Message-ID: <20346eli$9903040430@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: auryman@aol.com (AuryMan) Subject: Diane's Mistake - ch 2 (M+F+f, blackmail, smbd, etc) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19990304000727.01323.00002187@ng-fy1.aol.com> WARNING: This story contains strong sexual themes. It is intended as a work of fiction for ADULTS ONLY, and the writer does not in any way suggest or condone similar behavior. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. All names are fictitious. The acts described herein are illegal, and are not condoned by the author. This work is to be read by PERSONS 21 OR OLDER ONLY where such topics are not against the law. If unusual sexual behavior offends you, please STOP reading here THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING! ===================================== SubDiane's Mistake Chapter 2 The next morning, after she'd seen her husband and daughter off with a good breakfast, Diane went back into the library to check her email. She was hoping that maybe the mysterious stranger whose email she read last night was just a bad dream. But, there it was in the "OLD MAIL" tab. The entire thing. Descriptions of her and her family that were definitely not guesses. The details were all correct, none were wrong or even merely "close". "Ding!" - SumwonElz: Good morning. - SumwonElz: Did you sleep well? - SubDiane: What do you think? - SumwonElz: Spunky as ever. I like that. - SumwonElz: Are you ready to see what it's like being a sex slave in the real world? Her stomach knotted. They'd not taken her too far in the stories yet, the chapters that were published online didn't seem like anything too extreme. What did this guy have in mind anyway? She felt something and wondered if it was fear or excitement. - SumwonElz: I asked you a question. - SubDiane: I'm sorry. What did you have in mind? - SumwonElz: Check your mail. - SubDiane: I already did. - "Member is no longer logged on" "Jerk! I hate it when they do that!" she yelled to no one in particular. She clicked onto the "Read Mail" icon and saw that there was a new piece of mail in her IN box. The flag hadn't gone up on the mailbox icon and she didn't hear the familiar voice. Whoever he was, he was messing with AOL protocol. She wondered why. > Diane > > I'd like to get a better look at you. > > You will drive into Chicago and head for > the Crown Books at 1444 S. Clark St. Be there at 10 a.m. > Dress in a black skirt and a white blouse. Shoes, nylons, > jewelry of your choosing. No bra or panties. > > You will browse the art and photography books from 10:00 > until 10:15. If anyone approaches you, tell them you > are just looking. Do not engage in conversation with anyone, > not even a store clerk. > > Feel free to take any books from the shelf and look through > them. Try to look natural and casual, I want to see what you > look like in your natural state. > > Don't try to find me, I won't let you. > > At 10:15, you will be given an envelope. Leave the bookstore > and go into the coffee shop two doors down the street. > > Read the contents of the envelope and follow the instructions > you find there. > > If you have any thought of hesitation, banish it. You know and I know > that you are curious. We also know that you don't want those printouts > in your husband's hands. > No bra and panties? He was pushing her rather quickly, she thought. That was a familiar piece of role playing fantasy, she often talked about dressing with no underwear. She wondered if that was part of his game, using her own chats against her. Diane was already picturing herself in the outfit. She had a skirt and a top that would fit the bill, and shoes she liked. She'd wear panty hose just in case he got too ambitious and tried grabbing her ass or raping her. She'd meet him, talk with him, and see what he really wanted. There's no way he'd send those prints to her house, she told herself. Probably some college student playing games. He'd get off on her following his commands and that would be that. She looked at the clock on the desk. It was 8:30. She opened her browser and keyed the address of the bookstore into the mapping program. It was downtown, it would take at least 20 minutes to drive, another 20 to find parking. She went upstairs to shower and change. + + + Traffic hadn't been too bad, but finding parking was impossible. It was 9:50 when she walked into the store. There were about a dozen people inside, all neatly dressed - probably the downtown crowd either on their way to work or taking an early break. Most of the men were in suits, the women also dressed very professionally. There was so much gray she felt she'd landed in a black and white movie set. No one looked at her as she walked around the store, looking for the right section. She was aware of her breasts swinging free underneath the blouse, but no one else seemed to be. A slight feeling of apprehension came over her as she stepped beneath the sign that read "Art and Photography". There was a man standing there, looking at a book of album cover art. "Weren't these great?" he asked her as she came closer. "Uh huh," she mumbled, hoping to avoid an encounter. If it was him, he'd have to let her know for certain . If it wasn't, well, she didn't feel like