Chapter 1

I have just learned a valuable lesson. It has been, and continues to be, a very costly lesson. Let me tell you about it.

My name is Ashley. I am twenty-two, 5’6”, 115, bright red hair, and as of just over a year ago, very married. I met my husband in college and we married as soon as I graduated last year. He graduated a year ahead of me and is already well on his way to being the next Donald Trump, except for the hair and the lack of ethics of course.

My husband, Jay, is an old fashioned kind of guy. He doesn’t want his wife to work. He’s in charge in the home. We are deeply religious and go to church every Sunday.

I’m home all day and I guess I have entirely too much free time since we don’t have any kids yet. There are just the two of us and a lot of nights Jay works until very late. So I spend a lot of time home alone. On those days when Jay doesn’t come home until very late, the amount of housework required the next day is pretty much just rinse out the coffee pot!

Recently we bought a new computer from a local company which builds them to order. They have their own IP service and they offered us a great deal when we bought the computer so we signed up with them.

I used a computer in college of course. But it was strictly for school work and email to friends and relatives. It wasn’t until a few months ago, after we got the new computer and I was bored one day, that I discovered chat rooms.

At first I just went into rooms and did what they call lurking. I would observe the way people behaved and the things they said, the shorthand they used. Gradually I started taking part in the conversations. That would have been fine. Except that I started going into chat rooms that a married woman, especially a newlywed, should not be going into. I started having conversations which were more and more erotic. I started saying things to complete strangers that I would never even say to my husband!

It was fun! It was exciting! A couple of times I tried what they call net sex. But I felt kind of silly. I preferred having long, sexually charged conversations. I went way beyond baring my soul to perfect strangers. I made terrible things up just to make it more exciting. I would tell guys I’ve done things I never even heard of before I started visiting chat rooms.

That wasn’t bad enough though. They kept asking for pictures. I have a digital camera. I put it on a tripod and took some innocent pictures. They were just clear enough that you could tell what a nice figure I have. You couldn’t see my face and I always had all of my clothes on ... at first.

There were a couple of guys I talked with regularly. I felt safe with them. They were smart and funny and sexy and on the other side of the country. I broke down and sent one of them a picture with my face in it. Later, I let the other guy talk me into sending him pictures of me in just a bra and panty, but my face wasn’t visible. In some of them I was even touching myself.

In all our chats I told these men things I made up, as if I had done them. They were increasingly raunchy things. I frequently described fantasies that were even worse. It was safe, I thought. They don’t know my name. They knew me only by my screen name, sexycindy1986. They don’t know where I live. There’s just no way they could ever find me.

Everything was fine until two weeks ago, at one o’clock in the morning! The phone rang and woke me up. Luckily my husband is a light sleeper. He has such a problem with it that he wears ear plugs to bed. He never hears anything. I quickly grabbed the phone. My heart was in my throat. I thought surely a loved one had been in an accident or something. Why else would our phone ring at one in the morning?

I said, “Hello?” quietly into the phone.

There was a brief pause and then a male voice said, “Hello sexycindy1986. That’s such a mouthful, do you mind if I call you Ashley?”

I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I was certain one of the two men I chat with regularly had somehow figured out who I am and where I live. I was about to find out it’s even worse than that.

“Who is this?” I asked, in a near panic.

There was an evil chuckle in my ear and the voice said, “Go check your email.” Then he hung up.

I checked to make sure Jay is still asleep and I slipped quietly out of bed. With my heart in my throat I hurried to the computer room. I turned on the computer and sat there waiting with my heart pounding so loud I couldn’t hear the computer boot up.

When it was finally ready I checked my email and there was an email from “yourworstnightmare”. I hesitated for the longest time. I was terrified, but finally I had to know what it said. I clicked on it and opened it and the first thing I saw was half a dozen pictures of me. My face was in them. And that was bad enough. But he had also included the shots of me in my underwear. He even had the sexy pictures that showed me touching myself over my bra and panty.

These were the pictures I had sent to my two chat room friends. But they were the pictures I had sent to both of them! I had sent them each different pictures!

It got worse. I scrolled down and came to the text of the email. There were excerpts from my chats with both men, some of the most awful things. The way I had said them it sounded like I was doing those terrible things. Things like having sex with lots of different men when my husband was at work. Going out in slutty clothes and picking up large numbers of strange men. I once claimed that I had also picked up women. In one conversation I even claimed to have had sex with the teenage boy that mowed our grass! I had gone out of my way to make these things sound believable and I had been very descriptive.

At the end of the email, “yourworstnightmare” said, “I have transcripts of every conversation you have had since you bought your computer. If you don’t want your husband to see them then you had best come to 5711 Lawton Lane at nine in the morning. Goodnight, sleep well.”

