Blackmail Diary Ch. 01

Thursday 17th November

A couple of months ago I witnessed a truly shocking incident. Since it happened, it has played over and over in my mind a thousand times.

Before explaining any further, let me tell you a little bit about myself. I'm currently in what will be my final year of secondary school, after which I will, hopefully, be going off to university. I live at home with parents, which at times can be frustrating, but most of my friends have it a lot worse. As well as being in full-time education, I keep myself busy with a couple of part-time jobs, neither of which are particularly interesting, so I won't bore you with the details. I have a good circle of friends, I play a lot of sport, I like music, films, drinking, the occasional joint. I'd like to think I'm a fairly typical 18-year-old.

My love life has been a bit crazy lately. I recently broke up with my girlfriend of two-years after she found out I'd been cheating on her. It was a nasty break-up. Her friends had heard various rumours about me playing the field, most of which, I'll admit, had some substance, and had confronted her with the gruesome details. For days I tried to talk my way out of it, using every clichéd excuse I could muster.

It was the final night of the break-up when I witnessed the aforementioned incident. I had been at my girlfriend's house, pleading with her to let me in, so we could talk. I was having little luck. When a box of my belongings landed on my head via her bedroom window I realised that the time had come to accept defeat. I got in my car and headed home.

The route took me down a number of narrow country lanes. I was very emotional, too emotional to drive. I pulled over and let it all out.

I must have been sat there, in the darkness, for a good hour sobbing away like a little girl, when suddenly, from nowhere, a man walked passed my window. I was so startled that I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw him. This was a narrow country lane, in the dead of night, there was no foot-path to speak of, and all of a sudden there was a strange man just a few feet away. It soon became clear that he was very drunk, he was stumbling from side-to-side and didn't even acknowledge my presence. I shook my head in disbelief and decided it was time to pull myself together. I looked down to the ignition as I turned the key, my eyes can't have left the man for more than a second when I heard a terrifying screech. As I looked back up I saw another car's headlights, and the man was flying through the air. My jaw dropped.

As I'm sure most people could appreciate, this was already one of the most surreal moments of my life. But things were about to get a whole lot stranger. A woman jumped out the car, she was panicked, and sobbing hysterically.

'Oh my god,' she kept repeating over and over.

She looked down at the man and then over towards me. I couldn't believe my eyes. I knew her! It was my English teacher Miss Truman. She started backing away slowly towards her car. She's going to run, I thought to myself, she's leaving him.

I reached for my phone and dialled 999, as her car sped off into the distance. I was given a few instructions, and assured that an ambulance would arrive shortly. One did, along with the police.

In the time I was waiting a lot of thoughts went through my head. The first being that there was no possibility that Miss Truman had recognised me. It was dark, my headlights were on, she couldn't have seen into the car. And if she had realised it was me, she would have never run. It would make no sense.

I knew I was going to be questioned at some length by the police, and I knew that I had a big decision to make. Do I tell them everything? Do I end the career of this woman? Possibly send her to prison?

I didn't get on well with many teachers at my school, but I had always liked her. She was very attractive, early 30s, long dark blond, and a figure that had been longingly admired by my friends and me throughout our time at the school.

I told the police I was parked in the lay-by. I told them I'd had an argument with my girlfriend earlier that evening. I told them I'd been crying. I told them the man came stumbling along from nowhere. I told them the other car had hit him from nowhere. And I told them the driver raced off, immediately after the collision.

'They didn't get out the car?' they asked.

'No,' I replied.

'Did you get a look at the driver?' they asked.

'No,' I replied.

'Did you see if they were male or female?' they asked.

'No,' I replied.

'Black or white?' they asked.

'No,' I replied.

'Did you see what make of car it was?' they asked.

'No' I replied.

They took a few more details, and sent me on my way.

I told no one about the accident. Not my parents, not my closest friends, not a single person.

A few days later there was a small story in the local paper. 'Homeless Man Injured In Hit And Run,' the headline read. According to the report, the man had fractured his skull, broken his leg and some ribs, but was in a stable condition. 'No arrests have been made,' the story confirmed.

For the entire week following the accident Miss Truman was absent from school. A succession of cover teachers took her place, offering no explanation for her absence. When she did return she looked pale and washed-out. Her lessons lacked coherence, she was clearly distracted. It was odd knowing that I was quite probably the only person who knew the route of her troubles.

