You wouldn't want the school board to see these, would you Pammy? Or your husband? If you do not do exactly as I say, they will see these and more! I have quite a collection, some even worse than these. Your instructions will be forthcoming. When you receive your instructions you will obey them to the letter or your marriage and career will be over! Think about it, Pammy.

Pammy? No one had called me Pammy for years, not since college. Who could this person be? Someone who knew me in those days? Someone I worked with at the school? My mind was buzzing.

All afternoon I did my best not to think about the note or the pictures but it was just impossible. Who sent them? What did they want? Money? No, it couldn't be money. Mark and I earned a decent living, but that was all. We had a few thousand in savings and the mutual funds, but it certainly wasn't much. Not enough for blackmail anyway. So what was it? Someone who just wanted to embarrass me? Or destroy my life?

Yes, I thought, I had somehow made an enemy and now that person was out to get me and they were going to use these pictures to do it. They were going to ruin my career and possibly even my marriage. But who could hate me enough to do that? And what could I have done to them?

By the time Mark got home from work I was a mess. I had been crying most of the afternoon and although I tried to hold it together in front of my husband, he could tell something was wrong.

"What's the matter Honey?" he asked.

"Oh, um, nothing. Dad's sick again." I lied. My father had not been feeling well on and off for the last year or so. It was an easy lie.

"Well, I'm sorry Dear. Should we go see him?"

"NO! -er, I mean, no, there's no need. Mom has things under control. She'll call if she needs us."

"Okay Pam. I'll tell you what, why don't we go out to eat tonight? It'll take you mind off things and you don't look like you feel like cooking."

He was being nice; usually I had dinner ready by this time. It was just like him to do something like that. He was always so wonderful to me.

"That's nice of you Mark, but I really don't feel up to it. If you want to go that's okay. I really couldn't."

"Well, alright. I'll be back in a few hours. I might go to the Inn to catch the game afterward."

"Sure, Mark, I'll be fine."

After Mark left I tried to put it all out of my mind. I concentrated on grading the papers from my 11th grade English class, but my mind kept wandering back to the note and those awful pictures. I took the letter out from where I had hidden it earlier and read it again. I have quite a collection... it said. I looked at the pictures and remembered where and when they were from. Some even worse than these... Oh God, how could they be worse?

The pictures were of me, of course, back when I was a freshman in college, and showed me having sex with three members of the football team. There were shots of me on my knees sucking their cocks, on my back with one of them fucking me, and even one showing me with cum on my face. The pictures weren't of very good quality, but you could obviously tell it was me. One thing was for sure; I couldn't let anyone see these pictures. I would do whatever it would take to get them back.

I kept going through the pictures, from one to the next, to the next, to the next, and I realized that something had changed. The shame and anger I had been feeling all day long was giving way to something else. Oh I was still mad, mind you, but there was another feeling as well. It started as just a tingle but soon my nipples had hardened and I felt myself getting hot. As I stared at one of the photos that showed me sucking a big cock with a blissful look on my face, I felt my panties getting damp. Oh God, how could I be excited by this? I was being blackmailed and my job and marriage were in jeopardy and here I was getting hot over pictures sent by the blackmailer!

Still I could not deny the effect that the pictures were having on me. My nipples were stiff and my panties were drenched. One by one I looked at the pictures and I felt myself getting hotter and wetter. I remembered the day that the pictures were taken and the feeling of being controlled by those boys. Had I enjoyed it so much? No, that part of my life was over, I told myself. I have a wonderful husband and I don't need that sort of thing anymore. I am a mature woman with a career. I'm a good wife and a great teacher. I won't let these memories confuse me. I was young and made some mistakes back then. And I was just experimenting with sex, as all young people do.

As I tried to reassure my mind with these thoughts, my body was betraying me. My left hand had found my right nipple and my right hand was fumbling with the buttons of my jeans. I squeezed my nipple and it was as if an electric shock went though me straight to my wet pussy. I slid my jeans off and removed my blouse and bra, carelessly throwing them on the floor.

