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Blackmailed Beauties (Martin Hughes)

Blackmailed Beauties by Martin Hughes

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    • Average 4.1 from 8 ratings

A lovely mother and daughter are blackmailed and tortured by thugs in England.

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“Haarghhh,” she hissed in pain at the thin line of torment he had inflicted on the lower half of her quivering nates, struggling with her immovable bonds just as desperately and uselessly as her daughter. “Now let’s try here,” he spoke softly when standing behind Laura’s taut globes. 'Please, Sir no!' she whispered. How he loved it when they begged. It made no difference to their pain – only his pleasure.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 8 / 2010

No. words: 34600

Style: Male Dom - M/F

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle



Revulsion, anger and predominantly fear churned within Cathy as she parked her new BMW outside the rather run down ‘semi’ in a less well off area of town. The thought flashed through her mind that she hoped it would still have the appropriate number of wheels when she returned; that would be the final straw. She pondered briefly that there seemed to have been so many ‘final’ straws in her life recently – yet fate always seemed to have another one waiting in the wings which she had to somehow endure.
She tried to give a brave smile to her daughter, Laura, sitting tensely upright beside her, managing to stem the bubble of anger within her belly which threatened to explode. She dearly wished that the youngster wasn’t involved in all this too - but she was. And for the hundredth time she assured herself that there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it which didn’t involve even more suffering.
“Let’s go, sweetie.” She tried to sound reassuring for her daughter’s sake as she climbed from the car. It wasn’t easy to get herself onto the cracked pavement whilst maintaining some modesty in the short, low cut, expensive black dress. It clung to her curves, emphasising them and would probably not have suited many other women in their thirties. However, Cathy was beautiful, and knew it. Her weekly sessions in the gym ensured she kept her lovely sleek and firm figure. She, therefore, felt at home in such a dress perhaps when hosting a party for one of her equally rich friends, yet knew it looked almost out of place in this neighbourhood. The early winter air was also chill around her legs but she also knew the bastards inside demanded they wore such attire and would expect nothing less.
She similarly cringed as Laura was also forced to flash a large expanse of toned thigh until she smoothed down her tiny white min-skirt. Cathy’s heart went out to the pretty eighteen–year-old as she automatically brushed her long dark hair over her shoulder and away from her strained, white face. Her young breasts thrust enticingly through the tight pink jumper, which left her midriff bare. If only her devil-may-care daughter hadn’t insisted in being involved in scheme which had got them into this mess.
The car‘s alarm setting gave its familiar screech; she almost imagined it saying ‘goodbye and good luck’ as she turned towards the peeling paint on the house of her destination. That car was a symbol of her normal life of wealth, power and influence, a life that was on hold and temporarily exchanged for something very different within the shabby walls of the house in front of her.
Clacking up the concrete path in her expensive high-heel shoes, stepping over the tufts of grass, she imagined curtains twitching back in the other houses, curious faces wondering why these two elegant-looking women called so regularly on their neighbour. So did Cathy, the urge to grab Laura and run was almost overwhelming but she controlled it. Control, yes that’s what she had to exercise yet again and that’s what this was all about she reminded herself. Control over her, Laura and her husband or, like her husband, they would face the awful consequences of their stupidity. How she longed for her husband to be beside her, help her, to draw on his strength; but that wasn’t possible. He was paying the price in maybe a worse way for all of their stupidity.
Bing bong! Bing Bong! Bing Bong!
Three times she rang, the door chimes grating on her nerves. During earlier sessions such a silence had made her clutch at hope. Maybe the house was empty? Thinking they could perhaps push the money through the letterbox and both escape with their dignity intact, they had once started back down the drive - only to be summoned by a finger beckoning from the finally opened door. Now she knew that the act of keeping them waiting outside like naughty schoolgirls was all part of the devilish torment assigned them by the creep within.
A full minute went by after her last ring before the catch clicked.
“Do come in, girls.”
How she hated that sarcastic, slimy voice as, licking dry lips, she stepped within the gloom with Laura behind her, the stale and greasy smell of cooking permeating the air.
“Huh,” she jerked, never fully being able to acclimatise herself to the creep giving her bottom one of his familiar and demeaning slaps. As if they were lovers, or she was his pet, the hand cupped and revoltingly squeezed her firm buttocks with complete possession, fleshy lips pressing against her mouth. Cathy heard a similar slap and gasp from Laura before the door closed, guessing that such public acts served to enhance the creep’s reputation amongst any watching neighbours.
