“Bye Mom,” Brad Suitor called over his shoulder, “I’ll be back around dinnertime. Thanks again for letting the guys stay over.”
Rachel Suitor watched as her son dashed down the steps toward the station wagon. Though only in his first semester of college, Brad had already received a request for a job interview with a prestigious software company. That company was Philadelphia, two hours away from their Pocono home.
Rachel’s heart swelled with pride. Her only child had turned out to be a fine young man. Intelligent, good looking, but above all, a decent human being. She and her husband, Mathew, had done an excellent job raising him. If only Mathew were here now to enjoy the moment. But he was on a special assignment in Belgium, not to return until sometime next week.
This normally would have depressed Rachel, especially now that Brad would be gone most of the day. But Stan and Randy, two of her son’s college buddies, were staying at the house for the long Thanksgiving break.
“It’ll be nice taking care of three boys.” Rachel thought.
Not having had the experience before, it should prove interesting. One thing was for sure, she’d have to stock up the refrigerator when she got back from her run. From discussions she’d had with her lady friends, 19 year olds appetites were legendary.
After stretching, she set out on her 10K run through the hilly, wooded terrain. Now forty-one, it was taking more and more effort to ward off gaining weight. At 5’7”, 138 (and a ½) lbs and a 36C-30-34 figure, Rachel knew she’d never regain the svelte shape of her twenties. The fullness around her waist and hips refused to diminish, no matter how much time she spent in the home gym. Thankfully, her boobs hadn’t begun to drop yet. Still, she had to admit, she did catch the looks she got from men, whenever she went out.
She’d adopted a short, boyish style haircut for her straight, fawn colored tresses. Never much of a sun worshipper, the skin of her face and body remained relatively wrinkle and blemish-free. When she took time to fix herself up, she knew that the whistles from her husband weren’t insincere. All in all, she knew herself to still be an attractive woman.
As her run progressed, she soaked in the beauty of the secluded surroundings. When they’d first met, Mathew was already a very successful attorney. Their courtship had been magical, the vows at their wedding, heartfelt. Their magnificent home, nestled in a Pocono mountainside, had been his gift to her. At first, the isolation had bothered her. But she’d grown accustomed to it, cherishing the privacy it offered.
Mathew had gone on to become a circuit court judge. Then, the call of politics had tickled his ear. He’d held many offices, his current one, as special envoy to the governor. There was serious talk amongst their friends, of Mathew running for that office in two years. Rachel had to admit, the thought intrigued her.
Her run ended, Rachel walked through the front door and up the grand staircase. Her lavender colored, nylon running shorts and pink, spaghetti strapped t-shirt, had darkened with her perspiration, causing it to cling to all her curves. No doubt, her dark areolas would be visible through the fabric if not for the sports bra. Climbing the stairs, Mrs. Suitor resisted the urge to pull at the flesh colored thong, wedged between her ass cheeks. She’d developed a love for the sexy garment early on in her life and felt more comfortable wearing them, than something more sensibly cut.
At the top of the stairs, she glanced down the hall toward Brad’s room. His friends had all elected to sleep there, rather than taking advantage of the guest rooms. The door was still closed. Rachel smiled and shook her head.
“Men and their sleep,” she thought to herself, “that never changes, no matter what their age.”
She started down the hall then stopped, puzzled. She could have sworn that she’d closed the master bedroom door. Joking to herself that she hoped it wasn’t the onset of senility, she walked into the bedroom, pulling her t-shirt up over her head as she went. The flash startled her and she let out an involuntary “Eek!”.
The green blob before her eyes quickly faded and Rachel saw her son’s two friends. Stan was sitting at her desk, with her laptop propped open. Randy stood beside him, the digital camera he was holding, pointed in her direction. Momentarily caught off guard, Mrs. Suitor quickly recovered. She dropped the t-shirt she’d been holding above her head, to cover her bra clad breasts.
“Just what the HELL do you boys think you’re doing in here?” She demanded. Noting the functioning laptop, she felt a pang of anxiety.
“Get out of here, this instant!” She ordered.
“Keep your shirt on, Mrs. Suitor.” Stan said as he casually looked over his shoulder. “Oops, a little too late for that, I see.”
Rachel self-consciously gripped the top tighter against her chest. These two boys weren’t reacting at all like she imagined they would. There was an air of confidence about them and they acted not the least bit guilty for having been caught in their host’s bedroom. Their demeanor rattled her.
“Didn’t you hear me?” She reiterated, “I said get out. NOW!”
“Calm down, Mrs. Suitor.” Randy said. “Or should I say,” he paused to glance at the web page displayed on the laptop, “Raunchy Rachel.”