As if I was possessed, I stood-up and viewed myself in the full-length mirror. I still looked just as good as the college girl in the pictures, not bad for a twenty- nine year old woman. My dark hair was shorter now, but my breasts were still as perky as ever. And if anything my belly was flatter now, thanks to many hours at the health club. As I watched myself in the mirror, I slid my hand into my soaked panties and began slowly circling my clit. My God I was hot! There was no stopping now.

It was then that I got an idea. I went to the nightstand and got out my pink vibrator. It was a big latex model that I bought on the Internet. I pulled the bed close to the wall, slid my wet panties off and laid down the bed with my feet resting against the wall on opposite sides of the mirror. This way I could watch myself as I played with my hot pussy. The vibrator hummed wickedly in my hand and I shivered as I slowly brought it across my hard nipples, down over my stomach and into my hot hole.

Usually it took a while to work the vibe into me because of its size but I was so wet it slid in almost effortlessly. I watched myself as I began pushing it in and out of my steamy pussy and began imagining that it was the boys from the pictures that were fucking me instead of the vibe. I remembered the awful things they said, calling me slut and whore, and the terrible things they made me do.

Then I remembered how much I had gotten off on it, doing those things, hearing them call me those names, and the small fire that had begun in the pit of my belly grew and grew. By now I was ramming the vibe deep inside me with one hand while the other was furiously strumming my clit.

"Fuck me! Oh yes, fuck me!" I shouted to the boys who weren't there.

"We'll fuck you slut, hard and good. Just like a whore like you likes it!" I imagined them saying.

"Hard and good" I babbled, "Fuck me hard and good!" It became a mantra.

I became aware of the orgasm welling up deep inside me as I pounded the vibrator harder and harder.

"Fuck... Me... Hard... And... Good!" I spat with each stroke.

"Fuck... Me... Haraaaahhh! I sang as the orgasm ripped through me.

Wave after wave of pure pleasure washed over me as my pussy spasmed around the fake cock. My feet kicked and knocked the mirror off the wall while my eyes rolled back into my head as I came hard. Tears formed in my eyes as the convulsions tapered off. Never had I cum so hard, not since college anyway. It took me a long time to come back down to earth.

When Mark Dodson finished eating he drove to the Inn to watch the football game. As he walked in he noticed Peter Sloan sitting at the bar drinking a beer, watching the game intently. Mark had known Peter since college and although they worked for competing firms they were still friends and even sometimes threw some business each other's way.

"Hey Pete, how's it hanging? Can I buy you one?" Mark greeted him.

"Sure Mark, that is, if you can afford it after losing the Nicholson contract to us?" Peter teased.

"Well Pete my boy, that hurts, it really does." Said Mark, taking mock offense. "I guess we did drop the ball on that one, but we've got other things in the works."

"Oh yeah?" said Peter, his curiosity aroused. "Like what?"

"Nothing you won't find out about soon enough Pete, but listen, if I'm right, there may be some side business I could let you in on."

"Now your talking Mark. Clue me in when you know more."

"I will Pete, now how about those beers?"

As Mark went to the end of the bar to order, Peter Sloan thought about their relationship. They had been friends in college but they had also been fierce competitors. They took a lot of the same classes, both being business majors, and it seemed Mark had always bested him. If Peter got 97% on a test, Mark would score 98%. When Peter would show up with a hot date on his arm, Mark would find an even nicer looking one. Mark had even dated and eventually married Pam Miller, a girl whom Peter had tried to woo but had rejected him on several occasions. After college, the two men had hoped to work together at the same firm, but the prestigious firm that hired Mark had turned Peters application down cold.

All of this caused Peter to harbor a deep resentment toward Mark. Small victories like winning the Nicholson contract helped Peter feel a little better, but deep down he knew Mark would always get the really big scores, just as he had with Pam Miller. Just thinking of Mark slamming it home to that hot piece of ass made the jealousy bubble up inside him.

"I'd really like to rub his nose in it just once." Thought Peter to himself. "If I could only think of a way to get him good."

Mark returned with the beers and the two men sat drinking and watching the game, but Mark could scarcely concentrate. He had a lot on his mind, especially the note and pictures he had sent to his wife.