As the weeks have gone by she has gradually returned to her former self. I find it frustrating that she doesn't know how much I have helped her, and has no knowledge of the risk I took. I feel I'm owed a significant debt. And it's time for payment.

Today I got to school before 7.30, knowing there would be few teachers around at that time. Cautiously, I crept into her classroom, making sure I wasn't seen. On her desk, I left a sealed white envelope, addressed to 'Miss Truman'.

A short note within read, 'Dear Miss T, I know your secret. It's time we talked. Text me.' My phone number was at the foot of the page.

Judging by her distracted demeanour in a lesson of hers I attended a few hours later, I am confident that she both received and read the letter.

However, midnight is now fast approaching, and I've not had any contact from her.

This wasn't unexpected. Tomorrow is another day.

Friday 18th November

Today began in much the same way as yesterday had. I arrived at school early and found my way to Miss Truman's classroom. Today, however, I decided not to extend the courtesy of a private note.

I took a black marker, and it foot-high letters on the whiteboard I wrote: 'Tut, tut, tut. You're a very bad girl. You can't run from everything you know. Text me. This is the last time I am going to ask.'

I didn't have a lesson with her today, but I did see her eating in the canteen at lunch time. She was deep in conversation with another teacher, making it difficult to gage the effect my message had made.

Just after 6pm, my phone beeped. A new message, from an unknown number. I felt nervous as a tapped to open it.

'Who is this?' it read.

'Is this Miss T?' I replied.

'Yes, who is this?'

'I'm a pupil of yours.'

'What's your name?'

'I can't tell you that. Did you get my note?'

'Yes, I got both your notes. I have no idea what you're talking about. Stop this right now and I'll take it no further.'

'You have no idea why you're a bad girl?'

'I'm warning you! This stops now!'

'Or what?'

'I'll report you.'

'Go ahead. I'll happily tell anyone who wants to listen all about your little accident.'

'I honestly have no idea what you are on about! Leave me alone!'

'Really? That wasn't you driving away from that poor man that night?'

I waited ten minutes, but there was no further reply.

'If you're not going to talk to me I'm sure the police will,' I provoked.

'I honestly don't know what you're talking about,' she replied.

'If you tell me that one more time I'm going straight to the police. Understand?'

Again, there was no reply.

'Hello?' I prompted.

'What do you want from me?' she responded.

'A thank you would be nice for a start.'

'Were you in the other car?'

'Yes, that was me.'

'Why didn't you tell the police it was me?'

'It wasn't your fault. He shouldn't have been there. Maybe you shouldn't have run away, but I guess you probably panicked. A lot of people would in that situation.'

'Thank you.'

'How are you feeling about it all now?'

'I'm okay. Still a bit shaken-up. The main thing is that the man is okay.'

'Have you told anyone else what happened?'

'No, I haven't. Have you?'

'No, and I have no intention of doing so. I really just wanted to let you know that I knew. If you ever want to talk about things let me know.'

'Thank you, that's very kind.'

'Have a good weekend.'

Monday 21st November

I had a lesson with her this afternoon. She was focused, bright, at times almost bubbly. There was no indication that she had been burdened by me having contacted her. Maybe she really believed that all I wanted was to offer her a shoulder to cry on.

If she was holding that opinion, there is little doubt that will have changed dramatically this evening.

'How are you?' I texted her around 9pm.

'I'm okay thank you,' she replied, an hour later.

'Did you have a good weekend?'

'Yes, thank you.'

I prepared myself for an angry reaction to my next question.

'Have you got a boyfriend?' I asked.

'Don't ask me questions like that. I appreciate what you've done for me, but I'm not answering those sort of personal questions.'

This was a do or die moment. I was quite nervous. A voice inside my head was telling me to leave it, to walk away. But there was another voice shouting louder, convincing me that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and now was the time to take it.

'You'll answer whatever fucking question I ask you! Have you got a boyfriend?'

'I can't answer that. I'm your teacher!'

'If you don't answer me you won't be a teacher much longer. You decide. Are you more likely to get in trouble answering my questions or not answering them?'

'I haven't got a boyfriend.'

