Angela and the Revenge Porn

She realised hiscock would not stink of piss. Fuck it, she thought. Let's do this and get out of here. "Lie down" she commanded.

She did not take his cock in her mouth again, instead, she jerked him off with her hand, she backed onto him so her pussy and ass hovered over his face.

"Why don't you take off your glasses now" she asked.

Pembroke figured he had enough material. He wanted to really enjoy her pussy with no more encumbrance. He took the glasses off, placed them on the bedside table, and lay back as he watched Angela's divine backside lower herself onto his waiting mouth, her asshole positioned centimeters from his eyes as he drank in her pussy still wet from sex and piss.

Angela tugged furiously until finally, Pembroke came one last time. This time, she did not gobble up the remaining semen. She leaned back and forcefully sat on his face, her ass now covering all his view, while she took another look around the room at her handbag and his glasses on the table.

"Hmmmm" Pembroke suddenly gripped her thighs. He was struggling to breathe. Angela was trying to think straight and almost fell off the bed.

"Sorry, I thought you would suffocate me" replied Pembroke.

"That's OK," replied Angela, she got herself off the bed and stood awkwardly. Something was not right. She suddenly wanted to leave as soon as possible, she did not feel right. Was it all the alcohol?

"I guess we are finished?" said Pembroke. He grabbed the glasses and put them back on. He sensed unease in Angela, and while even after cumming for the fourth time he still could admire her taut naked body, he sensed it would be good if she just left now.

"Yes, that is time, I'm afraid" Angela laughed. She turned and went to gather her things.

"Why don't you leave first?" Pembroke had the room booked for hours more, unknown to Angela, but he really wanted her out. He needed to get the cameras stopped and taken out and suddenly grew self-conscious about his glasses. "But...." He could not help himself "Can I... can I keep those red knickers, please? I can pay extra... cash..."

Angela suddenly laughed. This was ridiculous. "How much? A hundred pounds?"

"Yes" beamed Pembroke.

Angela suddenly regretted not asking for more. "Actually these cost me fifty pounds with the bra," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"OK, a hundred and fifty!"

Angela laughed again. "OK," she fished her knickers from the ground and threw them at him. He was a weird man. This whole thing was just weird. Her urge to investigate had suddenly changed to an urge to get away from him as soon as possible. She pulled on the pencil skirt, how with nothing on underneath. She pulled on her bra...

"Err... the bra too please..." asked Pembroke.

"OK..." Angela said, this time not laughing. She had a white blouse but the black jacket covered her nipples just as they covered her red bra earlier. She wondered what more weird requests would come. A lock of her hair? She gathered her things and looked under the bed and could not find any belongings.

"OK, well.... I guess I'm off..." Angela thought about how to say goodbye. Would she want to do this again? With him?

"OK..well thank you so much" Pembroke smiled at her. He looked ridiculous holding out one hundred and fifty pounds in cash, naked, in nothing but high-tech glasses.

Angela took the money and took one last look at Pembroke. He was not shy now, nor nervous. He looked very different from the clothed nervous geek she had met in the lobby hours earlier. His cock was growing hard... again. Well, she had done enough...

"Well, Alan, it was nice meeting you!" She air-kissed him and walked out the door. She marched down the hallways and passed the same girl on the way out. She tried to avoid her eyes. She walked out into the darkness and felt the cold air up her skirt and into her bare wet pussy.

She stopped at a bar near the tube station on Liverpool Street. She had plenty of cash on her in addition to the thousand pounds she would soon see in her bank account. She ordered a double vodka and martini and gulped it down.

She suddenly felt men's eyes on her. She felt sticky all over, sweat, cum, piss, saliva, Pembroke's hands had touched every inch of her. She suddenly smelt his aroma on her.

One guy approached her, she clutched her jacket together across her chest, not wanting to show her braless chest through the fabric. "Hi love, what's a nice girl doing here? I want to spend my bonus on you" a young blonde man in a suit brayed at her. Angela suddenly felt disgusted. She was not used to being approached like this. Then again she was rarely on her own in bars, she was usually on a date, or with good friends celebrating.