When Mark had first seen the pictures of Pam in the porno shop he tried to convince himself it wasn't his wife. Sure it looked a lot like her, but the girl in the pictures was younger and her hair was styled differently. The pictures weren't very good quality anyway, black and white and a little out of focus. It wasn't until he noticed the mole on her hip and the wreath tattoo around her ankle that he was sure. It was Pam all right, but how? When? The pictures had to have been taken years ago, he told himself, before we were married, probably before we even met.

He had heard some wild stories about Pam in college from some of the guys on campus, but once they started dating she had behaved only like a proper lady. He thought it had been just talk. But now as he stared at the pictures of his wife doing unspeakable things he knew the stories were true. He could hardly contain his anger as he paid for the pictures and quickly left the shop.

"How could she do those things?" he asked himself as he drove home that evening, "And how could she let them take photographs?"

By the time Mark arrived home that night he was a wreck. He thought about confronting Pam with the pictures, but decided against it. For one thing, he didn't know if there was an explanation behind the pictures, and for another, he really did love Pam and didn't want to fight with her. He was very confused. Mark sat in the driveway for a few minutes to collect himself and it was while he was sitting in the car that he came up with the idea of sending the note to his wife.

The idea was for Mark to send the note to Pam, let her sweat it out for a few days and then when she told him about it, confess to her that he had sent the note. He thought that would teach her a good lesson about honesty, since she had never told him about the pictures. And later, when they both confessed and were even, he would lovingly coax the whole story out of her. Afterwards, of course, he would forgive her, but for right now it would be fun to see her squirm a while.

Now, as he sat in the bar drinking with Peter Sloan, a week after he had first seen the pictures, Mark began to regret sending the note. She had seemed really shaken, Mark thought, perhaps it was a little too cruel. Maybe he would tell her about it tonight instead of waiting.

"Listen Pete," Mark said, "I really should be getting home. Pam's waiting on me and I do have a lot of work to do before my meeting tomorrow." He had made up his mind and was going to tell her about the note and pictures.

"Okay Mark, give me a call about this deal when you know something."

"I will Pete," Mark said, pulling on his jacket.

When Mark got home from the Inn he found his wife Pam in the bedroom changing the sheets on the bed. Incense was burning on the nightstand and the room smelled musky. The full-length mirror was not hanging on the wall, but was propped up in the corner with a slight crack at the bottom.

"Hi Baby, what happened to the mirror?" asked Mark. Was it his imagination, or did Pam jump a little?

"Oh, hi Mark." Said Pam. She could feel the heat in her cheeks and wondered if her husband could see it. "I, ah, knocked the mirror while I was cleaning up in here. I hope you're not angry." Pam's face turned crimson with the lie. "How was the game?"

"The game? Oh yeah, it was okay, and no I'm not angry about the mirror. Just be more careful next time."

"Yes Honey." Replied Pam as Mark walked out of the room and went downstairs.

Downstairs in his office Mark pondered his brides' behavior. He had been all set to tell Pam about sending the note when he got home, but now he wasn't sure. She had obviously been lying when she told him about the mirror, he could see it in her face. Maybe that wasn't all she had lied about over the years. She certainly hadn't told him about the pictures, and now he thought that maybe there was more about her he didn't know, other secrets his wife had kept from him. He decided he would wait, at least for a while, to see if she would say anything.

She didn't. All week long Pam went to work and did her best to act as if nothing had happened. Mark had been sure his wife would confess her sins to him, but he had been wrong. And besides from appearing a little distracted at times she, seemed like the same-old Pam. This confused Mark Dodson to no end. Why hadn't she said anything? Would she tell him about the note, and her past? And what would he do if she didn't tell him? Confront her? He didn't quite know what to do...

These were the thoughts running through Marks head on Friday as he finished his fourth scotch and water in the booth at the Inn. He barely noticed when Peter Sloan slid into the booth next to him.

"The hard stuff, huh?" said Peter, "Bad day at the office?"

"Hey Pete, ...no. Bad week is more like it. Listen Pete, I've got a lot on my mind so..."

"Ah", said Peter Sloan, "Wife trouble. You should have stayed single like me. Less to worry about."

