Moira Blackmailed	Back to M	Back to main page

Collected by Djian

This piece was written at the request of a woman who wanted to read this specific fantasy. It involves
degradation and reluctant sex. All characters, names and situations are fictitious—Dr.M.

* * * * *

"Guy wants to see you, Hon. Back by the kitchen."

Moira's eyes flicked up from the checks she was figuring and then to the clock over the bar.
"That's not my table, Jan. Besides, I'm out of here in about two minutes." It was almost ten
and she was just figuring up the final tabs for the Kelly, who would be taking over her station.
"What's he want?"

Jan shrugged as she stuck her pencil behind her ear and waited for Mike to put the last two
beers on the tray before she picked it up. "Dunno. Asked for you by name. Older guy. Just
telling you."

Moira leaned back and looked down towards the kitchen. It was dark back there, and the backs
of the booths obscured the view, but she could just make out the top of a head of white hair
down at the last booth before the kitchen doors. No one she knew.

She sighed and slid her order pad into her apron pocket. Mike was standing there wiping up the
spilled beer, and she didn't want him to think she was dodging customers. She'd just go back
there and see what he wanted. He might be the father of a friend, something like that. His hair
seemed too messy to be one of the middle-aged business suits who came in and thought they
were so clever with her.

She put on the remains of her bargirl smile and walked back there. "Yes sir? You wanted to see
me?"

He was an old man, not just an older guy, in a dark, second-hand suit that had seen better
days. His shirt was wrinkled and bedraggled and didn't look too clean, and the tie pulled
halfway down his neck looked like a noose. His eyes were red and he had white stubble on his
face. He sure wasn't a businessman. He looked like a bum.

He didn't say anything, just pished a folded piece of paper across the table to her.

"Oh great!" she thought. "He's a fucking mute." She opened that paper and looked at it.

It was a picture of some kind, but she couldn't make it out, so she bent forward to let the light
from the booth's table lamp shine on it.

. It was a picture of her, naked, her legs spread, her hand at her crotch, apparently
masturbating for the camera. Her stomach knotted and her blood went cold. She recognized the
picture She stood bent over looking at the picture for what seemed a very long time as her
mind raced. She felt paralyzed.

She knew where he'd gotten it. She knew all about it. She'd sent some hot pictures to a guy on
the internet, just to tease, daring him to do something with them that would humiliate her. It
had been a joke, a game, and he had posted them. She had never expected anyone to
connect the girl in the picture with her as a person. Never in a million years.

What were the odds? How many pictures of naked women were there on the internet? Millions
certainly. How could anyone possibly see her picture and remember her face and remember the
face of the girl who worked in the bar? What were the odds?

She forced a tight smile. "Very nice sir." she said, her voice trembling slightly. "But if you think
that's me, I have to disappoint you."

"I don't think so." he said in a raspy, whiskey voice. "It's you all right."

She stood up and dropped the picture on the table, turned to walk away.

"Wait." he said, and she froze. "It's you." he said in a soft voice, "So don't give me that
bullshit."

She turned around warily, ready to call Mike over to throw him out.

"Not only that," the geezer said, "but I know your name too. I know your address. I know your
parents' names and addresses. I know all about you, Moira." he pronounced her name very
distinctly, sending another wash of coldness through her.

He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a little spiral notebook, folded and
dog-eared and dirty. He put it down on the table so she could see.

Written on it in a tight, shaky hand was her parents' name and address, just as he'd said.

She turned around and walked back to the bar, her knees weak and trembling.

"You okay, Moira?" Jan asked her. "Bad news or something? Who is that guy?"

"No, no. It's nothing. He…he thought I was someone else."

Jan shrugged and called out an order to Mike and Moira took out her pad and flipped through
the pages automatically, not seeing a thing. Her mind was completely numb, her fingers
tingling.

What would be the worst that could happen? He'd maybe distribute the picture on campus. How
many people would recognize her? How many people would even see it? So he sent copies to
her parents. Would they believe it? Could she convince them it was a doctored photo?

