Copyright 2001 by The CityWolf
She had done this a few times before, and she had two sure-thing safeties’ to prevent the unthinkable from actually happening. Thinking about the unthinkable, however, made her hornier than she had ever been before.
She was an investigative reporter for the FOX station in Chicago, but some of her stories had been broadcast nationally across the network. At 32, she was well know in Chicago and had a national reputation. The sky seemed the limit for the young reporter. Her work had been great, but she had made enemies. Her story had busted a big union kickback scandal, sending a few of their leaders to jail. She uncovered a rigged Fraternal Order of Police election. Her stories led to a clampdown on some organized crime related gambling operations. She knew that her relentless fight to get to the top had rubbed a lot of people the wrong way, both at her station and in the news industry in Chicago. All of this just fed into her sexual fantasy.
She had a dark side. She did have occasional dates and sex partners, but she was downright compulsive about masturbating on her own. Maybe she did not want to need a man. Whatever the reason, she had done it as long as she could remember. Any free evening was spend with the shades drawn totally naked and pushing for greater and greater orgasms.
Occasionally, she engaged in self-bondage to get herself off. She did not really want to get caught, but her thoughts when she was naked, bound and helpless brought the greatest climaxes. She would project fantasies in which the most horrible things would happen to her while she was helpless. It never failed.
Needless to say, she did not get to where she was by being careless. She always had a way out and a backup. Her favorite method was some sort of time-released means of escape, most often involving ice and a key. Her backup was usually a means of escape that would be failure-proof but would entail unwanted consequences. This most often employed a bucket of dirty motor oil that she kept in her garage.
Her latest fantasy involved her computer. She had discovered pornography on the Internet. A close second to the bondage porn in helping get her off were the sites in which some poor woman had her pictures posted, usually by some vindictive ex-boyfriend. She wondered how stupid these women could be to pose for a nude picture and then let it out of her hands. Maybe they deserved what they got. She used to think about how mortified they would be to know that their most intimate picture was being posted again and again on the Internet. How their friends and family would see how much of a stupid slut they were. Even worse, how they would know that the people who hate them the most would get copies and do whatever they could to ruin them. A posting on the Internet is forever. Any stooge with a computer could make an exact copy of their picture again and again and again and it would never really go away.
She developed an extensive collection of pornography featuring: herself! Never, however, would she let it out of her grasp. She developed the pictures herself at a local college’s darkroom. She kept the original pictures and negatives in a secret compartment in the floor of her home. She scanned the pictures into the computer, but they were kept in a folder within a folder within a folder in a place and with a name that no one would look and a special security program ensured that even if found that they could not be opened. As she had the pictures snapped by an automatic timer, though, she fanaticized of their being seen by others and falling into the wrong hands. The very thought caused her to shudder, both in her stomach and, more importantly, in her crotch. Actually looking at the scanned photos on her computer caused more of the same. She was very careful, however, that after a “session” that no picture was ever left open on the monitor, on the off chance that she might forget and come home with a friend or someone would be in her house unexpectedly, be it a fireman or a burglar.
She had an array of photos. Almost all were of her totally nude. Totally nude made her feel most vulnerable. She posed for the typical “Playboy” shots. As she went along, that was not enough and “kink” set in. She took a lot of bondage pictures (and amassed a collection of bondage toys). She took some shots of her spreading her vagina and ass cheeks. She had a camera secretly snap a few of her with two different men who she dated. Her favorite of those was one of her totally nude kneeling before one performing oral sex. She thought about what it would be like if others were looking at that picture. She had pictures of herself crawling around nude and standing outside her house at night (where no one could have seen her). She even had a few pictures of her and a dog she was taking care of for a friend. While she never actually did anything with the dog, the pictures looked like she had performed a number of perverse sex acts with him. She also took some pictures with her naked and locked in the dog’s cage and lapping out of his bowl. In all, her collection contained about 150 pictures.
