When First We Practice to...Blackmail

I think I've said this before, but I sometimes get my inspiration from reading the stories of others and spotting a crossroad where the story could go in quite a different direction to that chosen by the author. I unashamedly stand on the shoulders of the authors who have come before me.

Thanks to Nandan for their significant contribution to the concept of this story. Also, to XTCH for proofreading. No matter how often you read your own stuff, mistakes can still slip through. But, of course, thanks mainly to CreativityTakesCourage for vainly hammering away at my grammar.

Some commenters have noted on my previous office infidelity stories, that shit like that has almost been eradicated in the US. At the risk of repeating myself, I don't live in the US, so don't judge it by those standards.

Once again, this is FICTION. It doesn't need to be realistic and commenters writing essays pointing out what would have happened in real life are probably wasting their time.

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It's a cliché I know, but I really had felt my jaw drop at Michael's last statement.

"You know, Sarah, this doesn't have to change anything."

The sheer incongruity between his actions and that statement just stunned me. He smiled as he watched the shock that must have been on my face. When it did come, my reply was pure reflex.

"Let me get this straight. You march in here, a day after I tell you our affair has to stop, and show me some sordid photos you've taken of us. Then, not only demand you get the promotion but insist we keep seeing each other? If I don't agree to both of those, you'll send the photos anonymously to my husband."

"Spot on, Lover."

"But, Michael, I thought we meant more to each other than that."

"Oh come on, Sarah. That was just you justifying your cheating to yourself. You told me yesterday that you loved your husband more than me and that was why you were breaking off with me. We were never going anywhere, Sarah. By the way, I noticed you didn't tell me to go to hell until after we'd had sex."

I digested all this. I realised I could live with half of his demands; the promotion part. However, now that I knew what a sociopathic rat he was, the thought of continuing to have sex with him made me nauseous. I would do anything to avoid that choice. I recognised the photographs as being from one of our early meetings, possibly the first. I realised the only reason I hadn't been confronted with them before was that I'd voluntarily kept going back for more.

"You're forgetting one small detail, Michael. If you send those photos to my husband, he will come after you."

"Bullshit, Sarah. You've spent the last four months telling me how gentle and mild mannered your husband is. Besides, you will notice that none of these photos show my face, just yours. Who will he come after?"

"Let me see those." I reached out to grab them. He snatched them away.

"Do I look stupid, Sarah? I'm not letting you touch these. Do you think I want you to threaten to show them to my wife? They may not show my face but I'm sure she will recognise me."

"Well, if you send them to him, I will just tell him the man in the photos is you. He could come after you."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take, Sarah. See, I'm bold, I'm smart and my figures are at least as good as the other three going for that promotion. Where's the harm in just going along with what I want?"

"Yes, you do deserve that promotion, Michael. Even without our... relationship. But, tell me, how am I supposed to make love to you now that you're blackmailing me?"

"Aw, don't be like that, Sarah. I'm still the owner of that beautiful cock you told me you loved. The one you said was better than your husband's. Frankly, I'm not sure it will work for me either, but I intend finding out. In fact, I insist on finding out the day after tomorrow. You can make the excuses and the arrangements."

"But my husband will be in town Thursday. You know I only meet you when he's out of town."

"Well, that's another thing that will change. Make it happen. It doesn't have to be in your house, in your bed again. I know you hate that."

"Where will your wife be Thursday, Michael?"

"She's away all week, but don't even think about doing it at my place. I respect her too much to do that to her."

After that smack in the face, he left, leaving me to slump into my office chair. I couldn't believe that I'd been taken in by that asshole. How had it come to this mess?

It had been common knowledge for a while that one of my direct reports was retiring at the end of the year. I'd quietly let his subordinates know that their performance before then would influence which of them got the job.

I don't know whether it was the fact I was so busy, or simply middle-aged naivety, that the alarms didn't sound loud and clear when Michael, one of those contenders, started coming on to me. At first, it was slightly irritating, but slowly things changed. The boss me was subtly pushed aside as the woman me fell under his spell. I'll admit it. The thought of a virile, fit man, fifteen years my junior showing interest in me sexually, bypassed my brain and appealed straight to my libido.

