Wednesday Morning Slut 1 (blackmail? nc?)

Prologue

If you happen to be horny in San Francisco on a Wednesday morning, go to
Washington Square off Columbus and look for a woman named Dana Chase. 
Caucasian, pushing 40 but very good looking, 5'6", 120 lbs with brown eyes
and shoulder length, curly brown hair, 36D-25-33.  She'll do anything -
straight sex, oral, anal.  For free.  Bring friends - she does groups.	Make
her do the most abasing, humiliating acts.  One group I know of made her
stand on her head with her legs spread, and had a penny-tossing contest. 
Each time someone hit her cunt, she had to push the penny inside, and give
the thrower a blowjob.	She ended up with 27 cents at the end of the session.
 Another group made her crawl around naked on all fours, barking like a dog. 
They tossed her dog biscuits that she had to lick off the floor.  Then she
had to go up to the guy, lick his balls and pant.

She does women, too, so bring your girlfriend.	I heard a story about two
bull dykes.  One was fat, and I mean really fat, with huge billowing thighs
like hams.  She sat on Dana's face with all her weight, suffocating her til
she was almost blue.  Then she made her stick her tongue all the way up her
asshole, and blew huge moist farts in her face.  Then the two dykes pissed
all over her.

Dana came.  And came. And came.

You will find Dana only between 8:30 and 12:30 on Wednesday mornings.  You
will identify her because she wanders around that corner of the park, with a
haunted look like she is looking desperately for a long-lost father. Just tap
her on the shoulder, and she will lead you up to her hotel room, with a
window overlooking the park.  On the dressing table is a video camera with an
antenna, but don't worry if you want to remain anonymous - it isn't hooked up
to anything.  Then do whatever you want to do with her, and that's that. 
When you're done, she will whisper, almost inaudibly. "Are you the one?"  If
you want to be a nice guy, answer no.


Pandora's envelope

At first, the pages she held in her hand made no sense.  The first few pages
were columns of figures, like the tape from an adding machine.	Then there
was a page of xeroxed slips, marked "adjustment chit".	The neat signature on
the chits, with her initials under them, jarred her memory.  A chill ran
through her - "That was ten years ago, who remembers that?" she thought.  The
next page was a fuzzy copy of a snapshot of her getting into a car with - Oh,
no, JonWatson.	Next, another photo. This one she recognized right away.  She
and Stanley Davis were standing by the door of their motel room in South San
Francisco.  Both pictures looked like they were taken with a very long
telescopic lens.  And there were more - pictures of lovers spanning the last
decade.  She sat down heavily in her chair, and stared vacantly at the
contents of the intraoffice mail package.

The phone rang.  "Mrs. Chase, I see you have opened your package."  It was a
voice she did not recognize.  She started to break in, "Who is this?"  but
the voice silenced her with a hiss.  "As you can see, we have information on
various embarrassing episodes of your life, covering, quite a period. 
Interesting, isn't it?

"We want you to know that nobody in your company, and nobody that you know
personally, has any access to this information," the voice went on, without
waiting for a reply.  "It is completely safe with us.  You can rely on us."

"Thank you," she said, acidly. "Now, if you will please tell me who you are,
I will report you to the police."

"My, my, feisty, aren't we," said the voice.  "No, Mrs. Chase, I don't think
you will be going to the police.  You see, you wouldn't want your employer,
or your husband, or your children to find out about this, now would you?"

She felt the blood drain from her face.  "What do you want?" she asked.

"It is very simple.  From now on, you will do exactly what we tell you. 
Don't worry, you will continue to live a normal life - nobody will know of
our little arrangement.  Unless, of course, you choose to tell them.  By not
cooperating."

"I don't think I am interested in speaking to you anymore."

"I agree - this is a good time to end our conversation.  You look over the
contents of the envelope again, and think about it.  We'll be in touch."  The
line went dead.

That evening, and late into the night, Dana Chase did just that: she looked
through the pages again and again, and felt the tension in her chest rise
like a coiled spring.  In fact, there was nothing specifically incriminating
in anything in the package: pictures of her getting into a car, or standing
in front of a door; slips of paper signed by her years ago, for small change
that nobody remembered.  Yet, these were just the things, the little niggly
things, that, for years, had nagged her conscience.

As a young woman, just starting out in the advertising business, Dana had
been in charge of the front desk.  One day, short of cash, she had borrowed
$4.50 from the petty cash drawer to buy some lipstick.	The next day, when
she told her boss, he said, "Don't worry about it, just sign an adjustment
slip with my name.  Consider it a company gift."  So, over the next few
months, Dana had several times dipped into the petty cash for small change,
and signed a slip without telling anyone.  The whole amount didn't add up to
more than $50, and no one would consider it stealing.  But it had festered on
Dana's sensitive conscience for years.

The same with the affair with Maynard.	Dana was engaged to Mark, he husband
now of eight years.  She didn't know what had seized her - whether it was
lust, or nerves over the wedding, or the need for a final fling before
marriage - but she found herself swept away by Maynard's insinuations.	The
images of her lying with Maynard's tongue between her legs, her memories of
the shattering, soaking, writhing orgasms, these haunted her guiltily for
years.