Angela saw another side to life in the leering eyes of the oaf leering at her. She gulped down her drink and left. The man tried to follow her, and grabbed her ass "Don't walk away from me yet love.."

"Fuck off" shouted Angela as she turned around her jacket came open, and the man had a good look at her rock-hard nipples against the spring cold. "Fuck you, you whore" he shouted and went back to his friends.

She suddenly felt very drunk. She grabbed a McDonalds, trying to avoid the eyes of what she believed was everyone in the packed interior, then munched on a Big Mac while scurrying to the tube. She went straight home and tried to sneak into her room without arousing her flatmates.

Teresa, her Russian flatmate, saw her and was surprised to see her worse for wear. She had never seen her drunk before. "Hi Teresa, sorry, had a date with Peter, we had a bit of an argument haha" muttered Angela. "Oh tell me," said Teresa, she was genuinely concerned, though secretly she would love to have Peter to herself, and wondered if she could turn this to her advantage.

"Oh, it's nothing... I'm sure we will work it out... sorry I just need some time in my room... sorry..." she grabbed a glass of water and went into her room.

That night, she scrubbed herself clean in the shower for half an hour, and lay in bed, unable to sleep. She just thought about Pembroke, that weird man in his robot glasses. She got a text from Fatima. She was able to check her bank account and saw that the money had gone into her account.

"Thanks for everything, Fatima. I got the money. I am afraid I did not enjoy this evening, I don't think I am cut out for this. I think I need a break but thank you."

Fatima was disappointed but understood. The girl was just too good-hearted to make it as a hooker she smiled to herself.

Chapter 7

Pembroke quickly got dressed. He turned his glasses off, put them in his case, and put his proper glasses back on. He felt much less self-conscious now. She quickly took down all the cameras. He feared what would happen if the girl thought of returning to the room or if anyone else would come in, in her absence, to confront him or to rob him. He made sure he had every single camera accounted for, took all his things, into a backpack, and marched out of the room. Outside in the air, he relaxed and went out to a bar. He had a quiet drink to himself, eyeing up some lovely young things in the corner while thinking back to his encounter with the beautiful Sara.

He carefully took her knickers out of his bag, and sniffed them, making sure no one in the packed pub had noticed. He would love to try and see her again, he thought. The money had been worth it. This has been one of the best nights of his life.

He got home very late. His mother awoke and shouted at him. He helped her to the bathroom, then went to bed, sniffing the girl's knickers again, and smelling her perfume on him. "You've been with a prostitute haven't you!" shouted his mother, having smelled him. He didn't care, he did not want to lose her scent, not yet. "Can't get yourself a girlfriend, can you? You pathetic boy!" He ignored her and drifted off to sleep.

Over the next few weeks, Edward Pembroke worked during the day and edited the footage of his meeting with Angela at night. He had, combined, eighteen hours of footage. He had his own version with him in it. He marvelled at the sight of her kissing him, her implausibly beautiful body, and her enthusiasm in kissing him.

He contacted the escort agency and asked to see her again. But he was told she was no longer working and had no contact details. He did not find any clues from what he had seen in her handbag as to who she was. Maybe she was just a tourist. An angel who had visited him once and that was it.

Meanwhile, Angela took some time to recover. She struggled to teach the next day, hungover. She also discovered some love bites on her buttocks and so had to postpone her meetings with Peter. She grew more and more disappointed in herself and felt she had changed. There was something in her that had died, some spirit of optimism. She looked at men a different way. She could not explain it, but men seemed to stare at her in a way they had not before. She had always got attention, but it was like they now saw her more sexually. She found it more difficult to smile and when she did, she was disturbed by the glances she got back.

She threw herself into her work and studies. It was a week after seeing Pembroke that she saw Peter again. The sex was wild, and afterward, she felt partly cleansed.

The money, on the other hand, had been a boon. Daniel arrived in London and they had a great time together. After he had left, she told herself that she could make it without any more escort work. She did not need much money anyway.

