Women blackmailed for sex stories. NonConsent/Reluctance Stories.



Women blackmailed for sex stories

Women blackmailed for sex stories

The Suburban Sadist blackmail, humiliation Eddy's sex story Mrs Blackwell looked at me with wide and tear-filled eyes as I explained what was going to happen to her. She would come to understand that her body was no longer hers. Instead, it would be mine and she would obey exactly what I commanded her to do. It is a strange feeling to control someone so completely, to utterly dominate another person, to know that I will get what I want from them, and most importantly, to know that they know.

It is in incredible feeling to look at someone and know you are more devious, more cunning, more logical, more intelligent, and simply more powerful.

The moment they understand and break is euphoric to me and that is exactly what makes me a sadist. Do you understand Gemma?

First I turned on my bright halogen lamp and pointed it directly at the scared woman. Her limbs were so tense I could see them freeze as her eyes fixated on the camera.

The large flash mounted on top of the camera did its job and caught the image of a trapped housewife desperate for the torture to end, or at least, desperate to know what it would entail.

She was obviously in no mood to even act enjoyment. With wet eyes she finally managed a weak smile and my camera caught her humiliation and dread perfectly. Over the next hour I cataloged Mrs Blackwell — Gemma — perfectly. As she stripped each piece of clothing from her body she was documented.

From sweater to t-shirt, from jeans to panties, each transition was recorded, front and back. It was a record of a new slave entering her new world and showing exactly what she had to offer her new master. Obediently, gradually becoming accustomed to my sharp commands, Gemma posed for me with her hands behind her head, or bent at the waist with her tits swaying obscenely, or with her legs spread wide and awkwardly. My camera would capture everything and with each explicit statue she made for me, she would realise she was mine to do with as I wanted.

As I ask — or command — a new piece of property to spread her pussy, or her ass cheeks, or hold her tits up for inspection, neither of us can deny the transition is complete: My camera captures a body and a person that is totally mine.

The details of my story are obscene, vile and incredibly illegal. I am the Suburban Sadist. Suburbia is hell so it should be no surprise it spawned a devil. I grew up in the most boring of neighborhoods: In essence, all the dead-livingness of middle-America in its modern glory: So maybe I was lucky I understood which sexual fantasies would drive me through life.

My grades were good, very good, and that would keep me easily below the familial and suburbia radars, but it was my sexual desires that would inhabit and consume my free time.

Of course I had the sense to try and fail at organized sports and I happily passed time in more useful extra-curricular school activities involved with business or science.

But I cannot deny my real passion was something wholly unpalatable to most - most inhabitants of suburbia anyway. Of course, suburbia keeps secrets.

That is what it is designed to do with similar houses, similar families, similar jobs, similar hobbies, and in fact, maybe the same lives. So it was strange when I realized we all keep secrets. I remember, bored with a piece of easy chemistry homework, staring out of my window and seeing a car park opposite my house.

I was fascinated with the doorstep exchange as Mrs Wilk first tried to negotiate with the stranger then finally started shouting. The well-suited man kept up his ministrations but Mrs Wilk finally got rid of him. As he left for his expensive car her body language betrayed the meaning of the meeting as she looked desperately for neighborhood witnesses.

He was a lover? Mrs Wilk was not a beautiful woman but I fantasized about her that night. I imagined I had her secret and that I knew the man in the rich blue suit. More, I had the paperwork that proved her infidelity or her dark secret. It was easy to think of the suburban housewife on her knees in front of me, begging, pleading for me to keep the secret.

If I am honest, there has never been any controlling them. So maybe I was forced by my psyche, my fetish, and maybe I had no control. But critically I turned my desires into action. With the dedication I showed to the periodic table or to American history I turned to my dark desires. Surveilling a neighborhood is not difficult. Jane Downser at would get as drunk as possible on a Friday night if her husband was away.

Sophie Beckels, a girl a year above me, living at had two boyfriends at different schools. Her mother, Anne, had a kid nobody knew about. Tracy Spizfell enjoyed bisexual erotic stories after her family went to sleep.

Josie Tress had a past nobody in this suburbia could possibly imagine. I got this information from the internet with sly little software that would do the job for me. Better still, and more difficult, from awkward conversations at the right moment with friendly neighborhood confidants, or loose talk after I had cleaned gutters and mowed lawns, or little cameras hidden away in the darkest rooms and moments of American suburbia.

I was 18 and attending community college when I finally took the plunge and decided to manifest my desires. Mrs Tiffany Sands was divorced with two children at college out of state. She worked in upper management at a local big business. For the first few years of my research I thought she was spotless — someone without anything to hide, truly a perfect suburbanite.