“Geez,” muttered Stan, “a smart, attractive woman like yourself and that’s the best screen name you can come up with?”
A cold, hard lump formed in Rachel’s stomach. Could it be? Had these two discovered a secret that not even her husband knew about. How, on those lonely nights when he was away and their son was in school, she’d frequent a bondage chat room. Not bold enough to divulge her hidden interests with Mathew, Rachel found some satisfaction in talking about the taboo subject with other like-minded people. She particularly didn’t mind how the men on the site would clamor all over themselves trying to impress and woo her.
Rachel tried to tell herself it wasn’t possible for these two students to have pulled back the cloak of secrecy. She’d been too careful. She’d never written any of her pass codes down, nor given out any personal information. Just the same, she stopped ordering them out of the room.
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She stammered weakly.
“Sure you do, Rachel.” Randy said self-assuredly. Rachel was so shaken, she didn’t even acknowledge the use of her first name.
“People and their computers.” Stan sighed. “They use them for all sorts of things, but don’t know squat about how they work. Cracking your security measures took me all of thirty seconds.”
He turned once more to the laptop, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Half the screen was suddenly filled with a picture. Even from this distance, Rachel could tell it was the photograph taken of her, as she’d entered the room. Arms above her head, t-shirt bunched around her elbows, bust held high and firm by the sports bra. Only now, did Rachel notice the USB cable running from Randy’s camera to the laptop. Mrs. Suitor was still trying to conjure up something to say in order to regain control of the situation, when it was Randy’s turn to speak.
“Before you launch into some half-assed rant about how we have no right, let me explain a few things. Stan, computer genius that he is, has already entered all of your personal information in an e-mail addressed to this chat room. With a press of a button, your name, address, telephone number and this picture will be sent electronically for all to see. If that’s not enough, he’s also included your checking and credit card information, from the purse you so conveniently left on the dresser.”
Rachel couldn’t say a word, utterly stunned.
“I imagine all of this would be difficult to explain to Mr. Suitor. Not to mention where all this information turned up. And he, hoping to run for governor in a couple of years.”
“How could they have known?” Mrs. Suitor puzzled. “Of course. Brian. He was so proud of his father. He’d boast to anyone who’d listen.”
“Don’t feel bad, Rachel.” Stan offered, breaking the momentary silence. “You’re not the first mother we’ve ‘compromised’. You are, however, the first one for whom we didn’t have to manufacture evidence.”
“Yeah, Rachel,” Randy chimed in, “you’re one naughty housewife. All those chats about bondage with strange men. Tsk-tsk.”
“I…I’ll go to the police.” Mrs. Suitor stammered. “You’ll go to jail for a very long time.”
Both Randy and Stan laughed at this.
“Sure you will Rachel,” Randy said, “but not before this information goes out over the web.”
“One more thing to consider, darlin’” Stan added, “what’s my last name?”
Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but could form no words. She didn’t KNOW their last names. Brad had simply introduced them as “Randy and Stan”. The grins on their faces grew broader, as the realization must have shown on hers.
“If it’s any consolation, Mrs. Suitor, Brad doesn’t know our real names either.” Randy offered.
“We’re actually seniors.” He clarified. “We came up with this idea when we were freshmen roommates. Since then, each semester we’ve picked out some trusting, wide-eyed freshman to chum up with. It’s never hard gathering information, they’re always so eager to impress us with their parent’s standing in society.”
“So eventually,” Stan picked up the conversation, “we get invited to stay over during a holiday break. Once we’re alone, I hack into their computers, upload all their vital information and ’Voila’, receive a tidy financial sum to keep things quiet. Oh, and if you still think you can send us to jail, one of our victims was a police commissioner’s wife. As you can see, we’re still walking around free men.”
Rachel’s head was spinning. She knew there had to be a good argument to dissuade these two from carrying out their threats, but she couldn’t think of it. Before she could give it any more thought, Randy’s tone turned more threatening.
“All right then, Rachel. Lose the top.”
Mrs. Suitor stared at him, not comprehending Randy‘s instructions.
“Drop the t-shirt now, or Stan hit’s the “Send” key.”
For emphasis, Stan held his finger poised over the keyboard. Wishing nothing more than to keep her secret just that, Rachel saw no other alternative. She let the damp t-shirt fall to the floor. Her arms immediately returned to shield her breasts.
“Aw, c’mon Rach,” Randy pouted, “don’t be shy. We’re all friends here. Lower your arms.”
Mrs. Suitor made no effort to do so.
“Fine,” Randy said with a sigh, “have it your way. Stan, if you’d do the honors.”
“With pleasure.” The man at the desk said, his finger dropping toward the keypad.
