Sextortion Read online

  SEXTORTION

  by

  RAY GORDON

  Sextortion first published in 1999 by Hodder & Stoughton. Published as an eBook in 2012 by Chimera eBooks.

  ISBN 9781780803050

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Chimera (ki-mir'a, ki-) a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy.

  New authors are always welcome, or if you’re already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.

  This work is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The author asserts that all characters depicted in this work of fiction are eighteen years of age or older, and that all characters and situations are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright Ray Gordon. The right of Ray Gordon to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.

  Chapter One

  There are two sides to every coin. Good and bad, love and hate - sex with love, sex with lust. Money can incite generosity or greed; success, praise or jealousy. It was only when I'd found success that I discovered the world to be full of greed and jealousy. I'd set my sights on my goal and worked hard to achieve it. But the covetousness of others loomed in the sky like a dark cloud rolling in over the sea, ultimately and inevitably engulfing me.

  Looking back over the few short weeks of my nemesis, I see myself. My naked body sprawled over the dining room table, my hands and wrists tied with rope, my thighs spread to the extreme, my sexual centre is obscenely bared. As burning sensations permeate my buttocks from the merciless thrashing wreaked upon me, I feel the wet female tongue exploring between my sex lips, snaking around the silken entrance to my sacrosanct vagina, teasing my clitoris.

  Steel rings are clamped tightly around my ballooning breasts, studded leather straps biting into my thighs. I wince as my abuser plunders her potent fingers into my sperm-drenched, fleshy cavern, stretching the satiny walls of my sex canal, massaging deep inside my vagina before sucking my clitoris into her hot mouth.

  Humiliation and degradation besiege me as my naked audience look eagerly on. I am, therefore I think. What further acts will I be forced to endure before the night of debasement is out? Whatever follows, I can sink no deeper into the viscous pool of depravity! Dragged across the perilous threshold of debauched sex, there is no longer a woman in me. My femininity has been pillaged, robbed, as my naked body has been used to satisfy the shameful cravings of my mistress.

  An ardent finger searches the valley between my tensed buttocks, seeking entrance to my private duct. As I whimper and beg for my freedom, I try to block out the repugnant reality by squeezing my eyes shut. But the poacher finds my secret rosebud, penetrates me, delves deep into my private hole as I am forced to suck on an erect penis.

  The stark reality of my plight grips me as the penis swells and twitches, its salty sperm suddenly flooding my mouth, bathing my tongue. I cough and splutter as the man drives his huge glans to the back of my throat. Gulping hard as two hot mouths close over my sore nipples and a second digit enters my anal canal, I pray for the degradation to end.

  Gushing sperm fills my cheeks. How much more can I endure - the ruthless whippings, the crude sex? But I know there is no escape, that I'll be forced into obscene sexual acts again and again. My body, my temple, is nothing other than an object to gratify the carnal desires of my abusers. I am their slave, I belong to them, I am theirs to do with as they wish, when they wish.

  I wonder now whether I could have avoided the horrors, the degrading sexual abuse. I wonder now if I would have chosen to avoid them. For hasn't the coin always two sides? Love and hate, good and bad, repugnance... and desire! If I'd known then what I know now... But I was naive, trusting, innocent, oblivious to the wicked plans that had been drawn against me. I'd been led unsuspectingly down a blind alley to a world of debasement, a domain where evil reigned - beckoned.

  My journey down the road to defilement had begun after enjoying lunch with my editor. Discussing the huge success of my first novel, I felt elated, heady more with excitement than the flow of sparkling wine. With a second blockbuster in the offing, my future looked brighter than ever. It seemed that I couldn't put a foot wrong.

  I drifted home from the metropolis on my euphoria, desperately excited to tell my husband the wonderful news. Bursting through the front door, I found he had some news for me. Locked to his pallid countenance, I couldn't believe that my world had been turned upside down and inside out. His lips were moving, his dark eyes transfixed on mine, but the sinister words barely registered in my swirling mind. I felt dizzy, confused, as if caught in the ethereal web of a dream.

  "Blackmail?" I finally gasped disbelievingly. "Danny, that's ridiculous!"

  "Ridiculous or not, it's true," he sighed, his expression tormented.

  "You are joking, aren't you?"

  Wringing my hands as I waited in anticipation for him to laugh and tell me that he was having me on, I watched him mooch across the lounge and gaze out of the window. His expression pained, his forehead lined, he looked tired and drawn, mentally anguished.

  My mind was a whirlpool of devastation as I recalled leaving for London that morning. Bubbling with excitement and enthusiasm, Danny had told me how proud he was of me. But now? A million thoughts raced through my head, hurting me. I couldn't think straight, my mind blurring as he finally turned to face me.

  "Selina, I'd hardly joke about a thing like this," he scolded me with a severity I'd not known before.

  "A girl turned up on the doorstep and demanded money for keeping quiet?" I asked incredulously, shaking my head.

  "Yes."

  "Keeping quiet about what?"

  "She knows about the insurance fiddle."

