Hey guys, sorry it's been a while. Life, you know? Anyways, I've been working on this story for a while now and it's a little bit hard to categorize all the parts, but I feel like noncon/ reluctance is best as it is clearly a story of blackmail, and I'll be keeping all the other parts categorized the same, for continuity sake. It evolves into something more, but I don't want to give anything away too fast. It's a three part story, but I've finished all the parts so I'll be uploading one part every day. I know committing to a three part story is asking a lot, but bear with me, hopefully it's worth it, ha. And in any case, this first installment really stands alone as its own story. Anyways, enjoy.
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"God damn it, Roger!" Valerie yelled, hitting all the keys on her laptop as it froze for the fifth time that day.
"What is it, hun?" Roger called back, nonplussed, walking into the room as he buttoned his dress shirt up, barely paying her any attention.
"The stupid laptop you bought me! It froze again. I wish you'd have just bought me an IPad!" She moaned, but Roger merely shrugged.
"So I'll buy you an IPad," he replied flatly, grabbing his tie off of the dresser and wrapping it around his collar.
"Fucking Christ, Roger, I've already got all my favorite websites and logins and passwords on here, it'd take me forever to switch it over!" She fussed, holding the power key down until the laptop's screen turned black.
"So take it to the store and get them to fix it," he told her, grabbing a pair of shoes and lacing them up.
"I don't want to take it to a store!" She snapped. "I just want it to work!"
Roger rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath and staring at his beautiful wife for a moment.
She was barely 24, and they'd been married for a little over two years. She had fiery red hair to match her fiery attitude, big green eyes and an incredibly curvy figure: thin waist, big ass, long milky legs, standing at 5' 8". Her tits had been the size of peaches when they'd met, but Roger had quickly offered to pay for her implants as long as he got to pick the size, and she'd jumped on it, her triple D's bouncing in front of him as she huffed and puffed.
And there Roger sat, almost twice her age, grey and balding, pudgy and disinterested. She was the perfect trophy wife, beautiful in every sense of the word. She looked like Jessica Rabbit or Joan from Mad Men.
"Then take it to the kid down the block, Paul or whatever, his parents told me he's going to school for computer science, he could probably fix it for you. Hell, I bet if you ask real nicely and shake those tits for him, he'll do it for free."
She glared at him, but he just shrugged and grabbed his luggage.
"I'm sorry, Val, I just don't have time for this," he said, putting on his jacket. "I've got a flight to catch, I'll be back in two weeks."
He came up to her and bent down, and she kissed his lips lightly, still pouting as he walked out.
"Love you," he called.
"Love you too," she replied, tossing her laptop on the bed and lying back, sighing deeply.
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Paul Scott was sitting on his bed playing video games when he heard his mother calling him.
"Paul!" She bellowed, and he groaned.
"Hold on!" He yelled back, hoping she'd forget.
"Paul!" She yelled again, this time louder and more insistent.
"Sorry guys, gotta go," he told his friends through his headset, and they all yelled at him for quitting halfway through a campaign.
"Can't help it, my mom's yelling at me." He replied.
"Fuckin' pussy!" One of his friends laughed as he signed off, tossing the headset on his bed before standing up and walking out the door.
Paul had just finished his senior year of high school and was now enjoying his first summer before starting college. He was smart, he'd made good grades all throughout high school, choosing to go to the local community college for his associates before venturing off to a four year. He'd have a full ride, and it would cut down considerably any student loans if he stayed with his parents, who had a little saved up for his college tuition. It was practical, it was frugal, but it wasn't exactly as exciting as some of his classmate's plans.
He could hear his mom talking to someone in the living room as he walked down the stairs, rolling his eyes at whatever company his mother thought worthy enough to interrupt his afternoon. But when he turned the corner, he found himself staring at Valerie Mansfield, Valerie Mansfield, the red headed trophy wife from down the block, Valerie Mansfield, the woman he'd masturbated to the thought of countless times, in a short little tank top and yoga pants, sitting on their couch holding a large bag in her arms, looking over at him, almost angrily.
"Oh, hey," he said, crossing his arms.
"Paul, Valerie's laptop is acting up, would you mind taking a look at it?" his mother asked in that well known voice most mothers have, the tone that lets you know their question isn't a question at all, but a command.
"Oh, yeah, sure," Paul offered, shrugging. "What's wrong with it?"
"Well, it keeps freezing, and it's gotten a lot slower," Valerie replied.
"Yeah, probably just adware and bugs, I'm sure it's nothing really," Paul smiled, walking up to her, her giant tits bouncing as she stood up and handed him the bag.
"Thank you, Paul," she said, and his heart skipped a bit as she said his name. "Do you think it'll take very long?"