No. They would recognize her. Down to the small moles on her belly. Who else would know
about those?

She leaned on the bar and closed her eyes, suddenly dizzy. She put a finger in her mouth and
bit down on it. What would her parents say? What would her boyfriend say? Her professors? Her
sister?

It had been a game! she told herself, Just a game!

She'd always had this fantasy about having her sex life exposed for everyone to see. She was
a normal girl and had done nothing really to be ashamed of, but she found the idea of being
revealed in public very exciting. There was something very arousing about the idea of being
blackmailed and embarrassed: the delicious humiliation, her secret fantasies hung out for all
the world to view with disgust and alarm for everyone to see what a whore she really was inside.
Just the thought of it made her squirm with excitement.

So she'd toyed with the idea on the internet, even went so far as to post that lewd picture of
herself masturbating. It was delicious and dangerous fun. That's all. What were the chances?

But now that it was really happening, she didn't feel excited at all. She felt numb, sick with fear.


She looked back at the booth. He was still there. He wasn't looking for her, wasn't making a
scene. He knew she'd be back. He was that confidant. He was serious.

She scribbled some numbers on the remaining bar tabs. In her state of mind she couldn't add
two numbers together so she just guessed at the totals. She didn't care. She ripped the tabs
out and gave them to Mike then waited till he served another customer before she walked back
to the man's booth.

The man looked up at her with his rheumy eyes as she approached. He'd been waiting for her.
His glass of beer was still half full.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked softly.

Without a word, without a smile, he handed her a sheet of paper. "Hotel Crown."

"Now." he said.

She knew the Crown. It was just down the street from the bar, little better than a flophouse.
The drunks and bums from the Crown would come over and panhandle in the bar's parking lot
or try to get in to use the bathroom. Mike and Tim were always throwing them out or shagging
them away from the entrance. Sad old dirty men with the small of ashes and stale beer in their
clothes.

She knew what was going to happen if she went with him. But what choice did she have?

She nodded once. Then to cover herself she asked, "Another beer sir?"

He looked at her and smiled, and the smile made her sick. "No. I'm in a hurry."

She said her goodbyes automatically and got her coat, refused offers of a ride home, said she
was going to a friend's house nearby. Her mind was blank. She tried not to think of anything as
she crossed the street and walked down the block to the Crown, but now butterflies were
starting to swarm in the pit of her stomach.

She stopped and waited outside of the dingy lobby, looking in nervously through the grimy
windows. Down the block she saw the man come out of her bar and amble down the street. He
seemed in no particular hurry. She stood there, her face blank, waiting for him, and when he
got to her and took her arm without a word. She felt his bony fingers digging into her flesh as
she let him lead her into the lobby..

"You don't say nothing." he said as he pushed her through the revolving door.

The place smelled like pine cleaner, disinfectant, and old tobacco. Something more, the stale
smell of old men and poverty, of ancient moldering carpet. A few men sat around like human
discards, some slept in the seedy chairs. The man took her arm again and propelled her to the
stairs. The desk clerk., who looked no better than the men in the lobby, looked up at her with
tired eyes, then looked down. He didn't care that this guy was taking a young girl up to his
room. He probably figured she was a whore.

"Up." he said.

There was no elevator. The long stairway went straight up and their feet clumped heavily on the
threadbare carpet as they walked, him in front while she tried not to look at his shabby behind.
Every few steps he looked back to make sure she was still following.

At the head of the stairs he took her arm again. He gestured with his head. He led her down
the dingy hall, past door through which she could hear radios and the sound of men coughing.
He stopped at Number 17, fished a key out and opened the thin door.

The room was bigger than she'd thought, with an old sagging iron bed, a dresser, a sink, and a
chair. Dim light came from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, over which someone had
taped a piece of newspaper to make a crude shade. It left the corners of the room in deep
shadow. She walked into the center of the room and stood there, hands in her pockets, head
down.

