The Blackmailed Virgin Pt 01

Part 1-Check Your Mailbox

My name is Kelly Grant. I'm 24 years old. I was always fascinated by computers. I got my first computer when I was very young. After that I was hooked. Years went by and one small computer led to a bigger one, and then a more complex one, gadgets and programs, and then gaming.

By the time I was 18, I was a computer whiz. I studied everything I could about any and every aspect of computers and how they work. I got a scholarship to a major university to learn more about my passion.

My interest in computers also expanded into digital cameras. Pretty soon I was producing my own You Tube content. Pranking my friends, and daily vlogs about a girl's life. That's when I got into trouble.

One day during my freshman year at college, I decided to make a video record of my sex life. Not that there was much to record, because I was a virgin saving myself for someone special. I did record myself masturbating on my bed, in the shower, and on the couch in front of the TV.

I thought it might be fun to share with my future husband someday. It would allow him a glimpse into my past as I eagerly anticipated having sex with him in the future. Being a normal red-blooded female, the footage started to add up to hundreds of hours of digital film.

To be discreet, I never kept any of the sex footage on my vast computer network. It was always saved to an external flash drive that could be easily hidden for safety. The drives were kept hidden in a red shoe box in my bedroom.

I am considered by most to be an attractive woman. I was proud of the way my body had matured. My breasts had developed into a nice 34B cup with no sag at all. I was born with naturally blonde hair, and I usually kept it in a ponytail, but not always. My 5'8" frame was slim and sexy, with curves in the right places, and my tummy was flat. I ran three miles every other day and did Pilates twice a week.

I was not popular in high school. I was too tall, I thought. My Mom really discouraged me from ever learning about clothes and makeup and hairstyles. Besides, I really didn't care back then. I was a computer nerd

I didn't really fit in my skin until I was 19 and a freshman in college. My roommate Sandra took me under her wing and taught me what I needed to know. She said that I had a very nice body, but no one could appreciate it under the frumpy clothes I wore. She taught me about hair, makeup and clothes and how to flaunt what I had instead of hiding it and keeping my nose glue to a monitor.

That's when things began to change. Suddenly, I was getting hit on everywhere I went. Guys were lining up to ask me out. All the boys that asked me out were quite nice. I gave each one a chance to prove to me that he was the one. Although many of them were nice, no one ever seemed to give me the special feeling I was looking for in a guy.

I went out with lots of guys in college. Many young men attempted to fondle my breasts, and I let them. I even let them fondle my pussy sometimes when I wore jeans. When I wore skirts, I never allowed them to cop a feel. It was too risky. Too accessible. I was determined to remain pure until I was married.

My breasts were extremely sensitive, so I loved having them fondled, but I never allowed anyone to touch or see them bare. I loved making out with guys, but I was determined to save my most intimate secrets for my future husband. I had given a few hand jobs when things got a little too intense, but only to preserve my virginity. Most of my dates went home with a serious case of blue balls.

As a result of my determination to remain pure and virginal, I got a reputation as an Ice Queen. After three or four frustrating dates with me, most of my pursuers moved on to more accommodating companionship. It was fine with me because there always seemed to be another admirer waiting in line.

After college, I got a job as a computer solutions director at a large manufacturing facility. There were over four hundred and fifty employees at the plant. The guys who worked there were constantly hitting on me, but I kept it professional. I never went out with any of them.

My job paid well, so I bought a three-bedroom house in a nice community. The house had a privacy fence in the back with a pool.

I set up my computers in one extra bedroom and used the other bedroom for a guest room. Sometimes I had my girlfriends and some guys over to cook out by the pool, so the guest room came in handy if anyone got too drunk to drive.

Things were rocking along pretty good for me. I had a good job, good money, a nice place of my own. I had friends and guys were asking me out all the time. Every time I said to myself, "Maybe this is the one." You never know, right?

Then one day the shit hit the fan. I had hosted a party at my house the night before. Some of them were friends I had met at the coffee shop, some from the gym where I worked out, and others just casual acquaintances. There were about 30 people all in all. Some were just friends of a friend.

