Helen’s Blackmail

Helen’s Blackmail

It was an unprecedented time. The world it seemed, was on pause. Life was perhaps still going on, but not obviously so. Stay in your homes, was the constant refrain. Stay where you are. No meeting other households. No going out. No having fun.

Lockdown.

This was not good news for anyone, and everyone felt their own personal torments. Helen did too. Felt her own, very individual woes. Restrictions on travel meant that she was unable to see her blue eyed lover; unable to feel his hands on her body; unable to feel his kiss on her lips.

Stay where you are.

Don’t interact.

And in her case, no more sex it seems.

It meant weeks of no physical contact and the belief that her pussy lips were actually beginning to heal together, despite the cute little rings that adorned her labia, gently and constantly tugging them apart. Despite the memories of her exploits that had caused her fingers to play with her clit on so many evenings, time will always take its toll. Boredom always ends up setting in.

She did have drop earrings that she could attach to the rings, but these had been removed after the evening on the bike as they weren’t a practical addition for everyday living. She was also the proud owner of a crystal ended chrome steel butt plug which currently took pride of place on her dressing table, resting on red tissue paper back in its box. She took long wistful looks at it each morning but unfortunately now without the impetus to use it.

Her personally adapted jeans were now hanging over a rail back in her closet after spending a week following their use on a hanger hooked over a wardrobe valance. A visit from a family member had caused their emergency hiding away, but she had never bothered to take them back out.

All in all, Helen was feeling pretty morose with lockdown after the prior weeks of sexual excitement and experimentation.

She missed her tall, well built lover. She missed his presence and his gentle domination of her. She missed his biddings and her eager pleasing of him. She missed the taste of his cock and the emanating copious ejaculate. She missed holding his arms and body and the feeling of him inside her.

Until the terse text from him which made her breathe a little harder…

Life sometimes got in the way of personal pleasures but he always seemed to have a knack to pull her out of it at the most opportune time. The message was not an epistle; did not expand, but the two words gave cause for thought as she contemplated them.

‘Blackmail time!’

What on Earth did that mean? She associated that term with financial concerns of influencial people striving to hide their mistakes. Ruinous mistakes.

She was neither influencial nor financially well-to-do. And had not made any mistakes that she would rather pay to avoid the public knowledge of.

It snapped her out of her reverie though. The black contemplative mood that had pervaded her and dragged her down from the heady heights of the mall shopping trip greyed slightly.

Blackmail, huh?

Fate, do your worst.

What did she care?

Until the next message came through on her phone. The ping of notification. The vibration on the mantle where it lay. An urgent tone, compelling her to check it out.

‘I will not contact you again until you have done as I say!’

No.

Please, no.

Anything but that.

His messages were the highlight of her day. Contact with the outside world. Knowing that somebody, somewhere was thinking of her. No matter how subdued she felt, how bored by the mundanity of regular life, a kind word or question of her health always lifted her spirits. The only words she heard or read on some days; the only personal connection.

And yet…

A slight pussy flutter of intrigue. He was planning another escapade of some description. He always had plans. This was going to be something erotic. Something naughty. Something that would focus her mind on her sex somehow.

This could be fun.

This most likely would be fun.

A deep breath. She centred herself and exhaled slowly.

This will be fun.

It was an irrelevant emotion anyway, there was nothing to consider or discuss. There wasn’t any choice she could reasonably make in the matter. The bastard knew that too. His message was a statement of fact rather than a discussion point. Her body and mind was his to command. He knew it. She knew it.

Focusing on the phone app, one letter slowly at a time, she returned two letters in reply.

‘ok.’

A contract of sorts, she knew that she had effectively sold her entire body to him like a remote controlled sex toy. Centred her quiet time thoughts to his whim once more. Placed her entire body at his disposal.

For the first time in days, she felt a slight moistening between her legs, the swell of her clit and a familiar flush in her neck.

This was silly, Helen, she scolded herself. Get a grip. He’s like a hundred miles away and what could possibly be the worst he could do?