She recently purchased a digital video camera, which she had used only a few times. She did have one 45 minute video of her masturbating and one of a lovemaking session with a one night stand when she was out of town, filled with her performing oral sex, having anal sex, licking his ass and sucking his toes. She saw a great potential for this new toy in her perverse games.
This would be the fifth time she had done this, with refinements each time. The basic idea was that she chained herself up in the room with her computer. If she did not free herself in time, the computer would do its dirty work. What was this “dirty work?” The basic idea was that it would proceed to post things on the Internet as well as email and fax things that would embarrass her. Well, embarrass her like no other human being in history had ever been embarrassed. Hell, it would ruin her.
Each time, she cuffed each of her legs to the pillars on either side of the fireplace and cuffed her hands in front of her. She could sit up and could reach herself to pleasure herself, but her legs were spread too wide to stand up. On the mantle she hung the key to the cuffs, attached to an ice cube. As a fail-safe she also taped the spare key to the bottom of a metal bucket filled with motor oil set across the room. A string attached to the handle was tied to her handcuffs. If for some reason the key on the ice cube did not drop, she could always pull the bucket to her, ruining her $1700 oriental rug, and escape. The situation would have to be dire before she would take that escape route, but at least it was there.
The first time, she started with one picture of herself completely nude sprawled out on her bed. Actually it was pretty tame and to some degree tasteful. It would be posted at a few porno sites and although it was her, she did not attach her name to the photos. She had from 9PM until 12 Midnight before the computer would start. She did not need the time. The key fell in a little more than an hour and she ran to turn off the computer. She had never experienced the earth-shattering climax she gave herself that time. The thought of someone recognizing her was both terrifying and stimulating like she had never experienced.
She could not wait to do it again, but her schedule was crazy and weeks intervened. She did the exact same scenario, but it was different. She still got off, but not as much. She thought about it. It was late at night. She stepped out into her suburban yard and snuck to a dark corner. She began to masturbate and quickly came much closer to her previous experience. As she lie there, it came to her: She needed more risk to get off on! She then realized that she was laying nude in her back yard and scurried into her house.
The next time, again a few weeks later, she started at 10PM rather than 9PM, with the idea being that there was a greater risk that she could not free herself in time. That worked to a degree, but really not much. Back to the drawing board.
Her next adventure took some planning. She had amassed a large collection of her own pornography. She did her research and also amassed a large collection of email addresses and faxes numbers. She had everyone. By everyone, she meant everyone who mattered. Friends, family, colleagues, VIP’s in Chicago. She also had enemies. Colleagues she had stepped on. The union officials and organized crime members whose careers she had ruined (albeit their own fault, at least in her own mind). Old boyfriends she had jilted and old rival females. Everyone you would not want compromising photos of yourself to be distributed to. She also had a list of websites that she would not want pictures of herself posted. Pornographic sites, to be sure, but also legitimate sites and newsgroups relating to Chicago, as well as every major news media. She started at 10PM again and was out in plenty of time, but OH . . . WHAT PLEASURE. As she thought of every person and every picture, what they would think, what they would do, what would happen, she went to heights she never dreamed. She thought of the union guys she had put in jail looking at her pictures, as well as what they would do with them to ruin her. Not just them, but jealous rival newscasters, with real power to make it a national issue. They would laugh at her stupidity. Her dignity would be gone with everyone forever. Each thought was worse than the next . . . and more stimulating.
HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY
Each time she added photos and people. Now it was Valentine’s Day. She was dateless but she did not need a date. It was a bitter cold snowy Chicago night. She turned down the heat a little -- to about 60 degrees -- both to increase the risk and to make her a little uncomfortable, which added to the excitement. She did start at 9PM rather than 10PM though, just in case. She locked herself in and started dreaming. She pictured one union leader looking at her pornographic portfolio and smiling at her humiliation, forwarding her photos to his membership. She could think of an old high school rival getting her revenge and forwarding them to old friends from school. She could think of that reporter she got fired keeping them around and posting them again and again if she ever seemed to just get on with her life. She orgasmed three times. Shortly before the third she heard the key drop (around 11PM). She continued through with her masturbation and then lay there for a few minutes to catch her breath. When she looked for the key, it was not where she expected it to be. She searched around calmly, but then noticed the cat on the other side of the room playing with it. She had tied a feather to the key to make it easier to reach. She screamed at the cat and he ran away out of the room.