"And less to come home to."

"That's where you're wrong, Mark ol'boy. I do just fine, and with no headaches. Look at you. You look like the world's done you wrong." Peter was kind of enjoying this.

"Not the world, Pete, just Pam." There, he'd said it. And for the next twenty minutes he kept on saying it, telling Peter Sloan the whole story of his shock over finding the pictures, sending the note and his not knowing what to make of Pam's non-reaction. He even told Peter about his suspicion that he had barely missed walking in on Pam masturbating that night. He just had to tell someone and Pete was one of his best friends. He ended by saying, "What do you think I should do Pete?"

"Jesus Mark! Whatever you do don't tell her you sent the note, not after letting her stew for a week."

"But why didn't she say anything?" said Mark.

"Look Mark, she didn't say anything because she's scared, scared that someone is out to ruin her life. She did some things in the past that she's not proud of and she doesn't want them to get out. She's probably hoping this will all just go away, that someone was just messing with her. And after a week of hearing nothing she's probably convinced herself of that and is beginning to relax. But if you tell her now that it was you who sent the note she'll never forgive you for putting her through all this. My advice is to never mention it again."

"I guess you're right," said Mark, "I thought it would be fun to toy with her a little, but now I'm just sorry I ever sent the note. I'll just forget the whole thing. Thanks Pete, let me buy you a drink." No, thank you, thought Peter, thank you very much!

I had been walking on eggshells the entire week waiting for another note to appear in the mailbox, but by Friday nothing had arrived and I was beginning to feel better. Mark had gone to the Inn and I was home alone thinking about what the note had said. Maybe there would be no instructions forthcoming. Maybe someone was just trying to make me sweat. Maybe this would all just go away. I certainly hoped so. I was busy grading papers when the phone rang.

"Hi Pam it's Peter, is Mark there?"

"Hello Peter, no Mark isn't home, he's at the Inn watching the game, or whatever you guys do there. I don't expect him for a while."

"Okay Pam, I just wanted to remind him about our golf game tomorrow. The clients he wanted to meet are members of Crestwood and he has to be there at 8:00 sharp or he'll miss them."

"Alright, I'll remind him when he gets home."

"Thanks again, oh and why don't you join us tomorrow Pammy?" Peter asked innocently.

Did he say Pammy? "No thank you Peter, I have a lot to do tomorrow and the idea of following you men around the golf course while you discuss business just isn't all that thrilling, I'm afraid. You guys have fun without me. Goodbye Peter."

Something puzzled me after ringing off. Peter's tone seemed... different. He was always very polite to me, but I had the funny feeling he was making fun of me as we talked. It was nothing I could put my finger on, but still... And did he call me Pammy? I had never really liked him especially since he wouldn't take no for an answer when he asked me out in college. It wasn't that Peter was bad looking, but he just wasn't my type and at that time I had the hots for Mark. How he and Mark were friends always amazed me, they were complete opposites. Still, I had to be nice to Mark's friends.

When Mark got home I could tell he'd had a lot to drink and seemed to have something bothering him. When I asked him what is was, he was elusive and just babbled on and on that he was so sorry and that he wouldn't mention it again. As I tried to make sense of his words I helped him out of his clothes and into bed. It wasn't the first time he had come home this way and it was becoming all too regular. I had to talk to him about his drinking, but this wasn't the time. I set the alarm for 5:30 and turned out the lights.

After several failed attempts I got Mark up, into the shower and on his way to his golf game. He had a two- hour drive to Crestwood and I knew he would be gone most of the day. I had planned to go to the gym for a few hours and catch up on some house cleaning. I was just settling in to my first cup of coffee when I heard the doorbell. Thinking Mark had forgotten something, I opened the door in my bathrobe to come face to face with Peter Sloan.

"Um, Hi Peter," I said, conscious of the way I was dressed, "Mark left already, were you supposed to pick him up?"

"No, Pammy, I wasn't. It's you I'm here to see. May I come in?"

"Peter I don't think..."

"-I don't care what you think Pammy," He yelled as he pushed past me into the living room, " Just Sit Down and Shut Up!"