'Good. When did you last have sex? And don't make me ask twice!'

'About six months ago.'

'Who with?'

'My boyfriend at the time.'

I left the conversation there, with a final message that read 'That wasn't so hard was it.'

Tuesday 22nd November

Miss Truman was not in school today. I was a little concerned. What if she turns herself in? What then for me?

I shook off my worries, she would be a fool to confess to everything at this stage.

'Why aren't you at school?' I asked her at lunchtime.

'I didn't feel up to it. I've got a lot on my mind. Mainly because of you!'

'Because of me?' I replied, in disbelief.

'Yes, you're scaring me.'

'You have nothing to worry about. Do as I say and no one will ever find out about what you did.'

I had to work tonight. It was nearly midnight by the time I arrived home.

'Are you still awake?' I texted.

'Yes' she responded.

'Are you going to be in school tomorrow?'

'Yes.'

'Good. I'm going to ask you some questions now. Okay?'

'What sort of questions?'

'The sort you won't want to answer. But you're going to. Understand?'

'Yes.'

'How many men have you been with?'

I waited over an hour for a reply. Just as I had given up hope of one coming my phone beeped.

'Five' the message read.

'And how many woman?' I replied, hopefully.

'None' came her expected, but still disappointing, response.

'Do you like sucking cock?'

'No'.

'Do you like having your pussy licked?'

'Sometimes'.

I am delighted with myself. She may not have appreciated it at the time, but she has now given me an extra layer of collateral. It would have been difficult for me to come forward about the accident at this stage. Had I done so, I would have had a lot of questions to answer myself. I withheld information from the police; not to mention the fact that I have been blackmailing a school teacher. Now though I have a far more feasible weapon at my disposal. Two text messages, sent within minutes of each other. The first from my phone asking if she enjoyed cunnilingus; the second from hers with a tentative reply. I could, in theory, take these messages to a number of sources, my parents, my older sister, another teacher, and tell them that I am uncomfortable with the relationship I'm having with this teacher. If I did this, what could she possibly do? She couldn't tell anyone I was blackmailing her, they would ask how and what with. Her only feasible option would be to resign, in the full knowledge she would never be allowed to teach again.

My final message of the evening detailed the above theory. Miss Truman made no reply.

Wednesday 23rd November

I had no lesson with Truman today, but I did see her on a few occasions. She didn't look too good. She was very pale and wore no make-up.

'You look ill' I texted her, as I climbed into my car at the end of the school day.

'I didn't get much sleep' she replied.

It was time, I decided on the drive home, to set her a little assignment. Nothing too challenging, just something to ease her into the game.

'Do you ever watch porn?' I asked.

'No' came her predicted response.

'Later tonight I'm going to send you a link to a porn clip. You're going to watch it. All of it. Understand?'

'Yes.'

Later in the evening I sent a link to what is a fairly typical porn clip. It features a well known female pornstar with two men.

'Have you watched it yet?' I asked, shortly after having sent it.

'I'm not at home at the moment.'

'Where are you?'

'At a friend's house.'

'Let me know when you're back.'

I waited a couple of hours, and then started to grow inpatient.

'Are you home yet?' I asked.

'Yes' she replied.

'I told you to let me know when you were back!'

'Sorry, I've only just got in.'

'Have you looked at the link I sent you?'

'Yes'

'Tell me what happens in it then.'

'A dark haired woman has sex with two men.'

'How does it end?'

'They ejaculate on her breasts.'

'Did you enjoy it?'

'No.'

'Oh well, I'll have to send you something a bit more interesting next time then.'

Thursday 24th November

I think I'm getting a bit obsessed by this situation. All day long I've been thinking about her, last night I dreamt about her. This afternoon Josie, my ex, sent me a text message saying that she was missing me, and having second thoughts about the breakup. A couple of weeks ago I would have done anything imaginable to get this girl back in my life; today, it just seemed irrelevant. I didn't even reply to her message.

'Where are you?' I texted Truman, at half six this evening.

'At home' she replied.

'I want a picture' I told her.

'A picture of what?'

'You. Your face.'

'Why? You know what I look like.'

'Just do it. Now!'

A picture arrived shortly after. Her miserable expression, coupled with the fact she wore no make-up, made her look almost unattractive.

