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A stolen car. A compromising bag. A disturbing phone call and a threat...


by StacyInLove

Copyright © 06/28/2005 by StacyInLove
All Rights Reserved.

Admin Note: The Author's comment at the beginning is in reference to another TG Fiction Site that was having a round of "politics" at the time this piece was originally posted there. It in no way infers to BigCloset TopShelf. With that said, "Blackmail" is a dark delving different from Stacy's usual crafting. Please bear that in mind while you read on. ~ Sephrena.
Authors Note: This might be my last piece. Writer's block can be an ugly thing - and there shouldn't be anything ugly on this wonderful website.

Love, StacyInLove


My car was stolen along with golf clubs, a travel bag with three suits, a laptop, and my briefcase with privileged client papers inside. I didn't care about any of it. What worried me the most was the special little bag that I sometimes took on road-trips.

"Mr. Jones?" I heard on the other end of my work phone.

"Yes? Who's this?"

"Your new best friend."

"What do you mean? Who is this?"

"Let's just say that I'm a friend of Stacy's. OK?"

I felt a pit in my stomach. No one knew about "Stacy" except this stranger who obviously had opened my missing special bag.

"What do you want?" I said almost numbly.

"Nothing. Just to meet you Stacy."

"My name is Brian."

"Oh come on now. Who are we fooling here Stacy?" I heard on the other end.

"I'll pay anything," I said quickly thinking how to salvage a life that seemed on the verge of quickly swirling down the drain.

"Tisk tisk Stacy. I'm disappointed. After seeing your performance, I'd think you'd appreciate a little get together."

"What do you mean?"

"Open your e-mail Stacy. Look for Bob666. Don't bother trying to track it. Its a junk address I only use from public computers. It can't be traced to me. I'll wait."

Nervously, I pulled up my e-mails and saw the sender, Bob666. I clicked on it and then the attachment.

"Oh my god," I heard myself hush into the phone without thinking.

"Yes Stacy. It is a VERY pretty picture. Isn't it?"

It was more than a picture. Shaking, I watched a clip of myself on all fours in a spacious hotel bathroom. A large pulsing dildo jutted out from the front lip of the toilet on a special clamp I had made. With a tight sequined mini-dress hiked up around my gartered hips, I watched in horror as I backed myself onto that throbbing latex cock, moaning and squealing in feminine ecstasy, my long blonde hair sweeping along the floor. I watched my stockinged legs and stilettoed patent pumps work back along either side of the toilet as that mounted penis disappeared inside me. Then, slowly, I started bucking and fucking that phallus with my eager ass, panting and moaning in erotic rapture.

I clicked it off, not wanting to risk anyone seeing this stolen clip from my self-made DVD.

"What do you want?" I whispered in abject fear.

"Like I said before, I want to meet you Stacy."

"Why?" I quietly protested.

"Because I think you're a hot little piece of ass. In fact. Why don't you start talking to me in that sexy little vixen's voice you do so well?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" I begged in my cracking Brian's-voice on the verge of tears.

"Ah-ah-ah," he mock-scolded. "The voice Stacy."


"You want everyone in your missing organizer to get a copy of that e- mail Stacy?"

"No," I said flatly in disbelief.

"Work with me here Stacy."

"No," I repeated as quietly as I could into the phone in my breathy sex-kitten voice.

"Ahhhhhhhhh. There's my girl. Tell me you want to see me."

"I want to see you."

"With FEELING Stacy. If I'm not convinced that you WANT to see me, that somehow you're reluctant in any way, then I guess these 1,208 of your closest friends and colleagues will see a side of you that they never knew."

Beads of sweat started to accompany my terrified shivering. I gulped before continuing. I couldn't believe what was happening or think of any way out of this nightmarish situation.

"Ohhhhh Bobby," I started to purr, "I NEED to see you and Soon! Please tell me when."

"Soon Baby. Soon," he chuckled. "But first things first."