I read the email several times, trying desperately to figure out who might be behind it. Trying even more desperately to figure out how I could explain those things to my husband. He’s a deeply religious and very straight-laced man. He’d never believe these were all fantasies and lies told to excite both me and the men with whom I was chatting. Even if he did believe it he’d find my behavior unacceptable! I’m going to end up divorced either way. SHIT!!

I finally turned the computer off and went back to bed. Jay heard me coming back to bed and asked if everything was alright. I told him I had gone to the bathroom and he went right back to sleep. I lay awake for hours with a horrible dread running through me.

I got up with Jay in the morning and made breakfast as usual while he got ready for work. After he went to work I turned the computer on and read the email again. I was going crazy trying to find some way out of this. I can’t imagine how someone local could have collected all this information.

While I was sitting in front of the computer, more or less in a stupor, I received another email from “yourworstnightmare”. I didn’t open it at first. I was afraid to. After putting off the inevitable for as long as possible I knew that I didn’t have a choice and I opened it. The email contained a map to the address I’ve been ordered to go to this morning with directions from my driveway to his. There’s also another picture of me in my underwear. In this one I’m holding my breasts, still covered in my conservative bra, in my hands as if offering them up to a lover.

It’s getting late so I showered and did my makeup. Then I tried to decide what to wear. All my clothing is quite conservative. That’s how I dress. That’s who I am.

I selected a navy skirt and a plain white top with a matching navy jacket. I dressed and looked at myself in the mirror. I don’t know for sure what this is about. But it seems obvious that the point is sexual blackmail. My husband and I are just starting out and have very little money. On the off chance I’m wrong about what my blackmailer has in mind I’m being very careful to dress in a way that could not possibly give the wrong impression.

I don’t know who’s doing this, or how I’m going to get out of it. But I have to get out of it. I can’t possibly do anything of a sexual nature with someone outside of my marriage!

I have always been shy and self conscious about my body. I know I have a good figure. But it makes me uncomfortable when people notice. Every time a man looks at me and I see his eyes glance down at my figure I blush. I can’t help it. Jay is the only man who has seen me naked or touched me.

I allowed a high school boyfriend to touch my breasts over my clothing on several occasions. It was very exciting. I’m not a robot. I have needs and desires. But it was also very wrong and I stopped seeing him before he could push me any farther.

My husband and I started dating while he was a senior and I was a junior in college. We started “going steady” almost as soon as we started dating. We seemed to be perfect for each other. He would be the strong father figure in my life and he vowed to take care of me forever. We share our strong religious principles and morals. He’s the man I had always dreamed my husband would be. He’s cute too!

Jay asked me to marry him four months before I graduated from college. I accepted, totally without reservation. From that time on, we often went a little farther on dates than I had ever gone previously. I would sometimes let him put my hand on his thing through his pants. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t masturbate him or anything like that. I just held my hand there. He seemed to really enjoy being touched. I guess I could understand that.

As time passed I began to allow him greater liberties. He would sometimes touch my thighs under my skirt, or cup my breast inside my top. But always through my bra. There were still limits. We were never more intimate than that before our wedding.

It was well worth the wait. When the day of our wedding finally arrived we left for our honeymoon pure and untouched. That week that followed our wedding was a week of wonder, exploration and incredible excitement. We both knew it had been worth the wait.

Now some strange man is insisting I go to his home and I can only assume that he intends to have sex with me. It just isn’t possible. I won’t be able to do it. I’m going to have to face him, to go there and explain that I got carried away in those chats and I deeply regret it. But it was just for titillation. I never had any intention of ever doing anything with anyone but my husband. I still don’t!

I looked at the map he sent me. The street he lives on is less than a mile from my house. I have to leave my subdivision, go out to the main road and turn left, away from town. The next street off of the main road is Lawton. I don’t like the idea that this blackmailing pervert lives so near to my home.

It was finally time to go and get this over with. I got in my car and drove to his house. It was not as well kept as his neighbors on the street. The grass needs mowing. There’s a big motorcycle parked outside the garage, right beside the pickup truck with all of the redneck stickers on the back window.

I drove past the first time. I couldn’t bring myself to stop there. I know I have no choice though. I have to face him and put an end to this. I parked at the curb in front of the house. I walked slowly up the driveway. I’m so nervous I’m having trouble breathing.

I can hear music coming from inside the house. I had to knock loudly several times before someone finally answered the door. The man who answered the door is in his mid to late thirties, tall, at least 6’2”, and big. He looks like one of those men who had once lifted weights but stopped. He’s still strong but he’s getting a bit of a beer gut. He also looks kind of mean. I began to suspect that it’s going to be very difficult to reason with him. Oh, and he also looks familiar. I know I’ve seen him somewhere but as hard as I tried I could not remember where.

