Helene Blackmailed (2 page)

The Doctor sipped his drink and the ice cubes clinked softly in his glass. Without thinking, Helene turned her back to him in modesty.

“Face me,” he said sharply, and she stiffened, remembering where she was. She turned toward him, her face coloring.

She pulled the blouse from her skirt, aware of the smooth silk sliding against her skin, and finished unbuttoning it. She stood there with the garment hanging loosely upon her shoulders, arms at her side, her chin up.

“Remove it,” he said.

She was wearing a good bra—dove gray and sheer, the cups edged in lace. With her last check she had splurged and bought herself all new underwear as a gift to herself, a taste of the high life that her coming promotion would bring. Now she was aware that this sexy lingerie might give him the wrong idea about her—make her appear to be the kind of girl who dressed like this beneath her work clothes just to keep herself aroused. But there was nothing she could do about it now.

She shrugged the silk blouse from her shoulders and felt it slip smoothly down her arms. She caught it and placed it on the dresser.

Her breasts were high and firm, and the cups of the bra molded them into smooth hemispheres and crowded them together, creating a shadowy cleavage. She glanced quickly down and noticed that her nipples were quite visible. The sight of her own nakedness aroused her in a suddenly unfamiliar way.

She forced herself to raise her face to him, summoning what pride she could, and she was mildly disappointed to find him examining the photographs he held fanned out like playing cards in his hand. He chose one and threw it on the bed, face up.

“I like this one particularly,” he said. “Don’t you?”

Helene automatically crossed her arms over her breasts and glanced at the photo. It showed her on the towel, her back arched, her hips lifted from the blanket with such force that she was supported on her very toes. Her knees were spread, and she had one hand down the front of her bikini bottom, the other down the back where she’d been pressing her fingertip against her asshole, indulging in a fantasy of anal sex, something that had always fascinated and horrified her in equal measure. In the photo her eyes were closed, her mouth open in a silent scream of sexual fulfillment. It must have been taken just at her moment of orgasm. She liked to let herself go when she masturbated, moaning and thrashing and playing the part of an out-of-control sexual animal. In her dreams she was a shameless whore no man could resist. Now she looked at the picture of herself and her cheeks burned hot with shame. She didn’t recognize the woman.

“The skirt,” he said.

The picture had quashed any last argument she might make. She unbuttoned the skirt and opened the zipper, then stepped out of it and laid it on top of the pile of clothes. Then, without his saying anything, she hooked her thumbs under the elastic band of her slip and slid it down her legs. She stepped out of it and tossed it onto the pile, brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen into her face and stood up, dressed only in her shoes and stockings, her black garter belt, and her bra and panties. Had she dressed specifically to seduce someone, she couldn’t have done a better job.

She stood up tall, trying to hide her embarrassment under a gloss of pride, showing him she wouldn’t be intimidated. She knew instinctively that while he could do what he wished to her body, as long as she kept her pride of spirit he could not get to her. It would be a hollow victory at best.

But when she saw the look in his eyes, she felt a sudden thrill of shameful excitement run through her body. His eyes had a hunger and a look of raw lust such as she’d never seen in a man, and the idea that she was the focus and reason for that look made her nipples harden perceptibly against the sheer fabric of her bra.

“Walk,” he said. “Walk over to that doorway and then come back.”

It was no more than three steps. Helene kept her back straight, pulling her shoulders back, but it was as if she’d suddenly forgotten how to walk. She was painfully aware of her own near-nakedness and the female roll of her hips, the feel of the fabric of her bra against her aroused nipples and the slide of her silky panties against the globes of her ass. She was aware of every sensation, the way her shoes pushed her ass up and out and lengthened her stride, the air as it moved past her arms.

He smiled softly, his eyes glowing. “You’re a hot bitch, aren’t you? I knew it when I saw you on your rooftop. Sensual, sexual. Is there someone in your life?”

“Yes,” she lied.