“You have this week’s cash?” the voice was like treacle.
“Yes, yes s-Sir,” she whispered, clutching her handbag more tightly.
“Good, well I’m gonna’ have a piss, get yourselves in there and say hello to Mum for a moment.” The offensive hand on each of their undulating bottoms pushed them into a cluttered lounge.
“Hello, my dears, I’ve just brewed up tea.” A huge woman in her seventies with a beaming chubby face greeted them.
“Oh, it’s OK Ma’am we don’t ?”
“Nonsense, of course you do, now don’t offend my hospitality.” The voice had a slight edge, the eyes narrowing imperceptibly.
“Thank you,” whispered Cathy feeling sick at both the thought of the brew which she had the misfortune to experience before and the grovelling reverence with which she had to address the old slag, or indeed anyone to do with her tormentor.
“Get them some tea then,” the woman snapped at a sullen looking teenage boy with a shaven head who was trying to watch football on the television.
“All right, Gran,” he glared at the two beauties before pushing into the kitchen.
“Boys!” tutted the fat woman, raising her eyebrows. “Come and sit down here either side of me.” She patted the settee. “You are both well, I trust?”
Cathy didn’t know whether the woman was suffering from memory loss or old age and perhaps genuinely didn’t know the coercion and torments inflicted on them. More likely, she guessed, the old cow enjoyed a similar sadism to her son and the others in the family and this was all part of the ‘game’. It reminded her of films where, on a dark night in the middle of nowhere after a car breakdown, screaming youngsters might find themselves at the mercy of a weird family of American hillbillies or something.
However, she knew that screaming wouldn’t help her and that within this house she must forget everything except that she and her daughter were virtual slaves to the people within and that her suffering would increase if she didn’t show respect. Grovelling didn’t come naturally to either her or Laura but both knew the terrible consequences of the power the bastards had over them.
The whole family was so slimy and Cathy knew they didn’t give a shit about her or Laura so long as they brought the money and were suitably servile. And when she had once used flu as an excuse for missing an appointment, she simply had to report twice the following week. What was the point of evasion? The swine would have their pound of flesh anyway one way or another.
“Yes thank you, Ma’am,” she finally responded, interrupting her musing when her tormentor’s raised eyebrows signalled that a reply to her rhetorical question and naturally an utterly respectful one, was necessary. “And you?” she enquired meekly, trying to curry favour but vainly hoping that she would hear that the woman’s obnoxious son was maybe having heart attack symptoms.
“Oh mustn’t grumble, you know,” the woman rumbled. “But you two had better watch your step,” she advised, making Cathy look up at her fearfully, wondering what was coming now. “It’s bad for your circulation crossing your legs. Open them a bit,” she looked at her two ‘guests,’ placing a podgy hand high up on each of their thighs.
Initially Cathy felt relieved that they hadn’t stepped out of line but then became revolted by the fingers disgustingly, unnaturally close to her intimacies. Obediently she and Laura uncrossed and parted their legs a little. She saw the fingers like fat slugs lying across her daughter’s shapely thighs stroking familiarly over her silken flesh.
The teenage lad returned, handing them each a chipped, greasy mug of dark brown tea. His small black eyes glinted at the display they were forced to give him.
“Nice legs,” he whistled, giggling.
“Don’t be so rude to my guests, young man,” the woman light-heartedly scolded before turning to Cathy. “Drink it all up now, it will fill you young things out a bit – I’m sure you need it.” She chuckled, patting Cathy’s and Laura’s flat bellies before her hand dropped back to their thighs, easing them slightly wider apart. “I’m sure you’ve nothing we haven’t seen before.”
The ‘tea’ was revolting, lukewarm and stodgy, making Cathy feel sick as she tentatively sipped, seeing the similar look of disguised distaste on Laura’s pretty, heart-shaped face.
Now it was worse. Not only did they have to control their sickness as they drank the revolting brew they also had to contend with the lad’s cruel, amused eyes drinking in their discomfort and their charms. Cathy saw him lick his lips, his eyes continually drawn to his grandmother’s hands resting casually on their long legs. Both of them longed, but didn’t dare, to tear them away and modestly close their thighs.
Laura was blushing crimson. She was aware that the boy, now losing interest in his Sunday-afternoon football, could see the delicate pink v of her panties below her short skirt. He was a couple of years younger than her and obviously thought Christmas had come early. Never could he normally expect to see two such lovely creatures having to display themselves so openly and helplessly before him. Yet they all knew that nothing in this house was ‘normal.’
“There you are, up you get, let’s check this week’s payment.” Their tormentor’s voice boomed from the doorway.