He didn’t say anything when he came to the door. He looked at me for a moment and then stood back and held the door for me to come in. I tried to tell him that I don’t want to enter his house. I have just come to reason with him. I was stuttering and stammering and finally he said, “Shut the fuck up and get your dumb ass in here, cunt!”

I could not have been more shocked if he had struck me! In my entire life no one has ever spoken to me in that manner or used that course language in my presence. I want to slap his face. Instead, he reached out, grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me into his living room.

Once I was inside he shut the door and walked around me to sit in an old recliner. He looked up at me for a minute. I glanced at him but had to look away quickly. It’s obvious he’s enjoying my extreme discomfort.

I started to speak again, still not knowing exactly what I’m going to say but knowing I have to get out of this place.

I uttered a few unintelligible sounds but he interrupted to say, “You really are a stupid cunt, aren’t you? Do all of your friends call you clueless?”

“What!” I managed to gasp out. “No! And please don’t use that language around me. I won’t stand for it!”

He laughed at me. “What’s the matter, cunt? You don’t like being called cunt? I’ll call you any god damned thing I want and you’re gonna smile and say ‘yes, sir’. Got it?”

“Please, don’t use the lord’s name in vain! I only came here to reason with you. I’m not the kind of person you think I am. Those chats, they were ... I don’t know, just harmless playing. I’m not really that kind of person. I don’t know how you got those pictures or those chat-logs. But you have to destroy them and not contact me anymore. Do you understand?”

I sounded weak and ineffectual even to myself.

He laughed in my face. “Sorry, cunt, not gonna happen. I got your sweet ass right where I want it. I think you’re going to find our days together very educational.”

He got up and pulled me over to the sofa and pushed me down. The place is so dirty and messy that I’m uncomfortable about touching anything. But I’m too numb to resist him.

He sat beside me, pulled a folder on the coffee table closer and opened it up. Inside are 8X10s of all of the pictures, copies of all of the chat logs, and a list of names and addresses. The list contains the names of both Jay’s parents and my own, our grandparents, our neighbors, our closest friends, Jay’s boss and several of his co-workers. It also lists our Pastor and many of the most influential people in our church.

I suddenly knew I was going to throw up. I looked around and couldn’t see the bathroom so I ran to the kitchen and was sick in the sink. When I was finished I rinsed the sink out and then rinsed my face and my mouth. The only towel I saw was too filthy to touch. So I used a paper towel to dry my face and hands. I looked into the living room. He’s still sitting where I left him on the sofa.

I went into the living room and, realizing I’m trapped, I asked him what he wants from me.

“You are one hot bitch,” he said. “I don’t think you have any idea how hot you are. That’s okay, though. I do. I’m going to teach you all about sex. You’re going to learn how to fuck and suck on command. I can see I’m sure as hell going to have to teach you how to dress!”

“You don’t understand,” I tried one last time. “I’ve never been with anyone but my husband. I just couldn’t! I can’t do the things you want me to do. Please, I just can’t.”

My words just seemed to bounce off of him. As if I hadn’t spoken he ordered me to go get him a beer from the refrigerator. I don’t want to do it. I realize that any time I obey an order of his I’m surrendering just a little more. I stared at him for a moment, aware of the implied threat. He didn’t even have to put the threat into words. I know I’m beaten.

I moaned in helpless frustration. But I turned, went to the kitchen and got his beer from the refrigerator. I was disgusted by the inside of the refrigerator. I don’t think he has ever cleaned it out. The living room is at least as nasty and I’d be very surprised if the rest of the house isn’t just as bad. I took the beer in and handed it to him. It isn’t even 9:30 in the morning and he’s drinking a beer!

He saw the disapproval on my face. He laughed and said, “I always drink beer while I watch a strip show. Now, I want you to start taking those damned clothes off. Take as much time as you like, we have all day.”

I stood in front of this horrible man in shock, unable to move. He picked up a small remote control and pointed it at a camera on a tripod nearby. I didn’t notice it until he pointed the remote at it. The camera is pointed right at us. I know it’s recording. I can see the little red light. He took another drink of his beer and told me to start.

I looked at him and then back at the camera and I panicked. It’s all just too much. I collapsed to my knees, put my face in my hands and sobbed. He just watched. When I finally had recovered enough to look at him through my tears he was smiling. He’s actually enjoying my suffering! Oh my god! What have I gotten myself into?!

I tried to plead again. I begged him. I told him I can’t possibly undress in front of any man other than my husband. And I certainly can’t undress in front of a camera! I glanced at the camera and noticed that the red light is still on. It’s recording me even now!