  I stared at him, wondering what on earth he was talking about. Insurance fiddle? Blackmail? He was more than partial to a few glasses of scotch and, for a moment, I thought he'd been drinking. But no, he hadn't been on the alcohol. His expression couldn't have been more sober!

  "What insurance fiddle?" I asked pathetically.

  "The kitchen ceiling, remember?"

  "The kitchen... That was years ago, Danny! Besides, it was only a few hundred pounds."

  "It was almost a grand."

  "Whatever it was... How does this girl know about it?"

  "It doesn't matter how, the point is, she knows."

  Now he came to mention it, I remembered the scam only too well. Desperate for pennies at the time, inventing an insurance claim had helped us through our impoverishment. Danny had been a struggling writer, a failed writer, while I worked part-time at the library for a meagre wage. Only too well aware that it was wrong, illegal, I'd filled in and despatched the claim form. Although perfectly feasible that a burst pipe in the bathroom could have flooded the kitchen ceiling, I'd been riddled with guilt, my heart missing a beat every time the front doorbell rang. Thankfully, the man from the Pru hadn't appeared and a cheque for nine-hundred odd pounds had duly arrived, saving us from financial disaster. We'd thought that was that.

  "There's no way she could know about it," I reasoned, trying to understand what was happening. "Unless she works for the insurance company and..."

  "I'm sure she doesn't work for them," he murmured.

  "You should have told her where to go, Danny! Anyway, making a false insurance claim is hardly b
lackmail material! Had you told her in no uncertain terms..."

  "Initially, I did tell her where to go. But then she..." He winced and bit his lip. "Selina, there's more."

  "More?"

  "She also knows about the affair you had with Barry."

  My thoughts drifting back eight years, surfacing from the recesses of my racked mind, I wondered how Barry could have led me down the garden path as he had. He'd stolen my love and my virginity, promised me the stars... before I'd discovered he was married with three children. I'd been rocked by devastation, shaken to the very core by his fantastic web of lies. But what had Barry got to do with this strange girl?

  "Danny, that was before I met you!" I exclaimed, confusion spreading through my mind like spores.

  "Selina, you were screwing a man who was married with three kids! You're a celebrity now, in the public eye. If the tabloids get hold of this, what the hell's going to happen to your squeaky-clean image?"

  "I didn't know he was married!" I countered. "The minute I found out, I ditched him."

  "You know that and I know that, but the media..."

  "This is a dream, Danny - tell me it's a dream."

  "It's a nightmare, Selina."

  It was a nightmare, and I longed to wake up and find myself in bed with the morning sun streaming through the window, its warmth bathing my body. But only cold darkness engulfed me. Blackmail? Who was the girl? How did she know so much about me? My mind was a lake with a thousand questions riding on ripples of confusion.

  "How much money?" I asked resignedly.

  "Five grand."

  "What? No, I'm not going to..."

  "Selina, we have no choice. You've been portrayed as Miss Perfect, happily married, squeaky-clean... Can you imagine the headlines? Miss Goody-two-shoes screws insurance company."

  "No one's going to bother about that!" I returned angrily. "It's hardly a juicy story! Good God, thousands of people must have fiddled their..."

  "Top author in sex romps with married man."

  I knew he was right. Once the tabloids had got their sharpened teeth into me, they wouldn't let go. They'd find Barry, talk to his wife, his children would discover their father's dark secret and... Squeaky-clean image? That's how the media had portrayed me. Brilloed part-time librarian and housewife shoots to overnight stardom. TV chat shows had embraced me, expounding on my first novel, my love of cooking, gardening, homemaking... Lovemaking with married men wouldn't exactly tie in!

  Trying to compose myself, I walked to the kitchen and filled the kettle. I didn't want tea or coffee but I had to do something, occupy myself, hold my head above the turbulent waters threatening to suck me under. Danny followed me and leaned against the worktop, torment mirrored in his deep-set eyes. This was what success had brought me. Fame, fortune - and blackmail!

  "Where are we supposed to leave the money?" I asked nonchalantly, as if suddenly resigned to the fact that I had to pay up.

  "She's calling tomorrow," he sighed.

  "She's coming here to collect the money?"

  "Yes."

  "Then, let's call the police."

  "Selina, we can't involve the law."

  "Why not? Good God, there's a girl coming here, blackmailing me, demanding money and..."

  "If we call the police, she'll be arrested."

  "Exactly!"

  "And she'll sell her story."

  Nonchalance succumbing to fear, I couldn't believe that someone could glibly come to my house and demand thousands of pounds - and there was nothing at all I could do about it. It was like having a thief enter my home and steal my treasured belongings from under my nose. The situation was incredible, like something out of a horror movie. I couldn't just hand over five thousand pounds to a stranger! Besides, she'd be back for more and...

  "Follow her and find out where she lives," I proffered, pouring two cups of coffee.

  "D'you think I hadn't thought of that?" Danny snapped. "While I was waiting for you to come home I did nothing other than think of all the bloody possibilities! There's no way out of it, we have to pay her."

  "What time is she coming?"

  "Three o'clock."

  "I'll be at the TV studio."