We grilled steaks, hamburgers, and hot dogs, whatever you wanted. There was plenty of beer, wine, and some hard stuff too. It was a Friday night and the party lasted until well after 2 am.

The next morning, I woke up with a hangover, but not too bad. I got up and took a shower and brushed my teeth. I threw on a pair of jeans and a T shirt and went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. While I waited on the coffee to brew, I went to my computer room. That's when I got the shock of my life, a shock that would change my life forever.

Someone had changed my screen saver. Instead of a picture of a kitten, it was a scrolling message. It said, "I have your sex tapes. I have your sex tapes. Check your mailbox soon!"

Oh God! Oh no! This must be a prank. This isn't happening. My whole body flushed with embarrassment. My privacy had been invaded.

Swiftly I went to the bedroom where I kept my private films on USB flash drives in a box in my closet. I threw open the closet door and gasped. The red shoe box on the shelf was gone.

Franticly, I began to pillage the closet in hopes that it was just misplaced. I threw everything out to find it. Nothing.

"Stay calm." I told myself. "Don't panic." Easier said than done. Maybe I had stashed them someplace else. For the next hour I searched the entire house. I found nothing. The message on the screensaver was clear. Someone else had the flash drives containing my sexually explicit videos. I went back to the computer room and read the screensaver again.

"I have your sex tapes. I have your sex tapes. Check your mailbox soon!"

Who had them? Then it dawned on me that someone at the party who had access to my home last night must have stolen them. I knew they were there just a week ago, because I had recordd myself shaving my crotch and returned the drive to the red shoe box.

Oh my God. Whoever had them must be watching them right now. I felt a wave of nausea overwhelm me and I ran to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet. My body broke out in a cold sweat. Just the thought of someone seeing me nude, masturbating, possibly masturbating to my images made me cry. Tears began to roll out if my eyes. I collapsed to the floor in a fetal position, sobbing in humiliation.

After some time, I dried my eyes and began to compose myself. Then a thought entered my mind. "Check your mailbox soon." I ran to my computer to check my email account. Surely there would be some clue there.

Much to my dismay, there was no email from anyone about the stolen flash drives. I tried to pull myself together. When they contact me, I will track that bastard down. I was good at internet security, and if they could be tracked, I could do it. I was good at it.

All day Saturday and Sunday I waited for the expected email. Nothing came. I tried to convince myself that maybe they had lost their nerve. Maybe it was just a joke. Maybe they had second thoughts about it all.

Monday passed with no message or contact from the pervy thief. How could I get those drives back? I had about $18,000.00 in savings. Would it be enough? My nerves were on edge. I was checking my emails every twenty minutes.

Then on Tuesday, when I got home from work, there was a yellow manila envelope addressed to me with no return address and no postage. A light bulb went off. "Check your mailbox." The computer geek in me had never considered a physical mailbox as a possibility.

I ran inside and opened the package. Inside was a letter and a CD.

I read the letter. It was typed and printed out, not handwritten.

"Kelly, I watched your performances. Very impressive. You have a hot little body. If you want your drives back, you must meet with me. Otherwise, the drives will be uploaded to every major porn website in the world. Also, copies will be sent to your parents, your friends, and your employer. I know you and I know them. In short, your entire life will be ruined. The time and place for our meeting will be disclosed to you by email. I have set up an email address for you to use. It is HotPussy567@gmail.com. The password is Slut9876Whore. You will receive further instructions at that email account. Tell no one about your little problem. If you do, one click, and the upload begins. Within 5 minutes, you will be a very well-known porn star."

I popped the CD in the computer. There was the proof that my tormentor wasn't bluffing. A video appeared on the screen. I recognized it. It was one I had made in college of me in my bedroom masturbating. They did in fact have my drives. They had used them to make this copy as proof.

If these people were ever to see the library of erotic film, made of myself being intimate over the years, I would be ashamed to show my face anywhere. I would lose my job. My parents would forgive me, but I could never look them in the face again. My life would be over.

Clearly this was an inside job. Someone who knew enough about me to know my parents and friends. But who? No one knew of the existence of the drives or files but me.