She had done so much in public already…

Taken pictures of her pussy

Ridden out on a motorcycle with a hole at the crotch of her jeans.

Worn that butt plug

Given and received oral sex.

What new challenges could there be? Where could he possibly take her now? It was not like they could leave the house, find anywhere open or even enjoy time together. What could he perhaps ask her to do?

Her mind started its usual tick over, latching onto the idea presented in the message and her mood lifted in response. The thought of a little excitement in her immediate future raised her temperature a touch and a trickle of possible events started playing in her head.

Shopping with the butt plug? Mundane now after that night on the bike. An easy ask. She had thought about doing it for herself anyway. It would be an opportunity to feel close to her lover; wear his gift proudly.

Reattaching the drop earrings? She was missing them already. It wouldn’t take blackmail to make her put them on. He would know that. Why would he introduce that with the word ‘blackmail’?

Using the cumpot on video perhaps? To be fair, it was the best way to masturbate now. Much cleaner than soaking the bed with her squirt… much less washing after and it actually added to the excitement of completing the act in front of a lens. He wouldn’t need to threaten her with less contact to get her to do that. She was getting quite proficient too. Blase even. The glass had become a stalwart of her life.

Hmmm!

What could it be?

Going out and about in a state of limited dress was only really appealing when he was there to watch, intervene and coordinate her. If that was expected from her it would be an easy win, but would lack a lot of fun.

Helen’s mind was taken with the idea and even though his next instruction didn’t come that day, it had mulled over many possible scenarios.

…

The first instruction came the following morning with a wish that she acquired herself a dry wipe marker pen. An easy enough command to complete. She had an entire art supplies box to search through and a handy enough supermarket around the corner.

Intrigued as to what she was required to do with it, she carefully chose the right words to let him know. Breathing hard she typed…

‘i have the marker pen!’

She was rewarded with a Facetime conversation early the next morning. After her usual ablutions and whilst enjoying a cup of coffee, she was surprised by an early ring of her phone and then his cheery face appearing on the app. She smiled happily at him, pleased by his appearance.

After the usual more basic conversation, and in answer to her breathless urgency to explain himself, he informed her of the blackmail task.

It was simple.

It was straightforward.

It was going to be effective.

He was expecting communication from her in black ink. Mailing him in black so to speak. But instead of paper, she was going to be using her body as the writing material.

Helen’s heart beat a little stronger at this premise. She was in lockdown, rarely leaving the house and seemingly hiding herself away. It was not like anyone else would notice her body used as a notepad anyway. He hadn’t asked her to use a permanent marker or even tattoo herself. Surely this would be a mild expectation on her, an easy win.

And writing on herself? Was he expecting paragraphs? Was he expecting legibility? Surely paper would be better. He could always find the right words but she always struggled to convey her thoughts.

The reason for the face-to-face became immediately apparent though as he told her that he would talk her through the first message…

Naked.

Of course naked.

She hadn’t expected anything else. She slipped his stolen t-shirt off over her shoulders and held the camera phone at arm’s length for him to observe her body. She had let the exercises slip some mornings, and this scrutiny spoke more to her than it did to him. A little extra flesh on her hips perhaps, a line below her belly. She resolved to start to complete them all again as soon as the conversation was over. She hated feeling as though she had disappointed him even though it was her own objective she was pursuing.

He was kind.

He didn’t mention her abdomen tone.

He told her that she was beautiful.

She sucked in her belly anyway to compensate; she was her own worst enemy.

Under instruction, she placed the camera phone against the room skirting and sat down on the floor before it. She could see in the bottom corner of the screen her own image, her pussy gaping with each movement of her legs, the rings tugging the labia; her pert breasts trembling with each movement. Her mad hair at that time of the morning and the lack of makeup. She focused on his face though, his beautiful blue eyes. His smile. His cropped goatee beard. His firm chin. She wanted that mouth more than anything. Wanted to feel that tongue in her own mouth, on her body, between her legs.

To sit on his face, gyrate on that chin, to soak him with her squirt. She trembled from previous memories.