The summer came, and exams came and went. Angela went back to Spain to see her family and wondered about her next moves. Her masters would finish next year and then she could apply to be a full-time academic in education or she could take up a lucrative job offer in finance. She was also interested in posts at the UN.

Her pupils' exam results came out and were excellent. Despite being in a deprived area, the results attracted nationwide attention. The Guardian newspaper and the Daily Mail both wrote stories about the school.

The school management was in no doubt as to who would be best to the best figurehead for the school. Angela was requested to meet the journalists. As a beautiful young woman, she got full attention and centre spread as pupils parents, and staff praised her.

Angela was delighted. This would help her application to the UN no end. Other outlets approached her for her to write for them on education. Suddenly the world was opening up for her. No one was surprised, the beautiful talented, and industrious Angela Candelema was always going to be someone.

Unfortunately for her, Edward Pembroke read the papers himself. He at first did not recognise her when he saw the story of her school in the Evening Standard. It was only later the same evening when he saw her again in the Daily Mail that he recognised the sweet pearly smile and shining eyes under the wavy hair.

Pembroke could not believe it. His prostitute was a talented, famous, educator. Only twenty-three! Without knowing who she was, he had not shared the footage of her. He had several versions. He had a lot of perfect stills, showing her fully nude, including her face and genitalia all in one picture. He had a well-edited two-hour movie with his face completely blocked out, with six different camera angles.

He withheld from sharing it. She had been kind and loving. But also, he wondered whether he could leverage it against her. Would she really be amenable to blackmail? How risky would that be?

He checked back on the Pinkmeth site. He was pleased to see it was still going. Six new girls this week, six new lives ruined and changed forever!

Every once in a while Pembroke liked to go through the back catalog of girls. He checked on girl, Sarah Goetz, whose details had been uploaded eighteen months earlier. It amazed him that in eighteen months, the desperate girl had obviously not been able to get her details off the site or cleanse herself from the internet.

She had made some attempts. There had been angry comments from friends demanding she be taken off, and some pleading ones. On Google, the first results of her name search had brought up her naked photos. Now, they brought up unrelated entries relating to her, in an attempt to drown out the noise.

Pembroke had her details saved on his computer and uploaded some more copies of her photos and videos. He also tried to find out where she was now and managed to trace her to a company in Tampa Florida. He marvelled that she had moved from Milwaukee since first being exposed.

One thing the Pinkmeth community prided themselves on was keeping tabs on girls. They liked to bast that once exposed the girls could never hide. They would be remembered by an online tribe they would never meet who would search for them in two, or four years, and expose them all over again, for no gain other than their own perverted pleasure in her misery. Some girls had even changed names but been tracked by the group and the members had emailed their new friends and co-workers about their existing footage. It turned the community on to know that once exposed, every girl would know this would stay with them forever and that their grandchildren would see the footage.

Despite having a perfect victim at his fingertips, Pembroke held off. The passage of time would prevent the trail leading back to him. He had not booked the girl he now knew as Angela in his own name or with a traceable account, nor the hotel room. He had paid for her knickers and the hotel lobby drinks in cash.

Uploading the footage without her consent would not be a crime, though the secret recording was. But how could Angela track him down? He was a private man, he had no social media, and though had a vital well paid job he was not on any business websites. He would look different without his tech glasses. He lived far from her school. Perhaps he should wait until she left the country?

In the meantime, Pembroke tracked her down and saw her a few times. He followed her on a bus, at a school hockey match, and even out with drinks with friends. In disguise, he even got close enough behind her to film up her skirt, then film the rest of her, and added it to his collage of her.

Angela continued to teach but was confident by the end of the year she would be working in international education with the UN. Not bad. Her boyfriend Peter was crazy about her though she wondered whether she should settle down so early.

Pembroke gathered every last bit of personal information on her as he could. He got contact details for her extended family, her community back in Barcelona, her old school, and her old school pupils. He recorded every LinkedIn connection, every Facebook friend, the parents of the school, and several school pupils' information. He also recorded information and contact details for all her extra curricular activities as well as numerous UN staff. He noted she would soon be working there from her social media posts.

