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Latika Gets Blackmailed into Kinky Sex


Hi, I am Latika. I am 31 years of age. Most men consider me very attractive. I have a lovely face with a great and easy smile, shoulder length black hair and brown eyes. I am still 34B – 26 – 35, carrying 61 kgs on a five four frame. But, women… all women… are afraid of losing their looks, particularly single women like me who are fighting a war with a lot of younger competitors for the available men out there. So, I spend a lot on clothes and makeup. Really, I should spend more time in the gym, but, who has time. As a lawyer struggling to make partner in a major firm, I barely have time to date.

The last guy I really dated was Amil Srivastava, a lawyer who left my firm to go into litigation. Amil and I were a hot, hot item a year ago. I did things with him I thought I would never do with a man. Worse than that, I let him take some photos of me. Well, I did not let him take the first ones. They were of me bound. After those, which he took without my permission, I let him take the ones of us together, using a delay timer on his DSLR.

I got them all back when we spilt up. I thought.

It had been a hell of a week. Many longs hours, many pointless meetings, even a court date in which the judge ate me out big time. By Friday at four, when I trudged back into my office to wrap up a bad week, I was exhausted and ready for a hot bath and cold cocktail. I found a large manila envelope in my chair. It was sealed with “personal” written in red and underlined. Examination of the envelope showed it was hand delivered and did not come through the company mail route. Standing, I zipped it open with my letter opener.

There was a typed letter and another, smaller envelope inside. The letter read:

“Latika: Projected recipients of the enclosed envelope are (it listed the five name partners of my firm, the men who would make, or break, my future). Think about it.”

I opened the smaller envelope, removing a single eight by ten black and white glossy photograph. The instant I looked at it, I felt the sweat break out on my face, the tingling in my limbs, the bile rising in my stomach. I knew I was going to faint. I fell to my knees behind my desk… gasping for air… struggling to breath… my chest tight, like someone had a band around me. I reached for the waste basket and puked my guts out.

The rancid, acid taste filled my mouth and nose as I puked again, green bile dribbling down my chin into the waste basket. I put my head between my knees to keep from fainting.

I wanted to scream… NOOOOOOOO!!!… WHO IS DOING THIS TO ME??? But, the only noise was the wheezing as my breath returned. Finally, able to sit up without fear of fainting, I reached for the picture.

The photograph was of me. I was naked and on my knees with my arms pulled back severely, bound behind me at the wrist and elbows, arching my back and thrusting my breasts out. A rope bound my ankles to my thighs, keeping me kneeling on frog-style legs. The end of a black dildo was visible sticking out of my pussy. A gag was in my mouth. I was looking directly into the camera with a slutty, happy expression, telling everyone I was enjoying this immensely.

I puked again.

It was a long, sleepless night. Not even five Scotches eased the anxiety as I paced and wondered. I knew the pictures had to come from those Amil took of me but, dammit, I trusted him. And, I still did. I did not think he was the one responsible. Not Amil. He broke up with me and we parted on very good terms. But, if not him, who? Who in the hell was it?

Saturday, I was exhausted, sleepless and still in shock. Listlessly, I puttered around the house, doing a cleaning job worse than I care to admit. At eleven the mail came. There was another envelope. I started to shake just from seeing it. I checked it thoroughly: no return address; no indication of who sent it.

I looked at the photo first. It was me again, of course. I was on my hands and knees with an unidentifiable man fucking me doggy style. I remember when Amil made that one. He sat the camera so I facing right into the lenses. I was in obvious ecstasy.

The letter read: “Latika: My, my. You *are* a horny little slut, aren’t you? Like those big cocks in your sweet wetness, Latika. What a lovely picture you take, too. Stay home this afternoon and get ready to go out. Do not call Amil. I’m not kidding, slut!”

I couldn’t even eat lunch and I could not stop sweating. I drank gallons of water; afraid I would dehydrate. The phone rang at two twelve.

“Hi, slut! Ready for your pictures to be distributed!”