"What do you mean?" I asked with a ditsy lilt.

"Does that guy Brian have a girlfriend?"


"Does he?" the voice repeated with a tinge of impatience.


"Not any more."


"Either you make it happen or I will. I'm pretty sure her e-mail will be included if all your contacts get a certain message."

"OK," I said deflated, tears starting to silently well up.

"You might want to start looking sick today too. Brian will be calling in tomorrow Stacy."

"Why Bobby?"

"You'll be getting ready for our date. Be ready by eight Stacy."

"But you have all my"

"Don't worry about details. Your Bobby is going to take care of everything Stacy. I think I hear a cough coming on. Don't you?"


"A cough. I think I hear one coming on."

"Oh," I said catching on. I then faked a cough with my sexy little voice.

"That's better Stacy. You'll work out just fine. Goodnight sweet cheeks."

"Goodnight Bobby," I said hoping it was what he wanted to hear.

I sat there for a full twenty minutes, staring blankly ahead and contemplating my misery. Should I go to the police? Should I ignore this guy's instructions and just live with the consequences?

No. I couldn't. I was temporarily stuck. Maybe I could do something face to face. Something drastic. Something desperate. Something stupid even. Though I didn't think I had it in me to do murder, I'll admit to entertaining the thought. Maybe I could bargain my way out of things in a face to face. I thought of a lifetime of blackmail as a preferred, though sickening, alternative. One way or another, I knew my safe little life was over as I knew it.

I eventually stopped staring ahead and got up. The unintentional look on my face must have been worrisome. Office friends started asking me about my health long before I started faking little coughs. "Oh god," I thought, "this is really happening to me."

I felt almost numb by the time I left the office for the day. Still gripped by a fog of terror, I shuddered to see my "special bag" waiting for me on the landing of my front steps. Of course Bob knew where I lived. Fleetingly, I thought of how proudly I had alerted credit card companies and changed passwords. None of it mattered anymore. Some stranger named Bob had a key to everything now.

My body shook as I rushed the bag inside and locked the door behind me.

Opening the now-hated bag, I ignored the note as I looked inside. None of the items were mine!

An obviously expensive wardrobe and some seriously transforming items had replaced all my cheap mail-order garbage. The blond feminine mane of real human hair almost looked alive. Eerily realistic silicon "breasts" and medical quality adhesive took the place of my old bra and water-balloons. There were no opaque tights to cover leg-hair, only a black ultra-sheer pair of thigh-high stockings with lacy stay-up tops. The pearls on the five-row throat choker were real and the matching dangling drop-earrings had posts instead of clips. Even my old dildo with the homemade toilet-clamps had been replaced by a cruelly boned and padded body shaper, with a humongous fake penis built into it to stick up into the wearer's ass. Not for the first time, I wondered who the hell it was that stole my car!

Putting aside the almost painfully beautiful sequined cocktail dress, the sexy stilettos, the makeup, and everything else in that bag, I finally read the simple note.

My Dearest Stacy,

Look beautiful for me.



I started to cry.

The phone rang later that night.

"Hello?" I said flatly.

"Brian? Is that you?" Beth, my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend of three years, said. I felt silent tears welling up as I tried to answer calmly.

"Yes Beth, and no."

"What are you talking about Brian? Are you OK?"

"Things have changed," I heard myself saying. "Something's going on that I can't talk about."

"You're scaring me Brian. I'm coming over."

"NO!" I practically shouted into the phone. Then, "You can't Beth.

Trust me. It's for the best."

"What's for the best? Brian. I don't understand. What's going on?"

The tears that I could hear in Beth's increasingly frantic voice ripped at my insides.

"We can't see each other any more," I said.

"Oh my god Brian. You- you can't be serious!"

Beth continued between her sobs as best she could.

"What IS it? What could be DOING this to you? To US?! Why won't you TALK to me?! We had plans, a future. We can deal with this. We can get through whatever it is together. Brian. I love you! I'm here for you. Talk to me."

