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Message-ID: <47382asstr$1081642203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Imagineer <imagin8r47@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cruel Summer 12 {Imagineer} (MF blackmail ScFi)
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Date: Sat, 10 Apr 2004 20:10:03 -0400
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Cruel Summer

copyright 2001-2004 by Imagineer.

comments to 
imagineer 47: yahoo green eggs com ham
but without the green eggs or ham

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Imagineer/www/


// 12: Performed


  Angela checked her watch for the fifteenth time. Two minutes to five.
At work since nine, the place was as dead as she felt. She had stayed
up until 2:30am making her dress and it showed. For lunch she had a nap.

  One minute to five. No one in the store. She held the keys to the
front door in her hand, and she stayed on the left side of the cashier
/ measuring table where the curtain rod display mostly hid her from
view from outside the store; if anyone did walk up at the last second,
they would probably think the store closed already; that's what Angela
was counting on. Normally she wasn't this way, but she had to make sure
everything was perfect and she was on time to Josh's. The thought of
him finding some excuse to prolong her agony or even demand a repeat
visit made her stomach turn. Angela was determined to charm him right
out of her shoes if she had to.

  Five o'clock. Angela rushed up to the door, her pink pumps
clack-clack-clacking a frantic pace against the industrial-tile floor.
The keys jangled from their place on a plastic coil spring bracelet as
she quickly turned the sign from OPEN to CLOSED and snicked the lock
into place. She'd already counted out her drawer, so she pulled it from
the register and clack-clack-clacked back to the manager's office. No
one else was there -- Monica took the day off -- so she put the drawer
in the office and pulled the door shut, locking it; Monica would count
and log it the next morning.

  Five-oh-three. Angela hopped on her bike and pedaled madly for home.


  All the way home, Angela took surreptitious looks behind her using
the head-down-to-pedal-faster, glance-under-the-armpit technique. She
went around the back way to get to her house, stopping on the corner to
check out all the cars on her block. No strangers following her or
sitting outside her house. Her paranoia after the scary chat with Scott
yesterday was beginning to fade. Maybe she was overreacting. After all,
Scott had given her a tremendous gift; she should be honest with him.
How else could she expect him to be honest with her? He was only trying
to help her; why else would he have given her the gems?


  An overnight package on her bed. "Fantascene." Josh must have sent
it. Angela ripped it open; out fell a small plastic bag with a wad of
black fabric inside. Crotchless g-string, just straps with a
butterfly-shaped applique in front. How sweet. Josh wasn't leaving much
to chance.

  To her computer: an email message from Josh. "Bring a toothbrush."
Well, it couldn't get much clearer than that. The jerk intended to keep
her all night. She deleted the message with an emphatic slap on the
delete key.


  The loofa and hot lilac bath did as much to calm her nerves as smooth
her skin. She finished toweling off, then gently rubbed in
baby-powder-scented body lotion. She almost forgot why she was doing
it. Putting on the comical "underwear" reminded her. She reached for
her dress.

  She'd only used half of the fabric; she couldn't imagine why such a
large piece hadn't simply been put back on the bolt and sold. No
matter; she could put the other half to good use in a Sapphire uniform
-- maybe the synthetic wouldn't be as susceptible to the degenerative
effects of her forcefield. In the mean time, she'd made a perfect
Chinese concubine's dress. Sexy and suggestive enough for Josh --
Angela had done her best to pick up the key elements from one of the
photo series he had emailed her -- without making her feel completely
naked and exposed.

  Green synthetic silk slipped up over her body. Sleeveless. Choker
collar with a single embroidered clasp in front capped a daring
diamond-shaped opening in front that ran nearly to her armpits and
tapered to her solar plexus. She'd shaped it to make the most of her
bust; perhaps she'd been a little too aggressive, because it seemed
pretty tight. But then, that was the point wasn't it? It was a good
thing this synthetic stuff was supposed to stretch more than real silk
or she'd be in trouble...

