“So I had this idea. I’m saving for college, and, well, a donation to my college fund would be appreciated. It would be like a raffle. You buy the panties I was wearing last night, and we both come out ahead.”
There was another long silence. Finally, I asked, “How much?”
“Well,” she said, “I don’t want to take too much advantage of the situation. I was thinking, one semester’s tuition. $10,000.”
I almost shit my pants. “What?”
“I should charge you a lot more for the unauthorized photos you took of me. How many did you take, by the way?”
I simply at there with my eyes closed.
“I know you’re going to do real creepy things with those photos, Mr. C. So, I don’t think asking for $10,000 is too much. Especially when you consider that, otherwise…” Until here, her voice had been light, airy. Then, her tone turned downright vicious: “Otherwise, I could ruin your fucking life with what I’ve got on you.” The dark tone continued as she added: “Don’t under estimate me, Mr. Collins. If you think for one minute that I’m bluffing about going to the police, you’ll be very sorry.”
As I looked at her beautiful, young face that was now deadly serious, I knew instinctively that she most certainly was not bluffing. The little bitch had me by the balls, and we both knew it.
“And if you want, I’ll give you a preview of what I would be like on the witness stand at your trial, pointing to you as the man who took me to that cheap motel without the ‘l’ and raped me while I was drugged. I would be crying pretty hard when I did that. Why, you might get forty years!”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “You win. I’ll pay you off. But…but $10,000 is a lot—“
“Bull shit!” she cut me off. “What’s this fucking car worth? And that house of yours. Don’t bull shit me, ten grand is chump change for you. I should be asking for a lot more!”
I shut my eyes again in exasperation. Why, god? I cried to myself. Why couldn’t I have kept my fucking hands to myself last night!
“Look,” she was saying. “I’ve got to be going. I’ll give you four days to get the money together, or I’ll take my panties and the name of that dump of a motel to the cops. Maybe you used an alias when you registered at that shit hole, or paid cash, but I think the cops will be able to trace you to it.”
I was stunned by the trashing I was receiving at the hands of this eighteen year old girl.
“I suppose you’ll want to pay cash so there’s no paper trail,” she went on. “That’ll be fine. One hundred hundred dollar bills. By Wednesday evening.”
“How are you going to account for $10,000 suddenly showing up in your hands?” I asked wearily.
Like a chameleon, the girl’s tone and demeanor switched back from the angry bitch to sweet young girl. In a sly voice that, she replied: “That’s MY problem, Mr. Collins. Now, take me back to that McDonald’s. I really do have homework to do.”
After spending the rest of Saturday kicking myself for having been so reckless the night before, I spent Sunday on-line reviewing my financial portfolios, and decided that taking a $10,000 loan from my 401k account would be my best option. I could repay it over the next twelve months.
By Monday afternoon the money was transferred to my banking account, and on Tuesday morning I withdrew $10,000 in cold, hard cash. What an expensive piece of ass that fucking little cunt had turned out to be! But, I realized gloomily, I was, in fact, very fortunate that she turned out to be the perfect little bitch that would prefer blackmailing me to turning me over to the judicial system.
Tuesday night I dialed her cell phone.
“Hello, Mr. C.” She had noticed my number on her caller ID. Her voice on the other end sounded positively sultry.
“I have your money,” I said dryly.
“Good,” she purred. “Meet me tomorrow. After school. I’ll get off the school bus close to that McDonald’s . That’ll be about 3:30. Wait for me there.”
“And you’ll have…what I’m buying?” I asked.
The girl giggled. “My panties? The one’s with your cum stain on them? Sure, Mr. C. I’ll have them for you.”
There was a pause, then she added: “Look, you won’t have time to take me to the woods and feel me up this time. I’ll have to be home before 4:00 or my mom’ll raise shit. So let’s meet INSIDE the McDonald’s this time. That’s better for the hand off.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not that I don’t trust you, Mr. C, but once I have the money in my hands, and you have…what you’re buying…I don’t want you to be able to take the money back from me. If we’re in a public place where I can scream, I don’t think you’ll try any funny stuff.”
Silently I shook my head. “Right, I said. What a smart little bitch!
