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From: Incest Man <familyincest@graffiti.net>
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Subject: "The Hidden Camera" Chapter 8
Date: Fri, 12 Jan 2007 03:33:56 -0800
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/hidncama08.html
The Hidden Camera
Chapter 8
Nancy awoke that next morning lying face down on a bed.
She awoke slowly, by degrees, groaning her way into
consciousness. Her vagina was sore, her rectum dully
throbbing in discomfort. She hurt all over and it seemed
there wasn't a muscle in her body that didn't ache.
Yet... she felt good.
She felt good because she was sated... satisfied...
exhausted! She had done everything and people... strange
men... strange men had grinned lewdly at her and forced
her to suck their cocks and be fucked by them in the
mouth... in the cunt... in the ass. Sometimes, there had
been three... four men at once. She had fucked them all
until she had passed out.
And there was no telling how long it had gone on after she
had passed out... she only knew that she woke up stiff and
sore all over, naked, lying face down on a bed, her
gracefully curved buttocks naked to any further ravagement.
She had awakened to stagger to the bathroom, moaning, her
proud breasts quivering, her fingers feeling for the shower
faucets. Hot water hissed down in needle points and Nancy
stood, her magnificent body surrounded by billowing steam,
and let needle points of hot water stab at her flesh. She
soaped her body completely and winced at the cries-cross of
red welts on her stomach and the various plum-blue bruises
on her soft flesh.
She was drenched by the steaming hot shower, staying under
it longer than intended, finally leaving reluctantly.
She dressed and let herself out of the elegant bedroom. It
was a bedroom that Nancy was to come to know in the future
months. She would come to it many times in her life. She
would come to know its bathroom and its ever-stocked wet
bar and its closed-circuit television and its little carved
box full of drugged delights. She came to know that... in
the narrow space of that room... when she occupied that
space... for that time, at least, she was queen. When in
that room, she was treated like a lady and her every wish
was immediately granted.
Beyond that room... she was treated like a common slut.
Nancy came to like that room and its raw entertainments as
she came to know it. She drove home, tired, aching,
falling into her bed utterly exhausted.
She awoke with a guilty consciousness. She woke up to face
a gray morning and the sight of Allan.
Suddenly... insanely... her life was submerged in Allan.
She cooked for him... they entertained together... they
went out to expensive restaurants together... life
suddenly was all Allan and her whole day and night were
caught up in his personality and career... she was the
good wife and the perfect hostess. She carried the demure
role out to the point where she believed it...
And then the phone would ring...
She would answer it and it would be the slightly drunken
insinuating voice of Tom... usually he would be in a bar
somewhere with music and idle chatter behind his phone
conversations... the idle suggestion that she attend a
party... the icy tinkle of an empty drink swirled
around... the sound of voices very near the receiver
saying something smutty... Tom Nelson at some far-out
party, some bar, calling, asking for a favor.
Tom had given her the negatives and photos of her naked
dancing. He had been good to his word... however...
there had been some pictures taken subsequently... some
very good pictures.
It didn't take her long to realize she was in a ever
narrowing trap. She knew that there were always going to
be pictures. After awhile... she was even willing to pose
for them... in fact, she got a kind of masochistic
pleasure out of Tom taking pictures of her hungrily sucking
big thick cocks or getting fucked by one, two, three men at
the same time. Willingly, knowing he was going to use the
pictures to blackmail hers she posed for him. She posed
naked and obscene, committing anything asked of her.
She knew she was in a trap and her time with Allan... her
time with him when he was home and full of what was
happening at the bank... Allan was like a rock and Nancy
leaned against him... hoping... dreading against the
day... the day when she would be discovered.
She was leading a double life. She was a frigid wife on
one level... she existed as Allan's elegant shapely wife
on one level... and... when the phone rang... when the
phone rang during the day when she was alone and home...
when she picked up the phone and heard the slightly
drunken, casually sloppy voice of Tom.
And her life changed.
She was constantly blackmailed. It seemed she couldn't
think of anything else than being blackmailed. She was
always buying her way to freedom... she would buy her way
by going to a party in return for which she would receive
pictures, pictures that had been taken by someone...
pictures of her... if only she would go to a party... if
only she would give in.
One party led to the next until she no longer cared about
anything... even Allan. Nothing seemed to matter... her
life was so bad, so evil, so committed to obscenity. There
didn't seem anything left to live for. There came a time
in her life when it no longer seemed worth living. It was
then she thought constantly about suicide. She felt she
was a thing, a piece of flesh to be driven into an
orgiastic state.
And then there would be the sunny mornings with Allan and
the need to react as a good wife.
Her life was becoming crazily split between Allan and
another whole life of lewdness. Allan... and his friends
were beginning to notice how heavily she drank... there
was talk about it...
