text I got - spoofed to look like my biggest client's gallery - my life has been torn to shreds. But everything I paint now is dark: an eternal nighttime has encroached on my soul and is reflecting into my art.

She must be shredded too. She must have the same terrifying specter following her that's following me.

Our cellphones beep within a couple seconds of each other. This is it. We're both resigned that this is happening. We're both expecting it. And, I don't know about her, but I'm ready to do anything it says. Anything to get out of this nightmare. We both fumble for our phones and pull them out.

"terry meet eva n eva meet tery <shaking hands> by now u have probly figured out whut up <thinking face> 2nite is easy <bold dash> strip down to ur birthday close <birthday cake> <peach><rocket> send selfies <camera> u have 2 minuts or i relese the packages <airplane> <gift>"

The asshole uses a lot of emojis.

She looks at me and I look at her, stunned.

"Yours say to strip?"

"uh huh. Mine too..."

I came here resolved to do what I had to. And maybe it's not as terrible now that I have Eve to be an ally in this. I try to get my head in a mindset where this is just a thing. A thing people do. If I overthink it, I'll explode, so I double-think it.

I shrug at her, take a deep breath, then steel myself. While unbuttoning my shirt, I try to reassure her, "I guess it could be worse..."

She's fumbling with her sweater buttons. "It probably will be before this is done."

She has a point. This is so wrong. We're getting naked in public. We're about to do... god knows what. What if someone comes. I tell myself not to think about that.

I get my shirt off.

The way I deal with stress is humor... "So, I apologize to you for what you're about to see." I heard my voice crack.

She snorts and glances at me as she's dropping her blouse and unhooking her bra "naah... not bad! You get to the gym a lot more than me..." and off comes her bra.

Okay. My entire life is hanging in the balance. I'm being blackmailed and looking at several consecutive life sentences in prison, I think. Maybe even a contract from the kidnapping gang, I don't know. But I can't help it. I'm a man and I look at her. And, damn, she has absolutely nothing to apologize for! She's gorgeous. Good boobs, not an ounce of fat, toned abs. Her body is not eighteen years old, but she wears her years well - I just find that endearing. Too.

I'm enjoying looking at nature's thermostats agreeing that this is chilly weather. I'm watching how her boobs bounce as she moves frantically to undress.

I admire her. She's being so practical about this.

She's unbuckling her belt. "Dude... Terry... you better get moving. We're running out of time!"

"Oh, shit!" I had stopped, mesmerized by her body. I sneak one last look at her face and behind the tear-stained mascara and I see she's really pretty. Then I startle myself into awareness after the reawakening comprehension that she's right - I gotta get naked.

Fuck it.

I stand and pull my pants down too quickly, falling onto my butt in the ditch while trying to pull one side of them off my leg without taking off my shoes. "Shit, shit, shit!"

She's smart, she's taking off her shoes first. She's no longer crying - too focused on her task to remember what is happening to us - and she snort-laughs at me as she gets her shoes off, quickly shucking them away with her socks.

I'm trying to pry the shoe, stuck in my pant-leg off my foot as she steps out of her pants and panties and then kindly helps me with my other shoe and sock.

I ask, "What do you think... do I have a career as a stripper?"

She snickers again.

I get the shoe off - still stuck in my pants leg - and shuck the pants, pulling off my briefs as quickly as I can. And I regard my cold-shriveled manhood which is at this very moment decidedly unimpressive. I look at it in horror, look at her ironically and say, "no, huh?"

She laughs sincerely. "You're a grower, right?" Then quickly takes her selfie. I take mine. We both send ours. And we wait nervously, both awkwardly trying to look like we're not overtly looking at each other. My phone beeps, then a couple seconds later, hers does too.

I read mine, "u were not born with a sck <sock>"

Shit - I forgot to take that other sock off. I remove it and then send... IT... a picture of my naked feet. I hope I still have time...

Then Eve curses, "asshole." I look at her, afraid I'd offended her somehow, but she looks at me, points to the phone and sighs. She says the words aloud as she types them. "Yes, it is cold as a matter of fact."

Did I say her nipples are like little cannons they're so hard? Why do women look better when they're cold, while men, instead, shrivel down to something like the head of a mouse peeking out from its little burrow? That's not fair! Maybe it's some primal survival/mating trait that anthropologists can explain, but as far as I'm concerned, there's no justice. My nervous humor again:

"So... is this our meet-cute moment?"