Her nipples slowly hardened at her thoughts. Slightly doe eyed, she bit her lip coquettishly. She wanted to stroke herself; to feel a pressure on her clit. She hadn’t for days, but right there, right then, she felt the familiar buildup between her legs that told her she might need her cumpot very soon.

It had taken a single word and she had submitted her body in all its glory immediately. It didn’t occur to her to deny his wishes.

Taking the pen, she then did as she was told. It was only two words she was expected to write. Simple to understand.

‘INSERT HERE’ one above the other on the soft area above her slit. Each word no more than an inch in height.

Clear.

Capitalised.

Emboldened print.

Each letter blackened and emphasised. An arrow too. Starting between the HE and the RE pointing down to her clit.

She completed the artwork and looked down at herself. It had been tricky for the first couple of letters effectively writing upside down but it hadn’t been difficult. Tickled slightly in fact. Mesmerizing to feel the letters appear on her clean pale skin.

She liked the effect.

It gave her a smile.

Made her feel a little slutty.

Once more her body responded to the stimuli. Her body was front and center, the focus of attention. The exposure felt erotic, the directive written on her pubic bone an obvious adornment, like an instructional sex toy.

It was explained that she needed to keep it on her skin for 5 days. Replaced or re-emphasised after washing or any fading. She was to wear it almost as a badge of honour.

She relaxed. This was easy. All that worry and concern and wondering what the blackmail task was going to be about. He was losing his grip. She would have used permanent marker if he had wanted her to, it would wear off in time.

What was that?

He was still explaining.

This was only day one. She was going to have to write another message later today somewhere else on her body. Something erotic. Something naughty, dirty even. Rude perhaps humiliating. And return him a full nude picture or video with the addition.

Did she understand?

Yes of course she understood.

Now she was breathing hard.

Each day for the week, she was going to have to write 2 new and extra messages using her body, documenting them each time with a reason for it. In total, 10 words, phrases or comments written and kept on her skin for the week like a notice board of erotica.

Oh, and he would only message her on receipt of the new body picture showing the latest addition.

Bastard.

That was blackmail.

Blackmail for black mail.

A goodbye and the phone clicked off, leaving her to her thoughts.

Standing and regarding herself in the wall mirror, she could see the two words and the arrow, and her hand crept between her legs in response. On her own now, it was sex that she was thinking about. She always did when anywhere near him. A constant nag at her very soul. He wasn’t even there, and he had once again focused her entire attention on her sex. And this time a longer lasting and visual reminder of it. Now on her body. A rude and slightly humiliating edict.

It made her feel slutty. Though not a constant usual thought, it was one brought on during interaction with him. A delicious feeling of total servitude and mutual desire. Putty in his hands, her body at his bidding.

That was it. She had an idea.

She had her first blackmail message.

Genius. Instinctive. Appropriate.

Where should she wrote it?

On her breasts?

Hmm. No. If she wore that low cut top, she didn’t want that to be seen.

On her ass cheek? A possibility.

Inner thighs? Danger of rubbing off.

She grabbed the pen and wrote five letters across her belly. Each one as before, an inch high and filled slightly to emphasize them. Looking in the mirror she was happy with the result and artfully pleased to see them central to the words below them. An afterthought… she added a little five pointed star shape below the last letter.

She looked at the result.

Pleased.

Amused.

It needed something else, and she knew exactly what. Rummaging in her cupboard she found out a red marker pen. It didn’t say dry wipe. Never mind. She didn’t care.

She uncapped it and coloured in the star.

There.

That was better.

That showed initiative.

Happy with the result, she angled her body back and forth in the mirror to see how it looked with the lower words. Picking her phone off the floor she held it at arm’s length once more and snapped the new word.

Adding in the text box above, she wrote ‘doing this makes me feel wonderfully…’

And with the word in the photograph below saying…

SLUTTY.

Of course this would now mean walking around for a few days with SLUTTY and INSERT HERE on her lower belly.