"I can't Beth," I practically whispered. "We're through."

I couldn't make out what Beth tried to say as I numbly hung up the receiver to silence her. My own tears started freely pouring over my cheeks, the low point of an already traumatic day. I was emotionally shattered.

I knew Beth well. Too well. I knew that she was on her way over in spite of my words. Unfortunately, I also knew just what buttons to press to make her hate me.

Beth's car slowed in front of my darkened house. A large box of her things sat at the curb with "Beth" written hastily in black marker on its side. There was no note.

I resisted every urge to peek through a window, to tell her everything was a mistake. But confession wasn't an option. Even if Beth could accept my dirty little secret, she couldn't stay with me if the world also knew. I sat sobbing in my seemingly vacant house, listening to my love rant outside to herself between tears before finally leaving in disgust. She wouldn't be back. Now that I was no longer the reason holding Beth from relocating back to the area she still called "home", she would be on a plane back to a life without me.

No one was surprised when I called in sick the next morning. I felt trapped, with no options. Still, I stared at the Nair for nearly an hour before taking it into the bathroom. In spite of all the times I had dreamed of shaving my legs or having a hairless body, I cried as my body hair washed off me and down the shower drain. I hated the look and feel of the all-too-real breasts soon glued alarmingly firmly to my chest, bouncing and jiggling as if they were flesh. I loathed myself and my now unwanted arousal as I somehow wriggled into the padded body shaper, tucking my bald struggling man parts under me even as I drew the inverted dildo deep inside my now womanly ass. Somehow I struggled with the hooks and soon had a wasp-like waist under the rib-crushing boning.

I reviled myself for even thinking of how pretty my new long polished nails looked or how pretty I FELT with earrings swaying against my neck from my still-stinging lobes. My inner conflict of love and hate for what I was doing caused me to finally cry from just seeing how my polished toes looked through the sheer black stockings encasing my smooth and now disturbingly sexy legs.

The black sequined gown was long, haltered, and hugged my new curves like a second skin. Connected behind my neck and unable to be worn with a bra, that dress showed of my back, shoulders, and bare arms, which looked smooth and hairlessly feminine, even under my pits. The long back-slit allowed me to walk in spite of the strappy five-inch stiletto- heeled shoes meant to show off my pretty feet.

Too scared to start my makeup yet, I put on the rest of my jewelry and dabbed myself with the exotic perfume. The makeup scared me because of the tweezers. They were taped to a picture of a porn-star on top of the makeup kit. She had two delicate, impossibly thin, arches that needed penciling to help define them, ultra-feminine and incredibly sexy.

There was nothing for it. With a jolt of pleasure/pain, I plucked the first of way too many of my brow hairs, staring in jaw-dropping amazement at the results when I finished.

The makeup and mane of long blonde hair cascading about my shoulders was almost anti-climactic. Particularly with those brows, brows that couldn't be hidden, I had erased Brian. Terrified as to how I would deal with those brows in the real world when this was all over, I stared at myself in the mirror. I wasn't just pretty. I wasn't just beautiful. I was a knockout. Except now I didn't want to look like a starlet walking the red carpet on Oscar night. In spite of myself, I realized that I was going to look sexy for the manipulative "Bob".

At exactly 8:00, a black limo pulled up in front of my house. The driver stepped out, opened the back door, and stood at attention waiting.

"Holy shit!" I whispered to myself.

Taking as deep a breath as I could in my trussings, I finally stepped out of my door, dropping my keys in my tiny clutch along with my lipstick and a compact. I had never been outside in public before. The sound of my heels clicking sexily on the walk only added to my terror as

I approached the limo.

"Let me help you," the driver said offering his hand with a smile.

In that dress and those heels, I almost had to take it.

"Thank you," I said, hating how sexy my legs looked as I swung them into the limo after me.