Allan would calm her and provide an emotion anchor for her,
and then he would go off to the office... and the phone
would ring. It was always Tom at some cocktail lounge,
some bar, calling... with the sound of cool jazz in the
background. Tom always to be somewhere, some place, where
something exciting was happening. Always he was drunk and
always he wanted a favor. More and more however, it was
getting to be a favor for Fred Hartman. She found herself
on his estate, in the bedroom provided for her where she
could feel like a queen.
Yet, like the taste of ashes in the mouth, like a cold gray
Monday morning a dawning with a drizzle, she knew her life
couldn't go on. Once again, the phone rang. She answered
it wearily, knowing who it was, not even really wanting to
bargain. At the last party thrown by Fred Hartman, Ben and
Herman had fucked her simultaneously on the stage and then
she had greedily crawled about and sucked the cocks of all
eleven guests. She had sucked each guest in his chair
until he had pumped white-hot cum into her gluttonously
sucking mouth... and Tom had taken pictures of her...
and... she had willingly posed... and had driven home in
the dawn... and talked to her nosy neighbor, Mrs.
Hunter... and thought about suicide for the thousandth
time... a victim of the evilest type of blackmail and her
own darkest lusts.
And then, it all ended. The horrible nightmare was over!
She was summoned to the Hartman estate at mid-day.
Puzzled, she went, not knowing why she had been summoned at
that strange hour. She was ushered into the office of Fred
Hartman himself. Usually, if anything, she saw him right
before performing at one of his parties. Now, she was in
his office... and Tom Nelson was there.
Hartman's office was full of clean lines and bright color.
Tom Nelson was poised at a small wet bar. Hartman ignored
him, smiling at Nancy and politely offering her a, seat.
Nancy looked up at Hartman and found him tanned and tawny
and at ease. Both of them looked at Tom Nelson who was
terribly drunk.
His face was red and his clothing was messy... it looked
as if he hadn't changed in days. His eyes were wetly flat
and unfocused as he smiled. He raised his glass in a
hollow toast... it was dry. He shrugged and poured
another.
Fred Hartman nodded in a dry abstract way at Tom Nelson.
"He was always an amusing nuisance. Now he's a definite
problem. I offer no excuses. Sometimes, regretfully, I
have to deal with people like him." Hartman stood up, tall
and austere, his hands in his pockets. "I am lazy. I am
slovenly. For this, I must apologize. I employed a person
like Tom Nelson, never thinking of how he got hold of
someone as lovely as you, never bothering myself to ask
why."
Silently, dike a magician fanning out cards, he spread out
pictures of Nancy... dozens and dozens of obscene pictures
of Nancy taken by Tom Nelson with Rita's enthusiastic
co-operation. He threw down a thick sheath of black
negatives. "I'm sorry," he said, "I really didn't know he
was blackmailing you." He seemed almost embarrassed. "I
thought... I thought you were doing it of your own free
will... because you wanted to."
Nancy looked away from the pictures. Always, in the past,
she had been promised the negatives if only she would...
always, in the past, she had given in, even though she knew
that more pictures of her were going to be taken.
Now, Fred Hartman was lining up her pictures and negatives,
pointing down at them on his desk with a long bony finger.
"These, I think, are yours. Your property. Again, all I
can say is, I didn't care and didn't know. I'm sorry."
Nancy looked at him with disbelieving eyes. "You're
letting me go?"
Hartman's only answer was a curt bow.
"Nothing?" Nancy looked at him with almost a wet pout on
her lips. After all this time, after all she had done, she
had come to like him watching her... she liked knowing he
was out there in the shadows, his eyes fixed on her body,
her lewdness... "You want nothing in exchange?"
"Nothing," said Hartman, enunciating the word carefully,
"nothing at all."
Nancy stared at him defiantly, her breasts thrust out and
heaving slightly with the denied passion she was feeling.
Oddly, a part of her exalted at being finally freed of the
threat of blackmail... and a part felt the black fog of
despair rolling over her at the knowledge there would be no
more shows... no more chances to be queen -- to hold
momentary power over a great many men... "Nothing?" she
asked plaintively.
"Nothing," Hartman repeated implacably. Then, his frosty
features cracked into an almost warm smile. "Unless, of
course, you want to."
Unless she wanted to.
And so it came about that Nancy Dodge came to be known as
the stunning, witty wife of Allan Dodge. Allan Dodge came
to be a very successful young banker, handling big
accounts, like the Hartman Estate account. They had a
quietly interesting life in which Nancy entertained in
their new townhouse and was the perfect wife, giving her
time to charities and public events.
And... at isolated times... well in advance... when she
was alone... the phone would ring. It was always Fred
Hartman himself and always... insinuatingly, temptingly,
he had something planned that she found irresistible.
Always, after listening to his musically droning voice
outlining all sorts of perverted pleasures, she would
agree. She would eagerly agree to be part of his plans and
then she would hang up. She hung up with a little smile of
anticipation on her lips.
She loved Allan, but... Fred thrilled her.
And, as Fred had once said to her, "No reason, you know,
why you can't have the best of both worlds."
The End
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