The Red Drive

Her bedroom is dark, the pre-dawn unable to penetrate the thick curtains she's arranged across every entrance. Sterile, red light, acerbic to the eyes, declares it 4:18am, time ticking ever closer to her alarm at 6-o'clock sharp.

She's got work in a couple of hours, but her attempts to sink back into sweet slumber are interrupted by the demands on her pelvic floor. She trudges quietly to the attached bathroom, and she relieves herself despite stiff limbs and the remnants of erotic dreams. A few moments later finds her burrowing back into the ruins of her warm cocoon.

Melissa rolls to one side of her bed, then the other. She's wide awake.

The bedside glass gets a few gulps, enough to wet a parched throat, and then Melissa turns her attention to her phone. Maybe if she can't sleep, she can chase an early-morning orgasm? Start the day with some kind of glow about her?

Her favorite artists across her bookmarked sites failed to update across the night, only a single author adding anything to the dearth of kinky pornography awaiting her. She taps the alert, babyBlackmailee had dropped a peculiar sort of message into her feed, one linking to /r/timebombchallenge.

———


'October Blues - M23 - Online - Green'

"Hey y'all, long-time lurker, first time poster, just wanted to throw a little something-something in for my B-Day! It should be pretty straight-forward for all you code-crackers out there, so I'll leave you to it.



"U/SpaceSSTabSSLineTLSTLLL but backwards"

Good luck!"

———

It's a bit weird, definitely not the normal early-feed faire, so Melissa cracks her eyes a tad wider, and googles the title; and what she finds is breathtaking.

One hands sneaks under the waistband of her pajama pants as she scrolls, the subtle stimulation of her fingers against her folds keeping her awake, sparks slapping against her spine as she slides a hand across her mound.

She teases herself, and before her glassy gaze her semi-conscious thumb scrolls through the dreck, finding an identical post on a separate social media. Another tap against the homepage of the self-styled TBC sub-forum revealed a cacophony of posts from anyone and everyone.

Demands of hunters in Wisconsin struggled to remain relevant against a couple of [Amber] drives that had been released as a two-person challenge earlier in the evening.

And there, hovering around the eleventh top post of the day, was babyBlackmailee.

~~~

She idly continues her caresses as she reads further on, posts about giving up social security numbers or drivers licenses to whoever finds their flash-drives top the rankings. The forum itself is quite small, a few thousand people spread across the entire world, but active for its size.

Impulsively, she clicks the third-highest post, one tagged 'Red' and 'Loss' by the moderators. The woman's profile doesn't reveal much, a single full-body nude and then her post on the forum, but what a post it was. Hundreds of comments, detailing fantasies ranging from the obscene to the obscure, dispensing hints, begging for help, teasing, titillating, all of them for this one woman.



Melissa's heart hammers in her chest, and the early-morning fog finally clears from her brain, where fingers once teased folds idly, she now purposefully dallies, guiding digits to tease and stoke the fire below her stomach.



'You'd better hope I don't win you, slut. You've already made master mad.'



'Hope your bags are packed, babe; you'll be moving in a few days.'

The callous disregard, the sheer surety by which they declared their dominance. It embodied the worst parts of people, in Melissa's experience, and yet this user reveled in it. She answered each post with a teasing flirtation, a coy non-statement meant to excite and enflame.

She was stunning.

Melissa's hand was starting to cramp, and she couldn't keep herself from continuing, rolling her button up and down between two fingers, slightly spreading engorged lips, gathering her own lubricant for a slickness that only heightened that delicious friction.

She could feel herself coming to a peak, her excitement nearly ready to boil over, when she found the most recent post. Someone had claimed her, found her flash-drive in a pile of leaves and dead branches in a public park. He had uploaded several of her nudes, and a video of her consenting to any task given to her.

The prey's only response?

'Fuck'

Melissa scrunches up her eyes, a perfect reimagining of the thread dancing in her mind, a single word encapsulating her defeat, her loss, the obliteration of her freedom and confidence and life.

Any amount of the horrible degradation Melissa had already paged through could await the woman, and she knew it.

Her fingers speed up further, pinching and massaging, while her left hand rises, and slaps her fully across the face. She explodes into orgasm, back arching off the bed, toes curling as she continues her ministrations, body flexing from the over-stimulation.

An eternity passes, white-hot pleasure racing up and down nerves, muscles clenching and releasing, breath coming in short gasps if at all, but eventually the high fades, and Melissa returns to the present moment, sweaty and satisfied.

The clock reads 5:50 and she stretches widely, working out the stiffness of muscles abused too early in the day, before turning her alarm off ahead of schedule, and popping into the bathroom for a shower.

Twenty minutes later, freshened up and mind sharpened, Melissa considers her latest bit of erotic content. Her finger hovers over the X on her phone's web-browser, poised to wipe an idle morning fancy from her life, at least unless babyBlackmailee mentioned it again, but something stops her.

A shiver creeps up her spine at the memory of that final surrender.

She locks her phone, collecting her work clothes on her way to the kitchenette.

