Christen slid thankfully into the pool. It had been a long week and she needed the break to just detox and unwind. Junior year of pre-law/political science, head of the student activities budget panel and founder of the student-run soup kitchen looked good on the resume but they really took everything she had to juggle it all.
She wondered if things would be easier, down the line, or just as hard. She had her life all mapped out; from ADA to DA to judge to senator. Who knows, she might even become president some day. She'd just have to figure out that fine balance between femininity and discipline that had finally brought Hillary down. A few tears and she was an emotional wreck but before then she was frigid and inhuman? Fortunately, Christen had a couple of decades to work that part out.
The spot she'd discovered was the perfect place to sooth the tension out of her body. Deep in the forest by the college, there was a Geo-thermal hot-spring. Somehow, a tiny meandering stream had found its way over the small cliff that bordered one side and into the same pool. As a result, one side held the chilled water of the brook while the other steamed from the spring.
Sometimes, Christy would brace herself with a shower from the waterfall and then jump over to the hot side. Other times, she would lounge in the steaming heat and let her troubles boil away. Other times, like today, she would relax on the shelf just inside the pool and enjoy the conflicting temperatures on either side.
Christy's arm dropped from the side of the pool as her hand slipped under the water. The spring wasn't the only thing to provide heat. Although he droned on and on, Professor MacNamera was difficult to watch and not fantasize about. Men who looked that good shouldn't be teachers. Their mere presence distracted female students too much for retention, particularly when the subject was so boring!
If not for the warm spring temperatures, she could have blamed her diamond hard nipples on the weather. As it was, she knew the real problem was how long it had been since she'd been with a guy. A guy who wanted to go into politics could do whatever he wanted in his youth. Bill had inhaled and Dubyah hadn't even bothered to deny his partying. A woman, however, would be instantly labeled promiscuous and hedonistic.
In the absolute solitude of nature, however, she could at least pretend. Her hand slid beneath the water. She didn't imagine anyone specific, as her hand slid across her trim stomach. Better to let the anonymous man of her dreams form into reality. It was his hand that reached up to pluck at her nipple, while the other gently sought access between her tightly closed legs.
Christy relaxed further and spread her legs slightly. The tips of her fingers brushed against the already swollen bud of her clit and elicited a moan of relief. Electricity seemed to jump straight from her groin to her breast in a circuit of pure pleasure.
Her fingers began to flicker back and forth. Sensitivity increased with each twitch. Once fully aroused, she switched tactics and began to press harder. Instead of flicks, her ministrations became a slow massage that pressed her swollen clit and excited the nerves deeper in her core.
Her breath began to catch. She had to fight the instinct to roll her hips into the motion. She wanted the pleasure to build slowly. There never seemed to be enough time to escape out here. She had to make it last. Unfortunately, her body remembered how long it had been just as surely as her mind did and had other ideas.
It seemed like she lost control over her own fingers. Before she knew it, her pace had crept from leisurely to frantic as her hand swirled circles around the base of, and occasionally across, her clit. She tried to slow herself down only to run afoul of a pulse of pleasure that ripped a loud, heartfelt moan from her lips.
Christy leaned her head back. Her body shook with the need so quickly built within her. Somehow, the tempo never faltered. Her own sure hands continued to pluck and grind and build her interest and excitement. The pressure that began between her hips built and spread until it consumed her entire frame. Fire seemed to burn in her veins, unaffected by the misty splash of chilled water from the fall.
Pleasure began to spill over as the first hints of orgasm crashed through her. Without missing a beat, two fingers dove farther between her legs. Her palm continued to caress her flaming mound but it was almost incidental to the joy that her fingers drove deep inside. They fought against the spasming muscles and spread her wide, even as they traced out the most sensitive spots buried within her core.
Fingers might not be as good as the real thing, but they were a decent substitute. Tears sprang to her eyes with the joy of release after too long cooped up by roommates and classes and responsibilities. She allowed her moans free reign to wander the thick forest as she called out her wonder.
Too soon, the sensations began to subside. She could never keep herself going long enough, it seemed. Her hands shook and broke the perfect rhythm. Her muscles went lax and could not drive as hard or as deep. Even her mind became accustomed to the lessening degree of pleasure.
Christy slumped back against the edge of the pool. Her limbs drifted in the water, as boneless as some sort of aquatic plant. Her head lolled lazily against the grass and she stared up at the puffy clouds high above. Eventually, she would have to get back to her programmed future and the stress it entailed. Until the alarm on her watch blared, she could simply relax and let the world drift by, safe in her solitude.
"Fucking bastard asshole of a shithead!"
Christy stared down at the envelope in her hands in disbelief. She knew she could get in trouble if the wrong people heard her talk like that, or worse, recorded it, but it didn't exactly matter to her at that moment. The torrent of curses wanted to stream out of her at an unbelievable rate and only a sheer force of willpower kept it in check.
Classes were over for the day, so she'd decided to hop by the Memorial Union Building to check her mail and grab a bite to eat. Food was now the last thing on her mind. She flipped the manilla envelope over and glared at the neat penmanship that spelled out her name and box number. She had to respect the intelligent mind that produced such diligent letters even if she condemned it to the lowest levels of Hell for all eternity.