"Peter what..." was all I got out before he backhanded me across the face.

"I know you got my note slut, and I'm here to give you your instructions. First of all, it's Mister Sloan to you, and second, you don't speak unless commanded. Do you understand bitch?"

"You? What? Peter please, " I cried, "What is this all about?"

That outburst drew another backhand from Peter and I began to sob uncontrollably. I had quickly come to the understanding that it was Peter who had sent the note and the pictures. I sat on the couch and listened while the tears flowed down my cheeks.

"Mister Sloan is how you will address me from now on. And you will do whatever I say if you want to get the pictures back. I will address you as Slut, because that's what you are. If you follow my rules, and let me have my fun, I will return the pictures and nothing more needs to be said. Mark will never know a thing and you will keep your secret. Or, you can refuse me and I will leave now and never bother you again, however I can't say what will happen to the rest of the pictures. Perhaps, the school board might receive them in an anonymous letter or maybe Mark might get some sexy e- mail. Or it could be that old Mr. Miller is looking for some smut to excite him these days. One never knows what might happen..."

"Peter, um, Mr. Sloan, those pictures, th-that was me, but it was a long time ago. I, I was j-just, you know, experimenting with s-sex. I was young and I was away from home for the first time and, and things got out of control. I never knew there were pictures taken," I cried, "Please, I'll do whatever it takes but you can't show them to anyone!"

"Well then," he said, " if you'll do whatever it takes, Slut, We'll get along just fine. All you have to do is follow my instructions for one week and I'll give you the pictures back and we'll both be done with this mess. Now for starters, Slut, you can suck my cock!"

My eyes blazed with pure hatred as I asked him, "You'll give me the pictures? And Mark will never know? Or the school board and my parents, um, Mr. Sloan?"

"Yes Pammy, this will be our little secret, if you do as your told. No one will ever know. And after all, it's just for one week. Then you can resume your normal life. And, who knows, you may have some fun. I know I will." He leered. "Now make up your mind Slut!"

Knowing I had no other choice, I stood up and got down on my knees in front of him. I could tell by his bulge that he was already hard as I tugged on his zipper and fished out his dick. When it sprang out I got my second surprise of the morning, Peter Sloan was hung like a horse! It had to be nine inches long and thick too, who would have known it? I stared in awe for just a second too long I guess because he grabbed my hair and forced his big cock between my lips. It was all I could do to fit it in my mouth but I did my best. I wanted this to be over as quickly as possible. And then he started pushing his big rod deeper in my mouth as he spoke.

"Yeah Slut, suck that big cock. You know you like it. You've never had one this big, have you? I didn't think so. Imagine how this big cock would feel up your pussy. If you do a good job sucking me I'll let you ride it. Would you like that? Huh, Slut?"

"Mmmfff..." was all I could answer as he continued to assault my mouth with his massive tool. I did my best to make him cum quickly, thinking he would leave me alone afterwards. I sucked his fat dick deep into my mouth as I ran my fingers across his balls. I even played with his ass as I sucked him knowing that always got Mark off as fast as possible, but Peter had staying power.

For 15 minutes I sucked, licked and fondled him trying to bring him off while he said the most terrible things to me. He called me a cock-sucking slut more times than I can count. He said I was his little whore and that I had better get used to his cock in my mouth, as I would be sucking it quite often. He asked me what kind off teacher I could be if I was such a slut. He even suggested that I had sucked off my students and let them fuck me.

His verbal abuse was unrelenting. He asked me how and where the pictures were taken and when I didn't answer him he pulled his cock out and grabbed my hair telling me I had better answer him. When I told him that it was in college, he became angry asked why, when I was putting out for everyone, I had rejected him.

When I tried to answer he told me to shut up and suck his cock, as that was all I was good for. It went on like that, me sucking him and he asking me questions and getting mad when I didn't answer. And when I tried to answer he just told me shut up and sucked his cock. I was sure he was about to cum when he abruptly pulled out of my mouth and told me to stand up.

"That was pretty good Slut, you suck cock well, but I'm sure you've had lots of practice. Now let's see what's under that robe." Slowly I slipped the robe off my shoulders and stood before him in just my panties. "Get those white panties off!" he commanded, "Sluts don't wear white. They wear red or black or nothing at all, understand Slut? Now get them off your fat ass!"

