Sailor Moon Ch. 02

The alarm had been buzzing for a solid two minutes when a bleary-eyed Scott finally rolled over and slammed his hand down on the offending device.

The harsh noise ceased immediately, and Scott groaned as he rolled back again and cautiously stared at the ceiling.

It was still dark in his bedroom, although a single beam of light cut through a tiny gap in his curtains, and betrayed the fact that the sun was well and truly up already, even if Scott was still firmly ensconced under his covers.

He weighed up his options. Stay in bed a little longer and enjoy a lazy Saturday morning in bed, or crawl out of bed and face whatever the world had to throw at him today. Normally that would have been an easy choice, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark room, he could make out the silhouette of the computer in the corner. He eyed it suspiciously for a moment, and then took in a deep breath.

It had been two weeks since the encounter at the warehouse and there had been no word from the stranger. When he slept, his dreams were occasionally invaded by memories of that time a fortnight ago when he'd stood in the warehouse in that silly sissy outfit and been at the mercy of the man with the camera. The man who had made him masturbate in front of him, in front of a device that could have captured the act, an act made all the more worse for the fact that Scott had been dressed as a very feminine anime character at the time. Scott closed his eyes again and tried to focus on something else. Anything else.

Two weeks without any email from the stranger. As he'd left the warehouse, Scott had vowed to never send him an email either, but he'd lasted all of three days before late one night he'd broken down and fired off a message. Had the camera recorded, or had he finished in time before the camera had started to film? The man had refused to tell him at the time, promising only to possibly tell him next time. Scott swung wildly from never ever wanting there to be a "next time" to being unable to stop his imagination from considering the question: "what would a next time entail?" His imagination had come up with some possibilities that had left Scott's mouth dry, his heart racing, and his eyes wide open.

So Scott had emailed the stranger, asking about the video, clarifying that what had happened was certainly beyond what Scott had expected would happen when he showed up, and reinforcing the point yet again that Scott's fantasies were about being controlled by women, not men. There had been no response at all.

Not even work had been a respite, as it had been quiet with no major accounts to focus on, and that had given Scott's mind far too much time to wander and consider all the possible futures he may have landed himself in. Still, as two weeks had now passed by and he'd heard nothing, he was beginning to wonder if his encounter at the warehouse might be the first and final chapter in an embarrassing story that would never have to be told to anyone. He hadn't even properly masturbated for two weeks - every time he went to stroke one off in bed he couldn't help but remember standing the warehouse, facing the camera, furiously trying to jerk off in front of the stranger before the camera started to record.

He hauled himself up on to his elbows and looked again at the computer. The single beam of light coming through the curtains was slowly arcing around the room as the sun continued it's journey across the sky. In half an hour's time, the single beam would be dancing across the computer's keyboard, and Scott couldn't help but draw a comparison to the finger of God pointing accusingly at some great secret.

Scott grunted and shook his head. He was being ridiculous. He'd been checking his email several times a day for the past ten days, even though every time he checked it he swore that he'd ignore his email from there on in. Stretching, he tried to remember what he'd been telling himself for the past week at least - if the man tried to get him to do more stuff based on the photos he already had, Scott would merely protest that they were photoshopped. 'Deep-faked', wasn't that a thing now? Yeah, Scott thought, he could claim they were deep-faked.

He swung his legs out from under the sheets, and slowly stood up, Then, with as much resolve and determination as he could muster, he decided it was time to tell the stranger that this was officially over. Maybe he hadn't been firm enough in his first email. Scott nodded to himself, as if agreeing with himself would somehow make the future easier. He didn't even bother to dress and sat down at his desk naked but with a renewed sense of purpose. Logging in, he brought up his webmail and was about to hit "compose new email" when he stopped breathing for a moment.

There was a response from the stranger.

Scott froze on the spot, and when he finally started breathing again, he found that his mouse cursor was lingering over the subject line of the email, waiting to open it. Waiting to see what the contents would say.