Christy clutched the envelope tightly to her breast and scurried out of the way of the other students anxious to check their mail. It didn't take long to find a relatively secluded corner to press herself into. She kept the envelope close to her body as she pulled out the note and accompanying pictures.
The note had been typed. It was probably from one of the computers in the lab. The information on it was sparse and to the point. Meet the mysterious sender at a specific booth in the corner of one of the restaurants on campus that catered to those who preferred to avoid the cafeterias. Just to make sure she complied, there were three accompanying eight-by-ten glossies.
The quality of the pictures was really quite remarkable. If she didn't know better, she would have thought they came from a professional shoot with the photographer only a few feet away. As it was, she hadn't even seen the camera.
The first picture had been taken while she stripped for the pool. Whoever had taken it had gotten lucky. Although the pose screamed of a candid shot, the quality suggested that it had actually been a carefully scripted scene designed to look off-the-cuff. Even the moment she'd been frozen in had that pin-up feel; her pants just below her butt as she bent over to take them off, the cleft of her ass and groin in primary focus but with her breasts clearly visible in soft focus to one side.
There'd been more than one person who'd questioned her desire to get into politics. They'd insisted that she had the looks to model. She'd always assumed they were just out to get in her pants and flattery was the best method available. Unfortunately, the photos in her hand belied that theory.
The next picture had been taken just after the first. As part of her ritual of escapism, she used the waterfall as a quick shower. It helped to relax her, almost as if some ritual of purification and cleansing, before she sank into the pool.
Once more, her back was to the camera. This time, she was completely naked, her firm, round, ass exposed to the world. Her hands were tangled in her hair as she worked the water through it and tried to pick out a knot. The position of her arms allowed a hint of her bare breasts to peek around the sides of her body. The clincher was the way her head was turned. Although her eyes were closed, it gave the impression she played to the camera.
There should have been no question that she was unaware of the photographer in the case of the third picture. No one could possibly believe that she would have allowed herself to have her picture taken while she masturbated. Unfortunately, there were plenty more than enough women out there who did just that. For the right price, or maybe just the cajoling of an especially charismatic artist, some people would do anything.
Ripples in the water prevented a clear image of her hand's actions. Despite that fact, there could be little doubt what the picture portrayed. The blissful expression on her face, the slightly parted lips and round mouth, the way her head lolled back, all spoke of a woman in the middle of orgasm. The fact that her fingers pinched at her large, pert, nipple was almost excessive.
Christy knew what the pictures and note meant. She could not afford to allow them to get out there. Never mind her dream of politics, she'd have difficulties being taken seriously as a lawyer, much less a judge, with these in public. Her rivals would find them and make certain to spread them around, discreetly, in order to discredit her. There was no choice but to see what the photographer wanted.
It was always possible that she'd gotten lucky and managed to pick up her mail just before the appointed time. Unfortunately, she suspected that the person who sent them to her knew her routine well enough to time it properly. Enough time had been built into the window that she wouldn't have had to worry if something had distracted her but otherwise it left her the opportunity to immediately take care of the situation.
No, there was little doubt in Christy's mind that the blackmailer knew her very well indeed. While it was possible that someone had stumbled upon her as she relaxed in supposed solitude, the likelihood that they had quality camera along with them was vanishingly thin. Even if both of those were taken as a coincidence, that same person had to have researched her to find out who she was and where to send the photos.
She suspected that it was a male, though she couldn't absolutely rule out the possibility that it was a woman. Something about the choice of pictures suggested that her voyeur had intimately appreciated the view. Those could have been the best out of a large number of hastily snapped shots but they had been chosen for erotic content as much as artistic quality.
Christy's head swiveled as she walked into the dimly lit basement restaurant. It wasn't all that crowded, yet, which was good. It meant that there weren't very many people around who might accidentally discover the situation. Unfortunately, it was public enough that she couldn't simply murder her tormentor and hide the body. That particular plan might not be terribly practical but it had a certain visceral appeal given her current mood.
As expected, there was a young man at the table specified by the note. The open textbook in front of him and half-eaten burger off to one side suggested that he'd decided to take in a meal while continuing his studies. That certainly would explain why he'd chosen to avoid the cafeteria. They were always noisy, regardless of the time of day.
Christy hadn't decided how she wanted to handle this. She wasn't sure if a particular approach might be more or less likely to get the pictures posted on the web. She wanted to go right up to the table, slam down the envelope, and demand to know what he thought he was doing. If the table had already been occupied when her blackmailer had arrived, however, it might not even be the right person. Then she'd have to figure out a way to explain herself to a stranger without revealing the photos she already had.
In the end, she sidled over to the booth and stood quietly at the end. When it became clear he either wasn't likely to notice her or would continue to pretend not to, she cleared her throat slightly and spoke up. "Do you mind if I sit down?"
His eyes never left the book in front of him. A quiet grunt accompanied the smallest wave of his hand in the direction of the opposite side of the table. She took that to be acquiescence and slid into the booth.