The man pocketed the key and went to the window, pulled down the ancient yellowed shade. He
sank into the old armchair with a groan and then looked up at her with a mixture of smug
contempt.

"Really scared I'll tell Mommy and Daddy, ain't you?" he asked. He laughed to himself. "Really
scared."

Moira wasn't so scared anymore. Everything seemed to be moving with a strange inevitability,
as if it had all happened before. The notion of fleeing never even occurred to her. It just wasn't
an option. There was no sense to it.

He looked at her for just a moment, then said, "Strip"

She didn't fight, she didn't argue. Again, it was as if it had already happened. But now there
was a faint thrill as she stepped into her role in the drama. The lewdness of what he was having
her do felt familiar.

She turned away from him, took off her leather jacket and put it down on the dresser. She was
wearing a white shirt, a blue sweater and jeans, her bar outfit. She lifted the sweater up over
her head and folded it, placing it atop her jacket. Then she began to unbutton her shirt.

"Hold it." he said. "Turn around. I want to see your face. Pants first."

She brushed her hair back from her face and stepped out of her shoes, dreading to stand on
the cracked linoleum in her socks. She undid her belt and unbuttoned her pants, pulled down
the zipper and worked her jeans down over her hips.

"Wait a minute. Stop." he said.

He undid his own pants and lifted his ass from the chair. He skinned down his pants as far as
his knees, exposing his white thighs, then pushed his underwear down as well, revealing his
old, withered cock. He took it in his hand and began to stroke himself up and down.

The sight nauseated and excited her at the same time. She had seen other cocks of course,
but this one seemed so used. She had never seen a man masturbate before, or at least she
had never been the object of a man's masturbation.

He leered at her to see how she reacted to the sight of him, but she kept her face impassive,
even as she felt a strange warmth in her body at her own humiliation.

"Now slow," he said. "I'm enjoyin' this."

She pulled her panties up slightly, as removing her pants had tugged them down her hips.
Then she went to work on her shirt again, slowly undoing the buttons. She couldn't deny the
feelings of disgust and arousal she felt as she exposed more and more of her body to his hot
gaze. She saw that his cock was getting bigger, and he began to masturbate in earnest now,
his hand pumping up and down and his breath coming faster.

When her shirt was open, she unbuttoned the cuffs and shrugged it off, placing it on top of her
other clothes. She turned to him dressed only in her socks, bra and panties. She thought
maybe that would be enough.

"All of it." he said. "Take everything off. You can leave your socks on."

Still impassive, she skinned her panties down over her thighs and stepped out of them. For
some reason she was more willing to show her privates than she was her breasts.

Her panties went onto the pile, then she reached behind her and unhooked her bra. It took her
a moment because her fingers were trembling. She let the bra slide down her arms, and put it
on top of her other clothes. She turned to face him, naked except for her white socks

Her heart was beating wildly now, though her mind still seemed strangely numb, as if she were
there and she weren't there. In all this time the expression on her face hadn't changed

She watched him masturbating wildly now, fucking his hips up into his hand as he looked at
her.

"Play with yourself, cunt!" he wheezed. "Play with your pussy."

She kept her eyes on his cock as she reached down her body and caressed her sex, running
her fingers along her tender flesh. This was so disgusting, so perverted, and yet her fingers felt
good there. She was growing wet as she watched him pumping and straining for his old man's
orgasm, trying to get his filthy semen to shoot from his cock.

:"Come on, you little cunt! Don't you know how to fucking play with yourself?"

Moira's breath was coming faster now. Her body was responding even if her mind was not, and
she began to press and rub over her clitoris. The head of his cock was purple-red, and a clear
fluid was seeping from it. She raised her other hand to her breast and began to caress it as she
watched his hand on his cock. Without meaning to she let out a moan and bit her lip to silence
herself.

She could not be responding to this filthy pervert. It was too obscene. It was awful. She'd never
felt so degraded in all her life, and yet her very degradation was like a wild aphrodisiac to her,
and her body was on fire.

