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Blackmailing The Queen
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
I-I Blackmailing the Queen I-I
[Chapter 1 - Ann Ascends the Mountain]
Ann Macafee was one of those girls you dream about but never get.
She hung around with the "in" crowd, which was a mixture of atheletes,
college-preps, and the stars of the drama club. You could see them at
every lunch hour, all clustered around the big live-oak in the central
quad, an invisible barrier of distain for all non-members seperating
them from the general rabble. We all hated them. We all wanted to be
them. They were the elite that just naturally floats to the top of
every high school.
Ann Macafee was their Queen. She was the female lead of nearly every
play the school put on. She dated the star of the football team (I
know, that sounds corny, but it was true) and hung around with the
kids-who-are-rich-and-will-be-richer. Her family lived in the
foothills in a house that was just this side of an estate. She had it
all, and she was beautiful.
Her beauty had that casual, effortless look. Her short brown hair,
fine and fresh, framed a face that was almost a perfect match to that
girl whose father owns the hotel in Twin Peaks (I say that now, though
of course back then there was no Twin Peaks). Her body, always clothed
in expensive wools and tweeds, was perfectly proportioned. Her firm
high breasts looked like the models by which all other breasts are
designed. Her round, tight ass gave only slightly when she perched on
a chair. She had straight, dainty posture, and perfectly manicured
hands. She was, in every sense, a perfect little doll. And she knew
it.
Some people can put you down without saying a word - by the way they
look at you, or avoid looking at you; or simply by the way they carry
themselves. Ann was a perfect example. She was better than us, she
seemed to say. She would glide through the halls, aloof and apart, her
face a mask of calm seperateness, until she would spy another of the
elite circle and her expression would break into a smile of pure
warmth.
For most of my junior year I had suffered a devastating and quite
secret crush on Ann. I was not a part of her life, of course. I was
no nerd, but my friends were as I was, a part of the masses. I was a
fairly good-looking young man, well built and handsome, or so I was
told by the girls I dated, but I did not posess that magic glamour that
permitted access to the higher circle. Ann never looked at me, never
met my eyes. We were lab partners in chemistry, and somehow she still
managed to avoid any kind of interaction. The few times I tried to
make a joke or start a conversation, she withered me with total
disinterest. It was horrible.
By my senior year I was pretty much over it, though. I had enjoyed a
pretty successfull summer, sexually speaking, and this had boosted my
confidence to the point that I no longer needed an Ann Macafee. Oh, I
still appreciated her lovely long legs on those days she wore a skirt,
and I still let my eyes roam her breasts when the weather was warm and
she wore thin silk blouses. But my obsession was over.
I thought that she would never enter my world. But everything changed
when I discovered that Ann led a secret life.
It was early in my senior year. I had driven up to the top of Mt.
Ervin, which is a popular make-out spot for the locals. I was
working on a project for my photography class, and had gone up to Ervin
Park to take some long-exposure shots, showing the stars streaking
across the sky over time; a very common thing for amature photographers
to do. I did not want to be seen near the parking lot with a camera,
since that was where the kids parked, and no one would be too happy if
they saw me bopping around with my Nikon. I had taken a few girls there
myself, and I know I would have been pissed.
So I had hiked down the hillside and was approaching a small clearing I
knew of, where I planned to set up the tripod and start the timed
exposures. The spot was quite sheltered from the parking lot and the
road, which was important to me since a passing headlight would ruin my
shot. As I got within earshot of the clearing, I heard voices talking
low.
"Shit" I whispered to myself. Someone was using my spot - I didn't know
anyone else knew about it. I had taken Linda Short there to fuck her,
and had not been worried since I was sure it was a private spot. Now I
knew differently. I crept up quietly and peered from behind a bushy
tree.
It was Ann Macafee, there with Bill Arnold. I was totally shocked; Bill
was known as sort of the school hoodlum. He wore heavy metal T-shirts,
engineer boots, and torn levis pretty much all the time. He was just
the sort the Ann would avoid like disease, yet here she was with him, at
night, and in a very intimate spot.
They were kneeling over something and talking in hushed tones. I could
not tell what they were doing at first, then Bill lit a small candle. I
saw the mirror on the grass, and the razor blade glinting on its
surface. Aha, I thought: Cocaine. Now everything made sense; Ann
liked coke (okey, that was suprising, but not insane) and Bill was
certainly the most likely source for drugs on campus.
I could not make out what they were saying, but Bill's face was full of
mischief. Ann looked very anxious as she stared at the coke he was
forming into a line on the mirror. He did the line, then sat back, his
vial of coke in his hand, and stared at her. Finally, probably out of
frustration, her voice rose to where I could hear it.
"Come on Bob. Lay out a line for me. You said you would." She still
held her usual expression of superiority, but there was a quivver of
desperation in her voice that told me coke was not a casual thing for
her.
"Maybe I will. Wha'cha gonna do for me, Annie?" Bill said, leering at
her.
"Fuck you!" Ann said and looked away.
Bill chuckled. "Yeah, that's pretty much what I had in mind. Pussy for
coke. Not a bad deal, when you consider how much this shit costs. I'll
bet you've got a tight cunt..."
She whirled on him, but her anger caused her to drop her voice into a
hiss and I could not hear what she said. They spoke in low tones for a
while, and it seemed to me that some sort of negotiation was going on.
They came to an agreement, and Ann said "God, you're a shit. Alright,
fine, let's get it over with."
