Blackmailed

2

She was so stoned as she waited for his bus to come in that she walked to the stop an hour early in 6-inch heel.

After waiting about he finally arrived, breezing in like a breath of fresh air, he just knocked her off her feet.

He wasn't particularly tall or well-built, but he had an aura of danger that was impossible to ignore.

Angel swallowed her nerves as the pair chatted on the way to the restaurant, making light conversation. They would save the heavy stuff for later.

He knew all the words to say and all the stories to tell. He was the perfect date. When the time came He ordered a steak with the confidence of a guy who had been on many dates (this was his first) and they both drank enough to lose all inhibitions, not that they had many to begin with. The plan was a dinner date followed by kinky s*x. Damien liked to plan. Liked to be in control.

When they arrived back at the flat he threw her flat on her back, pulled off her clothes and tied her to the bed. A blindfold blocked and earphones blocked out her senses.

She had no time to get higher but was still stoned enough to summon her alter ego Jenny Christ. If she was herself - how could she please a man? How could she have a life?

All she had was the sense of touch, waiting for the pain to start.

“I’m gonna torture you,” he had explained. “I am going to fill every hole.”

Maybe he would. Who knew?

He didn’t, but he did slap her in the face hard. She had not expected it, and it took her by surprise how much she didn’t like it.

“Am I even into this?” she wondered as he pushed an enormous dildo into her p***y.

It hurt immediately and only got more painful as it ripped at her insides, pushing into her most precious parts.

“Oh, please mercy mercy mercy!” she begged.

He laughed and told her to beg for his d**k instead.

“Please f**k me, please put your d**k in me I want it so bad please I beg!” she cried out.

He heeded her pleas, pulling away that wretched pain and replacing it with the most beautiful feeling in the world. He was amazing.

A god.

He jammed it into every hole before finishing in her mouth, towering over her with one hand holding the ceiling up and the other holding a fistful of her hair.

It was weird, but the more she thought about it, the more she liked it.

She told him the slap in the face was too much, and he told her all about how he’d been to prison, killed animals and tortured people for arbitrary reasons.

She nodded as he spoke, taking it all in.

“Your life is a hallmark Christmas card image,” he told her, taking a drag of his cigarette and staring into the distance. He explained how his life was normal and her white picket fence life was the outlier.

“And yours is that of a psychopath criminal,” she thought but did not say. She would never say it. He was perfect in every way. He was a shining light.

She dropped to her knees and kissed his feet before giving him another blowjob.

"What did you do that for?" he asked.

"What?" she wanted to know.

"You like feet?" he asked, frowning down at her in disgust as if she'd just taken a s**t on the carpet.

"No," She lied. "It's a sub thing."

"Explain it to me?" he asked with a grin.

Angel desperately did not want to. She tried begging out of it but he was having none of it.

"It's an I worship you thing," She blushed and reluctantly admitted.

He laughed.

"You worship me?"

She nodded, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.

He was perfect. The line of his cheeks, his upturned eyes and his downturned mouth - like a young Johnny Depp.

But he was more than that. He was talented and good at everything. Everything from guitar to darts, pool, golf, poker, and even chess. Angel was good at chess and assumed it would be an easy win. He had no education after all. She was humbled when she only won the first game and then suffered four losses. Chess was a game for clever tacticians - and that he was.

As they chatted music played in the background - a punk rock tune from her youth. It reminded her of your young political activist days.

This seemed to anger Damien somewhat.

After ripping apart her taste in music he ripped apart her politics. All of her core beliefs and morals laid to waste in a minefield of his words.

"The left don't do anything. They have all these big ideas but they don't work in reality. Can you imagine JC handling a World War?" He asked.

"He'd either have to bomb one side or the other. How does he choose?" He pressed.

"He chooses a peaceful method of resolution," she offered.

He laughed derisively.

He explained why we needed war. War was what real men did.

Everything she thought she knew about everything was wrong. He twisted it. The only thing he gave her was science - her only real superpower - and he challenged her on that.

Angel did not believe that money was power. Real power was the power to make her drop to her knees in worship with only a look. But she didn't bother to explain that to him. He would only tell her how wrong she was.

He took delight in telling her how wrong she was. He knew how the world worked. She knew nothing.

"The world isnt all ranbows and unicorns sweetheart," he told her, a wise old sage passing on his knowledge.

He lectured her for a while before falling to sleep.