"Y-yes Mr. Sloan," I answered as I slipped my panties off and stood naked before him, "I u-understand."

"Good Pammy, now go get your vibrator, yes Mark told me about it, you're going to put on a little show for me." I silently cursed Mark as I went to the bedroom to get my pink toy. How could he have told anyone, and Peter of all people? The vibrator was our one little dirty secret. I got the vibe out of its hiding place and turned to find Peter standing in my bedroom doorway.

"On the bed Slut!" he ordered. "And you had better put on a convincing show for me. I want you to fuck that fake cock like it was your last ever, even though we both know it won't be, not by a long shot. Now get to work and make it good!"

I laid on the bed and did my best to look sexy while I ran the vibrator up and down my wet slit as Peter Sloan made me tell him what a slut I was and how I loved to suck cock. There I was on my marriage bed masturbating in front this animal telling him I was a slut and a cocksucker and a whore, when I felt my body betraying me. As much as I tried to deny it, my shameful performance was turning me on. My pussy as wet as I ever remembered and my nipples were as hard as rocks. I worked the vibrator between my pink folds and into my hot pussy as I felt myself getting hotter and hotter.

Unknown to me, Peter had slipped a camcorder out of his pocket and begun filming me. When I saw the camera I was startled but I couldn't deny the fire in my pussy and I continued push the big vibrator deep in my hot hole as he filmed me. Soon he began asking more questions.

"What are you bitch?" he asked.

"A slut." I answered. By now I knew what he wanted to hear.

"And what do you like to do Slut?"

"Suck cock, " I moaned, "and fuck."

"And what else, Whore, what else do you like?"

"Everything!" I cried as I fucked myself hard, "I'm a slut and I like it all. I like to suck cock and eat cum! I like to be fucked hard and I love it in the ass! I like to act like a whore!" It was like a dam had burst, and I was beyond any control. How could he have known I longed to be treated this way? "I want to suck your big dick! And taste your cum! Please can I?" And with that, Peter Sloan, the man I disliked so intently, made me beg to suck his fat cock.

"Please Mr. Sloan, may I suck your beautiful cock? I'm a slut and I need to. I live for it! Oh please, may I please!" My hands were a blur as I rammed the vibrator deep in my wet pussy and strummed my hot clit. He stuck his cock in my mouth and I sucked it with abandon as he continued to catch my depraved display on video. I was acting like a complete slut and loving it, sucking cock like a whore and getting off on a vibrator. Soon Peter said he was ready to cum and asked me where a slut like me wanted it.

"In my mouth." I said, but he shook his head.

"Sluts like cum on their face Pammy, now where do you want it?!" he demanded.

"Uh-uh o-on... my... FACE! Yes!" And when I felt the first spurt hit my lips I began to cum uncontrollably. I thrashed and moaned as more and more of his hot cum drenched my face. I had never seen a man cum so much and was amazed while I writhed and moaned. I pumped my hips and wagged my tongue at him telling him over and over how much I loved his cum on my slutty face. Never in my life had I had such a powerful orgasm. When I came back down to earth, I began to realize just how terrible I had acted. I looked up to see Peter smiling at me as he shut off the camcorder.

"Now that will make very good addition to my collection, too good to keep to myself. I wonder whom I'll show it to first?" he teased, "It's not suitable for children, but maybe the football team at your school are mature enough to handle it."

"P-please Peter, you can't s-show that to a-anyone! You said this was just b-between me and y-you. I did what you asked me to..." I began to cry furiously, my tears mixing with the cum on my face.

"Shut your mouth Slut! You don't understand what's happening here do you? I OWN YOU! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT!!?" He screamed, "You will do what I say when I say, without complaint. And if I hear you address me as anything but Mr. Sloan I will sell this tape to every circus geek in town for a stick of chewing gum! Now get your fat ass up and make me some breakfast while I explain what's going to happen this week. And be Fucking quick about it!"

And with that I got up and quickly walked to the kitchen.

The End