Bill sat back on his elbows and smiled again. "But you have to take it
out." When it looked like she was about to protest, he added "or no
deal, Annie."
"Stop calling me that," she said, trying to remain the Queen. But she
reached out, lowered his zipper, and took out his cock, which was stiff
as a pole.
I could not believe this, even though it was pretty obvious that he
wanted some kind of sex from her. His cock was average in length, but
fat, with a slight bend near the had. It had the vaguely bruised look
that comes from frequent use. She gripped it lightly with her right
hand and began to jerk him off.
Bill moaned, then began to sprinkle some coke on the mirror with one
hand while propping himself with the other. When she leaned forward to
take the mirror, he stopped her.
"This is the worst handjob I've even had, Annie. Either you'd better
get into it, babe, or no snow."
She looked pained and embarrased, but she leaned into her work on his
dick and began stroking with both hands. Bill was obviously enjoying
her attentions, but I could tell by the look on his face that he was not
going to settle for this.
I was incredibly turned on, watching this pristine queen jacking off
the school hood. There she was, expensive knit skirt and cardigan
sweater, on her knees with a bent dick in her hand, stroking it. She'd
obviously given hand before, which did not suprise me - that's probably
all girls like her did.
I smiled to myself when I rememberd my Nikon was hanging around my
neck. Thanking my lucky stars for putting me here with a camera, and
without my noisy autowinder, I began to slowly click off pictures,
pacing myself so as not to run out of film. The candlelight was more
than adequate, since I had brought fast film.
Click - Ann giving Bill a handjob.
Bill stopped her again, and she obviously thought she was going to get
her coke because she looked relieved. But he whispered something and
she stood up, turned her back on him, and angrily stomped away a few
strides.
"Come on, Annie," Bill said, teasing her. "It's fair. Blow for blow.
Coke for cock. Besides, your handjob sucks." He laughed, obviously
amused by his choice of words. "I mean, it doesn't suck. Hey, that's
the problem!"
His glee was disgusting, but I was loving this.
Click - Bill standing with his dick sticking out, Ann turning to look.
"If you think I'm taking that... thing in my mouth, you're crazy." Her
eyes were darting between his hard dick and the coked mirror on the
grass behind him.
Bill's face suddenly dropped into a serious expression. "Wise up Annie.
Nobody has the coke connections I do, and you're in need. Besides, " he
said, narrowing his gaze, "we're alone here. I could lay you down and
fuck your brains out if I wanted to. A little head won't kill you, and
I promise to give you the coke afterwards. I'll leave your pussy alone."
He was stroking his cock with one hand as he spoke, keeping it hard.
Her voice was very shakey now. "Oh, come on Bill..."
"I want to," he interrupted her. "I want to come on. I want to come
on you. Now you can open those sweet lips of yours or we can wrestle
and see who is stronger. I don't mind. Either way, you get your coke
and I get my nut."
His look was deadly and serious. Ann obviously knew she was cornered.
I briefly considered stepping out of the shadows to save her - Bill was
a hood, but I was quite a bit bigger than him. Maybe she'd reward me
for my gallantry. Then I remembered all the withering looks she had
given me over the years...
Click - Ann kneels before Bill.
Click - Ann takes Bill's dick into her mouth.
Bill began to pump his skinny hips almost immediately as Ann took his
obscene dick in and out of her little mouth. She gave the impression of
some experience, though not a lot. She let him slide the bent thing in
and out, covering her teeth with her lips, but I did not see any tongue
action, nor did she move her head laterally at all - these would have
been signs of a good cocksucker. Like Linda Short.
Bill did not seem to care. I clicked off a series of five shots showing
Ann with varying amounts of Bill's dick in her mouth, then he grunted
and hissed. He obviously began to come, for Ann violently pulled his
cock from her mouth and tried to lunge away. Bill grabbed her hair and
held her in place, so that his long streams of sperm landed on her face,
hair, and sweater.
After he had finished coming - which was a subject of two particularly
good photos in my series; Ann with come flying toward her face, Ann with
come hanging off her chin - he chuckled and ler her go. She grabbed
her purse, and stepped off into the bushes, spitting and dabbing her
face with a kleenex.
While she was gone, Bill began to chop up the coke with the razor blade
and draw it into a line. He added a second line, and then a third.
When she returned, he smiled and handed the mirror to her with one hand
and offered his straw with the other.
"Here you go, Annie. Nice job - I gave you some extra lines, you're
such a good little cocksucker."
She glared at him, refusing his straw. She had her own - a sign of a
true cokehead - and she turned her back on him, sat down, and did the
lines.
Click - Ann snorts cocaine while Bill stands behind, shrinking, wet
dick in his hand.
Click - Ann smiles at the mirror, Bill milks his dick behind her head.
Click - Ann snorts another line while Bill drips his last dribbles of
sperm on her hair, she oblivious through her haze of coke.
The deal done, Ann was in a real hurry to get out of there. She was
probably afraid that he'd try to rape her anyway, but Bill was obviously
spent to the point of disinterest. He had retrieved a beer from his
shoulder bag and was taking long pulls at it while he played with
himself. He paid her no attention as she gathered up her stuff.
I suddenly realized that I was standing on the path she was about to
take back. I crouched down quickly in the darkness - she passed by
within two feet of me without noticeing. Her perfume was almost strong
enough to cover the smell of Bill's crotch, though not quite. The
whole scene had given me a raging boner and it was a little
uncomfortable squatting in my tight jeans. As soon as she was out of
sight, I rushed back to my car and headed home.
---to be continued...
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