I looked down at the body that had finally succumbed to weeks of flattery and attention. I saw the padding that was typical of a fifty-one-year-old woman. I saw the slight bulge of the tummy, typical of a mother of three children, now gone and living lives of their own. I remembered the face I'd seen in the mirror this morning. A face that was only just starting to look its age, complete with laugh lines and the other ravishes of time.

In the end, the guilt of betraying my husband hadn't been the impediment I thought it might have been when I decided to begin my first extramarital affair. After our first encounter, guilt still wasn't a major factor. In fact, all other issues were soon blown away as the thrill of my new experience swamped all other considerations. Michael was everything a mid-thirties male should be. Strong, dominant, and with plenty of staying power. Lust had started my betrayal and the pure rejoicing of my ego continued it. The fact he was attentive to my needs, easy on the eye, and endowed better than most men, ensured that the affair lasted as long as it did. Let's face it; he got inside me once or twice a week and took me to heaven and back. Whether it was at the Hilton or the Sheraton, when it was the second meeting in a week, or the two times in my office after hours, I loved every screaming, orgasmic episode. I was glad Michael had excluded my house in the future. We'd only been there once, when Dave was away, and the disrespect I felt at doing it in Dave's bed had ensured an extremely unenjoyable experience. I'd vowed never again.

However, as the emotional and physical thrill faded, it was guilt that made me call a stop to it. Guilt from an extremely unexpected quarter. No, it wasn't the fear of destroying Michael's marriage. His wife was away every second week and I was assured of Michael's discretion. No, it wasn't the twinges my professional ethics gave me knowing Michael had wormed his way into certain promotion. It wasn't the fear of being caught by my husband, even though it was related to that. No. It was the sheer ease with which I hid things from my soulmate that got me in the end. I never thought my husband would ever discover my betrayal because he was so easy to fool. He travelled frequently and randomly, as part of running his own business. That, allied with the fact, he loved and trusted me so unconditionally, meant he would never suspect I would do such a thing and was thus totally blind to my activities.

After four months, it was this puppy dog trust my husband had in me that killed my conscience. The fact he was so easy to fool made a mockery of the elaborate precautions my intelligence insisted I took. The betrayal of that trust was killing me and the love and respect I had for him. In the end my decision was made three days ago. I was lying in bed trying to allay my conscience enough to go to sleep. One of my techniques to encourage sleep was to imagine lying in post coital bliss folded in the arms of my husband. That technique was only necessary when he was away, like then. When he was home, I had the real thing and no imagination was necessary. I remembered the last time I'd collapsed sweating into his waiting embrace. Or tried to.

Any thoughts of sleep evaporated as I frantically tried to remember when it had been. Surly it wasn't that time, two weeks after the start of my affair was it? Shit, it was. He'd taken me out for our anniversary. He'd wined me, dined me, and in the end, plain seduced me. There was only one way the evening could end. The supressed memory of the night shot arrows into my soul. Despite him being as loving and considerate as normal, he'd basically failed to excite me. I'd tried thinking of Michael, but even that failed. In the end, I did something I'd never done or expected to do. I faked an orgasm. With his pride satisfied, my husband had let himself go and wrapped me in his arms. Sleep had eluded me in my confusion.

For the next months, I'd gently rebuffed his amorous advances with excuses of hormones and work stress. Considerate and trusting man that he was, he'd gently let me know he was available when I was ready and left me alone. I knew I had to regain what I used to have with this remarkable man.

That was the last straw. Yesterday after an enjoyable final session with Michael, I'd regretfully, but forcibly, broken the news to him. After some heartfelt pleading, he accepted his fate. Or so I thought. Today's confrontation destroyed yet another delusion.

After Michael's departure from my office and my reminiscing, I settled down to some serious planning. I basically had four choices. Give in to Michael, give him his promotion and hope like hell he tired of me sexually. The latter could be encouraged by simply letting him know he no longer did it for me. The archetypal lying there quietly while he did his business. This was risk free but now I knew his true nature, completely abhorrent to me.

