Emailed Sheffield last night:

From: Molly Hadley [mollyhadley@emailaccount.com]
Reply-To: mollyhadley@emailaccount.com
To: simon89346@yahoo.co.uk
Subject: re: Thank u
Date: Tue 05/04/04 09:29 AM

Hi Simon

thanks for writing. Don' think I warrant all that praise, really,
but thanks anyway, it's very flattering. I don't often get called
beautiful, or clever... *S* Pleased you liked the show. I won't
deny it it felt a bit strange, knowing you were watching, but I'm
glad you liked it anyway.

Don't worry about str8guy. He's a dickhead. All the things he
says about me just wash off my back.

And no, I didn't mind you writing. thanks again

Molly

>>>Hello Molly. Just wanted to say thank u for>>>
tonite. I think u are an amazing person - >>>
beatiful, funny, clever. And very sexy. I>>>
don't like the things that guy says about >>>
you. Don't bileve him. >>> >>>

Hope you are well and hope u don't mind me>>>
writing to u.>>> >>>

I realy do think u are a fantastic woman.>>>

all the best

>>> Simon>>>

Well, it seemed polite, since he'd taken the time to write to me.

And as I log in to my work email this morning, I see I have a message from my esteemed blackmailer... Okay, let's see what he has in store today.

Oh fuck. The man is twisted. I hate him. I fucking hate him.

From: str8guy [str8guy@frea.cc]
Reply-To: str8guy@frea.cc
To: molly.hadley@chasemccabe.co.uk
Subject: Today's challenge
Date: Tue 05/05/04 07:47 AM

Good morning Molly

May I say once again how arousing yesterday's performance was.
I don't think I've ever seen you more aroused. It's just a pity it was
a bit dark under the desk, but I'm sure we can reprise it at a later
day in better conditions.

I've made an appointment for you today. 11.30 am. Theresa's
Boutique on South Street. You're to ask for Theresa herself. You're
booked in for a full Brazilian.

When you've finished please go home rather than back to the office.
And take the cam from under your desk. It's much better quality than
yours at home. I want to be able to see your glossy smooth skin in
eye-popping close-up.

Little Molly's little polly, all bare and soft and pink and ready.

I can't wait, can you?

love str8guy

I emailed back.

From: Molly Hadley [molly.hadley@chasemccabe.co.uk]
Reply-To: molly.hadley@chasemccabe.co.uk
To: str8guy@frea.cc
Subject: re: Today's challenge
Date: Tue 05/0t/04 09:15 AM

Sorry, no can do. It's too soon after my period. Still too
sensitive there for waxing.

Hmm, almost by return:

From: str8guy [str8guy@frea.cc]
Reply-To: str8guy@frea.cc
To: molly.hadley@chasemccabe.co.uk
Subject: re: re: Today's challenge
Date: Tue 05/05/04 09:17 AM

Absolute rubbish. 11.30 it is. Be there.

str8guy

Wednesday 5th May 2004, afternoon

Of all the bastard things he has made me do that's the worst. Never again.

NEVER AGAIN!!!

I'd rather give birth to a hippopotamus than do that again. Actually, I feel like I did. Three times.

I introduced myself and asked for Theresa. A big, blond woman, about forty approached, bearing a smile as frightening as a tiger that's missed out at feeding time. I felt about thirteen. "Miss Hadley," she crooned, "I've been looking forward to meeting you." A chill ran down my spine. Why? What had that bastard been saying about me? Call me paranoid but...

"Nice to meet you," I replied, offering my hand. She seemed reluctant to take it.

"Everything has been arranged by your... friend. He's given us explicit instructions. It's not something we generally do here, but we can make exceptions."

"Splendid." My guts were churning, but I thought I'd try to do some fishing for information. Inspector Molly never rests. "He's paid already, I take it?"

"Oh yes, in full. No need to worry about that."

"Credit card?"