“Wait! STOP!” Rachel called out in a panic. “I’ll do what you ask.”
Her arms fell to her sides slowly, as if moving through molasses. It took all her effort not to cover up again, the way the two men gazed at her.
“Very nice, Mrs. S” Stan whistled. “A little full around the middle, but still one hot bod. Now, take off your bra.”
Again, Rachel wasn’t sure she’d heard right. She jumped when Randy suddenly screamed at her.
“Goddammit, bitch. Take off that fucking bra. NOW!!!”
Now suddenly afraid of physical violence and not just extortion, Rachel’s hands moved mechanically, almost of their own accord. She pulled the bra up over her head, then dropped it on the floor, next to her discarded shirt. The camera unexpectedly flashed again. And Rachel jumped again. She’d forgotten that Randy was still holding the device.
She watched in horror, as the new picture came up on the computer screen, alongside the first. The photograph showed none of the angst she was feeling at the moment. The forlorn look she’d been casting at the t-shirt on the floor, could have been easily misconstrued as a relaxed look of someone posing for the camera.
“More fuel for the fire.” Stan commented. “Thanks Rachel.”
Mrs. Suitor could feel the blush wash over her skin. As horrible as things had just been, they were now ten times worse. How on earth could she ever explain away, a semi nude picture of herself on the internet? She couldn’t. Rachel suddenly knew exactly how the fly in the spider web felt. Her eyes began to brim with tears.
“Don’t cry, Rach,” Stan comforted. “All you have to do is cooperate and this stuff’ll be deleted forever.”
Offered a life ring, Rachel reached for it desperately.
“What do you want me to do.“ She said, barely able to hold back a sob.
Randy and Stan grinned at each other. “Works every time” their look said.
“First,” Randy said, “why don’t you slip out of those shorts.”
There was no mistaking what was said this time. Rachel was acutely aware of what she wore under the nylon shorts and would have done anything not to let these two see them. However, she was even more desperate to escape humiliation, and quite probably destroying her husband’s career, if the photos and information went out.
Completely trapped, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of the shorts and lowered them. While doing so, she came up with a hastily developed plan. As she rose, she contorted her face into one of shear agony. Sure enough, the camera flashed once more.
“That’s not playing fair, Mrs. Suitor.” Randy admonished, looking at the camera’s tiny screen.
Standing there, her hands folded protectively over her privates, Rachel cared not one bit about “playing fair”. She was all too aware of how much of her lingerie was still visible. Rachel enjoyed wearing lacy things and her current garment was no exception. The wispy, ivory colored panties were cut wide across her front, in classic ’boy shorts’ style. She knew, however, that there was practically no back panel, just a bit of ‘whale’s tail’ fabric, rising from the crack of her derriere to the wide waist band. Rachel couldn’t imagine feeling any more naked. Her dismay was interrupted when Stan spoke.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Suitor,” he said almost compassionately, “we learned about this in Psych class. A subject is much less rebellious without any clothes on. We just need you to answer a few questions, then we’ll be on our way. For each question you answer correctly, you get back 1 article of clothing.”
“Yeah,” Randy growled, “but before we do, that little face stunt of yours just earned you a few demerits. Now, place your hands behind your head and lace your fingers together.”
Rachel noticed that Stan’s finger hadn’t wavered from the keyboard. Nor did his expression hint that he was going to intervene in any way. Thinking there had to be some way out of this, but with nothing coming to mind, Mrs. Suitor acquiesced to Randy’s demand. In just a few, agonizingly long moments, she stood before these two literal strangers in just her running shoes, ankle socks and a ridiculously provocative pair of underwear.
“That’s better.” Randy said. “Now, let’s try this again. Throw your elbows back and stick out your chest. And for Christ’s sake, smile!”
Mrs. Suitor couldn’t bring herself to do it, until she looked at the computer screen. Staring back at her were the two pictures of her in varying stages of undress. There could be no turning back. Rachel felt as though she was sinking in quicksand. She drew her arms back and pushed out her chest as told, her smile taking every ounce of effort. There was no surprise this time, when the camera flashed. Seconds later, the image joined the others on the screen.
“Now turn around and look back over your shoulder.” Randy ordered.
Rachel complied, helplessly offering up her bare ass for the two students to see.
“Hot damn, Mrs. Suitor,” Stan whistled, “you’ve got a body better than half the girls on campus!”
For some prideful reason, Rachel felt herself blush at the compliment. Randy’s voice snapped her back to reality.
“C’mon, Mrs. S. Look over here.” He barked.
Rachel turned to look back over her left shoulder. Another picture was taken. After the image was uploaded, Randy set the camera down. Rachel almost let out a sigh of relief, but then remembered what had transpired thus far. Even if there was never another photo shot, she knew her goose was cooked. Stan rose from the desk, protectively carrying the laptop with him.