Secondly, I could confess to my husband. This triggered an odd reaction in me. I was so sure he would never discover my betrayal I'd never given a second's thought to what his reaction would be. I forced myself to think now. Instinct told me he was almost certain to forgive me but there was enough doubt it wasn't a serious option until I'd explored every other possibility. I knew instinctively that even when he forgave me, things would never be exactly the same again. I now craved what we used to have.

Thirdly, I could call Michael's bluff. Guarantee his promotion; even announce it; but say no to continued sex. Not risk free in any sense of the phrase. Or, I could threaten to expose him to his wife. Even without evidence, I'm sure I could convince her. No. That was no good. Too much chance of word getting back to my husband.

That left the last possibility. Find those photos and either destroy them or use them in a counter blackmail to maintain Michael's silence. With the logic that had served me well in my business career, I reviewed my options and made my decision. I didn't think he would risk taking hard or even electronic copies of the photos to his marital home. That meant they were still here, in his desk and/or still on his computer.

My next problem was how to gain access to his desktop. I could use computers but was by no means an expert. I did know even deleted files could be retrieved if you had the knowhow. With no choice, I rang the company IT guy and asked him to come and see me. Five minutes later he arrived. If there was ever a stereotype for an IT guy, this was it. Late twenties, scruffy, glasses, socially awkward with no apparent professional friends. Shit, I bet he even still lived at home with his mum. Before he arrived, I came up with a plan to minimise the chances of him becoming privy to my secrets. I relied on his naivety.

I swore him to secrecy, then told him Michael was suspected of taking photos of confidential company equipment. I asked him if he could stay after work, access Michael's computer, then isolate any photographs he found without looking at them, so I could delete them. Seemingly happy at the trust and the challenge, he readily agreed. I met him at Michael's desk when everyone else had gone home. Using his super-user status, our geek quickly isolated seventeen video files and two hundred and twelve photographs for me. As promised, he then left me to look through them. I gave him a sweet smile of thanks. As he was leaving he asked me if it was possible that any of the photos could have been printed. Distractedly, I answered yes.

Once he was clear and working on his laptop on the other side of the room, I got to work. Half an hour later, I'd identified one video clip and twelve photos featuring me. I copied those to a memory stick and deleted them from Michael's desktop. I then forced the cheap desk lock and went through Michael's drawers. Sure enough, there were the photos in an envelope. After telling the IT guy to make sure Michael's deleted files were truly deleted, I shredded the photos.

Ten minutes later he announced the job was done. In my relief, I gave him a hug and my profuse thanks. As I turned away he spoke.

"You know, you're one hot lady."

I turned, stunned. He was holding a piece of paper. As I looked, he turned it over. It was one of Michael's photos.

"Where did you get that?"

"Didn't you know that all files sent to a printer get saved to that printer's memory?"

"No, I didn't know that."

He just grinned.

"What do you want?"

He kept grinning, reached down and unzipped his fly. I was shocked but recovered to quickly review my options. Slipping into business mode helped remove the revulsion that would otherwise have stopped me assessing all options impartially. Of course, I only had one. One small hurdle and my only risk free option with Michael was intact. Time to negotiate.

"If I do this, what guarantee do I have you won't keep coming back for more?"

"Clever lady. This is the only printout and Michael's computer is clean. How about you watch me delete the printer memory, then we put this photo on that desk over there. After you do me a favour, you can shred the last remaining evidence. Come on, lady. All I want is a blowjob. I'm saving my virginity until I get married."

I looked into eyes that were twinkling with mischief. I realised I'd greatly misjudged this guy's naivety. He'd guessed exactly what opinion I had of his nature and was throwing it back in my face. I knew I had no choice.

"Okay, but not here. In my office."