“Quick, finish your drinks – you know they’re good for you,” his mother chuckled, setting her chins wobbling.
Trying again to disguise her grimace, Cathy took a deep breath, gulping down the thick, tepid contents of the cup. Although hating to be again in the presence of the creepy man, she was grateful to escape the boy’s hot gaze and his grandmother’s unnatural touch. Gratefully she put down the sickening brew, luckily before she yelped and involuntarily jumped as his father’s hand crudely pinched a cheek of her bottom. She heard the boy’s snigger as the creep’s hand again cupped each of their flexing globes as he guided them out.
“That’s good. I always feel better after a good piss or crap – and also when you two tarts show up to pay your dues,” he thoughtfully explained as he ushered them from the room. “The cellar - you know the way.”
Taking a deep breath, Cathy went a few yards along the dank hall and through an open door then gingerly climbed down the steep stone steps to the large cellar, which was almost warm and bright compared to the hall. It was a positive Aladdin’s den of boxes and crates, mostly of alcohol, which lined the walls and which Cathy guessed were a testament to some sort of money-making racket. As they knew they must, the two beauties stood arms by their side before a large armchair into which the creep eased his bulk.
As usual, Cathy shuddered inwardly when, down here, she renewed her acquaintance with the obese slob, Jake, who controlled her. He was somewhere in his fifties with sweating rolls of fat covering his twenty stone frame.
She knew only too well what would likely come next; it only varied in style.
“Your handbags please, girls. Then down to your underwear and kneel,” were his simple commands as he settled back, smiling.
Opening each of their bags, he extracted and counted the £500 cash, which he insisted they split between them, carrying half each. He said it was to minimise any loss if they were robbed but in reality she knew it simply gave him the opportunity to rake round their personal effects – which he also insisted they kept in the bags. But that was a minor irritation practically forgotten as, her face flushing as deeply as it had on the first such occasion here, Cathy reached behind to unzip her dress. She shivered lightly, although it wasn’t cold, as the velvet-soft material slid off her body. Deliberately she didn’t look as her daughter tugged off her tight jumper.
In less than a minute both beauties knelt before the slob, wearing only their provocative and clinging undies. Cathy wore a black one-piece camisole moulded to her curves, leaving much of her bottom on show. Laura wore a tiny pink floral thong revealing all of her buttocks with only the tiny strip dividing them and a matching half-cup bra through which the indents of her nipples clearly peeked. Both knew that they would be punished for wearing anything the swine didn’t consider sexy.
As they knew they must, they knelt upright, backs ramrod straight, hands clasped behind their necks. The posture thrust out their straining boobs before the beast’s small glinting eyes and wet fleshy lips. Then they both parted their thighs wide in the manner they knew he required, emphasising through the thin material the delights of their sex lips. Revulsion, misery and resignation was etched onto each pretty face, both sets of lips quivering in dread anticipation, knowing that, although they had some covering, they wouldn’t have it for long. It was just a slow sadistic tease and their predicament would slowly get worse.
“Some of these notes are a bit dirty, have you stuffed them up your arse?” he gurgled with mirth.
“Sorry, sorry Sir, it’s how they came from the bank,” said Cathy in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone.
“Well, you should have got crisp new ones, stupid sluts! I can see you both still have much to learn.” His eyes glinted hotly. “And you don’t seem to have made any recent entries in your diary, girl,” he purred to Laura. “I told you to keep it up to date with when and how you shag your boyfriend. Well?”
“I-I’m s-sorry Sir, I must have forgotten,” ? she whispered tearfully.
“Forgotten! I’ve got one stupid c—t and one dirty slut to deal with then!” He raised his eyes upwards in mock supplication.
Mother and daughter slumped slightly; full lips quivering, knowing that as sure as night followed day he’d find some fault as an excuse for punishing them. He and the others in his creepy family did every week. They almost wished they had shoved his filthy blood money up their bottoms.
“Both stand. Take your daughter’s bra and knickers off and hand them to me.” He stared into Cathy anguished face with eyes that had become hot pools of cruelty.
With shaking hands she reached for the delicate clasp between Laura’s shoulder blades. Begging didn’t work; he had no sympathy or better nature. She had tried it before and it only added to his obscene pleasure before she eventually had to obey his whim anyway. Gently she eased the cups from her daughter’s firm breasts, seeing them bounce slightly, the small pink nipples hard buttons of fear. She hadn’t undressed her for years, since she was a child – that is, until she first came to this hideous place.
