Message-ID: <20360eli$9903050424@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: auryman@aol.com (AuryMan) Subject: Diane's Mistake - ch 3 (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: <19990304214819.25030.00003789@ng13.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 3 She sipped the coffee. He hadn't said anything about reading the letter right away and she wanted to give herself a few minutes to get her composure. A small part of her was still hoping she'd figure out who it might be, or that he'd change his mind at the last minute. She felt that once the envelope was opened, they would have crossed a line together that they couldn't come back from. With the butterknife from the table, she slit the top of the envelope open. Inside was a folded note: "It's still early in the day and you don't have anyone to go home to until at least 3:30. Isn't that when your daughter comes home? Oh yes, I almost forgot. Today is Tuesday, so that means you're free until 4 o'clock. "I've taken a room at the Palmer for the day. One thing I'd really enjoy is to see how you behave when you're made to play the whore. Your assignment for this morning is to go to the Palmer House, take the elevator to the 8th floor, and knock on the door of room 812. "You are to take the name 'Sandra' and service the man inside that room. You are not to make any allusion to our arrangement, you are not to confront that man with the details of our arrangement, under penalty of an immediate delivery of the materials you've seen today to your husband and children. "Your job is to convince him totally that you are indeed one of Chicago's finest, that your name is Sandra, and that you will do anything he asks for $200.00. "When you are finished, go down to the lobby and ask the concierge for a package with your name on it." The note ended there. She turned it over, looked for another page but there was nothing else. She was frightened and full of questions. Why the false name? What name to give the concierge - Sandra or Diane? Why the Palmer House? What did he mean that he might do "anything" to her? Was she to complete the charade and force him to hand her the money? Would this be a one-time thing or would he expect her to be available again in the future? It was 10:35, she needed to go if she was going to be on time. Diane paid the waitress with a $5.00 and a smile, then walked to the door. "Miss! Sandra! Wait! You forgot your letter!" She heard the waitress calling her, but ran out of the shop and toward the parking garage. + + + At 10:59, Diane Lawson - now known as Sandra - was standing in the rich red carpet outside the door of room 812. She adjusted her skirt slightly, tucked the small purse under her arm, then knocked. "Yes?" "Hello. It's me, Sandra," she said to the closed door. Inside the room, there was some shuffling, then the slide of the deadbolt. The door opened. The man at the door was middle aged, not handsome but not unhandsome. He had on grey pants and wore a white shirt with tiny red stripes over a protruding belly. "I'm Andy. Come in." She looked at him closely, trying to determine whether or not he was going to play the game all the way. As she walked past, he leaned forward and took a breath. "Nice hair." He closed and locked the door and began the play immediately. "So, I understand you're one of the best Chicago has to offer?" She gave him what she hoped was a knowing glance. "I've been told I'm pretty good." "You do deep throat?" In the chats, this was always a favorite, she should have expected it. "If you like." "And it's two hundred dollars, right? For the whole thing?" "That's right." She was getting tired of this playing and wished he'd just come out and talk about the blackmail. "OK, then, get on your knees over here and let's get on with it." He unbuckled his belt, unsnapped his pants and pulled them down around his knees. His white thighs were flabby and his legs sparsely covered with long, stringy hairs. He pulled down a pair of white boxers and she saw his thin, flaccid prick peeking out from under his shirt tails. Diane felt revulsion coming up from her stomach, this was not going to be a pleasant experience. He was not attractive at all and that, combined with the circumstance of the blackmail and the game, made her feel ill. But, she knew the stakes and knelt down in front of him. She took his organ between her fingers and started kissing the head. "I have to sit down," he said and walked across the room to an armchair. She followed, kneeling between his open legs and reaching for his cock again. She licked small circles around the head and felt it begin to stiffen. A few long strokes along the neck and down to the base and it was fully erect. "Sandra?" "Yes," she answered. "When it gets nice and hard, I want you to deep throat me until I cum. Then, swallow it all." Take that thing into her mouth all the way, until her nose was buried in his balls? She knew she had