Her bedroom is dark, the pre-dawn unable to penetrate the thick curtains she's arranged across every entrance. Sterile, red light, acerbic to the eyes, declares it 4:18am, time ticking ever closer to her alarm at 6-o'clock sharp.
She's got work in a couple of hours, but her attempts to sink back into sweet slumber are interrupted by the demands on her pelvic floor. She trudges quietly to the attached bathroom, and she relieves herself despite stiff limbs and the remnants of erotic dreams. A few moments later finds her burrowing back into the ruins of her warm cocoon.
Melissa rolls to one side of her bed, then the other. She's wide awake.
The bedside glass gets a few gulps, enough to wet a parched throat, and then Melissa turns her attention to her phone. Maybe if she can't sleep, she can chase an early-morning orgasm? Start the day with some kind of glow about her?
Her favorite artists across her bookmarked sites failed to update across the night, only a single author adding anything to the dearth of kinky pornography awaiting her. She taps the alert, babyBlackmailee had dropped a peculiar sort of message into her feed, one linking to /r/timebombchallenge.
———
'October Blues - M23 - Online - Green'
"Hey y'all, long-time lurker, first time poster, just wanted to throw a little something-something in for my B-Day! It should be pretty straight-forward for all you code-crackers out there, so I'll leave you to it.
"U/SpaceSSTabSSLineTLSTLLL but backwards"
Good luck!"
———
It's a bit weird, definitely not the normal early-feed faire, so Melissa cracks her eyes a tad wider, and googles the title; and what she finds is breathtaking.
One hands sneaks under the waistband of her pajama pants as she scrolls, the subtle stimulation of her fingers against her folds keeping her awake, sparks slapping against her spine as she slides a hand across her mound.
She teases herself, and before her glassy gaze her semi-conscious thumb scrolls through the dreck, finding an identical post on a separate social media. Another tap against the homepage of the self-styled TBC sub-forum revealed a cacophony of posts from anyone and everyone.
Demands of hunters in Wisconsin struggled to remain relevant against a couple of [Amber] drives that had been released as a two-person challenge earlier in the evening.
And there, hovering around the eleventh top post of the day, was babyBlackmailee.
~~~
She idly continues her caresses as she reads further on, posts about giving up social security numbers or drivers licenses to whoever finds their flash-drives top the rankings. The forum itself is quite small, a few thousand people spread across the entire world, but active for its size.
Impulsively, she clicks the third-highest post, one tagged 'Red' and 'Loss' by the moderators. The woman's profile doesn't reveal much, a single full-body nude and then her post on the forum, but what a post it was. Hundreds of comments, detailing fantasies ranging from the obscene to the obscure, dispensing hints, begging for help, teasing, titillating, all of them for this one woman.
Melissa's heart hammers in her chest, and the early-morning fog finally clears from her brain, where fingers once teased folds idly, she now purposefully dallies, guiding digits to tease and stoke the fire below her stomach.
'You'd better hope I don't win you, slut. You've already made master mad.'
'Hope your bags are packed, babe; you'll be moving in a few days.'
The callous disregard, the sheer surety by which they declared their dominance. It embodied the worst parts of people, in Melissa's experience, and yet this user reveled in it. She answered each post with a teasing flirtation, a coy non-statement meant to excite and enflame.
She was stunning.
Melissa's hand was starting to cramp, and she couldn't keep herself from continuing, rolling her button up and down between two fingers, slightly spreading engorged lips, gathering her own lubricant for a slickness that only heightened that delicious friction.
She could feel herself coming to a peak, her excitement nearly ready to boil over, when she found the most recent post. Someone had claimed her, found her flash-drive in a pile of leaves and dead branches in a public park. He had uploaded several of her nudes, and a video of her consenting to any task given to her.
The prey's only response?
'Fuck'
Melissa scrunches up her eyes, a perfect reimagining of the thread dancing in her mind, a single word encapsulating her defeat, her loss, the obliteration of her freedom and confidence and life.
Any amount of the horrible degradation Melissa had already paged through could await the woman, and she knew it.
Her fingers speed up further, pinching and massaging, while her left hand rises, and slaps her fully across the face. She explodes into orgasm, back arching off the bed, toes curling as she continues her ministrations, body flexing from the over-stimulation.
An eternity passes, white-hot pleasure racing up and down nerves, muscles clenching and releasing, breath coming in short gasps if at all, but eventually the high fades, and Melissa returns to the present moment, sweaty and satisfied.
The clock reads 5:50 and she stretches widely, working out the stiffness of muscles abused too early in the day, before turning her alarm off ahead of schedule, and popping into the bathroom for a shower.
Twenty minutes later, freshened up and mind sharpened, Melissa considers her latest bit of erotic content. Her finger hovers over the X on her phone's web-browser, poised to wipe an idle morning fancy from her life, at least unless babyBlackmailee mentioned it again, but something stops her.
A shiver creeps up her spine at the memory of that final surrender.
She locks her phone, collecting her work clothes on her way to the kitchenette.
~~~
The morning drive blurs by, a swipe of her keycard unlocking the main door to the office building, a routine nod to the security guard at the front desk as she hits the elevator button, her desk loaded with her daily workload. She's distracted, almost irritable, her thoughts drawn inevitably to what she'd read that morning.
Why did she do it? What would drive a woman clearly so confident, so self-assured, to crave being owned enough to surrender in such a spectacular fashion?
At lunch, she checks her phone again. Now the most recent thread is a challenge by another young woman, one who wagered personal information, logins to social media, and bank details. The post attracted a lot of attention, but her puzzles clearly weren't up to snuff, and she was caught within hours.
The edits to the first post showcase an unreal descent into pure debauchery. Immediate usage of the blackmail material and the promise of forced breeding, career ruined, a live-in slave lifestyle that she's already finding 'freeing and confining.'
Her new master comments that she'll be allowed online again a year from today, with good behavior.
All that over the course of a morning. Melissa can hardly breathe, her free-flowing blouse suddenly too constrictive, the heat from the sun too oppressive, both keeping air from her lungs.
She cant fathom the depths to which that girl has sunk, the loss she had served herself up toward, so readily, so quickly.
If anything, the afternoon passes faster than the morning does, Melissa hardly blinks and she's back home, sitting at her desk and staring at nothing, an easy dinner of broccoli and beans half-eaten, forgotten at her elbow.
She shakes her head, cobwebs only constricting further as her mind dances with possibilities and potential. Half a meal scraped into a Tupperware, lunch for tomorrow she supposes, and she crawls to bed, asleep before she hits the pillow.
She tosses and turns all night.
~~~
Her work for the next few days is lackluster, and, at lunch Wednesday, a colleague pulls her aside.
"Melissa, what's going on? Your inbox is still nearly full, and the meeting on Friday's not going to wait for you to get your head in the game."
Dan's a solid bloke, a couple inches taller than her, a full head of blonde hair barely styled, an interchangeable collection of slacks and long-sleeved shirts, piercing brown eyes, flecked in gol- no. Get ahold of yourself, Melissa.
She gives a tired grin. "Would you believe it's a game I found online? I just cant keep it out of my head."
He laughs, a stifled thing that starts handsome and ends professional.
"I was there with you a couple months ago, remember? When EVE dropped the Triglavians?"
Melissa thinks back, snapping memories into place with all the care of a tired, horny businesswoman. "Oh yeah, weren't you out sick for three days?"