Unable to meet Laura’s wide, doe-like eyes she slid her fingers into the small waistband of the knickers and slid the thong down slim thighs, revealing the ripe plumpness of the shaven sex – just like a child’s. It was even worse having to place both of the warm garments into the creep’s hot, sweating, hand.
Obediently, both women stood with hands by their side as their tormentor drew the strips of satin under his nose, sniffing noisily whilst he regarded them. Laura’s face was crimson with shame. She obviously longed to cover her small breasts and exposed sex from the pervert’s avid gaze but she too knew from past experience that such a move was forbidden.
“At least you’re keeping your pussy shaved like I asked. I like it that way. I might even have to shave your mother too, we’ll see,” he said reflectively, loving his utter control over
Biting her lip, Cathy placed a hand on the small of her daughter’s back as she bent over to grip her ankles with tight white fingers. There was no doubting the girl’s beauty and bitterness gripped her heart as she was forced to totally display it yet again. There was a further bitterness that it must be she who was going to have to mar that beauty. Laura’s dark hair cascaded about her tense face, hiding her shame as she presented her bottom into a tight enticing curve - for her mother and the creep who controlled them both.
“Six hard ones, or you both get six of the cane – from me. You know the procedure.” He knew they would obey, they always did, because Cathy knew he wasn’t bluffing. Feeling her daughter tense, the small bottom contract, she brought her hand down.
“Ow,” the girl gasped, keeping her hands in place but her fingers tightening whitely on her ankles.
Cathy regarded with sorrow the red handprint she had been forced to inflict on the smooth whiteness of her daughter’s bottom.
“Hurry up, you old cow!” Jake heaped on the pressure and shame.
“Hah,” Laura jerked forward, shuddering, eyes screwed shut with pain as her mother gave her a second painful humiliating mark of pain before the bastard who ordered it and who was enjoying every minute.
Four more strokes followed to leave the beautiful young brunette with tears trickling down her lovely face and onto her bare feet.
“Sit on my lap, girl, sideways,” Jake ordered the youngster. “I’ll take a look at your sore botty while your mother touches her toes too and then uses her mouth on me. Here, I’ll slip your things off.” He smiled wetly, clicking his fingers into Cathy’s ashen face.
Jake felt a bulge forming under his cheap tracksuit bottoms as the beauty padded forward to stand tensely before him. Smiling, he ran his hands over her smooth shoulders, slipping down the thin straps, delighting in her shiver as he slid the garment over her breasts to reveal each magnificent orb tipped with a hard red peak of fear.
Cupping the firmness of her bottom cheeks he tugged the soft garment down to expose her full naked glory. She was a truly beautiful woman from her pretty, sculptured face and slim, swan-like neck, to her still-firm bosoms, flat belly and pert buttocks.
After he gave those delicious cheeks a light pat, feeling them contract in dread, she obediently bent over to touch her toes. It was, he thought, magnificent to have such power over such beauty.
“Hah,” she gasped, jerking slightly under the red hand-print across one her buttocks, but managing to continue clasping her ankles with white knuckles, her long dark hair falling down to curtain her shame-red face.
The spanking wasn’t severe, just humiliating he guessed for a proud beauty to endure it, especially from someone like himself, and before her daughter. Nevertheless, her eyes were wet with tears and she wiped them briefly with the back of her hand when he allowed her to stand again, breasts bouncing softly, after four such strokes had painted her bottom red.
Then, following his pointing finger, she slowly knelt, making her breasts bounce again, until her face was level with his crotch. Winking into her wide, tense eyes, he extracted his thick penis, again simply pointing. It was difficult for him to believe that the trim creature so utterly in his power could have borne the equally pretty youngster now edging herself gingerly onto one of his thighs.
Idly, he ran sticky finger over the heat of the red hand-prints on Laura’s small bottom, hearing her hiss of pain as the tight nates contracted.
“Hands on head. Open them up, sweetheart,” he murmured. He mauled her small shapely breasts, up-thrust with her posture, the nipples like buttons against his palm, before creeping up the silken thighs and against the smooth heat of her soft vulva.
The girl wriggled slightly as he delved a fingertip within her ripeness whilst her mother’s mouth slid over his now hard erection. He was going to enjoy both of the beautiful, proud creatures simultaneously before he set them to work.
As Cathy took the disgusting organ into her mouth, hearing his order to first stroke it with her tongue and then ‘suck like fuck,’ her distraught mind wandered back to the fate which had cast them into this nightmare.


one of the best on the blacmailing domination 5 out of 5

Author Information

Martin Hughes has published dozens of bestselling novels of capture and B/D humiliation. His stories are strong and relentless.


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Publishers of non-adult and adult fiction. Authors, experienced and new are welcome. We have a number of different sites for various genres.

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