to do it but didn't know if she could. She heard him grunting and felt his hand in her hair. He grabbed a handful and started pulling. "Ouch!" "Shut the fuck up and do it!" She pushed her mouth as far down on his cock as it would go. She felt the small head against the back of her throat. Then, she slid her tongue up and down along the shaft as well as she could. "Let's hear you hum a little," he grunted. She recognized this one from chats too. She pushed the head as far back into her mouth as it would go, then started humming lightly. He grunted and pulled her hair harder. She felt his sweaty balls and her eyes watered slightly. It took only a few minutes for him to get off. As he did, he pushed her head down hard. She didn't want to swallow it, but there was too much and she started to gag. He wouldn't release the pressure and she was forced to swallow it - all but the last bit she could keep in her mouth. When he stopped bucking up and down, she let the cock slide out of her mouth. She stood up, her lips tightly clenched. "You didn't swallow it all?" Diane shook her head. "Well, you can swallow it now. Do not leave this room until your mouth is empty." Swallow it? Fuck you! she thought. But even as she thought it, she knew she had no choice. She braced herself and swallowed the rest of the warm, thick liquid. "Good. That's better. Well, your money's on the table. Nice work." Diane wiped her lips with the back of her hand and stepped toward the door. "Take the money, cunt." She looked at him, then at the dresser, then though - what the hell? If he wants to pay me real cash as part of his fantasy, let him. She picked up the bills, stuffed them into her purse, and walked to the door. "See you next time," he said. She didn't turn around, but opened the door and stepped out into the hall. After pulling the door closed behind her, she waited there a few minutes. Wasn't he going to come out, tell her she did a good job, give her a next assignment? Maybe explain the limits and expectations of this relationship? There was no sound from the inside and she heard the elevator bell ding. He'd said to go to the concierge. She figured she'd better. There were two other riders in the elevator, neither was the man from the room. She avoided looking at either of them, just rode in silence. + + + "I'm expecting a package for Sandra," Diane said to the man behind the desk. The concierge wore a very elaborate uniform - a coat of thick velvet with long tails, dress striped slacks, perfectly starched shirt, vest, and a red cap. Rather than reaching for an envelope or package, he stood looking at her and not speaking. He never established eye contact, but looked her up and down from her ankles to her neck. "There is nothing here for a Sandra," he told her with an air of authority. Shit! Guessed wrong, she thought. "I'm sorry, what about for Diane Lawson?" "I don't understand. For whom are you picking up a package?" "For myself," she stammered. "Well, are you uncertain what your name is? Is it Sandra or is it Diane?" He gave her a condescending look, as though he knew what was in the package and was going to make her sweat for it. Luckily, on the way from the coffee shop, she'd thought through this possibliity and had what she thought was a good answer. "I'm in town with a friend and I'm not sure which name they were going to leave the package under." She tried to give him an innocent smile, despite the fact that he was starting at her nipples. "Oh, I see. And what room are you staying in?" She hadn't anticipated that. Desparate for an idea, she blurted out "well, I'm with a friend in room 812." "Room 812? That would be Mr. Harris. A very nice man who asked me for a dinner recommendation last night. In from out of town for business. He checked in yesterday and mentioned to me that he might be having a 'visitor' this morning." The emphasis he'd put on the word 'visitor' scared her. What had he told her? And why did his charade extend to the concierge? "Well, I don' t know anything about that, I only know that I'm supposed to pick up a package." "Yes, well I do have a package for you." He reached under the desk and took out a small box, wrapped with a red ribbon. "I just want to mention one thing. From here forward, I suggest you do your business elsewhere. We have a very good reputation with the local police and we do NOT want to risk it. Is that understood?" Diane felt tears welling in her eyes. The concierce had nearly called her a whore. She and her husband had stayed at that hotel before. Did the man recognize her? What if they wanted to go back there again? She wanted to yell at him - to tell him that the man up there was not an out of town businessman but a blackmailer who stopped just short of raping her. She looked at his stern face and hard eyes. He would not listen. She took the package and ran out of the building. + + + end of Chapter 3 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----