But that wasn’t going to be the biggest issue of course. It was going to be coming up with more phrases and words and the thought about what they could be was already on her mind as she reluctantly slipped the t-shirt back over her head to hide the artwork beneath.

…

The next few days were interesting to say the least. Helen felt constantly aroused and on edge from the body writing that she had continued obediently. Each time she thought that the wording had faded, she spent the time retracing and over emphasising them. Her natural flair for art took over and happily embellished the wording, spending far too long in the hope of pleasing him. Taking it upon herself to use colour, she hoped that he would be gratified with both the canvas and her artistry.

On the last day of the challenge, she stood in front of the long mirror and thoughtfully regarded herself before the last word was to be applied.

She gazed favourably at the very first INSERT HERE logo above her slit. The arrow made her smile. Very instructional. Seeing the SLUTTY with a little coloured star on her belly always made her feel that just by seeing it. She had been nervous on that day, doing that, but on reflection now… not that big a deal.

Nervousness had subsided.

Confidence shone through.

Personal pride in how it made her feel.

Each breast now had BITE THIS, and TWIST HERE as the following days messages. Written on the underside of each in case of a low top but still quite visible indicating her nipples. Watching herself in the mirror that day had focused her mind on her breasts and she had been quite taken by how stiff her nipples had become with the attention on them.

Desperate for her own orgasm by now, LICK MY PUSSY was written at the top of her left leg and slightly naughtier BLOW JOB QUEEN on the right one.

She had then added little kisses and hearts in various colours. They didn’t look totally visible on her skin but they helped emphasize her feelings.

That had been the first night of orgasm for a while. She had contemplated going with something slightly naughtier about the blow job – perhaps a price tag, but couldn’t bring herself to in the end. She was only interested in his cock after all.

Queen would do.

FUCK ME and KISS ME showed the thoughts she was having on the next day. Each was written at each side of the SLUTTY word. Not overly imaginative, the instructions more beseeching than anything else. Her accompanying message told him just how much she missed his attention.

Bloody lockdown.

By the last day she had been feeling extremely pent up and the morning mail to him had been a simple DICK SUCKER written at the top of her left thigh. An attempt to tease him; tell him what he was missing.

She had spent the previous evening vividly remembering the taste of his cock and the copious ejaculate when he came, enjoying herself a couple of times then and then again following the scribe that morning. Her cumpot getting a good filling every time.

…

And it all came down to this final message.

What should it be?

Her fingers were once again on her lower lips and toying with the labia rings. It was an instinctive, happily immersive experience. She had spent a little time on porn sites and seen other examples of body writing. A lot of it quite coarse and not altogether appropriate for what he had asked for.

The purpose of the whole exercise was to get her to focus on her own body, extricate herself from the problems of social distancing, at least temporarily. Focusing on her own skin had made her redouble her efforts with the morning exercises, desperate to regain the tone she had had and been quite a lot of fun in the process.

But she still needed a last message.

She was breathing hard.

She knew she was running out of space.

Her torso and thighs were full.

On her ass maybe?

Her neck?

Her face?

She toyed with the pen and angled herself in the mirror. She thought about the butt plug; she could reference that possibly. Banal. Boring. Reference the labia rings. Meh!

She wanted to shock him.

Astound him.

Tease him.

She sucked on the closed top of the pen.

Could she use her mouth as an O?

Could she use her anus as an O?

She mused.

He had told her to research. She had.

She had seen WHORE written on a girl in the videos, the O being the mouth or the anus. She didn’t feel like a whore and it had never come up in conversation. WHORE perhaps was not the best word. It was definitely rude and emotive. It could be deliciously humiliating in the right circumstances. Under the right conditions. During hot passionate sex, maybe it could be something that he could say or she could call herself and she would get off on it. He would get off on it.

Not appropriate right now.

Something about PISS perhaps?

She had had a fantasy about being used in the men’s toilets at a pub. Strapped in a squatting position to a urinal and used for his clean up. Breasts hanging out and mouth open obediently for his attentions. Her body bared for his fluids and his fluids alone, whatever he chose to spray over her. Marking his territory in the manner of his own choosing.