~~~

The morning drive blurs by, a swipe of her keycard unlocking the main door to the office building, a routine nod to the security guard at the front desk as she hits the elevator button, her desk loaded with her daily workload. She's distracted, almost irritable, her thoughts drawn inevitably to what she'd read that morning.



Why did she do it? What would drive a woman clearly so confident, so self-assured, to crave being owned enough to surrender in such a spectacular fashion?

At lunch, she checks her phone again. Now the most recent thread is a challenge by another young woman, one who wagered personal information, logins to social media, and bank details. The post attracted a lot of attention, but her puzzles clearly weren't up to snuff, and she was caught within hours.

The edits to the first post showcase an unreal descent into pure debauchery. Immediate usage of the blackmail material and the promise of forced breeding, career ruined, a live-in slave lifestyle that she's already finding 'freeing and confining.'



Her new master comments that she'll be allowed online again a year from today, with good behavior.

All that over the course of a morning. Melissa can hardly breathe, her free-flowing blouse suddenly too constrictive, the heat from the sun too oppressive, both keeping air from her lungs.

She cant fathom the depths to which that girl has sunk, the loss she had served herself up toward, so readily, so quickly.

If anything, the afternoon passes faster than the morning does, Melissa hardly blinks and she's back home, sitting at her desk and staring at nothing, an easy dinner of broccoli and beans half-eaten, forgotten at her elbow.

She shakes her head, cobwebs only constricting further as her mind dances with possibilities and potential. Half a meal scraped into a Tupperware, lunch for tomorrow she supposes, and she crawls to bed, asleep before she hits the pillow.

She tosses and turns all night.

~~~

Her work for the next few days is lackluster, and, at lunch Wednesday, a colleague pulls her aside.

"Melissa, what's going on? Your inbox is still nearly full, and the meeting on Friday's not going to wait for you to get your head in the game."

Dan's a solid bloke, a couple inches taller than her, a full head of blonde hair barely styled, an interchangeable collection of slacks and long-sleeved shirts, piercing brown eyes, flecked in gol- no. Get ahold of yourself, Melissa.

She gives a tired grin. "Would you believe it's a game I found online? I just cant keep it out of my head."

He laughs, a stifled thing that starts handsome and ends professional.

"I was there with you a couple months ago, remember? When EVE dropped the Triglavians?"

Melissa thinks back, snapping memories into place with all the care of a tired, horny businesswoman. "Oh yeah, weren't you out sick for three days?"


A rueful smile this time, boyish even. "Mental break, could you believe it. Sarah had to drag me from the computer and swaddle me with blankets. I couldn't handle outside stimulation, with how the stress got to me."

She grimaces with sympathy, a new tidbit of information added to her understanding of her coworker. A workaholic, one driven by some inner well of anxious fervor, until it spills over and consumes him.

"You'll have to introduce me to your game, maybe we could LAN it up and you can keep me on the wagon this time."

Melissa feels heat pool under her collar, creeping its way up her neck toward her face. "No, no, I don't even know if I'm interested, honestly. It might be a passing fancy, like CounterStrike was, and I'd hate to get you in trouble with Sarah by getting too invested."

Dan nods, agreeing guilelessly, "That would be pretty poor form of me; still, keep me in mind if you're planning on storming the castle!"

His curiosity assuaged, Dan meanders back to his office, and Melissa heads to lunch.

She can't believe herself. Sure, if you squinted, Dan'd be handsome. He washes and shaves, his clothes trends toward the fashionable side of office-drone; but he's taken, and was she really so riled up that she could barely keep a conversation?

Maybe she just needed something to take the edge off, something to focus on a bit more than her idle musings and getting lost in her imagination. She pulls up the forum on her phone again. This time she scours through the FAQ, the rules, and the requirements for posting.

Five minutes pass in studious silence before she figures she's ready. She throws up a discussion thread about her nearby locale, hoping to see a few people interested in hunting, before turning back to her salad.