Blinking several times, he tried pressing the mouse button a couple of times, but it was only after a minute or so of staring at the screen in a trance that he realised he'd only been imagining pressing the button and that his muscles weren't responding.

Shaking his head to try and clear the fog from his brain, he finally managed to get enough control over himself to shakily click the button, and a split second later the web browser was displaying a simple three line message and two links.

He had to re-start reading the message several times before he made it all the way through, and when he did he rapidly clicked the two links - not even thinking about security or what he might reveal by clicking on them.

"You will come to the location on the map linked below at 9am on Sunday morning dressed in your outfit. You will find a lock box on a table at the location where you will find further instructions. If you do not come, you will never get another email from me ever again."

Scott's mind raced as he considered what he might do, and the first link in the message took him to a Google Maps page that was for a rest area off a state highway heading north out of the city. It would be around a 45 minute drive, and was beyond the last main suburb, on the outskirts of the wooded and rolling countryside that carried on to the nearest neighbouring town.

Scott took some deep breathes in and his hands were shaking as he considered what the man was saying. "Turn up, or I'll never email you again." Didn't he _want_ the man to never email him again? Hadn't Scott been telling himself that for the past two weeks?

The second link wasn't to Google Maps, but rather instead to a file in a Google Drive folder. Clicking on the link with trepidation, he wondered if it was instructions to an outfit he had to wear, or on something he had to do before Sunday morning. He groaned as he realised what it was instead.

As the video file started to play in the web browser's video plugin, Scott came face to face with the imagery of a man who looked like his identical twin, dressed up in a ridiculous Sailor Moon outfit minus the skirt, with his cock hanging out of silly pink feminine panties and his hand rapidly trying to get his manhood to cum. The face of the man in the video suddenly lost control, and he saw the man grunting and gasping, his expression twisted into one of abandon, as he began to ejaculate. As he did, the audio in the video suddenly cut through the still quiet air of the bedroom.

"I... like men looking at my cock. I... have a tiny penis!"

The man looked like Scott, sounded like Scott, and as Scott looked on helplessly, he heard an uncertain voice with an undercurrent of fear say "Did... did it... did it record?" As the camera spun away. The video began to loop again, and it was only on the third run through that Scott gathered his wits enough to hit pause and push his chair away.

"Holy shit." he thought, shaking his head slowly. Watching the video made him relive the experience all over again, but actually seeing himself now intensified the emotions by an order of magnitude. So that was how he looked. Wow.

If the man decided to release that, he could claim it was a deep-fake. He didn't even know if the man would release it if he didn't comply. Maybe he wouldn't. Blackmail was a crime after all. Still. For all his protestations that it was a deep fake, even if his friends believed him on a conscious level, would they be able to look at him the same way again? After watching that?

Was the video a warning, or a reminder, or both?

Was it worse that Scott was worried that the man had the video, or that Scott was reliving that moment of being controlled and - on some unexplored level of his psyche - had found his body betraying him and actually enjoying it?

Scott tried to stand up, but his legs were weak, and when he looked to his left and caught his reflection in the mirror on the wall, even in the dim light of the bedroom he could see the haunted expression on his face. He had an exceptionally big decision to make tomorrow.

****

The sun shone overhead with only a few clouds for competition as Scott pulled into the rest area off the state highway and carefully parked his car behind some trees. The rest area was a simple gravel road that arced through some trees, up a gentle sloping hill next to the main road and then briefly expanded into a large circular open area at the top with a couple of picnic tables, before then continuing on back down the hill through the trees to rejoin the main road again.

There had been only a few other cars on the road, and traffic was still light. Most people were either at home recovering from a late Saturday night, at Church, or dealing with family needs. Not Scott though. He'd had a rough night's sleep despite having gone to bed early, and right now he was hoping that if indeed there was a God, then they had better things to do right now than peer down at this particular rest stop and take an interest in what was about to unfold.