She studied him as intently as he seemed to be engrossed in his book. He seemed vaguely familiar but she couldn't place him. Even on the smallest of college campuses there were always people who you didn't run into. And even the largest of universities had places where all of the students passed through at least a couple of times a week.
He wasn't bad looking. The short-sleeved polo shirt showed arms that were fit, if not overly muscled. He had a strong jaw, smooth even features and bright blue eyes. His short brown hair spiked off at odd angles in a manner that suggested slightly disheveled but not in a disorganized way that automatically suggested mental instability.
In short, he was a man who would look good for the cameras. It was something Christy instinctively noticed. As little as she liked the truth, she had long since begun to judge people by first appearances. Her political career would need to be marked by appearances with her family in order to impress those values on her. The man who stood by her side would need to be photogenic.
His choice of studies was interesting. The textbook seemed to be something from theatrical history. If he was the one who'd taken the photographs, it would make sense. He clearly had plenty of artistic abilities. Though she admitted that he didn't look like most of the art majors. Most gloried in the subcultures. He would look downright conservative mixed in with that crowd.
"I take it you got my message?"
The young man's voice was quiet enough that none beyond the booth would hear but solid enough to exude confidence. Christy envied him that. It spoke of a natural charisma that she had to work to achieve. Not for the first time, she wondered what he could need with the photos.
"I did." Christy replied, setting the envelope on the table.
He finally looked up from the book. After a glance at the envelope, he returned to his book, carefully marked the page he was on then closed it. When his eyes finally came up to meet hers, she felt a spark jolt through her body. If just a look in his eyes caused that, she definitely needed to be jealous of his charisma.
"What do you want?" Christy quickly blurted, uncomfortable with how the strange scene was already headed. "And how can I be sure, if you get it, that the pictures won't get out anyway?"
"I'll answer the second question first." He replied. Even his voice was perfect. The baritone sounds rolled off of his tongue and seemed to nestle within her body in a relaxing massage. If not for the situation, she would have loved to hear him speak for hours.
"They really are works of art. The expression of pure human emotion coupled with the perfection of the human body. They could easily be hung in the finest museums and no one would think twice. No one would dare call them filth or pornographic, despite the erotic content.
"I took the pictures with an old fashioned camera. Loathe as I am to give them up, you'll have the negatives and every copy of the pictures. I haven't scanned them, yet, so you wouldn't need to fear that, should you get them."
"What do you want?" Christy growled. Even the man's charm wasn't enough to remove the edge of anger, frustration and worry from her tone. She could imagine any number of things that he might demand and few of them were good. After all, if his motivation was positive, why would he resort to such underhanded tactics?
"Simple." He immediately replied. "I'd like a date, of sorts. Just the one and afterward, you'll have the envelope with the pictures and the negatives."
Christy didn't bother to ask what the catch was. Her imagination was more than up to the task for that, particularly in light of what he'd already seen. It wasn't often that a voyeur got a chance to actually indulge in his fantasies.
"I imagine you have something specific in mind? That we can't just get this out of the way now?"
The smile he offered her was genuine and friendly. Christy cursed her traitor body. Not only had it gotten her into this mess with its demands but it now responded to the evil bastard on the other side of the table. The warmth that nestled between her legs she could ignore but the way a simple smile caused her heart to flutter was absolutely unacceptable.
"You are correct. I do have something specific in mind." He confirmed. "Besides, we couldn't get it out of the way now since you have a funding committee meeting to attend and I, alas, am otherwise occupied. I can give you a call, later, to fill you in on the specifics, however."
It was clearly a dismissal. Christy angrily scooped up the envelope as she stood up. She would burn them at the first possible chance but until then they weren't leaving her sight. After another brief glare at the handsome young man, she turned to storm off. Her theatrical exit was ruined by his voice.
"Christy." She turned and glared at him once more. "I thought you might like to know, my name is David, by the way."
Christy cursed the blush that crept across her face. She'd never thought to ask. She hadn't even thought he be willing to offer it. He was, after all, exerting criminal influence over her. At the same time, all he'd asked for was a date, even if she was fairly certain it wasn't going to be for dinner and a movie.
She nodded, to show she'd heard and understood, then stormed off. Unconcerned, he'd already returned to his studies.
It was strange. This wasn't even close to what Christy had envisioned when Dave had demanded a date. The obvious expectations had been a quick meeting somewhere, maybe for coffee, and then a return to his apartment. After all, with the photos still in his possession, he didn't exactly need to wine and dine her in order to get anything he wanted.
Once there, she expected to play submissive to him. The kinkiest fetishes had sprung to mind. All the while, she would be demeaned while he used her as his personal slave. Her only real hope had been that she would have been able to convince him to use a condom.
What Christy hadn't expected was a weekend getaway. She'd tried to protest that she was too busy for any such thing but he had insisted. He'd also pointed out that not only was it close enough to the end of the semester that there would be little activity beyond the term-long projects, which he was correctly certain she had already finished.
The clincher was that he had realized how much she needed to get away and rest. She'd found it difficult to believe that she'd have very much of a chance to truly relax, much less rest, during their weekend together. Even if he didn't fill her time with his perverse demands, the constant worry over whether or not he would fulfill his end of the bargain would remain over her head.