The windows were too dark to see out of. The driver's partition was up too. I had no idea of where we were going before we suddenly stopped.

"Here you go sir," I heard the driver say as he opened the door.

"Thank you Greg," the voice from the phone answered as a man climbed into the limo with me. He was forty-ish, tall, dark, and impeccably dressed. The limo suited him. Women would certainly describe him as handsome.

The door shut behind him.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh Stacy! You look stunning!" he said leaning in toward me as if to give a hello kiss.

"Thank you Bobby," I said in my breathy sex-kitten voice, the only voice

I knew how to do as a woman.

But instead of the kind of hello cheek-kiss that men and women give, Bob's lips touched mine.

As brief as it was, it was a real kiss. A guy. Kissing me. I was still stunned and off-guard as Bob sat back grinning.

"I have to admit Stacy; you look even sexier than I imagined you would."

"Thank you," I said again, trying to give him what he wanted. "But can I ask you why?"

"Isn't it enough to want to be in the presence of a beautiful woman?" he half-joked. Then he added, "But I'll play fair. Ask away gorgeous."

"Why are you doing this?" I said, hating the sexy voice coming out of me.

"Because I'm a businessman. Money Stacy. It's what makes the world go round."

"What's your price then? I'll give you anything you want Bobby."

"Of course you will Stacy. But you're worth far more to me like this," he said waiving a hand over me, "much more."

"But you're a car thief."

He actually laughed.

"Oh Stacy! You are too good to be true! No. I am not a car thief.

Certain people who work for me might do various unsavory things, but I am just a businessman. And my business is to make people happy."

He just looked at me before laughing again.

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" he started. "You're finally getting it Stacy! You finally understand."

"But I can't,"

"But you can Stacy. You are going to make me a lot of money. A lot of guys will pay a lot of money to be with a sexy woman like you."

"But," I started to say, unprepared for what he was saying.

"I'm your PIMP Stacy. But I'll tell you what. I don't want you to think I'm forcing you to do anything against your will. The choice is yours. Do what I say or I can let you out here. I won't stop you Stacy. You can think about how you will explain the e-mail and those pretty little brows to everyone on your long walk home. So what'll it be? Hmm?"

He laughed again before continuing.

"I thought so, but I want to hear you say it Stacy. Tell me you want to be my whore. Tell me you how much you want to suck dicks."

"I w-want to be your," I started to say.

"Tsk tsk Stacy. Tears don't become you. And besides, they'll ruin your face. Try again. Make me believe you. Take your time though. Whenever you're ready."

I suppressed my tears and sat there, just breathing, in order to calm myself. It took a while, but I finally composed myself enough to speak.

I put on as enthusiastic a smile as I could muster and purred to Bob in my sex-kitten voice.

"Oh Bobby," I said leaning in and touching his arm. "I want to be your whore. I love sucking dicks so much. Thank your for letting me do this for you."

"Great," he smiled. "You can thank me by starting with me."

"You?" I said not catching on until Bob started undoing his pants.

"If you ask me nicely enough Stacy."

"Oh PLEASE Bobby," I heard myself saying as if I were a spectator outside of myself. "Let me have a taste of that glorious penis of yours. PLEASE?" I purred, reaching to help him with his pants.

"If you insist," he teased.

"I do," I purred.

I watched, again outside of myself, as I actually reached into this guys pants to fish his penis out. I couldn't believe that I was holding another man's dick or how it felt in my hand as it slowly swelled. My long nailed fingers looking so disturbingly "right" holding a now-hard penis.

"That's my girl," Bob moaned with the look of unfaked arousal in his eyes.

I hated that I was also aroused, my poor hidden little penis straining uselessly between my legs. I hated that part of me enjoying this unwanted fantasy. I hated that I had no other option but to slowly lower my head towards Bob's lap, my hair falling about me over his crotch as my lips touched Bob's penis.