Really there was only Jason, a guy from accounting she went out with occasionally, who might be good for a movie or a roll in the sack but who was tedious in the extreme when it came to any sort of nonsexual interaction. The fact was that outside of her masturbation, she had no sex life, and now suddenly all those feelings of sexual neglect were churning within her, threatening to escape. She knew he could tell she was lying.

“All due respect, but it seems to me that your young man is not giving you the kind of attention you deserve,” he said. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have that.” He nodded toward the picture on the bed. “Would we?”

Helene said nothing. She couldn’t meet his gaze, and so her eyes were drawn to his groin. He was hard. The front of his trousers bulged and the outline of his enormous cock was plainly visible. He made no attempt to hide it, in fact, he seemed almost to be showing it off, and suddenly it was as if there was third presence in the room, someone impatient and menacing.

Helene felt a flutter of nervous excitement in her stomach and she tried to remain calm but her breathing increased. She was no stranger to sex, but still, she’d never engaged in anything quite so cold and impersonal, so devoid of affection or any sort of intimacy, and being forced to parade around for his sexual enjoyment was humiliating and yet terribly arousing at the same time.

“It excites you, doesn’t it, Helene?” he asked her in a low voice. “Showing off for me like this.”

“No,” she answered quickly. Too quickly.

He smiled. “Don’t lie to me. Your nipples are hard. I can see them from here. I’ll bet if I put my fingers between your legs I’d find out you were wet, wouldn’t I?”

The thought filled her with heat, and she tried to look at him without seeing him, as if she could see through him. It was true. She had felt her own lubrication as she’d walked, but she was damned if she would admit it.

He shifted in the chair, sliding his ass down and spreading his legs, displaying himself—an arrogant, male gesture.

“I trust you can see what you’ve done to me, can’t you?” he asked. “In fact, you haven’t been able to take your eyes away, did you know that?”

She would have blushed had her face not already been so red with shame and excitement. She hadn’t been aware that she’d been staring, but she had. She’d been almost entranced looking at his cock, and now she tried to compose herself. She looked at his eyes and caught that predatory gleam there again, so she looked away, studying a cigarette burn in the carpet at the side of his chair. Even as she tried to hide her gaze, she could feel her nipples reaching for him. She heard him laugh.

“I wasn’t wrong about you.” he said. “You’re a gorgeous woman, but you’re a tramp too. Not that you’d ever admit it, not that you’d ever act on it, but this excites you, having a man look at you like this, having this power over you.”

“No,” she said again, automatically. She was sinking again into that strange, trancelike lethargy—boiling on the inside, while on the surface everything was like a languid, erotic dream. Her heart was hammering and she could feel her breasts rising and falling with her deep, steady breathing. She felt his eyes on her like a lover’s caress.

“Take off your bra,” he said softly.

“No. I can’t. Really, I can’t.”

In an instant he was out of his chair. Helene gasped in alarm as he took her and spun her roughly around so that her back was to him and she felt his fingers on the clasp of her bra. She raised her hands to stop him, but then thought better of it and clasped her hands over her breasts, holding the garment in place. All that sexual need she’d repressed for all those long years suddenly flooded her body and threatened to overflow, invoked by his rough male touch. She felt him unhook her bra and hold the straps apart, and then pull tight, using them like reins to pull her back against him. The hard log of his cock pressed against her ass and made her bite her lip to keep from groaning out loud.

“Look,” he said, and Helene opened her eyes to see that he held her facing the mirror over the dresser.

She saw herself standing there in the middle of the room, his face looking over her right shoulder like an evil spirit, that hot, predatory gleam in his eye.

“Put your hands down at your sides and look,” he said. “I want you to see this.”

Helene forced her hands away from her breasts. Again, she couldn’t look at his reflection, so she looked at her bra as he slowly relaxed his grip and drew it down and away from her breasts, pulling the thin straps down her arms.

She watched transfixed as the wispy garment left her body and her breasts came into view, her traitorous nipples puckered and apparently ready for anything. His big hands held the flimsy garment as he drew it down and away from her, revealing her nakedness, then dropped it on the floor. His empty hands came up, his fingers spread wide and he took her breasts in his hands, pulling her against him once more.