“Who are you! What do you want from me!” I guess it was my legal training. As anxious as I was, I was extremely intent, trying to get every clue. It was a woman’s voice. It was voice I had heard before.

“I’ll tell you that tonight! You’re to do exactly as I tell you or the pictures go in the mail. Listen! Go to the Boudoir London store and buy a Wonderbra that maximizes what little tits you have. I want your nipples to show! Buy thong panties in hot pink and black thigh high stockings. Wear them with that super short black skirt; you know, the one you wore for the Christmas party in ‘2012.”

“It’s too small. I have put on some weight.”

“I know. I want your big ass to wiggle in that skirt like ten kgs of mud in a five kg sack. Wear the white see through blouse, the one Amil gave you for your birthday. Lastly, wear those black pumps with the six inch heels. What did you call them: ‘My fuck me pumps.’ Use red lipstick… bright red. I want your finger and toe nails painted the same bright colour. Your hair should be loose on your shoulders. Understand?”

“Please… please… why are…”

“Shut up, slut! Be at the Planet Bollywood club at eight. Plan to stay out all night. See ya!”

She disconnected.

From deep inside me, a sob floated up. I began to cry: a deep, gut wrenching, soul emptying cry.

The crying jag ruined my time frame, and now, I was speeding through traffic because I was afraid I was going to be late. It was eight o two when I opened the doors to Planet Bollywood. Planet Bollywood is a hot pickup bar for the “to thirty somethings” Mumbaikars, swinging, modern, very liberal, set. The women there are good looking young professionals. I was not the oldest person I saw. But, I was the oldest woman. My fear of being compared unfavourable in looks and age offset my fear of being exposed by my blackmailer. I felt the bile rise again and struggled to keep it down. Looking around for a familiar face, I saw one of the younger lawyers and a paralegal we had just hired. I did not know anyone else. Then, I felt a hand on my arm.

“Hi, Latika. Remember me?”

“Usha Srivastava. Are you…?”

“Come on. Let’s sit down. We have a table over here.”

As I followed her across the room, the pieces fell in place. Usha was Amil’s younger sister. Only twenty-five, she was a professional model, with a tall, lean body and a face that appeared in print and TV ads all the time. I always felt inadequate next to her. And, what women wouldn’t. She was perfect.

But, why did she want… Wait! Usha had seen me kissing another man at a party one night. It happened while I was still dating Amil. Usha worshiped her big brother and I remember the angry, hurt look on her face when she saw me. Was this pay back for that perceived infidelity?

Usha guided me to the large table in back where six women and five men sat, all her friends out for a good time. They were all professional models… beautiful, lean, young. She introduced me as her aunt… Aunt Latika… and, asked everyone to call me that. I felt like a maiden aunt… an old, unattractive, maiden aunt… Aunt Latika. Usha was mean, a real bitch.

Men cannot understand what I am mean by this. Women will know immediately. To be the oldest, least attractive women in a group is very humiliating. I looked at them: those lean, perfect bodies, narrow but cute bottoms, high, firm breasts. How could I compete? Usha might be mean but she was smart. She knew exactly how to humiliate me the worst.

Usha took me aside. “Now, here are the rules. You’ll relax and have fun, or, act like it anyway. You’ll dance with every man or woman who asks you. Dance close! Rub against them! Act like the slut you are! No drinking, but, I want you to order and eat three deserts tonight, the most caloric ones they offer. Can’t let those chubby thighs get thin, can we? If anyone takes any sexual liberties with you, you’re to happily accept them and encourage further ones. I mean any liberties, Aunt Latika! Am I clear?”

“Usha, why…?”

“Answer me!”

“Yes, Usha. Very clear.”

“That’s a good, old, fat, slut!” she said patronizingly, giving my cheek a pat with every word.

It was the most miserable evening of my life.