"Fuck this!" he said suddenly. "Come over here and suck my cock. Get down on your knees and
blow me!"

She felt a moment of resistance, a wave of revulsion at his suggestion. But she had known it
would come to this. She had known back in the bar that she would end up with his old flaccid
cock in her mouth, and so she took the two steps towards him and got on her knees on the
cold hard floor, eager for the final degradation..

She looked at his cock, the head shiny with his juice, and she opened her mouth as he pushed
his hips up against her and grunted lewdly. At first she could do nothing but kneel there with
him in her mouth, tasting his salty-sour taste, but she knew the only way stop this nightmare
was to give him what he wanted. She began to suck at him and move her head up and down.
He tasted bitter and salty, and felt only semi-hard against her tongue.

She held the base of his cock in her hand as she fucked her face on him and he fucked back
with his bony hips, grunting with pleasure. Saliva dripped from her lips and coated her hand
where she held his cock

"Play with your pussy!" he hissed. "Let me see what a slut you are!"

Without thinking she did as he said, her hand going down to her moist pussy and stroking
herself. She was getting terribly excited at the depraved thing she was doing, and when he
grabbed her hair and started moving her head up and down faster and faster, she groaned
submissively, letting him use her as he wished.

Faster and faster he fucked her mouth, and her hand kept pace, vibrating rapidly at her clit, as
if her pleasure would rescue her from this humiliation. She built with surprising speed to a
mindless state where she actually enjoyed the cruel way he used her body. She was possessed
of a strong urge to make him come in her mouth, to complete her total degradation. And he
wasn't about to disappoint her.

"Argh! Agh! Bitch Cunt! Fuck! Shit!" he groaned, almost climbing out of the chair as she clung to
him with eager anticipation. She felt him twitch against her tongue then he drove his cock deep
to the back of her throat and she whined with excitement when she felt him throb and then
begin to pour his old man's come into her mouth, wheezing and gasping as he pushed against
her lips, holding her head tight to his crotch.

He used her mouth cruelly, battering against her and pulling her tight, forcing her to take his
ejaculate as it burst from his prick, shoving his hips against her with each burst, until he had no
more to give, and the remainder simply oozed out of him into her insistent mouth. He sat back
gasping and she clung to him until his twitching stopped, then, without ceremony he pulled her
mouth off of him.

"Get off me!" he said, throwing her down on the floor as if she were so much trash. "You trying
to suck my dick off?"

She fell on the floor, his semen dripping from her lips as she swallowed. She fought to keep
from vomiting as she realized what she had just done. She put her hand to her mouth to keep
it down.

"Now get out of here." he said.

He got up with his pants still around his ankles and pulled the door open. For an old guy he
was surprisingly strong and he pulled her to her feet and pushed her naked out into the hall
and closed the door behind her. She stood there in the cold hallway dressed in nothing but her
socks, absolutely horrified, her face still spotted with his semen, eyes wide with fear.

Then his door opened and he threw her clothes out, followed by her shoes.

"Now get the fuck out, you slut! You cheap cock-sucker."

The door slammed and she heard it lock.

She dressed as quickly as she could, not even bothering with her underwear, which she just
stuffed in the pocket of her jacket..

As she ran down the dim and filthy stairs her numbness finally vanished, and by the time she
hit the lobby she was holding back her sobs of shame and trying not to vomit.

She burst out onto the street and ran around the corner. Halfway down the block she suddenly
stopped and bent over, sobbing and trying to spit the taste of him out of her mouth, trying to
rub it off by licking her hand and the sleeve of her jacket, gagging and wracked with tears.

She hadn't even accomplished anything. He hadn't said he was done with her, he hadn't let her
off the hook. She hadn't gained anything. She'd only shown that she was willing to do whatever
he said.

He'd be back. As long as she was here, he'd be back.
-

by dr_mabeuse.

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