Scott was once again dressed as Sailor Moon. Much like his first drive in the outfit, he'd deliberately driven slow enough not to attract the interest of local law enforcement, and fast enough that he sincerely hoped oncoming drivers didn't have enough time to register what they were seeing coming towards them.

He shivered as he cautiously hopped out of the car even though it was warm outside, looking both ways several times before leaving the relative safety of his vehicle. There were no other cars parked up, no sign of any other people using the rest stop, and the trees provided some welcome cover from those he could hear passing nearby on their way to and from the city.

After stealing one more look down the entrance he had just come in on off the main road - half expecting to be joined at any moment by a random driver wanting a break - he finally tore his eyes away and looked up at the area where two picnic tables and benches were perched on the ankle high grass. As he squinted at the tables, he realised that there was a small box on one of the tables. His mouth went dry again, and he knew he was only seconds away from something irreversible.

The red medium-heeled knee-high boots he wore were not necessarily the most ridiculous thing he was wearing - the big red bow that adorned his tight feminine white blouse was also a contender for that particular prize - but they were certainly the most uncomfortable as he walked gingerly up to the picnic table, every step away from his car causing him to flinch slightly. The leaves crunched under his heels as he tottered onwards. This was only his second time in heels and he was rapidly gaining a new found appreciation for what women had to put up with every day, and these were only medium-heels! The material of the boot was tight around his calves and he knew that if someone chose to drive up right now, there was no way he'd either be able to run for cover over the slightly uneven gravel path, or even get the boots off quickly. No, he'd be stuck standing stock still like a sissy boy while whoever might drive up got a full unimpeded view of his complete and total embarrassment.

Armed with that certain knowledge, Scott pushed on, knowing that simply standing still was not an option open to him right now. The box on the wooden weathered picnic table was small, metal, and had a simple hasp and staple fastening that had a key-padlock hanging unlocked on the hasp. The ankle high grass was populated with small rocks, so Scott alternated his attention between eyeing the box suspiciously and gingerly checking the ground ahead so he didn't roll an ankle. Calling for medical assistance while dressed as Sailor Moon by the side of a state highway was not high on his bucket list.

Scott instinctively knew the purpose of the lockbox. It would be as much for him to put stuff into than it would be for him to retrieve stuff from. His keys. His wallet. His phone. The things that gave him some independence, some measure of control, some measure of safety. He knew he'd be asked to put all of them - all of his safety nets - in the box and lock it. At that point, he'd be at the mercy of the stranger.

Scott sighed again. Why did it have to be a guy, and why was he even considering going through with this? It would be so much easier if it was a hot woman with a kinky control fetish. He stumbled on, and now arrived at the box having mercifully not been seen by anyone so far.

The box opened easily and the hinge creaked slightly as Scott peered in. He looked around a little guilty as the creaking sound cut through the morning air, as if the noise would somehow attract a flurry of curious attention. Scott shook his head. He was being absolutely ridiculous. Well, the outfit was the primary guarantee of that of course - but jumping at every noise was a close second too. Still, when you're dressed outdoors like a sissy boy, every second of your life was an opportunity for your life to take a sudden detour into humiliation...

Inside there was a paper note sitting on top of a small package in an opaque plastic bag. Scott eyed them both suspiciously, but picked up the note and hurriedly opened it.

He sucked in his breath as he read it and cast another nervous look up and down the rest area. Well, this wasn't what he'd expected, if indeed his current predicament was in any way predictable.

The note was straight to the point and didn't mince words. "Take off your outfit and put it in the box. Your new outfit is in the package. Only when you are naked will you look at your new outfit and put it on. You will keep your boots as well. You will put your keys, wallet and phone in the box. You will lock the box. You will go to a small path ten metres from the picnic table that leads into the woods. You will follow it until you find the handcuff connected to the tree. You will handcuff yourself to the tree and wait."