Bob's hot hard flesh felt so horribly wonderful as I slid my glossy red lips down over his penis, filling my mouth with him. I wanted desperately to hate what I was doing, to deny how hot I felt to be sucking another man's sex, to gag, to vomit, to be unable to do what was coming too easily for me to be doing.

"Sell me Stacy," he whisper-moaned unnecessarily.

Even without Bob's goading, I was already committed to being as believable as possible. But it wasn't a fear of that e-mail, my brows, or anything else that Bob held over me that drove me. Though my inner Brian screamed impotently that this was so very wrong, my outer Stacy couldn't get enough of Bob's penis. I allowed myself to stop fighting it. I allowed myself to love what I was doing, which was sucking a dick.

Using my tongue, my lips, and the back of my throat, I slowly licked and sucked and fucked Bob's glorious penis with my mouth like the whore I now was. Feeling it pressed against the back of my throat, I opened it up and pushed myself down on him. Slowly, relentlessly, I slid Bob's thick penis into my gullet. I went so deep as to choke off my breath.

I pulled off enough to take a short gasp of air before pushing him back inside me again. Soon, I was bobbing up and down on his shaft, which kept interrupting my breathing like some pistoning fleshy plug.

"Oh god Stacy! Oh god! That's sooooooooooooooaaaaaAAAAARRRRRGGGHHH!"

With Bob's dick plunged deep past my throat, I felt it erupt inside me. My gullet convulsed automatically to swallow his sex throbbing into me.

I held him there, unable and unwilling to breathe, not wanting his pulsing sperm to spurt into my lungs if I pulled off him too soon. It was too much. I felt my own pathetic sex leaking into my padded bottom while my ass clenched rhythmically around the latex phallus buried within me.

I finally pulled off of Bob's spent and slowly deflating penis, gasping for air with an unstoppable smile. I sat up, brushing my hair out of my face. In spite of myself, I felt myself beaming with an unnatural pride of what I had done. I smelled cum on my breath and liked it.

Bob just stared at me as he redid his pants. It took a while before he spoke up.

"You won't be going back to Brian's old house anymore."

"I know Bobby."

"Greg will drive you where you need to be. He will take you home when you call him."

Bob handed me a tiny pre-programmed cell phone that would barely squeeze into my clutch.

"I will put you up. I will pay for your clothes. You will even get rich yourself Stacy. I own you now, but I will treat you fairly. OK?"

"OK Bobby."

"Great. Here are the rules."


"Rule number one," he said holding up a condom. "You just had your last unprotected sex. Clients are screened, but you can't be too careful Stacy."

He tucked two condoms into the lacy band at the top of a stocking before continuing.

"Rule number two. You aren't a streetwalker. You are supposed to be high-classed talent. You only work for me, no side business.

"Rule number three. I'll have arranged the details and payment in advance. If I say blowjob only, that's all you do. If I say anal, same deal. If he just wants to diddle your little boy-bits, well, you get the picture.

"Last rule. No kissing."

"No kissing?"


"But why?"

"No kissing," he repeated to end my questioning.

I sat there in silence, wondering just what I was doing as the car came to a stop.

"Go to the front desk and have them ring room 338 and say that Stacy is waiting in the lobby. Do anything he wants. He's got you for the night. He's paying extra to be your first."

"Extra?" I said in my breathy little voice, ignoring that Bob had been first.

"You don't need to worry your pretty little head about details," he laughed, "but let's just say only the highest of rollers can afford you."

Greg opened the door outside of an Atlantic City hotel, helping me out.

"Goodnight beautiful," Bob said cheerily before Greg shut the door.

I should have expected all the eyes following me as I made my way to the hotel desk, trying my best to hide my terror behind a confident smile.

I did as instructed. A large man around fifty, with an expensive suit unsuccessfully hiding a gut, spotted me with a tremendous smile.


"Room 338?"