I suppose this was why I concentrated on her so much. I continued gathering evidence about everyone else in the neighborhood but Tiffany became an obsession. It was the greatest day when I finally found a loose thread to pull on.

As I was looking through some old files in her house I had been her gardener for a full 3 years I found 2 photocopies of checks made out to cash. They were pretty big and from a company called Avecom Media. I pounced on this tiny piece of information. After searching state records, then country-wide listings I found the defunct company in Miami. It took even longer to find out what the company actually did and it was the greatest success of all my surveillance: The company had long since shut down, there were no tax records for 5 years previous.

It took hours upon hours and many long-distance phone calls but I finally found the name of the previous CEO. Another 20 or so hours and I had his current contact information. Anonymously, with a return postal address at a safety deposit box, I contacted this man and inquired whether he had a back catalog.

This was a huge amount of money, months of yard-work, but I was desperate and hopeful it would help the CEO ignore the legal aspect of my request. After a full month of waiting I checked my safety-deposit box and my knees nearly crumpled as I saw a package. I rushed home and tore open the bag. My excitement grew as I rummaged in the attic for a video player.

I immediately made 2 copies and tried to relax. Everything I had been working towards for years had come to fruition: What I did next was dangerous. Luckily it — mostly — worked out. Tiffany led me to the lounge with a little concern on her face. Do you need a glass of water? My heart thumped in its chest as I watched Mrs Sands walk to the kitchen.

The sight of her ass was gorgeous and I knew it was now or never. Tiffany returned with the glass and sat opposite. Mrs Sands gave a slight smile as she picked it up. Where did you get them!? I thought I had made the biggest mistake. I looked down as I began twitching with fright. Where did you get these!? She was fuming as she quickly destroyed the second video too. I could only glance up at the disaster I had caused. Finally, satisfied with her destruction, she seemed to calm down a little.

Did you make copies? Where are they Josh? I felt an inch tall. You need to give them to me now. It was easy to imagine the rest of her body and this gave me a tiny surge of power. I suddenly took the opportunity to try to gain a little power. When do I get the copies? Finally I found a spark of inspiration: A flush of excitement spread across my body knowing that she knew the position she was in.

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White Women Used To Rape Black Men During Slavery Via Blackmail



Women blackmailed for sex stories

The Suburban Sadist blackmail, humiliation Eddy's sex story Mrs Blackwell looked at me with wide and tear-filled eyes as I explained what was going to happen to her. She would come to understand that her body was no longer hers. Instead, it would be mine and she would obey exactly what I commanded her to do.

It is a strange feeling to control someone so completely, to utterly dominate another person, to know that I will get what I want from them, and most importantly, to know that they know. It is in incredible feeling to look at someone and know you are more devious, more cunning, more logical, more intelligent, and simply more powerful.

The moment they understand and break is euphoric to me and that is exactly what makes me a sadist. Do you understand Gemma? First I turned on my bright halogen lamp and pointed it directly at the scared woman.

Her limbs were so tense I could see them freeze as her eyes fixated on the camera. The large flash mounted on top of the camera did its job and caught the image of a trapped housewife desperate for the torture to end, or at least, desperate to know what it would entail.

She was obviously in no mood to even act enjoyment. With wet eyes she finally managed a weak smile and my camera caught her humiliation and dread perfectly. Over the next hour I cataloged Mrs Blackwell — Gemma — perfectly. As she stripped each piece of clothing from her body she was documented. From sweater to t-shirt, from jeans to panties, each transition was recorded, front and back.

It was a record of a new slave entering her new world and showing exactly what she had to offer her new master. Obediently, gradually becoming accustomed to my sharp commands, Gemma posed for me with her hands behind her head, or bent at the waist with her tits swaying obscenely, or with her legs spread wide and awkwardly. My camera would capture everything and with each explicit statue she made for me, she would realise she was mine to do with as I wanted.

As I ask — or command — a new piece of property to spread her pussy, or her ass cheeks, or hold her tits up for inspection, neither of us can deny the transition is complete: My camera captures a body and a person that is totally mine. The details of my story are obscene, vile and incredibly illegal. I am the Suburban Sadist. Suburbia is hell so it should be no surprise it spawned a devil. I grew up in the most boring of neighborhoods: In essence, all the dead-livingness of middle-America in its modern glory: So maybe I was lucky I understood which sexual fantasies would drive me through life.

My grades were good, very good, and that would keep me easily below the familial and suburbia radars, but it was my sexual desires that would inhabit and consume my free time. Of course I had the sense to try and fail at organized sports and I happily passed time in more useful extra-curricular school activities involved with business or science. But I cannot deny my real passion was something wholly unpalatable to most - most inhabitants of suburbia anyway. Of course, suburbia keeps secrets.