Chapter 8

Pembroke continued to prevaricate. He mentioned on the Pinkmeth forum that he had great footage on a gorgeous girl but was afraid to post it, and others urged him on. He received tips on how to make sure footage was untraceable. Some over excited Pinkmeth users had unfortunately uploaded screenshots which actually were traceable to the IPs where they had taken them, for example.

What pushed him over the edge, was a night out in December, some eight months after he had met Angela. It was Christmas party season and he had spent the evening drinking. He had long since found out where Angela lived, and made his way there. There was a pub nearby, and he sat in it while wondering what to do. He had nothing going on in his life. Aimlessly stalking a beautiful young woman was not, for him, a waste of time.

In the pub were a gaggle of young girls in ridiculously short skirts. Pembroke almost absent mindedly began to turn his camera on in his shoe. He had done it so often, he was complacent, and had been drinking.

He stood behind the girls at the bar, and stuck his foot under their legs. He meanwhile started lecherously sly at their asses.

"What the fuck are you looking at you old pervert!" One girl shouted at him. "Not...nothing.... " said Pembroke. He was panicking. Staring at their asses was legal. Filming them was not. He did not want them to see the camera in his shoe.

"You just here by yourself looking at young girls... got a fucking paedo here!" shouted a girl.

Suddenly the bar went quiet. Pembroke stuttered... "I wasn't doing anything!" He suddenly thought of his phone. It had plenty of incriminating videos of upskirts of girls knickers taken that very evening.

One girl suddenly threw a pint of beer all over him. "Get the fuck away from us you creep" This saved him; it gave him an excuse to get away. He had copious evidence on him that could put him in prison let alone what a review of his hard drive would do.

"I've been assaulted!" he cried. Meanwhile he made his way outside. He scurried away out of the pub. He was soaked in beer. He quickly bent down and disabled his shoe camera. He then marched off to the tube station. "Let's get home and out of here!" he thought.

Suddenly, he noticed another group of girls walking towards him. He saw them look at him in disgust. He must have looked a sight, soaking wet shirt and coat, drunk, and looking very suspicious all by himself. They girls looked like supermodels, and on the right of them was none other than Angela Candelema.

Pembroke had no time to brace himself. As soon as he saw Angela, he clocked eyes on her, and she on him. Angela had just been celebrating. She had been offered the UN job. She felt elevated and so happy. She had spent the early evening in the company of so many distinguished people and felt a bit grubby having to go back to east London through so many drunken people.

Suddenly she recognised "Alan" the client she had slept with. Deep within her, a wave of revulsion, and a deep feminine sense of intuition hit her. This man was danger. The fact he was here now, was not coincidence. She did not want to say anything in front of her flatmates however. But her stare into Pembroke's eyes confirmed to him something. She hated him. She hated that she had slept with him. It was a look of fear, disgust and regret. A wish that he would just disappear from her memory and be scrubbed from her life.

"Euuugh" what a disgusting creep, he heard one of the girls say and heard them all giggling. He looked around and caught another glimpse of Angela staring back at him. The look he remembered, of feminine maternal kindness, was gone. Instead, her face was screwed up, and he felt fear that she would do something to him.

He paced away. So she was just like other women, he laughed to himself. Oh well... He got the train back to his house and listened to his mother bleat on for an hour about her health and how terrible a he was as a son.

He poured himself more whiskey, and rather than stand up to his mother, he shut himself in his room. He gathered all the best stills of Angela, of her naked, playing with herself, her pussy, asshole tits all exposed, her face smiling, and put them in one folder. In the other he put three different MPs. One was a one minute video of her sucking his cock from one angle. Another was of her playing with herself, from three different angles, for two minutes. Then the other was an hour and a half long edition. He had others he intended to touch u and use later. Another folder held all her contact information and all relevant others, the UN, school, Spain, friends family social media etc. He went onto the dark web, paused for a second, and emailed everything with a message written out requesting for her profile to be put online.

He went on the forum, and posted about how he was finally going to put "his girl" on. He got some congratulations from online buddies, then drank more while watching more porn and listening to music before passing out.