“Oh God!” she moaned.

The sight of his hands on her in the mirror finally set it off, and she felt her own desire surge through her body with such force that it actually made her knees weak. The way he held her—so possessive, so greedy. She raised her hands and gripped his fingers, thinking to pull his hands away, but his arms were like cast iron, immovable.

“Don’t,” he hissed at her with sudden anger. “You don’t touch me unless and until I tell you to, is that understood? Now put your hands down.”

To her own embarrassment Helene nodded weakly and dropped her hands. It was just as well. Her fingers were shaking with need. The way he touched her was as if he were the real owner of this body, as if he knew what it was for, not her—as if he had a better use for her than anything she could think of.

“Now just watch,” he said. “I want you to see this about yourself.”

She raised her eyes reluctantly to the mirror where his big hands covered her breasts. He stroked her, sliding his fingers along the cones of her breasts and Helene felt her eyelids fluttering closed in helpless pleasure. He circled her nipples with his fingertips, all the while keeping her pressed against him so that she could feel his furiously hard cock throbbing against her ass. She watched as he took her nipples daintily between his thumbs and first fingers, and then squeezed.

The discomfort became pain, a pain that shot through her body like a bolt of lightning and struck her deep between her legs, making her cry out and jerk in his embrace. He let go of her nipples but still held her tight as Helene was suddenly panting for breath. She could feel herself gush with wetness, as if she’d just been wounded. Her own response shocked her.

“Don’t do that,” she gasped. “Please!”

She could see him grinning behind her.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked. “But you like the way it hurts.”

“No. No,” she said, fighting the urge to pull his hands away. “I don’t like it. It just hurts.”

He laughed. “You can stop pretending now,” he said. “We both know what’s going on here. You’re excited as hell, aren’t you? You’re a hot little piece, and you’ve made your entire career out of teasing the boys, out of using your sex to get what you want, with your hot little suits like the one you wore here today. You dangle yourself in front of their eyes and then cry ‘foul’ when somebody reaches for you, don’t you? Well, you’ve made this bed, Helene, and now you’re going to get fucked in it.”

“No, stop!” She pushed back against him, trying to get away.

This had gotten entirely out of hand. She had been willing to take off her outer clothes for him, but this had gone beyond that, and he was showing her things about herself that she didn’t want to see. She’d been willing to strip. She’d even have been willing to let him have sex with her if that’s what he wanted, but now he was playing with her mind, with her own understanding of herself, and that frightened her.

She felt a sudden surge of hatred for this man, for the things he was doing to her and the things he was making her feel—his arrogance, that he was so absolutely right about her. She would never admit it, but it had felt good when he’d pinched her nipples. It had hurt, but on the other side of the pain there was something that thrilled her to her core. And just like the pain, her sudden hatred for him had another side too, one she was afraid to look at.

“I’ll scream,” she said. “I’ll scream and call the police. I don’t care about your damned pictures. Just let me go now!”

He made no move to release her though.

“I’ll show you,” he said.

He was still standing behind her. Her arms were drawn up to cover her breasts, her hands balled into helpless fists. With his left hand he reached around her and took her right forearm, encircling her with his strong arm and holding her pressed against him. She watched nervously in the mirror as his right hand came down and slid over her smooth stomach and over her silky panties, heading for her pussy.

“No,” she cried, fighting furiously against him. “No, damn it!”

His finger touched her between her legs, and she felt a jolt of feverish electricity shoot through her body. She reached up with her free left hand and dug her nails into his forearm, trying to hurt him, but he ignored her. He managed to pull the crotch of her panties to the side and his fingers dipped into the pool of wetness between her thighs.

“Oh God!” she moaned in shame.

She knew she was soaking wet. She’d been lubricating since he first made her strip, and now her pussy was swollen and dripping like an overripe peach. She felt his finger splashing around in her wetness and sneaking its way easily inside her, playing on the edge of her opening, and she could just feel his grin of self-satisfied male victory as he held her.