  The dress hugged every curve. It ought to, she'd undone and redone
the seams four times, each time taking a little out of the waist here,
a little out of the back there, a little more out of the thighs there.
As it was she thought she might have overdone it just a little; it
seemed awfully tight!

  Hair up, wrapped around a pair of chopsticks -- a trick her classmate
Mei had taught her junior year. Eyeshadow and mascara expertly applied.

  Angela checked the dress in the mirror. She had to admit it looked
good -- probably her first piece ever that didn't scream "discount
fabric store experiment." Especially considering last night's frantic
pace doing the final sewing under the poor light of a single desk lamp. 

  From the front the dress almost looked traditional, only the seam
down the center spoiling it. In hindsight she should have made it out
of two pieces, not four, but then again she wouldn't have been able to
give it quite the curve-following shape it now had. The cleavage was
certainly dramatic, but with that glaring exception she looked almost
demure. Angela turned her body to see the back; suddenly dramatic
didn't cover it. Along the shoulders the back matched the front, with
the same diagonal cut, but the corresponding lower cut dove all the way
to the base of her spine, making the dress almost backless.

  The dress reached all the way down to her feet. Faithful to the
style, it was slit up the sides to show a little leg. Actually, a
little too much leg for her tastes. But then Angela's tastes weren't in
control here. She'd simply copied elements of the dress from one of the
photo series Josh had sent to her.

  Angela hiked up the dress slowly, flipping the back up over the chair
and folding the front to one side. As she did so, a few threads quietly
popped from the side seams. She sat down to pull up the stockings.
She'd bought them at Scott's suggestion months ago; super-sheer and
delicate, she smoothed the black weave up her soft legs gingerly,
trying not to snag them with her nails and mostly succeeding; a little
nail polish fixed up the small failures. She folded the top two inches
of stocking back down; even so they ran almost to her crotch. Angela
cut two lengths of wide emerald ribbon and tied them around her upper
thighs as garters.

  Next came the shoes. Here Angela went practical -- considering the
circumstances, anyway -- and wore the same icicle-heeled clear platform
sandals she'd come home in the other day, the ones she'd be returning
to Josh tonight. It was her way of emphasizing to herself that she
wasn't leaving without her Sapphire heels.

  She stood up, smoothing the dress down one last time in front of the
mirror. She smiled a bit; she was quite a piece of work, every bit the
Asian seductress. She needed to be.

  Angela bent over to pick up her bag with "the schoolgirl outfit" and
her essentials in it, nearly losing her balance. A few stitches from
the back seam popped and the thin fabric folded over, effectively
dipping the back lower to the upper curve of her ass. "Wow, I forgot
what a difference the narrow platforms make." She turned an ankle to
regard the killer shoes with a look of mistrust, remembering the
adventure in the park. Well, she would not be walking on anything so
slick tonight. As she straightened up, Angela failed to notice the top
stitch containing her cleavage popped as well, the change lost in the
wiggle of her walk down the hall. Not even out the door and already her
outfit was failing her...

  Ten minutes to seven! She was going to be late. Angela grabbed the
keys and hurried out to the car. The setting summer sun gave everything
a bright orange glow; she shielded her eyes with her hand. Down the two
porch steps carefully, her hips swaying significantly. A car drove by.


  Noel Aquino drove home the long way after a rough shift, in part to
unwind and in part to remember the simpler days when he was a beat cop
patrolling this quiet older neighborhood. He thought Ricky's friend
Angela lived around here somewhere...

  Turning the corner, Noel's eyes nearly fell out of his sockets. A
gorgeous Chinese girl was strutting down her front walk on the way to
her car, dressed in what could only be described as a Chinese
prostitute's uniform. Delicious nylon-covered legs flashed and jugs
jiggled up and down with every quick step. Her hand shielded her face.
Noel turned and stared. She turned to unlock the car door; the
beautiful curve of her naked spine beckoned him. As he drew even with
the girl and her car, she dropped her hand and waved... she looked a
lot like Angela for a Chinese girl. No, she was Angela! Past her now,
Noel craned his neck to look at the shrinking image in his mirror of
the girl mostly hidden by the car.

