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This is interest. You will perform work for them, as required by us. If we are feeling generous, we may allow this work to credit against your interest payments or even the principal. Depending on how we feel, we might kill you, or just cut some bits off. A slut doesn't need feet to suck cock, right? We get no value out of seeing your tits and it won't count against your debts; it just amuses us to make you do this.

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She felt both horror and relief. Up until she'd received the email, she'd thought her pleas were futile - that she was inevitably going to be attacked and killed if she couldn't repay the money. This was better - it offered a path out, however dark and horrid. But it truly was horrid. A thousand dollars a week was more than double the rent on their house. Even using all of her salary and Erica's, there would be no money left to eat. And the work - Laura had a horrible feeling the work would be sexual. She couldn't work in a brothel.

She was a lesbian.


She couldn't fuck men at all, let alone for money. Not that she'd be paid any money, it seemed. The last instructions were in some ways the worst, because they were immediate. Laura didn't really have time to think about it - she had to do it now. She had never let a man see her naked in her life - was she really going to send a nude photo to a stranger now? She looked at the picture of the knife again. She knew she was. She knew she was going to do whatever it took to not see that knife up close. Nervously, she jumped out of her chair, and ran to the study door to check it was closed.

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She didn't want Erica seeing her, or asking why she was naked, or why she was taking photos of herself. With the door secured, Laura then quickly wiggled out of her shirt and panties, leaving her totally bare. Picking up her phone, she aimed the camera at her nude body and then, blushing, took a photograph. That done, she immediately pulled her panties back on, sat back down at the computer, and uploaded the nude photo.

The photo looked awful. Her body was still flushed from sex with Erica, with her nipples erect and her hair messy. Her boobs looked huge, which Laura particularly hated. She'd always wished she had smaller breasts, and her DD-cup melons were a constant source of embarrassment. In her mind she associated large breasts with porn stars, sluts and heterosexual sex.

Good lesbians had small breasts, and no amount of logic or positive self-image had helped her stop feeling like a traitor and a slut for having such large tits. Pouting with unhappiness, she attached the photo to an email, and sent it. Then she went to the website she had been given. It was decorated with animated pictures of naked large-breasted women posing, sucking cocks, and being fucked.

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Laura grimaced. She liked looking at naked women, but not at naked women fucking men. There was a large "download" button in the center of the screen, and she hit it. Her virus scanner immediately warned her she was downloading harmful software; she overrode the scanner and told it to download anyway. Shortly after installing the software, her webcam light flicked on, shining a malevolent web. Her computer was transmitting video. Someone, somewhere, was looking at her sitting there bare-chested, her tits on display. She blushed even harder and crossed her arms over her bosom.

A new email arrived. Love those fuckballoons. You are one hot slut. Turn up at the Mayim Research Clinic tomorrow night at 6 pm, and then each weeknight following at the same time. Stay until they send you home and do whatever they say. The Mayim Research Clinic? She thought she knew it - a low-lying modern-looking building near the city center. She had no idea what they did there, but it didn't exactly look like a den of horror. And it certainly wasn't a brothel, so she was relieved, at least a little.

Plus, the news that she wouldn't have to pay this week was great. Maybe this wouldn't be so awful, she thought. Maybe she was just going to end up doing unpaid regular work. She looked at the red light on her webcam, staring down at her tits. She shuddered and turned off her computer. Normally Laura and Erica did everything together - parties, clubbing, shopping, even doctors' appointments. For Laura to be out at night without her lover was unusual to say the least, and for it to come up at short notice was suspicious.

She decided to stick close to the truth. It was a Sunday, the end of the weekend, and Sunday afternoons and evenings were usually reserved for watching television on the couch, a home-cooked dinner, and then passionate lovemaking till they fell asleep. It's a clerical assistant at some kind of research clinic.

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It's night work, which sucks, but I should at least go and interview for it, right? She didn't like the idea of losing her lover to work in the evenings, but the idea of Laura earning a bit more and relying less on Erica's paycheck was attractive. Laura helped her make up her mind by leaning in, kissing Erica on the lips, and starting to gently rub Erica's tits. She knew Erica couldn't think properly when she was horny.

I'll wake you up and then fuck you, if you've fallen asleep.

You'd like that, wouldn't you? And just like that, it was settled. It was built low to the ground, had an attractively landscaped garden, and looked for all the world like a suburban doctor's surgery. At 6 pm it was already getting dark, but the Clinic grounds were well lit. Laura entered through sliding glass doors and was impressed by a relaxing and well-furnished foyer overseen by a pretty female receptionist. Laura told the receptionist she was here for an appointment and hoped that someone knew she was coming.

The receptionist just told her to take a seat and wait.

Laura hadn't known how to dress; she'd settled on a business suit with a short, professional skirt. She'd thought about how her blackmailer had wanted her topless in front of her computer and wondered if maybe he wanted her to wear something slutty.

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  8. On the other hand, he'd been fairly explicit about his other demands, and if he'd wanted Laura to further humiliate herself, surely, he would have said something. She wasn't going to demean herself more than she had to. She had assumed her blackmailer was a male. People who abused women were so often men, right?

    But she supposed it could be a woman. As she thought it, she felt a little glow of warmth between her legs, and blushed. What was that about? Was she getting wet at the thought of being blackmailed and humiliated by a woman?

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    She squeezed her thighs together tightly and tried to think about something else. And she decided she'd call her abuser "he" in future, to stop that thought occurring again.