Wednesday afternoon I arrived at the McDonald’s parking lot well before 3:30. I had never met a blackmailer before, and was very nervous. At 3:30 there was still no school bus. I must have looked at my watch a dozen times over the next five minutes, and then there the bus was. I watched carefully as half a dozen high school kids piled off the bus. Brittany was the last one. She looked like a swan among crows, dressed stylishly in designer jeans, riding boots and a jacket that I had seen on many women during a trip to Italy several months ago. Her classmates wore sneakers and bulky coasts with professional sports team logos. A handsome book bag—unlike the backpacks that most of her peers used—was slung over a shoulder.
I watched her as she scanned the McDonald’s parking lot and then, once she spotted the Porsche, began walking briskly toward the entrance of the restaurant. Her long hair fairly shone in the late afternoon, late winter sunlight. Her tight jean hugged her fine ass just below the hem of the jacket. She looked absolutely stunning.
When I walked into the restaurant, Brittany had already seated herself in a booth. She watched me and smiled slightly as I walked up to the booth.
I looked around the restaurant. I guess I was looking for surveillance cameras that were recording my rendezvous with this hottie teen. It didn’t matter, really, as long as nothing went wrong. Any tapes would be erased for reuse eventually.
“Shall I order us something?” I asked. I didn’t want any management types noticing people sitting in their booths having not ordered anything.
“I’ll have a Diet Coke”, she said.
After a short time in line at the counter, I brought the girl’s Diet Coke back to the booth, as well as a regular coke for me. The girl was still smiling as I slide into the booth across from her.
“You’re not going to search me this time?” she asked in mock disappointment. When I said nothing, she continued: “I knew it wouldn’t take you long to raise the cash. Let me see it.” She sounded excited. Like a kid at Christmas.
“Where’s mine?” I said.
“Show me yours first.” She giggled. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” she continued in a mocking, sing-song voice, followed by more giggling. There were moments such as this one—though they seemed not to be too frequent—when this girl seemed like she was actually YOUNGER than eighteen.
“I don’t trust you, you little…”
The girl smiled at me. “You’re not the one holding the upper hand here, Mr. C.”
Wishing I could strangle the little bitch, I reached into my inside coat pocket, removed the thick envelop and slid it across the table.
She kept the envelope close to her body as she carefully removed the stack of bills and began counting them. I sat there, humbled, as she quickly flipped through my hard earned bills with the deftness of a casino dealer. I watched her beautiful young lips move slightly as she silently counted bill after bill. What a delicious mouth, I thought, almost in a trance. My mind wandered to the memory of sticking my cum drenched fingers between those lips and wiping them on her warm tongue. My cock stiffened at this thought, despite the pain I was otherwise feeling at watching my money flying away through her speeding fingers.
“One hundred bills,” she announced gleefully when she finished counting. “Perfect.” She took a sip of her Diet Coke and smiled at me.
She then stuck the envelope into her book bag and, at the same time, produced a manila envelope which she placed on the table between us. “What you want is in here,” she said.
I took the manila envelope in my hands. There was something soft inside. I opened it and peaked in. I recognized them immediately: the delicate, pink thong panties that the girl had been wearing Friday night. I wanted to take them out of the envelope and examine them, but realized obviously that I couldn’t do that on the table top of a public restaurant. There were probably already busybodies watching us, wondering what a middle aged man was doing with a teen girl. I was hopeful that they assumed we were father and daughter. Why wouldn’t they? Why was I feeling so guilty? Anyway, pulling out a pair of thong panties for public display would not have been cool. Instead, I put the envelope in my lap, beneath the table top, and removed the contents carefully, keeping them hidden from anyone who might be watching. I glanced at the girl and saw a bemused expression on her pretty face as she sipped her Diet Coke through a straw. I twisted the tiny feminine undergarment around until I found the inside of the crotch. And there it was: a small but telltale sign of dried sperm, as plain as the nose on my face.
I shut my eyes and sighed as I placed the panties back into the envelope and stuck it in my inside coat pocket.
When I at last opened my eyes, the girl was still watching me intently. She had almost finished her drink. “Well,” she said. “I have to go. My mother will be waiting for me. She’s still super pissed about Friday night.”
SHE’s pissed? I thought.
The girl began to slide out of the booth, but then she stopped. “Mr. C?”, she said.
“Yes?”
The girl’s face suddenly seemed to redden slightly. If I hadn’t known better I would have sworn that she was blushing. “If…if you ever want to fuck me with my eyes open, give me a call. I’m only $300 an hour. Much cheaper than what you spent the other night.”
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