  Just what kind of girl dressed like that to go out on a Friday night?
There must be some kind of costume party somewhere. In August? No.
Maybe she worked at a chinese restaurant. With an outfit that hot? With
fifteen years on the force he'd have known about a place with
waitresses dressed so suggestively. No, something else was going on.
And weren't they poor, just scraping by on her mom's waitress salary?
The car said poor, or maybe just "first car." The outfit definitely did
not say poor; it had to be custom-made. Something else was definitely
going on.

  Mr. Aquino was going to have to keep a close eye on the kinds of
girls his only son was hanging around with...


  "Oh, hey, there goes Ricky's dad!" Angela waved at the passing car,
momentarily forgetting in her surprise how she was dressed. Apparently
he didn't see her, because he didn't wave and just kept driving, but
she could have sworn she saw him look at her... maybe he didn't
recognize her, dressed like... Omigod!

  Angela quickly hopped into the old Toyota as if to hide from her own
embarassment. Her tight dress twisted uncomfortably as she pulled her
feet in and closed the door; she shimmied up and tugged the dress back
into place. The tired fabric snagged on the cracked vinyl seat; more
threads popped from the base of the side seams, running the splits most
of the way up her thighs, the sound lost in the creaking of the seat
springs.

  Angela patted the small shoulder bag next to her, feeling the two
Sapphire stones on their wrist cuffs and the tiara tucked safely into
the lining. She dared not wear them, lest Josh get suspicious or she
lose control of her own desires again. But it was reassuring to have
them with her. And if it came to that, she could use them to force Josh
to give her the shoes back. No, she couldn't do that; besides, then
Josh would figure her out and find some way to make things even worse
for her. No, she'd have to rely on her feminine wiles. A small part of
her actually looked forward to it, but she pushed this thought way down
inside her.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  His cell phone rang. "Yeah, this'z Dean."
  "Sir, we went through the package list again and I think we might
have something."
  Andrew got over his momentary discomfort at being called 'Sir' -- it
made him feel older than his 33 years -- and recalled the four CD-Rs
they'd received from the major international express companies. Last
year, hell last month it would have been him working those databases,
reviewing and cross-referencing every one of the seventeen thousand
packages shipped from Singapore in the week surrounding Eric's last
contact before falling off the grid. It was nothing like television,
just hours and hours of brutal eyeball-burning brain-and-butt-numbing
lookups and phone calls and document requests. Sure, you could do
queries with certain assumptions to thin the field, but when the query
results turned up nothing you had to dive back in with different
assumptions, until it would have been less work just to start with the
first record and pound through the whole damn thing in one pass. 

  And in the end you still didn't know if what you were looking for was
there at all. Logic certainly dictated using a US-based company like
FedEx or Airborne and sending a medium-sized low-value nondescript
package with a description like "household goods" and packed with
something non-technological and easily-recognizable through an X-Ray
scanner, like say a woman's dress, purse, and shoes. It wouldn't
attract the attention of customs agents, wouldn't be small enough for
valuables or big enough for drugs, wouldn't be valued enough for
shipping company employees to "inspect" the contents, but would get
tracked the whole way, wouldn't take too long in transit, and probably
wouldn't get lost. But then sometimes the illogical choice would be
made, the foolish move that nobody expected and so nobody was looking
for, and it would go snail mail in a puffy envelope with too many
stamps and a Dymo address label. Or the unknown recipient's friend who
happened to be coming back from a vacation in Japan would bring it over
in her backpack, just another tourist trinket bought for the folks at
home, and remail it from god-knows-where or even hand-deliver. You
never knew. If you thought about it you'd just give up. So you just put
your nose to the grindstone and worked the data you were given and were
glad it wasn't your investigation.

  Yes, it used to be Andrew shoveling data-shit for long hours for days
or weeks only to come up with nothing, or worse, a promising but
ultimately bogus lead.