  "Yes, I know. Look, get the money first thing in the morning. I'll make it clear that it's a one-off payment, threaten her and... Oh, I don't know. All we can do is hope that she grabs the money and runs."

  I tried to convince myself that she would grab the money and run. She'd be taking quite a risk by coming back for more and I could only pray that we'd never see the treacherous tart again once we'd paid her off. It was a glimmer of hope glowing in the gloom, I knew. But it was all the hope I had, and I wasn't going to let it go.

  Walking into the garden, I breathed in the heady fragrance of the night scented stock, the freshly mown grass. The evening sun warming me, I wandered across the lawn and sat on the bench beneath the beech tree, trying to fathom what had happened to my world, my life. The advance for my first book had paid off the mortgage, bought us a new BMW, given us a romantic holiday...

  My dreams shattered, my hopes destroyed, I didn't see how I could write a second book. My mind wouldn't be in it, and besides, she'd demand more money. What was the point? I asked myself. God knew, the Inland Revenue had taken a big enough chunk of my first advance, and were demanding more. What with the Revenue and the blackmailing tart... What was the point?

  "Selina, I've been thinking," Danny said pensively as he ambled across the lawn with his coffee. "This girl must know someone who knows you."

  "Not necessarily. She might know someone who knows someone..."

  "Yes, but let's assume that she knows someone who directly knows you. Who did you tell about the ceiling?"

  "I can't remember, it was a long time ago."

  "You told Chrissy, right?"

  "Yes, but I've known her since I was eight years old. She wouldn't..."

  "No, no I'm not saying that she's involved. What I'm getting at is that Chrissy might have told this girl and, if that's the case, she obviously knows her. The girl's in her mid twenties, not much younger than you - or Chrissy, for that matter."

  "So?"

  "So, let's make a few assumptions. You've lived in this town all your life, and I reckon she lives here, too. She probably went to the same pubs and clubs as you, she probably knew the people you knew. She might even have known Barry."

  "Yes, but how does that help us? We can easily find out where she lives and who she is by following her tomorrow afternoon."

  "I don't think it's a good idea to follow her."

  "Why not?"

  "She might spot us, and she might not be working alone."

  "Danny, I haven't robbed a bank or murdered someone - all I did was..."

  "We can't be too careful, love."

  "Don't tell me she's part of a gangland..."

  "I'm not suggesting that. I just think we should try and find out as much as we can about her without her knowing."

  "Shall I ask Chrissy who she told about the ceiling?"

  "No, let's not say anything yet. Try to think of all the people you told about it. I realize that it was a long time ago, but try. Look, I need to clear my mind and think constructively. I'm going for a walk, I'll see you later."

  Danny was right, I ruminated, watching him mooch across the lawn with his hands in his pockets. It was best not to tell Chrissy, or anyone else. If I thought back to all the people I knew at the time, the few I might have mentioned the scam to, it should be possible to determine the girl's identity. But, even if we knew who she was, what could we do?

  I couldn't help but feel sorry for Danny. He'd tried so hard with his writing, and failed so miserably. He'd put his all into his latest book, spending months and months writing and rewriting, only to receive rejection after rejection from literary agents and publishers.

  The sad truth of the matter was that he couldn't write, I conceded glumly. He hadn't got a clue! And now, just when I was being wooed by my publisher
to put the icing on my success with another book, a menacing shadow hovered. What was the point? I again asked myself as I wandered into the house. I had to be strong, I knew. I had to fight this whippet, bring her down and... And what? Making my plans, I climbed the stairs to my den and took a new exercise book from the desk drawer. I couldn't fight an unknown quantity, someone I didn't know, someone I'd never seen. It would be like sparring with a shadow.

  The first thing to discover was the girl's name and address. Making notes in the book, trying to recall the people I'd known at the time, those I might have mentioned the ceiling to, I was determined not to let her ruin me. It was her against me, one to one. I had to think positively, put things into perspective. The scam couldn't be proved and was insignificant - but Barry was another matter. I could always deny the affair, but there's no smoke without fire. And the tabloids were pretty adept at making their own bonfires!

  I dragged my mind back to Barry. Our relationship had been no secret. Everyone had known about it - except his wife. Anyone of twenty or thirty people could now be pulling the plug on the affair. Barry? Could he be working with the opportunist hussy? I pondered. The very idea was ludicrous.

  The trip to the TV studio could wait, I decided. It was only to run through one or two things in connection with a chat show I was to appear on the following week. First things first, I told myself pragmatically. Despite Danny's warning, I decided to hide in the street and follow the girl once he'd given her the money. It wasn't much of a plan - if she was driving, I might lose her, if she was walking, she might hop onto a bus. A weak strategy, I conceded, but better than nothing.

  I didn't sleep that night. Tossing and turning, my mind racked with worry and anger, I finally left Danny to his snoring and went downstairs to make some tea. I'd planned to start my second book that morning, but my plans had been shattered. I could think of nothing other than the unknown girl, the bitch. No doubt she was sleeping, dreaming of collecting five thousand pounds, while I drowned in my anguish.