"Hot dang!" he said looking me over. "My name's Mike. The night's long. Let's say we have a little something to drink and a little fun first Stacy." Th then hooked his arm for me to take.

"Anything you say Mike," I smiled as I took it.

"Oh we're going to get along juss fine Stacy. Juss fine."

I just smiled more broadly and leaned into Mike as he led me into the casino and a whole new life.



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Maybe This Was Just What You Needed

Maybe you needed to get outside your usual thing to write something.

I love your usual stories; this one was different. Not bad . . . just different.

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Hang in there, you are doing

Hang in there, you are doing fine. Think about what you would normally write and do the opposite just for the heck of it. best, p.

I think I'd have bitten his

I think I'd have bitten his dong off!
Saved humanity from a rather nasty little perv.

mittfh's picture


Initially - knee "Bob" in the nuts and find the computer. If it has a voltage selector switch on the PSU, flip it. Unless Bob's smart enough to open the case and remove the hard drive, that'll scupper any immediate plans to carry out the threat.

If that doesn't work - if "Bob" hasn't taken Brian's house keys (and doesn't get hold of them!), then people will quickly become suspicious - and eventually the police will get called in to do a search. A cursory examination of the computer should reveal the video and the email. "Bob" may have only used a free account from a public computer, but there's a chance the trail could be traced back to the internet cafe....

In fact, since our mysterious "Bob" managed to work out who Stacy is, where Brian lives, and obtain all Brian's contacts, either
a) "Bob" is, or can hire, a suspiciously good hacker, or
b) Brian has no concept whatsoever of online security (posting personal, identifiable information in publicly accessible areas of the 'net, sending chain emails with his entire address book CC'd rather than BCC'd, using weak passwords etc.)

If we can suspend our disbelief at (a) we can also believe the police will be remarkably efficient at tracing whoever "Bob" really is. If (b), then it's also a fair bet that "Bob" has already sent out the email, thus ensuring Brian can never return to his old life.

Ironically, in this information age, possibly the least worst course of action upon receiving an email like that would be to 'fess up - since once the blackmailer has you under their control, there's nothing stopping them sending out the incriminating email anyway. And even if you see them delete it from their computer, who's to say they haven't got a backup copy lying around - or on the 'net somewhere?

Lewd though the performance may have been, if Brian didn't work in a public-facing role, the activities took place outside work hours, and didn't affect his ability to do the job, then his job would remain (although he'd almost certainly face lots of teasing and bullying).


There are 10 kinds of people in the world - those who understand binary and those who don't...
Google+ | EAFOAB Resources

There are 10 kinds of people - those who understand binary, those who don't, and those who know this sig's in ternary.

A job for Stark?

Stacy is faced with two options, both unpalatable, both totally life changing. Shame would be the price of telling Bob the Blackmailer to go get bent, to go ahead and do his worst. Brian being so closeted, it's apparently too much to handle. Everyone in his life would know about Stacy, and that she likes getting a dildo up her. But really, what's wrong with that? Not a damn thing! But for whatever hung up reason Brian might be so ashamed of this that he'd need to start a new life elsewhere, severing all ties with everyone he knows...

But succumbing to the blackmail and becoming an owned plaything/prostitute severs all these same ties anyway, and at the cost of freedom; which to me seems much worse than the worst social ostracism you'd face over something that's ultimately so minor, and those who'd judge you over a bland little kink like this ain't worth having around anyway ...... The main fear would be that the hideously unethical Bob intended to take what he wants in either case, kidnapping her and selling her off to those evil guys on the boat with the Fu Manchu moustaches and the cackling sinister accents even if she refused to yeild to his coercion.

Then there's the third option, and one I'd love to see. Send Randalynn's STARK character after this psycho asshole!
He would rue tha day he was born, hee hee!
~~hugs, Laika

(At least Stacy didn't wind up falling in love with the evil creep. Which I half expected from a StacyinLove story...)

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