After Maynard, there had been three more affairs.  Each brief, each virtually
anonymous, each filling her with guilt and self-loathing and a sense of
having failed the husband and the two children she loved.  It was as though,
with these pictures, the blackmailer, whoever he was, had penetrated deep
into her subconscious and found all the scum, the gummy black sludge from
under her fingernails, and, parading it before her, had reduced her to a
will-less, guiltridden trollop.

This, then, was her state of mind when the blackmailer phoned her at her
office the next day.  "I know you have thought it over, and see the whole
thing differently now," said the voice.

"What do you want?" asked Dana, her lower lip trembling.  She was afraid she
would break out in tears.  "Wait while I close the door of my office."

"Don't move from your seat," the voice commanded.  "I will tell you when to
get up."

Dana was terrified.  She looked out her office door to see if anyone was
looking.  Normal activity outside - secretaries typing, people walking to the
xerox machine, two men standing in the aisle looking over a report and
talking softly. She turned in her chair to face the wall, so nobody could
see.

"Well, I think we have a little cooperation here," said the voice.  It was as
if he could see exactly what Dana was thinking.  "Now I will tell you what to
do.  When you hang up, you will continue your day as though nothing had
happened.  At five o'clock, you will walk to the corner of Magnolia and West,
and enter a store called "The Spy Shop."  There you will ask for a package
for Mrs. Dana Chase.  Pay for the package.  Open it and follow the
instructions. That's all for now.  Goodbye, Mrs. Chase."

Dana hung up, and got up and shut the door.  Then, shaking uncontrollably,
she tried to calm down.  She paced back and forth in her office, pressed her
hands to her temples.  She sat in her chair and broke into hysterical sobs. 
The phone rang.  She gulped deep breaths, grabbed a tissue and wiped her
face, and lifted the receiver.	It was one of her account managers. Forcing
herself to a false calm, she continued her day.

Pandora's ear

As Dana Chase stepped out the door at precisely 5:00, her mind broke into a
shattered mass of questions.  Who was this blackmailer?  How far would he
push her? How did he know her so intimately? And was the trembling in her lip
and hands from fear - or anticipation?

The blackmailer - it must be someone from the office.  Someone who had worked
there from the beginning.  When she started working at Patterson and Roe
advertising, there were only 15 people on the staff.  Who were they?  She
started going through them one by one.	Of the original staff - those who
could have known about the petty cash and the affair with Jon- only two were
left.  One the cleaning lady - a matronly woman nearly 60 years old, and
Patterson, the senior partner.	Neither could possibly be a blackmailer.

And her own feelings - those, too, were a mystery to her.  At first, she was
terrified.  She was still terrified.  The fear of total submission, or
exposure - but exposure of what?  Of a few photos of her getting into a car? 
Dana Chase was a mature adult, a successful businesswoman, a loving wife and
mother - why was she reduced to a shivering mass of fear by a few absurd
hints of acts which were not even crimes - not even embarrassing to anyone
but herself?  And, as she walked, she realized the fear was mingled with a
tingling, a longing for some horrible punishment that would free her forever
from this absurd guilt.

These were her thoughts as she entered The Spy Shop, and approached the
counter.  It was an effort to keep her voice from shaking as she said, "I am
Dana Chase.  I believe you have a package for me?"

"Here you go," said the clerk, handing her a shopping bag.  "That comes to
... $1724.95."

Dana felt a momentary shock at the amount, but quickly recovered, and handed
the clerk her credit card.  She would have to retrieve the statement before
Mark saw it.  She signed the slip, took the package and went out.

Where to go now?  Dana turned into a coffee shop, and sat in a booth in the
back.  She ordered a cup of coffee, then, with trembling fingers emptied the
contents of the shopping bag.

In the bag were two boxes, products by a company called Spycom, and an
envelope.  The first box was labelled "SpyTel."  In it was a cellular
telephone identical to the Startek telephone she carried in her purse.	In
addition, there was a small plastic earpiece, small enough to fit in her ear
without being seen, and with no wires.	The second box had a label
"SpyVideo".  It contained what looked like a small video camera with a
fisheye lens, and an antenna.  Dana opened the envelope.

"Hello Mrs. Chase,

"Welcome to your new life.  Do the following:

"Insert the earpiece of the telephone in your ear.  Turn off your own
cellular phone.  Turn on the new phone.

"Looking forward to a good time together,

"Your friend."

Dana followed the instructions.  When she screwed the earpiece into her ear,
she could hear nothing.  But the minute she switched on the cellphone, her
hearing in that ear returned to normal.  Within seconds she heard a voice.

"Hello, Mrs. Chase.  So far you are doing very well."

Dana was profoundly startled.  The voice sounded like it was coming from
inside her head.  She started to speak, but the voice stopped her.

"There is no need to speak yet.  And when you do, the very faintest whisper
will suffice.  I can hear everything.

"Listen: You are to leave your spyphone on constantly, and you are forbidden
ever to remove the earpiece..  The spyphone also works like your regular
cellular phone, and you will continue to receive calls as normal.  As for
your old phone, throw it away.

"We monitor you 24 hours a day.  You are never alone, we are always with you.
 If you turn the phone off, even for a few minutes, we will immediately
expose your secrets.  Do you understand?"

Dana nodded silently. "I can't hear you, Mrs. Chase.  Just whisper."

Dana barely moved her lips.  "I understand," she said.

"Good.	Now take your packages, pay for your coffee, and go home.  When we
want you, we will call you."