Blackmailer Beware

It doesn’t matter what the information was that she had on him.  What does matter is that if she were to leak it, it would ruin him.

Not the kind of ruin where people gasp in shock, take to social media for an hour, denounce his name, and that’s the end of it.

Not even the kind of ruin where he loses his job.

The kind of ruin where everything he holds dear is taken from him and he himself is thrown in prison.

For a long time.

Nobody was supposed to know, but she did.  And she had it on her phone.

She wanted a little something for her secrecy…


“I know what you did,” she said to him.

His heart skipped a beat and his chest felt a little tighter.  But he tried to play it off, tried to ignore how his palms instantly felt clammy, tried ignore the urge to pick his stomach up off the floor.

“Wh–what do you mean?” he managed.

A wicked grin crossed her face, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.  She inched closer.  “I know what you did,” she said again, her voice a menacing whisper.

He swallowed hard.  His heart pounded in his chest—in his ears even—and even as he tried to play it off, his voice squeaked out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, yes, you do,” she hissed, the wicked grin slowly creeping back across her lips.  “You can play dumb all you like,” she said evenly, “but if you don’t want the police to know what I know, you’ll meet me in the alley after work.”

Then she walked away.

His face was white, and his legs wobbled.  Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his breath came in trembling gasps.  He held his chest with one hand and put the other on his knee to steady himself.

Get control of yourself! he warned himself.  Do you want everybody to see you like this?

He took some deep breaths.  His heart slowed, and his breathing returned to normal.  He stood upright again and went back to his desk.

The hours dragged on.  Why did she have to tell me first thing in the morning? he grumbled to himself.  Why did she have to leave me in suspense all day?

Lunchtime came, yet he wasn’t hungry.  The lunch hour dragged on.

Lunchtime was over.  Now he was sort-of hungry.  But no time for that now.

Another hour ticked by.  Three more to go.

Another hour.

Another hour.

Thirty minutes.

Ten minutes.

One minute.

Sweat broke out on his brow.

Thirty seconds.

His breathing grew ragged again.

Fifteen seconds.

His palms felt clammy.

Get ahold of yourself!  You still have to make it to the alley!

Ten seconds.

He stood.  His legs held.

Five seconds.

Close enough.

He began walking to the door.

The end-of-day whistle blew shrilly.  Despite his countdown, he jumped and nearly fell over.

“Have a good weekend!” a coworker offered.  He didn’t hear it.  He was too distracted.

The door.  He pushed it, and it opened.

The alley.  But there was nobody here.

A noise. Behind the dumpster.

“So…”—that sultry voice again—”you did know what I was talking about after all.”

She beckoned for him to join her behind the dumpster.

He gulped and reluctantly obeyed.

She held up her phone and played back the video.

Fuck, she must have been in the room when it happened!  It was clearly him.  He was clearly doing that.  With them.

“What do you want from me?” he asked helplessly.

“Me?” she asked innocently.

Innocently like a black widow.

That wicked smirk returned, and her voice turned husky.  “I want you,” she said.

He frowned, not understanding.

“I want you to do what you do,” she hinted with a grin.  “To me.”

He stared dumbly.

“You can start right now,” she said.  “It’s been too long since I’ve had…” she trailed off, thinking wistfully.

“You want me to…?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes!” she said, her eyes flashing.  “If you want me to be quiet, then you’ll do as I say.  Right now.”

“But you don’t—” he began weakly.

“Improvise, then!” she spat.

Her face took on a look of preternatural serenity.  “Make do,” she coaxed him.  “Do this, when I say, where I say, and I will remain quiet.”  She smiled at him.

“Refuse me,” she continued, her face turning ugly with rage, “and I will make sure you lose everything you love. Everything.  I will make sure that you go to jail, and when you get out, there will be nothing for you.  I will make it so you wish you had never been born.

With a toss of her hair, she was back to calm.  “Do I make myself clear?” she asked.

Why me?  Why now?  I wasn’t even hurting anybody! he moaned to himself.  She had him by the gonads; that was sure.  He sighed.  Best to play along for now.  Maybe I can get her phone while I’m doing it.

“Okay,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Really?” she asked, brightening.  “Right now?”

“If you say so,” he croaked.