  Now Andrew was the middle man, getting little or nothing from the
data-hounds and taking shit from management. Now it was his job to look
bad.

  But maybe this data-bone had meat on it.
  "What'ya got?" He rolled up his window, shutting out the noisy street.
  "Woman's dress, underwear, shoes, and eight tiny reindeer in the form
of costume jewels."
  Intel said eight was the magic number. "It said eight right on the
manifest?" Andrew asked incredulously.
  "No, but that's what I'm counting in this X-Ray print. Two earrings,
two on the shoes, one on a choker, and three on some fabric."
  "Like the dress?"
  "No, like... lace or something. Lingerie."
  Damn. "How the hell did you get an X-Ray print?"
  "Get with the times; FedEx scanners in Japan hold some images for
manual review if they trigger the image-recognition for weapons or
explosives. I'm guessing the high heels confused the software and the
supervisor flagged the image to keep it for the SEs to debug the
program. I think the FedEx record-req guys threw it in for grins when
it matched one of my doc pulls. Want me to email it to you?"
  "Where'd the package go?"
  "Here, I'm IMing you the address." Andrew pulled the phone away from
his ear, staring at the phone's tiny display. In a few seconds the
address appeared. Son of a bitch, just 400 miles north.
  "Got it. Excellent work."
  "Want me to send somebody local to check it out?"
  "No, I'm only five hours away, I'll do it myself. The ISP was a dead
end anyway, I'm done here. Mail me the rest of what you've got on the
package. I'll be in touch." Andrew hung up.

  He turned the key and the big Chevy roared to life.

  One way or another, I'm gonna find ya,
  I'm gonna get cha get cha get cha get cha . . .


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Angela stood at the front door, finger hesitating to ring the bell.
She could still turn and walk away; she didn't have to go through with
this. But if she didn't, she wouldn't get her Sapphire shoes back, and
she would be practically defenseless against whoever or whatever came
looking for the stones. Maybe she should just run away, disappear
somewhere...

  Suddenly the door opened. "Angela! So good of you to be on time.
Won't you come in?" Josh stood there, dressed in khaki pants and a
white long-sleeve dress shirt with the collar up and half unbuttoned.
He waved her in with a sweep of his arm.

  "You look stunning," he complimented, his lecherous eyes dancing over
every inch of her form as she entered his lair. Josh closed the door
behind her, taking a long moment to stare at her heart-shaped ass, its
curve just barely concealed by the low-cut dress. "The living room
awaits."

  As soon as she stepped from the foyer into the living room she was
blinded by bright lights. It took her eyes a moment to stop squinting;
it seemed that Josh had bought a half-dozen halogen torchiere lamps;
the light bounced off the white walls and ceiling. She heard a faint
clicking sound to her right; Josh was standing in front of the black
glass monolith of an entertainment center snapping away with a camera.

  "Hey!"
  "Relax, I'll blur your face before I post 'em, nobody will know it's
you." Yeah, blur it in about fifteen minutes with a monster load of
cum...
  "I didn't come here just to give you something more to blackmail me
with."
  Josh's hand went to his chest in a mock show of effeminate surprise.
He gasped. "Blackmail is such an *ugly* word! Besides, you're fully
dressed. What do you have to worry about?"
  Dressed like a slut, Angela thought, but she held her tongue. Just
get through this, get the shoes back.

  "Now come on, you look totally gorgeous, haven't you ever wanted to
be a model? Just let me take some pictures while you pose, like in some
of those links I sent you. No nudity, I promise." Josh smiled his best
"trust-me" smile. It wasn't very convincing.

  "By the way, those shoes look totally sexy. Almost as good as the
ones you left behind last time you were here." Josh's smile faded.
"Now, why don't you go sit on the couch over there and pose real nice
for me." The threat *was* convincing.

  Angela spent the next twenty minutes making more and more suggestive
poses for Josh's camera; whatever he directed, she did. And true to his
word, he never asked for actual nudity, though some of the positions he
posed her in were plenty lewd.