She blurts out a little laugh as her finger stabs what must be her send button. I appreciate her for laughing at my joke. And we wait there, shivering, for our next instruction.

There are so many horrible things that could happen to us next. I pick the least-horrible horrible thing I can think of to give to her - I'm trying for back-door reassurance here - though I'm second-guessing myself: I don't want to give the universe any ideas.

But she beats me to speaking with a similar, but worse, thought: "Please tell me that IT isn't going to make us walk home naked or something."

I reflexively chuckle. "That'd be a sight."

Oh, my god. She's right. IT might.

She smiles a bit, worry still creasing her brow. Her smile really is a little crooked - how cute! "If we have to wait here any longer, you know we're going to have to share body heat..."

In the middle of this nightmare, I find it endearing that she is also trying to lighten the mood. And she looks good. If it wasn't fifty degrees, my manhood might be trying to impress her at this moment.

"Then maybe... I can hope that we have to wait...?"

Our phones beep one after the other. "its cold <snowflake> u should hug <hug>"

Did IT hear me? This is so inappropriate. It's humiliating that we're being forced together like this.

"Yeah, fuck it." She comes to me and throws her arms around my torso and we hold each other tight, trying to minimize our surface area exposure from the elements.

As we stand there, shivering, I can tell she's still sobbing a bit. All this bravery has been an act. I want to save her... but how can I when I can't even save myself? I feel so helpless. And guilty, like I'm cheating on Sandy, my girlfriend.

Yeah, Sandy. That. Before my libido interferes, I have to put out there that I'm entangled so she doesn't get the wrong idea.

"I'm supposed to bring my girlfriend a dozen eggs on the way home from work."

That was awkward. But, okay, I'm a good boy. I said it, just like good boys do. I'm loyal. I have never cheated on a girlfriend in my life.

"They might be frozen by the time you get them home." And she gestures to my other two 'eggs,' already withdrawn deep in my body cavity.

Ouch.

And our cellphones beep again. Did I mention that every text I get is from a spoof of a different number? Apparently, the White House is texting me.

"cold ther huh <snowflake> itz gunna be colder at 2 <snowflake><snowflake> k make selfies of u going down on each uther <winking kissing face> sho ur faces <surprised face> u 1st, eva then u terry <running man> 2 minutes to snap n send <clock> 3 shots each <camera><camera><camera> eva u gunna have to pretend to be deep-throteing looks like terry can't get it up at the moment <eggplant><hammer> think on this: when u do deep throte him l8r its not gun be easy <rocket> i no things <thinking face> terry njoy your <taco>"

The way IT wrote that looked like it was to both of us - one of us got a cut-and-paste of the same message.

I look at her, fear-struck, as she's looking at me, shocked. At least IT said something nice about me...?

Oh, shit... this is it. This is going to be real, actual blackmail material, and not faked. If Sandy, my bae, sees this... I'm toast. But I've already decided it can't get any worse.

Eva resolves herself and musters her bravery. "Fuck. Two minutes? Fuck it. Well... impress me, Terry!" And she falls to her knees in front of me and pretends to suck my dick that isn't there, snapping three pictures from three different angles as instructed, her mouth stuck on my pelvic mound where my little friend should be saluting. But, her breath is so warm and the situation is so sexual and my brain is completely fucked up and... and, well hey, she's pretty! Okay? So, sue me: my little friend starts to react before she's done. Oops!

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

She pulls her head away for a second and laughs nervously as she's staging the selfies for the send. "Hey, I would've been insulted if you hadn't." She takes another picture - I guess so she can pick the best? Then she stops our contact, intent on her phone. Scrolling through the pictures, she says ironically, "gotta keep these for the meet-cute scrapbook."

My turn to snort-laugh. Her voice still has a nervous tremor to it. She's being brave. I'm impressed by that. She has her stuff together. She's compassionate. And she made a follow-on joke to mine. She's smart and funny.

But it isn't long before, dammit, the cold wet on my little guy made it extra cold and miserable... Thoughtlessly, I grab the first item of clothing I see on the ground to dry myself in a panic. And then I realize I've just rubbed my shriveled dick dry on her blouse. I hope there's no pre-cum...