That is what it is designed to do with similar houses, similar families, similar jobs, similar hobbies, and in fact, maybe the same lives. So it was strange when I realized we all keep secrets. I remember, bored with a piece of easy chemistry homework, staring out of my window and seeing a car park opposite my house.

I was fascinated with the doorstep exchange as Mrs Wilk first tried to negotiate with the stranger then finally started shouting. The well-suited man kept up his ministrations but Mrs Wilk finally got rid of him. As he left for his expensive car her body language betrayed the meaning of the meeting as she looked desperately for neighborhood witnesses.

He was a lover? Mrs Wilk was not a beautiful woman but I fantasized about her that night. I imagined I had her secret and that I knew the man in the rich blue suit. More, I had the paperwork that proved her infidelity or her dark secret.

It was easy to think of the suburban housewife on her knees in front of me, begging, pleading for me to keep the secret. If I am honest, there has never been any controlling them. So maybe I was forced by my psyche, my fetish, and maybe I had no control. But critically I turned my desires into action. With the dedication I showed to the periodic table or to American history I turned to my dark desires. Surveilling a neighborhood is not difficult. Jane Downser at would get as drunk as possible on a Friday night if her husband was away.

Sophie Beckels, a girl a year above me, living at had two boyfriends at different schools. Her mother, Anne, had a kid nobody knew about. Tracy Spizfell enjoyed bisexual erotic stories after her family went to sleep. Josie Tress had a past nobody in this suburbia could possibly imagine. I got this information from the internet with sly little software that would do the job for me.

Better still, and more difficult, from awkward conversations at the right moment with friendly neighborhood confidants, or loose talk after I had cleaned gutters and mowed lawns, or little cameras hidden away in the darkest rooms and moments of American suburbia.

I was 18 and attending community college when I finally took the plunge and decided to manifest my desires. Mrs Tiffany Sands was divorced with two children at college out of state. She worked in upper management at a local big business. For the first few years of my research I thought she was spotless — someone without anything to hide, truly a perfect suburbanite. I suppose this was why I concentrated on her so much. I continued gathering evidence about everyone else in the neighborhood but Tiffany became an obsession.

It was the greatest day when I finally found a loose thread to pull on. As I was looking through some old files in her house I had been her gardener for a full 3 years I found 2 photocopies of checks made out to cash. They were pretty big and from a company called Avecom Media. I pounced on this tiny piece of information. After searching state records, then country-wide listings I found the defunct company in Miami. It took even longer to find out what the company actually did and it was the greatest success of all my surveillance: The company had long since shut down, there were no tax records for 5 years previous.

It took hours upon hours and many long-distance phone calls but I finally found the name of the previous CEO. Another 20 or so hours and I had his current contact information. Anonymously, with a return postal address at a safety deposit box, I contacted this man and inquired whether he had a back catalog. This was a huge amount of money, months of yard-work, but I was desperate and hopeful it would help the CEO ignore the legal aspect of my request.

After a full month of waiting I checked my safety-deposit box and my knees nearly crumpled as I saw a package. I rushed home and tore open the bag. My excitement grew as I rummaged in the attic for a video player. I immediately made 2 copies and tried to relax. Everything I had been working towards for years had come to fruition: What I did next was dangerous. Luckily it — mostly — worked out. Tiffany led me to the lounge with a little concern on her face. Do you need a glass of water?

My heart thumped in its chest as I watched Mrs Sands walk to the kitchen. The sight of her ass was gorgeous and I knew it was now or never. Tiffany returned with the glass and sat opposite.

Mrs Sands gave a slight smile as she picked it up. Where did you get them!? I thought I had made the biggest mistake. I looked down as I began twitching with fright. Where did you get these!? She was fuming as she quickly destroyed the second video too. I could only glance up at the disaster I had caused.

Finally, satisfied with her destruction, she seemed to calm down a little. Did you make copies? Where are they Josh? I felt an inch tall. You need to give them to me now. It was easy to imagine the rest of her body and this gave me a tiny surge of power. I suddenly took the opportunity to try to gain a little power. When do I get the copies? Finally I found a spark of inspiration: A flush of excitement spread across my body knowing that she knew the position she was in.

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4 Comments

  1. I thought I had made the biggest mistake. I got this information from the internet with sly little software that would do the job for me.

  2. You stay silent, I stay silent. After the shock of the videos from her past and the hastily written check it seemed like I had shattered Mrs Sands. At thirty seven her beauty was breathtaking and her body a physical delight.

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