“I do say so!” she said, practically giggling with delight.

He stepped closer to her.  “So you want me to—?” he asked helplessly.

“Yes.  Right now.”

He took a breath.  “All right,” he said, resolved.

With a deft flick, he pulled a knife off his belt and sliced her clothes off of her, expertly missing her skin.  She jumped, and her heart raced at the thrill.

“Ohh, yes!” she hissed.  Her exultation was short-lived.

With a rough shove, he pushed her down onto the ground.  She felt the cold concrete on her skin, and she shivered with anticipation.  She’d seen the whole thing; she knew what was next.

He moved her legs apart and knelt between them.  Damn, she didn’t have to blackmail me for this!  If I’d known she wanted it, I’d have volunteered!  His fingers hovered over her nether-lips, his heart pounding with desire.  Willing himself to go slowly and take his time, he brought them down, stroking the soft, smooth skin.

She and he sighed in mutual bliss.

His fingers stroked her flesh again, a little higher this time.

He found her clitoris.

A squeak of pleasure escaped her lips.

His middle finger traced over that firm lump and continued its downward descent into her warm, moist depths.  He could feel her arousal.  He could see how she flushed.  He could hear her breathing.  He could smell her desire.  A guttural noise came out of his mouth.  He needed to taste her.

His breath quivering, he lowered his head.  His eyes half-closed as his mouth neared her.  He could feel the heat from her sex on his face.  The smell of her arousal was strong in his nostrils.

He paused, inducing agony in both of them.  She wanted to arch up to push herself against him, to make him do to her what she so desperately wanted.  His hot breath on her made her shudder and buck in need.  She whimpered with anticipation.

At last, his lips touched hers.  She could feel his whiskers as they tickled her clit and grazed her all the way down.

And then there was his tongue.

He tasted her skin, clean and soft, but his tongue needed only to barely press before he met with her love-juices, welcoming him inside.

With her taste on his tongue, he could stand it no more.  He plunged his tongue deeply into her, snorting and grunting like an animal.  He wanted—no, needed—to get to the source of that delicious fluid, that sweet nectar.  He buried his tongue inside of her, licking furiously, lapping like a dog at peanut butter.

At first it was erotic.  Then it was intense.  Then it was almost too much.  She squeezed her legs tightly together, smothering his head between them, yet it only pulled his face deeper into her.  She squealed in delight and ecstasy, but his tongue would not slow.

And somehow, his tongue seemed to go deeper into her.  Surely he must have bottomed out? she wondered, but her mind soon fogged over with bliss.

And still he grunted and licked and snuffled at her pussy, savoring her sweet juices.  It wasn’t long before he needed more.  He stepped from his clothes and nudged her.

She was ready.  Obediently she rolled onto her fours.

He mounted her from behind.  Both squealed in delight as his porcine prick found her sow-hole and he buried himself inside of her.

She couldn’t stand the pleasure anymore.  With a warning grunt and a squeal, she pressed back hard against him and orgasmed, her fluids sliding down his cock to pool on the ground under his heavy balls.  The final stimulation sent him over the edge, and he, too, squealed, flooding her insides.

The two stood a moment, basking in the afterglow before he dismounted.

As he stepped back, he let out an evil laugh.

“What?” she meant to say.  But all that came out was an inquisitive grunt.

He stepped over her—somehow he was much taller than he used to be—and picked up her phone.

“Wait, no!  That’s mine!” she tried to yell, but all that came out was some furious squealing.

With a smile, he bent down to scratch her coarse-haired head.

“Thanks for a fun time,” he said to her.  “You won’t need this anymore.”  With the flick of his wrist, the threw her phone hard on the concrete; it shattered into pieces.

Her squeals and grunts made perfect sense to him.

“It didn’t have to be permanent,” he said to the sow, “but you had to try to blackmail me, and I can’t have that, now can I?”

He chuckled and scratched under her chin.  She tried to bite him, but he deftly deflected her.

Picking her up under his arm, he took her out of the alley, tossing her cut clothes into the dumpster.  “Look on the bright side,” he said to her, “you wanted to rut, and when we get home and I introduce you to the boys, they’ll want to rut with you all the time.”


The moral of this story is simple: don’t try to blackmail a shapeshifter.

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