Usha and one of her friends, Devaki, kept making catty little remarks about my shape and age. Of course, by the end of the evening, everyone in Planet Bollywood knew me as Aunt Latika. Women can be such bitches! I had cute, young things come ask me questions: girls I had never met, asking advice as if my age gave me experience and wisdom. And, the way they asked, implying I was so much older, did I remember when…

There were giggles all around as I ate the three deserts as ordered. Since that was all I had eaten all day, by the end of the evening I was bloated, making me appear even fatter.

I was asked to dance a lot but not as much as the other women at the table, who seemed to take particular pleasure at refusing a dance request but pointing me out as an alternative. I could see the disappointment in the men’s faces. But, they danced with me.

Usha had told me to accept liberties. I did. And, many liberties were taken. If was not the men’s fault, really. In these clubs, men always as a girl to dance. They make a move on her, maybe just a hand in the small of her back holding her tightly. If they do not receive a discouraging sign… resistance or a comment… they make the next move. Then, the next. That’s the way it’s done. The women’s responsibility is to send the stop signs. My blackmailer had told me not to send stop signs. So, the men got progressively bolder with me.

The crowd had started to thin out. A man who had been after me all evening asked me to dance. I’d already endured his hands all over me when we danced previously. He guided me to the darkest part of the dance floor, whispering nasty things in my ear. Look, I’m not a prude. Under the right circumstances and with the right man, I would have been enjoying this. But, he was horrible! I couldn’t help it. When I felt his hand under my skirt sliding between my legs, I froze.

I felt Usha’s hand on my arm. I almost wet myself, afraid she had seen my resistance. She had. “We need to go, Aunt Latika. Offer your friend a blow job in the parking lot on the way out.”

The man heard Usha order me to perform oral sex on him. Most men would have jumped at this opportunity and I knew it. I was waiting for him to pull me outside. But, his eyes burned into me, then flitted from Usha to me. He knew something was strange. He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and walked away, saving me another humiliation and a mouth full of cum. I followed Usha to her condo.

There were only Usha and two other women and three guys there. Usha ordered me to act as waitress, telling me to call everyone “ma’am” or “sir”. She gave me a small, white lace apron to wear over my skirt. I was hustling drinks when Vishal came into the kitchen with Usha. Vishal was twenty-one and an underwear model, meaning he had the hard body that could take the camera’s eye. He also was Usha’s boyfriend and an arrogant shit.

“Vishal and I have a bet,” she said. They could tell I was afraid. They could smell my fear. She had a mean grin as she stared at me until I had to look away.

“Vishal bet you are getting off on this, Aunt Latika. Are you? Are you wet between your legs from being humiliated? Well?”

“Oh, god, please, no. I’m begging, Usha. Don’t… please, don’t!”

“Pull up your skirt so we can check, Aunt Latika. Now!”

“No…no… I won’t do it!”

“How many people do you want to see your pictures, Aunt Latika? Everyone you know? Should I post the pictures and your address on the Internet? How about to the Bar Association? Do as you are told! Now!”

I began to sob but I did it. My arms were like lead, my fingers stone, as I slowly wiggled and tugged until the too tight mini skirt was around my waist and my tiny pink thong was in clear sight.

“Which of us do you want to check, Aunt Latika? You need to ask politely. Whose finger do you want between your chubby legs?”

I couldn’t speak. I could only shake.

“I’ll count to three. If you haven’t asked one of us, I’ll call everyone in here and let them all check. One…”

“Vishal.”

“Ask him nicely.”

“Vishal, please check me,” I sobbed.

“Stupid, slut! Say “Vishal, please finger my slutty pussy to see if I’m wet from being humiliated’.”

I shook my head no.

“Two.”

“Vishal… oh, god… Vishal, (sob) please finger my (sob) slutty pussy to see… to see if I’m (sob) wet from being humiliated (giant sob).”

What a shit eating grin he had as he slipped his finger between my legs. He was not content to rub my labia through the thin sheen of the panties. He pushed the panties aside and entered me, pushing his finger all the way in to the palm. I couldn’t look at them. My skin was hot… prickly… beet red for my humiliation of standing in front of this bitchy, blackmailing woman and having her boyfriend’s finger up me, buried to the hilt.