'Why do you look so unhappy? And why aren't you wearing any make-up?' I questioned.

'Because I'm not happy, because you won't leave me alone.'

'Send me another picture. With make-up and a smile this time.'

She did as instructed, I was soon looking at the second picture, in which she now wore lipstick, a little eyeliner and an uncomfortable smile.

'Much better. You look pretty again now' I informed her, before asking if she was ready for some more porn.

She didn't reply but I forwarded a link. The video I directed her to features one of my favourite pornographic niches, bukkake. The word alone makes me hard.

'I've watched it' she replied, a short while later.

'Tell me what happens in it.'

'A lot of men, ejaculate over a girl.'

'I don't like the word 'ejaculate'. It's too formal. Tell me again what happens.'

'What word do you want me to use in its place?'

'Use your imagination.'

'A lot of men cum all over a girl.'

'Did you enjoy?'

'No I didn't.'

'How does it end?'

'The girl swallows it all.'

'Do you swallow?'

'No. Can I go to bed now please?'

I made no reply.

Friday 25th November

Today was very busy. I had a full timetable at school, five very long lessons - none of which were taken by my favourite teacher - followed by an incredibly boring three-hour shift at work. Once that was done, I went home, had a quick shower and headed out for a few beers. It turned out to be a very good night.

I arrived home quite drunk but by no means paralytic, some time around 1am. I wasn't planning on contacting Truman, but as I climbed into my bed thought, why not give it a shot?

'Are you up?' I texted.

'Yes' she replied, almost instantly, to my surprise.

'What you doing?'

'Not much, just got back from my friend's house.'

'Is this friend male or female?'

'She's female.'

'What did you get up to?'

'Watched a film, drank some wine.'

'I want a picture.'

'Of?'

'Your tits.'

I was waiting for a hostile response, and, when my phone beeped its little beep a few minutes later, I assumed I would be reading one. But I wasn't. Instead I was looking at her beautiful naked tits.

'Nice' I responded, not wanting to fully convey how surprised I was at the ease of her compliance. 'Now send me one of your pussy' I followed.

Surely a protest is coming this time, I thought to myself. Again though, I was wrong. Her naked pussy was soon on full display on the screen of my mobile phone. Above it lay a patch of neatly trimmed dark hair.

'I don't like the hair. Get rid of it' I demanded.

'All of it?' she questioned.

'Yes.'

'Now?'

'Yes.'

After a relatively short wait, I was looking at an almost identical picture to the one I'd received previously, the only difference being my requested amendment.

'Very nice' I told her.

'Thank you' she replied.

She was thanking me now? This was all too much. I knew I needed to capitalise on her unexpected williness to follow my instructions, but the alcohol was stifling my imagination.

'I'm going to send you some more porn' I informed her.

'Okay' she replied.

The clip I sent her the link to this time again centres on the art of bukkake. It stars two girls, one who catches the cum directly from its source and the other who has it spat at her via the mouth of the other.

'I've watched it' Truman confirmed, about ten minutes later.

'Did you enjoy?' I asked.

'It was okay' she replied, to my astonishment.

'Really? What did you like?' I probed further.

I was eagerly anticipating her next response. She liked it, I kept thinking to myself. She may have only said it was okay, but that was a giant leap from what I had expected. My excitement soon turned to frustration, as my phone remained painfully silent. I chased once, twice and even a third time, but there was nothing. I do not know if she fell asleep, or if she came to her senses.

As the clock ticked over to 3am, I decided to let go of my frustration and drifted off to sleep.

Saturday 26th November

I woke early this morning with a moderate hangover and a raging hard-on. I needed her answer to my final question.

'Good morning' I texted.

Her reply was disappointing. It made it clear that she was less than comfortable with last night's events. 'This has got to stop! You need to leave me alone', it read.

'Are you forgetting something? You owe me' I responded.

'I'll give you money, anything. Just stop making me do things! Please!'

'I don't want your money.'

'Well that's all I can offer you. I can't do anymore of these things you've made me do. I won't.'

I made no reply. It was time for action. I spent the rest of the morning creating aliases on various social networking sites. I then posted the pictures she'd sent of her tits and pussy across a number of different groups and forums, one of which is directly related to our school. I included no description or explanation.