~~~

Almost immediately, her phone's alerts sound loud and clear in the stillness of the employee lunch area. She hurriedly mutes her phone, the still-buzzing vibrations stilling as she also switches on her do-not-disturb.

Even as she watches, notifications continue to pour in, a high-paced stream of banners, previews of comments on her post flashing by. Shaky fingers swipe through her unlock code, and her eyes feast on a bounty not entirely welcome.

The feedback to her discussion post is immense, plenty of users responding only to call her demeaning names like 'slut,' and 'pet.' Others demand photos, or explain exactly what they'd do to her once they caught her. It's overwhelming, an outpouring of eroticism all focused on her.

The electric feeling in her gut is back, tension coiling through her like she stepped on a live wire. A dozen people, maybe more, had expressed intense interest in her in the few minutes since she'd started lunch.

Her hand slips beneath her waistband without her notice, urgently seeking her nub. A cautious glance across the picnic area of her office complex shows her to be alone, so she settles in to read through her thread properly.

The various threats of utter sexual domination, of acts crass and obscene, cover the page. Her eyes almost lose focus as she strums against her outer lips, as fingertips brush against her small button and tease at her folds.

One post stands out from the crowd. Well-crafted sentences and proper punctuation drawing her attention, despite its raunchy contents. The user theMann had responded to her asking after hunters in her area thusly:

"I'm in the area as well, and I would be delighted to have a chance to hunt you down and breed you. Several of our previous prey thought that they could come in here out of the blue, much like you, and play games. I want you to be certain that you're okay with this before you hurt yourself, because if I find you, your life will never be the same."

Her eyes flutter shut as she pants and stifles her moans, squirming agains the hard-wood bench. Her fingers speed up, fast and rhythmic motions as she clenches her abdominals and curls her toes inside her flats.

Her imagination runs wild with the thought of being rounded with pregnancy, a collar and a cock impede her breathing, the hazy scene of a breakfast blowjob consuming her mind. Whoever this man is would have her complete obedience, he'd own her, mind and body, and he'd definitely make the most of it.

Could she handle having kids? Especially with a complete stranger? One that she'd surrendered to at the end of a ridiculous game of dubious origin?

Her fingers type out a frantic response, digits trembling as she tapped them against her phone's screen. One demeaning and begging and too desperate for his attention. Without thought she types, 'Yes please. I want to be hunted by you, I want you to try and find me, to try and make me yours.' She doesn't quite manage to send it, though.

She can feel herself scowling as she holds in her moans, not allowing the faintest squeak to pass her lips. She can feel her arousal building to a crescendo, insides squirming as she clenches and clenches on nothing.

And then, she crests that hill. She brings herself to climax, eyes clenched and teeth bared.