“Very wet,” he said softly.

“My, my. The slut likes her humiliation. Look at me, Aunt Slut!” My eyes leaped to her face. I felt my burn increase, my breathing become shallow. Yes, dammit! I was getting off on the humiliation.

“Bring her to the edge, Vishal, but, don’t let her cum.” Usha’s voice was like the hissing of a snake: evil and cold.

Vishal slowly guided a second finger up my gooey slit. I felt his thumb touch my clit, which was rigid and quivering.

“Nooooo!!”

It was an explosion… a volcano erupting without warning. Instantaneously, my body went rigid and my back arched. My orgasm smashed me, knocking me to the floor. Vishal’s hand never left me: his thumb rotating my clit, his fingers sliding up and down, thrusting in and out of my pussy.

I was writhing on the floor like a mad woman, smashed again and again by orgasms. I could hear my screaming. So could every one else. Quickly, they were all in the kitchen watching me… all seven of them watching as I wiggled on the floor in an orgasmic fit, my legs thrashing, my hands still clutching the hem of my skirt at my waist.

They watched as I screamed when my body when rigid… arching… only my heels and my shoulders touching the floor. They were giggling and smirking as I passed out from the greatest orgasm of my life.

When I awakened, the lights were off in the kitchen and I was alone, still clutching the hem of my dress. Slowly, I struggled to stand. I reeked of sex. I was sore and tired. I stumbled to the door, opened it and went into the living room.

There was only a single, soft, light on. Devaki, her boyfriend Jeremy, Vishal and Usha were all naked and on the floor. The others were gone. Usha was sucking Vishal’s cock. Jeremy was between Devaki’s legs, his cock buried in her. Usha looked up at me.

“Anybody want to use the old slut?”

“Send her away,” Vishal murmured. The others grunted negatively.

“Nobody wants you, Aunt Latika. Go home. I’ll call you.”

How humiliating! To be available for sex and nobody even wants you. I had to admit to myself if no one else, I was still horny even after the multiple orgasms I demonstrated for the crowd. I’d never been this horny. When I finally crawled into my own bed, I started masturbating and could not stop. I awakened the next morning with my hands between my legs and my vibrator still buried in my pussy. I started my Sunday by masturbating again.

Usha called at two to give me instructions, ordering me to arrive at the club at seven. I almost panicked as I opened the door. I’d never been in a gentlemen’s club before. I knew they existed and often the male lawyers in my firm entertained clients there. It was dark and the rock and roll music blasted my ears as I looked for Vishal and Usha. I found them sitting with friends.

“Aunt Latika!” Usha called out. “Glad to see you’re on time. Come on!”

I followed her through a curtain at the back. The room was full of women… girls… teenagers! Their must have been twenty of them in various stages of undress. I was the oldest.

“Okay, ladies. Here’re your costumes. Lockers are over there. Hurry! We are starting now.”

I took a wad of clothes from the woman who had given us instructions. Following Usha, I began undressing, hanging my clothes in the locker.

“Usha, what’s happening?” She had that cold, evil snake’s expression again. I knew I was beet red and shivering.

“Wet T-shirt contest, Aunt Latika. The winner gets a thousand dollars. Hurry up!”

“Please, Usha. Don’t! I can’t stand any more humiliation.”

She laughed in my face. “We both know you get off on humiliation, Aunt Latika. So, just do as you are told. I’ll mail the pictures if you don’t obey me!”

Fighting back tears, I finished undressing and put on the costume they gave me and my black pumps Usha had told me to bring. The costume was a white thong bikini bottom and a tiny, cropped white T-shirt. My nipples were erect and very noticeable. I should have told you. I have big nipples and when I am aroused, they are huge.

The thong showed my full ass off to perfection. Everyone could see it and my chubby thighs. Even worse, I had not trimmed my pubic hairs as everyone else had. I tried to get all my hairy bush into the bikinis but I could not. Some hair still stuck out around the bikinis edge as Usha dragged me toward the stage.