  "Fabulous, just fabulous!" Josh exclaimed as he put down the camera.
"I don't know about you, but that made me hawhnee baybee," he said in a
terrible Austin Powers accent. "Ahh you hawhnee? Did our little shoot
make you rrandee?"

  "Not really."
  "I'm sorry, what'd you say? I didn't quite hear you..." Josh said,
raising a menacing eyebrow.

  Angela swallowed hard. "I said, yeah baby, it made me hot," she said
in her best breathy seductive voice, adding a little whimper at the
end. She arched her back in an exaggerated stretch on the couch. She
could see Josh's pants twitch in response.

  Josh moved to the right and sat down in the oversized chair. "Come
here," he said gruffly. "I've got something I wanna show you." He
glanced over at the faceless black glass of the entertainment center
for a moment as if checking something, but then his eyes fixed hers in
a smoldering stare. "Come here," he repeated.

  Angela began to rise from the couch.

  "No. Crawl," Josh ordered.

  Angela got down on her hands and knees. Slowly she crawled toward
him, her hips swaying and back arched as she swung her knees and legs
out to keep them clear of the front of her dress. She finally reached
the side of the chair where he sat. She looked up at him; he looked
back with disgusting self-pride.

  "What you want is in there," he said, glancing down at his crotch.
His khakis were severely tented. "Well, go on, it won't bite."

  Angela avoided eye contact as she slowly undid his belt and unzipped
his pants, folding them back to expose his straining bikini underwear.

  "It's VERY happy to see you."

  Angela's small hand stroked Josh's dick through the thin cotton
fabric; it pulsed at her touch.

  "Take it out, it wants to say hello."

  Angela gingerly pulled the fabric to one side. Josh's prick sprang
out; it was the first time she'd gotten such a close look under such
good lighting. It looked bigger than she remembered.

  Josh looked over toward the entertainment center. Staring hard, he
could just make out the glow of the video camera's red LED. He smiled.
Angela had no idea she was being taped.

  "Go ahead, shake hands."

  Angela's fingers hesitantly wrapped around Josh's pole; he gasped as
her grip closed.

  "Ooohhhhh.... yeah....."

  Angela slid her fingers up towards the tip, her index finger crossing
over the top gently. Josh held his breath. Her hand moved back down
again to the base of the shaft, manicured nails gleaming in the bright
light, fingers coming together to formalize their grip.

  "Stroke it," Josh directed between measured breaths.

  Angela's hand moved up towards the tip, gripping more tightly as if
rolling it between her thumb and forefinger, then moved back down,
pressing into Josh's hairy scrotum. Josh sighed. She repeated the
motion; she felt Josh's pelvis relax as he slumped down in the chair.
She established a slow rhythm to the stroke of her hand, watching her
actions with equal parts fascination and determination.

  Angela felt Josh's hand on her back, fingers tugging upward to coax
her closer. She brought her other hand around behind and underneath
him, lifting herself up to park her ample chest on the armchair. This
put her head above his lap; Josh looked across the room at the mirror
he'd set up enjoying the voyeur's view. His hand snaked down her spine
to caress the curve of her ass. Angela's hand froze for an instant, but
she quickly resumed massaging his cock.

  Josh's head rolled back on the couch. "Oh, yeah baby, that's it," he
breathed. Angela picked up the pace when she felt the fingers of his
hand move to her side and slip into the slit of the dress. Maybe she
could get him off with a hand job before he tried anything...

  Angela's breasts were suspended like pendulums, shoved up against the
chair's padded arm. Josh reached across with his other hand and cupped
her right tit, squeezing her nipple between his fingers through the
thin synthetic silk. She gasped in surprise. But this was only a
distraction for his other hand, which had pulled her leg forward and
reached around her asscheek to find her slit, unprotected between the
twin straps of the butterfly g-string. He rubbed his finger up against
where he knew her clit was hiding.

  The drama of her situation was more than she could take. In spite of
herself, Angela felt Josh's rude manipulation being effective. "Ohhhh,"
she breathed. Her hand began pumping up and down Josh's hard shaft with
more vigor.