He placed the photo on the indicated desk and followed me into my office. I sank reluctantly to my knees and took his sweaty, smelly penis in my mouth. Luckily, a healthy premarital social life, twenty-five years of marriage and a four month affair had honed my skills to the point I could guarantee this wouldn't last long. To distract myself from the shame of what I was doing, I thought what had led to this. How could I have gone from the perfect wife to blowing this strange nerd in so short a time? How could I have been so naïve as to be fooled for four months by a gold digging asshole like Michael? The tears flowed freely. I did such a good job of distracting myself, compartmentalising this degrading thing, that I missed all the signals. Before I knew it, he had a handful of my hair and was pushing my face into his groin. Judging by the noises he was making he was satisfied by my performance. He unloaded in my mouth and kept me trapped until well after he was finished. Finally, I found the strength to pull away and vomit into my bin. After multiple heaves, I looked up to find I was now in an empty room. In panic, I ran into the main office. There was the photo, thank god. I shredded it, then went to clean my office. Even brushing my teeth for fifteen minutes wasn't going to get that taste out of my mouth.

When I settled down I consoled myself by making a very pleasant phone call. Old habits die hard, so I used my desk phone to call Michael's landline. We'd never used our cells in the whole four months of our affair. As soon as he picked up, I launched into my speech.

"Hey, asshole, Thursday is off. I got the photos from your bottom drawer; I've deleted them from your hard drive and permanently erased your deleted items. I've even erased the printer memory so suck shit, creep."

I hung up before he could respond Picking up takeaways on the way home to my lonely house, I spent the evening watching some mindless shows until I managed to bury deep the memory of tonight's events. Still, sleep was a long time coming.

Michael was at his desk when I got to work on Tuesday. I smirked at him as I passed. Surprisingly, he smirked right back. Then he reached into his drawer and retrieved an envelope. I paused long enough for him to reach in the envelope and expose a half piece of paper that was clearly a photograph. He then mouthed, 'Tomorrow', at me and returned the envelope to his drawer. I don't know if it was shock, or the memory of that damned blowjob that made me puke my breakfast into the bin.

I spent the whole day in my office plotting and scheming. It turned out to be time well spent. With only three options remaining, I was spurred to ingenuity. By 2:00p.m. I had option five, a modification of option one. I called Michael into my office. The success of this depended on me convincing him he'd won.

"Michael, please, for the sake of everything we once had, if I promise to announce the promotion next week, will you let me off the sex thing?"

I watched the greed flit across his eyes. He had half of what he wanted but that wasn't enough. He wanted the lot and he knew it was within his grasp.

"Aw shucks, honey, you wouldn't rob me of your sweet honeypot would you?"

"Okay, Michael, you leave me with no choice. If you can't guarantee this will ever end and intend holding those photos over my head forever, then I have nothing to lose by calling your bluff right now."

"What?"

"You heard me. Tomorrow won't happen. It will never happen."

He looked genuinely disappointed.

"But, Sarah, I love our times together."

He looked so crestfallen I had to modify my opinion of his motives.

"Okay, Michael, how about a deal? We keep meeting until the promotion is announced next month. Then we have one final fling and kiss each other goodbye. You hand over the photos and we go back to being co-workers. Okay? But we have to go back to only meeting when my husband is away."

The puppy dog look he gave me was pathetic. I had to work hard to mask my contempt.

"Can we still do tomorrow though?"

I quickly analysed risk and reward. Slightly elevated risk of being caught by my husband, as he was back in town tonight. Zero chance of being caught by his wife. Balanced by the reward of this all being finished by close of business tomorrow.

"Yes, okay. I'll book us a room in the motel across the street, that way our cars won't be seen anywhere strange. I'll tell reception I have an offsite meeting and leave at ten past two, after ringing to make sure my husband is at work. You ring your wife at quarter past to make sure she's still out of town, take your cell and leave at two-thirty."

"Right, see you later."

He left. Shit, if he'd had a tail it would have been wagging. I used my seniority to leave early. I got home just in time to shower before meeting my husband, my poor neglected spouse, at the door. As usual, when he'd been away for a week, he'd dropped by my office on his way back from the airport, but, of course, I wasn't there. I was so rattled that I'd forgotten that. Once upon a time, his dropping in had been almost a weekly occurrence. When I was promoted to division manager, I'd reluctantly asked him to cut down on it. I didn't think it set a good example for my subordinates. His popularity and easy going nature ensured at least a half hours' distraction from my busy crew.