An eternity of white-hot pleasure passes in moments and she lets out a long sigh, muscles unclenching and breath returning in small pants.

~~~

It's the flustered work of a moment to fix her hair and smooth down her blouse. A shaking hand wipes away any evidence of her indiscretion with a napkin, and the other returns to her salad, fork poised. She can't do anything but wait for the flush to go down on its own, and she'd hardly sweat at all.

As she brings her first mouthful up, another person slides into the bench across from her. Her eyes snap up, Dan's hazel orbs pin her in place, and she unconsciously draws her shoulders in, defensive.



He's got a tray from the attached café, today's soup and sandwich special, and he blinks away from her as he starts unwrapping a set of utensils. Melissa tries to hide her relaxing by taking a quick drink.



"You don't mind if I sit here, right? I don't want to intrude on your lunch-time privacy."



Was that a leer that flashed across his face? Or just a comfortable smile?

She nods, face warm with no-doubt an impressive blush splashed across it. "'s a free country," she mumbles into a forkful of crouton and romaine.



A real smile this time, warm and genuine, before he follows suit, digging into his soup. The remainder of her lunch passes in semi-comfortable silence, her phone's notifications blessedly still silenced, and Dan more than engaged with his own device. Polishing off her salad, and checking the time, Melissa stands up to scurry off.



"Same time tomorrow?" A hint of mockery has her halt her rise, eyes meeting Dan's again. A smile, definitely more of a leer this time, creeps up his lips, and he winks. She stutters something out, she doesn't know what, and makes good her escape.



Absently, she sends her message to theMann. A sudden ding behind her shocks her to her core, tension coiling just below her stomach. A quick glance back shows Dan typing something long-form into his phone, all apparent attention taken in by his device. It's probably a coincidence.



She almost thinks she can feel his eyes, as she flees.

The rest of the day Melissa can hardly keep herself from checking up on her alerts, but she really does need to tackle her inbox before the Friday scrum. Forms fly as she makes good on her employment, spreadsheets and tickets and emails filled out and filed and forwarded.



Soon enough, another day's done, and she's able to return home, a date with her vibrator and her phone already percolating in her mind.


~~~

It's once again the weekend, her account has been inundated with messages promising pain and pleasure, pleading that she create a challenge, demanding that she make herself vulnerable for them.



She can't escape it, her lunches were frazzled things made worse by Dan's insistence on meeting up with her halfway through. The meeting Friday'd been a rote thing, and even there she was noticeably distracted.



She'd blamed family trouble, but Dan had had a bit too much understanding in his eyes for her liking. 



Throughout the remainder of the week, theMann had also sent her several private messages, which she'd responded to against her better judgement. He wove a tale of debauchery that had ensnared her mind and her lust, painting a picture of her round with his children naked but for a collar as she serviced him, of her waiting for him as he returned from work and greeting him with easy access to any of her holes.



This morning she'd not even gotten out of bed before noon, and she'd worn the batteries in her vibrator flat. She was losing it, manic with desire and need, and she knew just how to fix it.


Her laptop has kept pride-of-place at her kitchenette's table, barely used outside of streaming binges or emergency emails, and a quick ruffle through her drawers uncovers a flash-drive not used since her thesis paper.



The rest of the morning, as it were, is spent posing. Taking the lewdest nudes she can manage alone, stripping for her camera, for her possible future audience, gagging herself with a scarf, tying her hands in-front with a belt, gagging on her vibrator, spreading her ass with her hands. In this, her thirst for the perfect picture was insatiable.



And then, she found it. Perched on the balls of her feet, heels off the ground, and legs spread wide, she snaps a few photos with her passport. The barely managed lust blazing in her eyes contrasts beautifully with the officious pictures adorning her identification.



For the hell of it, she throws in scans of her birth certificate, her social security card, her driver's license. She adds in plain-text files of all of her passwords, of the address and contact information of her workplace, of the emails and phone numbers of her closest friends and family.

Such a small thing to hold such power over her. It sits there once she's ejected it, a tiny instrument of certain self-destruction. Her evolution as a sexual being, the culmination of her dreams and desires this past week.

It's perfect.

It's too much.

It's too fast.

She's only been in this community a week, she hadn't even heard of it before Monday! Surely her desires are unnatural, her dreams of being bred and degraded and owned are just an out-of-control libido making its perverse desires heard.

Surely she doesn't actually want to be taken against her will, blackmailed into sexual slavery, forced to bear her new master's child? To live out the rest of her days as little more than a pet or an object, to have nothing of her own, no escape, no illusion of safety.

This isn't safe! What if some monster finds her drive once she hides it? What if instead of fulfilling her sexually, the hunter just reveals her perversity to the world? Or worse, just extorts her and leaves, every bit of data still held in his hands?



Her hand lurches toward the drive again, intent on deleting the contents, of pretending that none of today had happened. She'd just have to be content with the play-acting she could do online with users like theMann, or whatever fantasies she could imagine in the safety of her own mind.