  Josh's breathing was shallow, but he remained focused. He knew once
he got Angela going he could probably get her to do anything, including
fulfilling the request that had contributed to their breakup.

  She was dripping wet. Josh's fingers sloshed back and forth along her
distended labia between teasing penetrations of her pussy and wiggles
against her engorged clit. He could feel her labored breath against his
pubes. He rested his free hand on the back of her head, not applying
pressure but letting the weight of his arm coax her head down.

  Suddenly Angela went stiff; she wasn't going to do THAT! The pace of
her hand became frantic; Josh pushed down more insistently. She was
going to have to get creative; in this awkward over-the-chair-arm
position she couldn't resist his "suggestion" for long.

  Without breaking her rhythm, Angela slid sideways, off the front of
the chair's arm; Josh's finger left her pussy with a wet plop. Josh
looked down at her sternly, but before he could react, she put her
knees up on the chair to either side of him. Shoving the front of her
skirt to one side she leaned forward pushing her groin up against his
member and trapping it against his belly. She arched her back, holding
herself up with one hand on the back of the chair. Her tits surged
against the confines of the dress; Angela looked directly into Josh's
eyes with the sexist look she could muster -- an easy proposition given
her own aroused state.

  "Come on lover, why stop short of the real thing?" she whispered. Her
hips rocked forward, putting pressure against the head of his cock. She
slid up his body, dragging the butterfly applique of the g-string along
his shaft as she positioned herself for entry. Her fingers guided the
head into her and she settled down on it slowly. "Mmmm, fuck me..." she
begged. Josh's dick spasmed its response.

  But this wasn't what he wanted, not exactly. He had to regain
control. Sure, he wanted to fuck her... as her vaginal muscles squeezed
his member seductively he knew he *really* wanted to fuck her... but
this was about control. He wanted her to suck his dick first. He wanted
to spray his load all over that fresh face of hers and capture it all
on tape. His hands went to her hips and started to lift her off... but
she just gripped his cock more tightly. FFFFuck, she was tight!

  "Oooooooh, come on baby, don't you wanna *fuck* me?" she cooed in a
little-girl voice. She ground down on him, then spasmed around him,
squeezing his prick in a velvet vice. She began sliding slowly up and
off him, then came slowly back down. "Please..." she begged as she
completed another agonizingly-wonderful stroke.

  Josh gave in; how could he refuse such delicious pussy? It was like
his dick had gone to heaven. He pushed up to meet her next stroke.

  Now she had him. Angela began moving up and down on his shaft more
quickly, taking care to squeeze at the top of each stroke. Ohgod he
felt so good inside her, she felt so full!

  Josh put his hands on her ass, gripping her cheeks firmly underneath
the dress, guiding her pelvis into a brisker pace. She matched him
stroke for stroke, her scarcely-contained tits now bouncing in rhythm
on and off his bare chest. His hands slid down to her sides, tracing
lines down her pistoning thighs. She felt him double-thrust the moment
his fingers found the ribbon-tie garters; obviously all the photos he'd
sent had not been wasted. One hand continued down, finding her
stocking-clad ankle strapped into the stiletto platform sandal. 

  They were pumping furiously now; she threw her head back as she
straightened up, bouncing up and down on his big dick with wild
abandon. He watched her face contort with pleasure as he thrust up into
her savagely, watched her tits jump up and down in the tight dress,
nipples just beginning to peek above the fabric. He reached up with one
hand and grabbed at her titflesh, his hand and arm bobbing up and down
in time with her small body. She nearly lost her rhythm when he
squeezed the nipple. His other hand was fiddling with something by her
foot; he was unbuckling her shoe. The buckle released and she felt the
heel go slack as she lifted, then slap the bottom of her foot as she
slammed down on him.

  Angela heard herself scream. Her vision went red, then gray; she felt
Josh's cock spasm violently within her.

  Her last thought was how Ricky might draw this particular moment of
Sapphire's short career...


   


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