talking to anyone anyway. The man put the book back into its place and walked away. She let her eyes glide over the books on the shelves. Cezanne, Dali, Ansel Adams, black and white fashion collections, portraits and landscapes. She loved art, had studied Art History in college but ended up majoring in accounting when it was all said and done. There was a book of nudes in front of her at eye level. She couldn't help but stare at the defiant look of the young woman whose face and naked breasts made up the cover. The photographer had captured a look that straddled the line between "I'm a slut" and "Don't even think about it". Diane picked the book up and flipped idly through the pages. The pictures were wonderful, none of the women looked forced or posed. At one point, she felt herself being pulled into a landscape of flesh - two full page full color pictures of naked torsos, arms and legs pulled behind and out of the camera's eye. She became aware of her body, felt her nipples growing and brushing against the fabric of her blouse. She closed the book and put it back on the shelf. Something further down the same shelf caught her eye. It was a hardcover book with a black cover and gold, handwritten letters. It said "Diane's Chats". She looked around, no one was watching her. Her hand trembled as she reached for it. There was no publisher's imprint on the spine or the back cover. The front cover was blank. It looked more like a sketchbook than a published book. With nervous fingers, she opened it. There, on the first page, was a photo of her getting out of her car. The photo had been taken in her driveway at home. She was wearing a skirt and her legs were visible to just above the knees. She looked up and checked her aisles and the ones nearbly. No one was watching her. She turned the page. It was, indeed, an artist's sketch book but there were no more pictures. Instead, page after page of chat log had been printed and glued to the pages of the blank book. There were chats dating back nearly to when it all started. Whoever'd put it together had been watching her for a long time. Or had access to logs that she didn't know existed. Which could it be? She thumbed through the book and found a loose piece of paper that had been stuck in between two pages. It was a note: "Put the book under your arm and take it with you as a souvenir. The clerk will not give you any trouble. Two possible reasons for you to consider. One, he might recognize it as a sketchbook and assume you walked in with it. Or, maybe I've told him what's up and he's having fun just watching you. Have fun guessing which." She looked around the store again. What if someone had come across the book accidently. Recognized her photo? Recognized something in one of the chats? It was 10:12. Another three minutes and she could leave. She clenched the book tight under her arm, tried to appear calm and browse through the other books in that section. What made him so sure she'd see it? Was he the man looking at the album cover book? How long had the book been there? What if someone else HAD looked at it? She felt her stomach tighten as it started to sink in: this guy was playing rough. Another customer walked into her aisle. It was an older man, another gray suit. He picked up a book of black and white Western landscapes. Stepping closer to her, he opened the book and showed her a picture. "Do you have any idea whether this is part of the Grand Canyon?" She looked at him nervously. It was 10:15. She'd been instructed not to carry on any conversations. Yet, maybe this was the one who was going to deliver the letter. She decided to chance talking with him. "It looks more like the Rockies. But, I don't know much about those things." He nodded his head, closed the book and put it back on the shelf. Then, he walked away and started nosing around in the Fiction section. Diane looked at her watch: 10:16. No one had given her anything. Maybe it was all a prank, or maybe the jerk had got cold feet when he realized he could go to jail for what he was about to do. As she moved her left foot to start walking to the door, she felt something brush against her ankle. There was an envelope someone had propped up against her shoe while she was talking to the other customer. Uncertain what to expect, she bent down and picked it up. The envelope was blank, nothing at all on either side. She stuffed it between the pages of the sketch book and walked out the door of the store. + + + As he'd said, there was a coffee shop two doors down. She went in, took a quick inventory of the patrons but had no clue that one of them might be him. A waitress pointed to a booth halfway back and against the wall. Diane nodded and took her seat. "Coffee?" "Sure, that's fine," she said. When the waitress had put the cup and saucer down in front of her, she opened the sketchbook. The envelope was there, waiting ominously for her. She took it in her hand and tapped it a few times. It was as if she were relishing her last few minutes of freedom. She had realized this: if this person was a blackmailer and if indeed he had interest in her sex chats, it was pretty clear what he would want. The only questions left were: when and for how long? + + + end of Chapter 2 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----