"No, cash, I seem to recall."

"Oh. He came in then, did he? In person?"

"Oh yes, yesterday afternoon."

"Aha." I paused, trying to be nonchalant, running my fingers through my hair and appraising the Vettriano prints on the wall. "What did he look like, exactly?"

There was an even longer pause. She stared at me incredulously and I felt myself flush across my neck and face. "I rather thought you would know that." Her eyes bored into me accusingly. "Given what you're doing for him."

Now, there's been a lot of competition recently, but that was undoubtedly the most humiliating moment of my life. I laughed like a hysterical schoolgirl while my flesh transmuted into a lobster's.

"Shall we get on?" I said briskly.

"Certainly. Would you strip off please."

"Everything?"

"It's going to be difficult if you don't."

I now felt about ten, and regressing. I was ushered onto a couch like a doctor's, covered in a long roll of paper. I felt a hideous combination of apprehension and shame as I stretched myself onto it.

"This is a full Brazilian," she said. "You understand what that is?" I nodded. "Good. It'll take about fifteen minutes. First, I'm going to do your bottom, then your mons, then your labia. Three quick applications. Nothing to it. Okay?" I nodded, my eyes revealing my terror. "We do sell some antiseptic lotions which you may find soothing, for after. Witch hazel and aloe vera, all natural ingredients." I blinked gratefully.

Pain is relative, they tell me. Well, if that's true, the nearest relative to the pain I endured just then was something usually only seem in darkened torture chambers, involving rogue soldiers, electricity and sticks with nails in them.

She began with my arse, yanking my legs into the air and making me hold them, while she covered me in baby powder. I felt like I was going to be put in a nappy. Subsequently, I'd have preferred it if I had been. She lathered hot wax all over me, which was uncomfortable, then slapped a hot cloth on it, which soothed it nicely. Not for long. She patted it a few times while it cooled down, and then unceremoniously ripped it from me, taking with it every last hair on my backside. I screamed loudly.

"That's the easiest one," Theresa told me, drawing my legs back down to lie on the table and spreading them. She patted more baby powder onto my mons and repeated the process, while I kept my eyes screwed shut and waited for the agony. It arrived, and sure enough it was worse than before. People put themselves through this voluntarily, I wondered. Monthly?

Theresa was watching me with what I was sure was amusement. I didn't like to be the cause of such merriment, but I was incapable of bravery at that moment. Whimpering, I allowed her to spread my legs further and felt her hands on my pussy, brushing powder onto it. And into it. She wasn't delicate. She covered my entire outer labia then applied the wax and the cloth. A fateful pause while they melded and cooled, and then, without warning, she ripped it from me. I screamed and looked down in alarm, feeling sure half my bits would be hanging from her towel, and saw a reddened, maddened mess.

"Nearly done," she said brightly.

"Thought you said only three," I wheezed.

"Yes, just rounding up the strays now." She approached with a pair of tweezers and spent five minutes plucking every last hair from pussy and arse. Insult to injury, I call that bit.

And people do this to feel sexy 3;

However, the effect is rather startling, I have to admit. I've been shaved for a couple of weeks, and while that felt odd - and slightly sexy - this is quite different. It's so smooth - completely hairless - that I feel shockingly exposed, vulnerable even. It really is very sexy - I feel it the moment I look at myself, and when I touch myself, even just my mons, I feel a rush of anticipation. Somehow, I seem primed for sex. Sliding my hand between my pussy and my arse I'm amazed how smooth and soft it feels, and how aroused I can become, just by gliding my own fingers across my skin.

It almost feels like a different body, like it's not really me. Or maybe it is me, but it's just that there's an extra filter between my mind and my body. My bareness is provocative, so immediately I touch myself the movement becomes sexual. There's no question it's made me horny.

But I'll be making the most of it, because I'm never doing it again...

Now then, better get str8guy hooked up, before he finds an excuse to take a huff.