Waiting in the shadows as other women preceded me on stage, I surveyed the audience. It was full of hooting and happy men, some rooting on their wives or girlfriends, others just enjoying the feminine flesh so openly displayed. The women on stage strutted like sluts or stood still like zombies depending on how they reacted. One thing they had in common. They all squealed and jumped around when they were sprayed with cold water, soaking their tiny costumes which were identical to the one I wore. The obvious result was erect nipples and goose bumps everywhere.

I was steeling myself to go on. I had no choice. I had watched the ones before me. Once again I was to be the oldest, with the chubbiest thighs and biggest butt in the contest. My breasts were exceeded in size by many of them. Now, it was only one woman in front of me.

Usha whispered in my ear.

“Did you notice Ray Winters from the office sitting with Vishal? I knew you’d want him here!”

“No!” I barked in horror. The bile rose again and I felt faint. Usha slapped my face, seeing my loss of colour and afraid I would faint. I sobbed as I tried to regain my control.

Ray Winters was a new partner in my firm, thirty-two and very good looking. He and I had been assigned to a case together where we really got to know each other. Since then our relationship had blossomed wonderfully, to the point of sex, which I was sure we’d consummate on our next date.

Now, any relationship with him would be gone forever. He’d never have a meaningful relationship with a woman who would participate in a wet T-shirt contest. I was crushed. This was going to be the greatest humiliation of all, prancing wet and almost naked before a hundred men and the man I really liked… the man I’d consider marrying.

“Your turn, Aunt Latika,” Usha said softly and pushed me up the stairs.

I stumbled into the spotlight. I froze, unable to move. “Show us your fat ass!” Vishal shouted. I felt a tear on my cheek. Then, the ice water hit me.

I guess one never knows how one is going to react under extreme stress.

I was shaking with humiliation and the ice water as I looked down at myself. The T-shirt was plastered against me, every millimeter of flesh exposed, my nipples, huge, hard rocks clearly visible, the bikini bottoms soaked and my pubic hair both visible through the material and sticking out around the edges, my pussy lips obvious under the cloth, my chubby thighs covered with goose bumps.

It was so erotic I thought I would orgasm right then and there.

I moaned from deep down inside me and started to bump and grind to the music… thrusting my hips back and forth… my hands all over my body, stroking myself. I turned around and bent over, showed my naked ass to everyone, wiggling in their faces. I felt my hand cup my pussy when the music stopped and the lights went off. I was in a daze as a woman guided me off stage.

I won the contest. It seems my hot, full body and wild gyrations got me more votes than anyone. Usha was royally pissed off I won, her anger very obvious to everyone. After I redressed and collected my winnings, I walked towards them. Usha stopped me.

“Well, you old slut, Ray and I had a long talk. He bought all the pictures and the negatives from me. You belong to him now. Have fun!” She stalked away. It seemed to be the way I reacted a lot any more. I stood like a zombie as Ray walked toward me, a little smile on his face.

“Latika, follow me home. We need to talk.” He kissed me gently on the cheek, took my hand and led me out of the club.

Ray shoved me down on the couch in his living room, handed me a highball, and sat beside me. He had a funny little smile on his face as he watched me. I realized I felt very secure and comfortable with him… even though he had seen me parading like a slut and had dirty pictures of me with another man.

“God, you were magnificent! I’ve never seen such a desirable woman. A woman so sexy, sensual. You really turn me on!”

“Oh, Ray, please forgive me. That’s not the real me. I’m so sorry you saw me like that. I…”

“I hope it’s the real you. I loved seeing you like that, Latika. It enhances, not damages, what we have together. And I know everything. Little Usha folded like a balloon when we talked felony charges. I have all the pictures and the negatives. I’d love to see them but I won’t look at them if you don’t want me to. What do you want, Latika?”

“I don’t want to think beyond tonight. And, for tonight I want the man I want to be in my life… you… to fuck me until I beg for mercy.”

He took me in his arms. Before the night was over, he fucked me until neither of us could move. What started as the worst weekend of my life, ended as the best. But that’s another story.

 

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