She was angry. She now had no choice but to use her safety and pull the string that will knock over the can containing the motor oil onto her prized Oriental rug. She cursed out loud. She still had 45 minutes but no reason to delay. There was no way to get the other key and no way to bring the bucket over without tipping it over.
She tugged on the cord and, as expected, the motor oil spilled out over the rug. The sight of it was another frustration and in frustration she tugged hard on the cord. This had the unintended effect of causing the bucket to roll erratically and it got caught up in the legs of the coffee table. The sight caused her entire body to jolt.
This was perhaps a catastrophic problem. Her situation did not allow much movement or leverage to untangle the cord. She looked at her situation. She was completely naked and chilled. She was somewhat exhausted due to her masturbation. Her legs were spread and cuffed to opposite sides of the fireplace. Her hands were cuffed in front of her holding the cord. She could sit up uncomfortably, but she could not stand or roll over.
She tried to flick the cord to loosen it up from the table legs. That did nothing. The clock kept ticking. She had less than a half hour. She decided to try and gently but firmly pull the cord and see if she could drag the bucket and the table over to her. Her hopes soared as the table inched towards her. She would never do anything this stupid again, she thought. If she could just get out of this mess, she would have learned her lesson.
Her heart dropped as the cord snapped away from the bucket. There was no longer anything erotic about this. Cold fear filled her. She kept thinking about each picture and each person on the list. She kept thinking about everyone seeing her humiliation. She saw her career, the most important thing to her, being ruined. She could never look anyone in the eye again. She was getting sick to her stomach.
She tried to claw at the carpet, but it did not move at all. It could not with her laying on it while she clawed. She screamed and screamed, but in her suburban home with her windows shut and her neighbors windows shut no one could hear her. How could she have been so stupid?
She had a brainstorm with ten minutes to go. She grabbed a fireplace broom and managed to fling it through a window. She thought that her screams could be heard. Not the case, unfortunately for her. She could still not be heard, but it kept getting colder in the house and there was no way to cover her naked and vulnerable body.
It was midnight. She heard an alarm go off on her computer in the other room. She knew that it was over. The computer began its dirty work, ruining her career and taking away her pride with everyone. Her screams turned to bitter tears. She shivered from the cold. The images of her kneeling nude performing fellatio. The pictures of her masturbating. The pictures of her with a dog. The pictures of her spreading her vaginal lips and ass cheeks in an inelegant way for the cameras. Knowing that the people she despised most and who hated her most looking at her naked and humiliating herself. Those same people working to ruin her even more, if that is possible.
Her plan worked exactly as she had planned. Maybe planned is not the word, but it worked as she set it up. When the police came at about noon the next day, she felt frozen and would rather have died. The police were not nice about things, coming in with a crime lab cameraman to photograph the “crime scene” with her still in it. They pieced together the entire scene and confiscated her computer. They made sure that they leaked out the story to the local media, which gleefully made certain that it got national exposure.
From her hospital bed she could not avoid the stares of everyone who walked
into her room. Certainly many people came by than necessary because
they wanted to look at the “sex fiend reporter,” her new nickname in the
media. Anyone who she did not send the pictures to who could hurt
her either had them forwarded to them or just downloaded them from numerous
websites. Her career and life was in a shambles. She contemplated
suicide but never had the nerve. She tried to alter her appearance
and change her name, but wherever she went and whatever she did, in not
too long she was discovered and further humiliated. It never ended.