I logged in to the email account provided by the letter. I was totally humiliated to use the phrases they had assigned to the email. Hot Pussy. Slut. Whore. It was totally disgusting to me.

There was an email waiting to be opened. I hesitated to open it. What if opening it released a virus that would infect everything? It was risky. I had no choice, however. If I had any chance of getting the drives back, I had to comply. I opened it.

The email merely said, "Hello Kelly." That was all. But there was an attachment. Apprehensively, I opened it too. It was a film of a purring cat. The cat was being stroked by a female hand. At the sixty second mark, the cat disappeared by the sudden appearance of a scary clown and a scream, and I was scared, shitless.

The stupid son of a bitch was trying to mess with my head.

For the next five hours I did everything I could think of to trace the email account to a name, but it was all impossibly encoded. I could not do it. They had hidden anything that would lead me to them.

I knew the next email would follow soon. I made my plan. I went to the bank and withdrew all my savings, $18,257.00. The cash would not fit in my purse, so I put it in a backpack. Then I loaded my 9mm Glock and put it in my purse. I was not prepared to kill anyone, but I would not hesitate to kneecap this asshole.

Less than 48 hours later I got another email to the Hot Pussy account.

"Go to the Hampton Hotel at 7 pm Saturday. Tell the clerk at the desk that your name is Ivana Shoyu. He will proceed to give you the key to a room. Go inside the room. There will be written instructions in a letter on the bed. Be there or else you know what happens."

Saturday was tomorrow. Hours and hours of agonizing waiting. My nerves were on edge. How would I negotiate with this blackmailer? Would the money be enough to buy back the files on those flash drives? I fought to not bite my nails.

Finally, the time arrived. At 7 pm I entered the Hampton Hotel. I approached the desk clerk and said, "My name is Ivana Shoyu." How utterly humiliating. What a cheesy name.

"Yes, I have your key here. Room 407. Enjoy your stay." he said, handing me the card key.

"Thank you" I replied and turned to the elevator.

Once on the fourth floor, it was not hard to find the room. I swiped the key card wondering what fate would be on the other side.

The room was dark with the blinds closed. I flipped on the light to reveal a very nice hotel room. The letter with my instructions was on the bed. I read it.

"Welcome, Kelly. In one hour, I will enter the room to meet you. Until then, you are to shower and put on the clothes provided for you. You will find them in the closet. There is a dress and a couple other boxes with other things. Put them on, all of them. You will find a complete array of makeup at the dressing table. Use it. At 7:30 pm room service will arrive to pick up a package. You will hand over a paper bag which you can find in the top drawer. In this bag you will have placed all the clothes you wore into the room. All of them. You may keep your purse. After room service has left with the bag, proceed to the bar. A bottle of 12-year-old Glenlivet has been provided to help calm you for this occasion. Pour yourself a liberal amount and enjoy it. You must complete the instructions before our meeting. If you do not, there will be no meeting. If you think you can trick me in any way, don't. You are being watched even as you read this."

What in the hell have you walked into, Kelly? Swiftly I panned the room, looking for anything that might resemble a surveillance camera. Nothing obvious stood out. Maybe there were no cameras. Maybe it was a bluff designed to intimidate me into doing as they said.

I couldn't take the chance. I had to meet with the blackmailer and see if I could get the files back.

I went into the bathroom and showered quickly, taking care not to wet my hair. I wondered if the shower was part of the surveillance. Were they looking at me naked in the shower, in the bathroom? Part of me was revolted by the thought. But another part of me became aroused. After all, being naked in front of a camera was kind of my thing. That was the reason I was in this predicament.

I wrapped myself with a towel after the shower. Then I went to get the clothes they wanted me to wear. There was a black cocktail dress, the kind with spaghetti straps and a neckline cut to show off a woman's assets. There was also a black lace garter belt and black sheer hose. I found a lacy black bra also, but nowhere could I find any panties. No time to worry about that.

I put on the clothes, happy to know that anyone who might be watching could no longer see me naked. I was surprised to find that there were a pair of expensive diamond earrings with the clothes. When I saw them, I realized that my $18,000 would not buy my files back. Who the hell was doing this? It was obviously no pauper. The expensive room, the diamond earrings, the clothes?