"A couple hours, maybe?" Paul shrugged. "I could probably have it back to you by this evening."
"Great! I was getting ready to go to the gym, I'll be back in a couple hours, feel free to drop by whenever it's done," she said, exchanging pleasantries with Paul's mother before walking out. Paul made sure to stick around long enough to see her ass in those yoga pants, and to be sure, he was not disappointed.
"That woman," his mother groaned, rolling her eyes once she was gone. "I'm sorry, Paul."
"Ha, yeah, no worries," he laughed, picking up the bag and taking it upstairs.
As he got to his room he thought about everything he'd heard his mother and father saying about the Mansfields ever since they'd moved in. The women in the neighborhood considered her a trophy wife, a gold digger, and any time they'd invited her over, their judgments had only been solidified by her personality. She was haughty, quarrelsome, quick tempered and brash, and it hadn't taken long before she stopped being invited out to their gatherings.
Mr. Mansfield, on the other hand, was a show off, a braggart who loved to remind people of his yearly income, his jet setting lifestyle. It was well known that he spent most of the year travelling for his job, and that Valerie was his third wife.
It took Paul all of an hour to clean up her hard drive, install an antivirus program and debug everything, but curiosity got the better of him and he quickly started going through her browser history.
Her facebook page was the usual, pictures of her with Mr. Mansfield in various exotic locations, all dressed up, her tits hanging out, and the monotonous list of statuses about going to the gym, pictures of a book and a glass of wine with a caption about how she prefers to spend her afternoons, but very little comments or likes.
Upon digging a little deeper, Paul began to suspect Valerie Mansfield wasn't very popular with anyone.
She didn't have that many friends, only a hundred or two, which could be accounted for by her own choices, but her messages told a different story. There was a long list of conversations she had started, all saying hello, how are you, how have you been, etc, and most of them were completely ignored. The ones that had bothered responding were very short, curt, almost hostile, and they'd engage in small talk, but any time she'd asked to spend time together, to go out for lunch or drinks, she was perpetually turned down, or ignored altogether.
She had a long list of favorite websites, but they were mostly for shopping, dresses and shoes, lingerie, furniture, paintings, you name it, and when Paul checked her email, it was a long list of order confirmations, and little more, besides spam.
He kept going through her folders: cat videos, pinterest, etsy, until he came across one titled "fingernail art" and almost skipped over it, thinking nothing in the world could be less appealing, then out of curiosity went back and opened it up.
His heart practically started thumping right out of his chest as soon as he saw it, it was the biggest list of porn videos he'd ever seen, with the raunchiest titles. "Blond slut gets gangbanged," "Dumb whore slapped around," "Forced to sell her body," "Cock hungry slut covered in cum," and on and on and on, gangbangs, degradation, bondage, prostitution, even blackmail, spitting, gagging, rape, all things Paul had seen before, loved and jerked off to even, but never imagined a girl could enjoy.
"Jesus Christ," he whispered to himself, his breath short, shaking his head. "What the fuck?"
And the list went on and on, it was almost endless. On a lot of the sites she even had her own screen name, and there were comments from her screen name on every video.
"I've cum to this vid so many times it made my pussy sore." "Mmm, wish a bunch of guys would use me like that!" "Look at him fuck her mouth, I'd love a cock that big shoved down my throat," and on and on and on.
Paul groaned, shaking his head. He looked through the rest of her folders but that was it, a secret treasure trove of rough, fucked up porn, and nothing else.
"There has to be something else," he reasoned, looking through every last tab, every last website, but that was it. Then he went through her pictures, her folders, but he couldn't find anything. Her email was a dead end, her documents and pictures were all blanks, there was nothing else to be found.
Paul was about to give up when he started looking through her browser history. It was mostly the shopping websites interspersed with her favorite porn sites, but about a month or two back, he found it.
It was an email account on a separate website from her main email, and she'd logged out and the login was blank but all Paul had to do was press the arrow key down and her email popped up, selecting it brought her password up too. It was all so easy a child could figure it out, and once he logged in, he struck gold.
Paul spent the better part of an hour reading the longest email chain between Valerie and a man named Jason. By the time he'd finished, he felt like he really knew Valerie, really understood her struggles, her pains and heartaches and desires, and if her sad facebook messages were depressing, nothing could prepare him for her and Jason's email exchange.
This is what he learned:
Valerie had grown up a rich, spoiled, neglected brat. Her mother was a socialite alcoholic who constantly berated her, her father worked too much and was rarely around, dying from a heart attack when she was a teenager. She was raised by nannies and sent off to boarding school as soon as she was old enough, never getting much attention from either parent.