Strip naked. In the open. Scott's teeth chattered nervously. He could just walk away, go back to his car, drive off. Forget about the stranger, and live with whatever consequences came if he decided to publish the photos, the video and the audio. He could deny it was him. Who knew, maybe it would never be published anyway.

And yet, Scott didn't move. He simply held the note in his trembling hands, cast another furtive look around him, and then fumbled at his frilly Sailor Moon skirt. Time seemed to slow down as he felt the skirt slip down over his knee-high boots to his ankles. So he was really going to do this, he thought. He grabbed the red bow on his chest and it took several goes to unhook it and take it off, while he felt his mind almost detach from his body and float above him, dispassionately observing the strange sight of a man stripping out of a Sailor Moon outfit in a public rest area.

The sound of a car horn blaring brought Scott back into his body, and he let out an involuntary high-pitched shriek and instinctively clasped his hands to the front of his girly feminine panties, twisting his legs and body to try and shield himself from the impeding embarrassment.

As he desperately looked around though, he realise the car horn had been out on the main road, still mercifully out of sight behind the trees. He stood there, shrunken and with his hands clasped protectively in front of his crotch, trying to slow down his rapid shallow breathing as he grasped as some semblance of self-control. Finally, he sighed, and started to work again on the outfit. The white blouse had no buttons, and it was a struggle to get it over his head, but he yanked at it several times and finally managed to pull it off. For a moment, his eyes and ears had been obscured by the material as it had caught on his neck, and he'd felt sure that as he pulled it off, he'd find himself staring at an oncoming car and a shocked driver. Thankfully, as the blouse finally came free and he tossed it into the lock box, he was still all alone.

Now, he stood only in his knee high red boots, white thigh-high stockings and his panties, which were bright pink and with ruffles that left no doubt whatsoever about the gender they'd been intended for.

Shivering, Scott hesitated for a moment before chastising himself. If he was going to do this, then pausing wasn't going to help. He was now too committed to stripping and if anyone came by now, it would be one of the greatest humiliations of his life, perhaps even more so than the incident with the worker back at the warehouse only a fortnight ago. Urging himself on, Scott fumbled at the boots and struggled to get them off. He'd need to remove his stockings, and there was no way in hell he was removing his panties until the very end. They may have been pink and ruffled, but even that would have been infinitesimally better being caught completely naked. The former would be truely humiliating, the latter potentially worthy of arrest.

The first boot came off and Scott grunted as he dropped it to the ground. Sitting down on the picnic bench, he tugged at the second one and tried to twist his ankle so that it came off more easily. He was so lost in the act of trying to wriggle the knee high boot off that it wasn't until the front of the car hovered into his peripheral view that he realised that for the past few seconds he'd been hearing the sound of tyres crunching over the gravel road.

Scott froze. Going bright red, he tried to keep his eyes down as the car cruised by at a slow speed. His subconscious couldn't resist though, and even as he willed the ground around him to open up and swallow him whole, his face slowly arced up and he locked eyes with a shocked woman in the driver's seat who had lost complete focus on where she was driving and was now staring open-mouthed at the bizarrely dressed man on the picnic bench.

Scott's mouth went dry, and his heart-rate jumped from normal to a full-blown mad sprint. The car continued to cruise by, and he could sense the woman taking in every inch of his humiliation, disbelieving of what she was seeing. The pink ruffled panties, the white stockings and the single red knee-high boot whose colour perfectly matched his face. One hand flew down to his panties again and one arm wrapped across his bare naked chest, as if either hand or arm could possibly hide the embarrassing truth.

Scott couldn't move, trapped, nowhere to hide. He wondered if the woman would stop, but with incredible good fortune, she clearly decided that it was the wiser course of action to simply drive on and find a new rest area. The car accelerated, wheels spinning on the gravel and sending shards of stone flying through the air. Scott raised an arm to protect himself, but his breathing at least began to slow down as the car hurried off and disappeared down the road towards the state highway, finally disappearing around a bend and presumably rejoining the traffic.