There was a pair of six-inch heels to complete the wardrobe. When I slipped them on another thing became apparent to me. The dress, bra and the heels fit perfectly. They knew me very well.

I applied the makeup as quickly as I could. Nothing fancy.

I put my own clothes in the paper bag. Everything but the backpack. I wasn't sure if that was required, but I damn sure wasn't going to let my life saving go out the door like garbage. It was 7:29 pm.

A moment later there was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?' As if I didn't know.

"I'm from the hotel. I'm here to pick up a package."

I opened the door and handed the paper bag to a kid who looked like he might still be in high school. Nothing to implicate that he might be involved. I gave him the bag and shut the door.

I walked to the bar to find a new bottle of single malt scotch. I had never had scotch before. I preferred wine.

I opened the bottle and poured some in a glass. Remembering that my instructions were to pour a generous amount and that I was hypothetically being watched, I poured more. I put the glass to my lips and let the amber liquid slide down my throat. To my surprise it was not at all what I expected. It wasn't bad at all. Then the explosion in my stomach happened. A warm tingling feeling of bliss that began at my core and rose to my brain. The liquor was very potent.

There wasn't much time till the appointed hour. I used those minutes to do some stealth reconnaissance. Without appearing to be too obvious, I looked around the room for clues. Unfortunately, I found nothing.

My cell phone announced a notification. It was a new email from the Hot Pussy account.

"I'm about to enter the room. Before I do, you must turn off all the lights. Then stand with your back to the door. If the room is not totally dark, there can be no deal. I will walk away. If you do as I say, all will be revealed"

Fuck! What kind of bullshit was this? Who the hell is this, the fucking CIA? I flipped the lights off and stood in the middle of the room with my back to the door. I was shaking like a scared little girl.

"Oh please, Dear God, help me get out of this. Please, Please, Please." I prayed.

I heard the door open. Someone entered the room. Then the door shut. I could hear footsteps approaching. I hoped I didn't get clubbed over the head or stabbed with a knife. I remembered the Glock in my purse. I probably should have tucked it into my panties, but I wasn't wearing any.

I could feel someone standing behind me. Whoever was behind me was wearing men's aftershave. I could smell it.

"Hello Kelly", he said with a distinctively masculine voice. "You may turn around now"

I turned to face my blackmailer but could see no more than a silhouette. He was tall, at least six foot, maybe more. I could not see his face, but I could tell he was wearing a suit. His frame indicated a man with an athletic build.

"Please let me have my files back, please." I begged. "Why are you torturing me like this?"

"Relax, Kelly. You are trying to rush this. We will get to all that."

"Who are you?" I asked.

"You will know much more about me before this night is over. Let me assure you that you will not be harmed in any way." he said.

"Here is how this goes. I have some very personal information about you in the form of digital homemade pornography. You have something I want. I will return your property if you give me something in exchange."

"I have $18,000 I can give you. If I ask my parents, maybe I can scrape together another $10,000. That's about all I'm worth."

"You have it all wrong, Kelly. I don't need nor do I want your money." he told me. "You're worth far more than your bank account."

I was confused. I thought of making a play for my purse. If I could get to the Glock, I might have a chance to persuade him that it might be in his best interest to simply hand over my files before I blew this assholes brains out. Killing was once out of the question, but I was beginning to warm up to the idea.

It was as if he had read my mind.

"If you are thinking about using physical violence to remove yourself from this sticky situation, I hope you know Kung Fu or some other kick ass shit like that. Your Glock was removed from your purse while you were in the shower. By now it is probably halfway on its way to being placed in my personal vault, along with that large amount of cash that was in your backpack." he told me.

"You asshole!" I screamed.

"You should never carry that much cash on your person. It tends to attract unsavory characters."

I was seething with anger. I had fallen right into a trap far more sophisticated than I ever suspected. I only had one more weapon to bring to the table, but it had always worked in the past. Nothing made a man change his plans better than a swift kick in the balls.