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Message-ID: <51409asstr$1119107402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: ravpapa <ravpapa@yahoo.com>
NNTP-posting-date: Sat, 18 Jun 2005 09:43:31 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Mrs. Chase Parts 1 - 4 (nc? mc? blackmail? or just schizophrenia?)
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Date: Sat, 18 Jun 2005 11:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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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.

   1.  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, Jon Watson.  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.

   2.  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."

   3.  First Task

   Dana was on edge throughout the evening and the next morning.  By noon
Wednesday, she had been sitting at her desk for four hours and not done a
bit of work.  The earpiece, invisible to all, was ominously silent.  Two
friends came in to invite her to lunch.  She wasn't hungry.

   At 12:45, the earpiece crackled to life.  "How you doing, Mrs.  Chase?"

   "I'm okay," she said aloud, then glanced quickly around to see if anyone
had seen her.  She repeated in a barely audible whisper, "fine."

   "Good.  Just checking in.  You just go on about your business, Mrs. 
Chase.  We'll be in touch."

   That was it.  The day came and went, and the next.  By Friday, she was
almost back to normal, almost able to forget about the silent microphone in
her ear.

   "Hello, Mrs.  Chase, how are we doing today?" Dana stiffened in her
seat, and tasted the cotton in her mouth.  She looked in a panic around the
table - she was in a business meeting in the conference room.  The two
senior partners were there, and marketing VP of Jones and Co., one of their
leading accounts.  She gripped the arms of her chair.  Her face went white.

   "Mrs.  Chase, are you there?  Answer me," said the voice.  Dana looked
quickly around again.  The meeting went on, no one seemed to notice her
panic.  She rose quickly.  "Excuse me a moment, gentlemen," she said, and
quickly left the room.

   "I'm here," she said under her breath, as she rushed back to her office
and shut the door.

   "Mrs.  Chase, this will never do.  When we call you, you answer
immediately."

   "My God, I was in a meeting.  What do you want?"

   "What we want - what we demand - is instant and total obedience," said
the voice sternly.  "Is that clear?"

   Dana was shaking so hard she had to sit down.  "Yes, yes, I understand."

   "Now you will have to be punished for this breach.  But that is later.
For now, you have your first assignment.  Do you know Matt Dorman?"

   "Yes, he is a junior artist in Creative," said Dana.  She had seen him a
few times.  Had looked at him with interest.  He had a nice butt.

   "Tonight you will fuck him in your office."

   "I ..  I can't do that.  How can I do that?" Dana's voice trembled.

   "Mrs.  Chase, you are making us angry.  I don't give a fuck how you do
it.  Just do it.  And film it.  Put the camera on the top of the cabinet.
We want to watch everything.  Is that clear?" A pause.  "IS THAT CLEAR,
MRS. CHASE?"

   "Yes, clear."

   Dana dropped her head in her hands.  The room was swimming.  She had to
go back to the meeting.  She had to contact Matt Dorman.  What could she
tell him?  At least it was Dorman, and not one of those awful geeks from
Copyrighting.  In fact, in her fantasies she had already had an affair with
him.

   She took a deep breath and picked up the phone.  "Matt?"

   "Yes?"

   "This is Dana Chase.  Have you been working on the sketches for the
Mason account?"

   "Yes, I have some stuff ready."

   "Listen, something's come up, and I need to see them, but I'm tied up
until late.  Can you come to my office at, say, 8:30 tonight?"

   "Gee, Mrs.  Chase, I was planning a date tonight."

   "Call me Dana.  I'm sorry, it's really important."

   "Well, okay, I guess I can cancel.  See you at 8:30."

   "Thanks a million, Matt." She hung up the phone, in a morass of confused
emotions.  Shame, humiliation, tingling anticipation, fear.  She stood
shakily, and headed back to the meeting.

   4.  Matt Dorman

   A tentative knock on the door.  How was she going to do this?  She had
never seduced a man.  The man always made the first move.  What would she
say, how would she act?  She prayed everyone had left for the night.

   "Come in."

   A young man came in with a black leather portfolio case under his arm.
"You ready?" he asked.

   "Come on in and be comfortable.  Sorry to keep you in late."

   "It's all right.  Let's get on with these sketches so I can get home."

   Dana was flustered.  Haste didn't make things easier.  "Sure, set up
over there," she said, pointing to an easel by the wall.

   Matt opened the case, and set the sketches on the easel.  "Now our idea
was ...  " He dove into the plan for the new Mason ad campaign.  But Dana
wasn't listening.  She watched his fluid body move across the room, hanging
up new sketches, pointing, explaining.  She looked for an opening, a hook
to hang an innuendo or a hint on, but nothing came.  She got more and more
uptight.

   "I guess that's about it," said Matt, sitting down.  "What do you
think?"

   Dana was silent.  She didn't know what to think.  Her mind was a blank.

   "It looks fine," she said.

   "Great, then.  Can I go?"

   "No, no," Dana almost shouted.  "I mean, wait, I have something else."

   Matt waited, silent.

   Shaking, confused, not knowing what she was doing, Dana got up and
walked to where Matt was sitting, and kissed him full on the lips.  The
young man sat, shocked, not knowing what to do.  Then, slowly, his lips
parted, and Dana slipped her tongue into his mouth.

   Matt reached up and put his hand on her breast.  As though she had been
touched with an electric prod, Dana pulled back suddenly.  "No, no, wait, I
have to think." She breathed a deep breath.  "No, let me, I mean, here."
She moved back to him and knelt before him, and put her hand on his pants.
He reached up to the button of her blouse.  "No, let's not undress," she
said.  "Here, let me." She reached for the buckle of his belt.

   "Mrs.  Chase, of course you will undress." It was the voice in her ear.
Dana's ears reddened in a blush of fear and humiliation.  "Stand up, Mrs.
Chase.  Now do a nice slow striptease for our boy here."

   Dana did as she was told.  She stood before Matt, whose eyes were
bulging, and with trembling fingers unbuttoned her blouse.  The blouse
slipped from her shoulders, and she reached behind to unsnap her bra. 
"Make it sexy, Mrs.  Chase," came the voice.  She swayed her shoulders
gently.  "Lick your lips.  Slowly."

   After the bra, she unzipped her skirt and let it fall the floor. 
Through her fear and shame, she felt her nipples harden in anticipation,
and felt the juices in her cunt starting to flow.  She pushed her thumbs
into the elastic of her panties, and slowly, slowly, rolled them down her
legs.  Naked, she walked over to Matt and straddled him.

   Both she and Matt were by now racing with sexual tension.  Together, and
a frenzy of excitement, they tore at Matt's belt and zipper and yanked down
his pants.  With a single violent push he thrust his throbbing cock into
her ready cunt.  They humped wildly.  Dana quickly approached a
strangulating height of tension, moments before orgasm.

   "Mrs.  Chase, is this how you cheat on your husband?  Is this how you
whore and shame the man and the children you love?  You are such a slut,
Mrs.  Chase."

   "No, NO NO!  DON'T MAKE ME DO THIS!" screamed Dana, as an earthquake of
orgasm swept over them both.
   And she crumpled in shame.  

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