“Have a seat, Rachel”. He said.
Thankful to put her arms down, Rachel began to do just that.
“Nobody told you to put your arms down.” Stan growled unexpectedly. If she’d thought that Stan was a potential ally in all this, she was been badly mistaken.
“From now on, you only do what we tell you to do. Got it?”
Rachel nodded, her churning mind not able to come up with anything to say. Robotically, she placed her hands behind her head and walked over to the chair.
Once over by the chair, Rachel anxiously began to sit down, grateful for the chance to hide her exposed derriere on the seat’s padded cushion.
“Ah,ah,ah, Mrs. Suitor,” Stan interrupted the process, “we’ve got a little something different in mind. Turn around and kneel on the seat.”
“But Stan, I…” Rachel began to protest.
“Bitch, shut your fuckin’ yap and do as your told!” Stan barked.
“And another thing,” Randy expounded, “you’re to speak only when spoken to. And when your given permission to speak, you’ll address us only as “Sir”! Is that clear?”
Rachel’s head spun, trying to process too much information at once. Oh, their instructions were simple enough, but was it a part of some strategy to keep her off balance, as by the aforementioned Psychology class? If it was, it was working to perfection. The only thing Mrs. Suitor knew for sure, was that if she continued to do what they asked, they appeared reluctant to ruin the lives of she and her husband.
“I…uh…yes, Sir.” Rachel said in an almost child-like voice. Her surrender of authority to these two, did not sit easily.
Doing as she was told, Mrs. Suitor climbed up on the seat, her knees and shins resting on the cushion, her sneaker clad feet dangling off the front. All the while, her hands never left the back of her head.
“That’s good, Mrs. S,” Stan encouraged, “now, I want you to slide your legs off each side of the chair, under the armrests. Please remember to keep your hands where they are.”
“Please?” Rachel thought. She was having a difficult time getting a handle on Stan’s mindset.
Nonetheless, she managed to do what was asked of her with only minor difficulty. The resulting effect however, made her wish that the task had been impossible. After sliding her right leg through, she was able to place her weight on it, allowing her left leg to slip down the other side of the seat. Unfortunately, her knees were now wedged apart the twenty inch width of the seat. This new posture caused the triangular front panel of her panties to bunch up in her sexual cleft. Feeling this, Rachel immediately plopped down on the seat. This act worked to force her knees even wider apart. But at least her privates were hidden. Or so she thought. She’d forgotten about the opening between the chair back and seat, but for the moment, was blissfully unaware of this. On the other hand, Rachel was all too cognizant of how her bare breasts jutted over the edge of the low backed chair.
“That’s better.” Stan approved. “We can’t have you running off suddenly if our backs are turned. Not that it would do you any good.”
“Better my ass!” Mrs. Suitor thought. Her body flamed with embarrassment over her awkwardly exposed posture.
“Now that we’re settled in,” Randy noted, “it’s time for some questions. You have a lovely home here, Rachel. One with thousands of hiding places. Surely an affluent couple such as yourselves, would have a little stash of “Mad Money“. Why don’t you be a doll and tell us where it is. Once we have what we want, Stan will delete the file and we’ll be on our way.”
And that should have been it. Rachel could have cooperated and told them of the safe hidden in the laundry room. But she and Mathew had worked hard acquiring what they had and she wasn’t going to let these two hooligans walk off with it. With defiant desperation, Mrs. Suitor decided to stall. Her son Brad would be home in 6 or 7 hours. Surely she could foil Stan and Randy’s plans until then.
“I, uh, we, don’t have any money in the house.” She lied. “Everything we earn is direct deposited.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Rachel.” Randy said, walking off across the bedroom.
“Oh, not that you don’t have any cash hidden away here, but that you would lie about it.”
That statement stunned Rachel. How could the man possibly know she was lying?
“ Ya see,” Randy explained, “as I said, Brad’s quite proud of his parents. To the point of being somewhat of a braggart. He told us all about how he wanted that new electric guitar. He told us, and these are his words…”
“All my Dad had to do was pop open the safe in the laundry room and, BAM, I had myself a new Fender.”
“So you see, Mrs. Suitor, we already know where the safe is. We just wanted to find out how cooperative you’d be. That, and we need the combination. Stan, I believe Rachel has forgotten the fix she’s gotten herself into. Why don’t you turn her chair to face the desk and remind her of the consequences of her actions?”
Stan complied and once Rachel’s back was turned to Randy, the young man began sifting through Mrs. Suitor’s hamper. In the mean time, Stan had set the laptop back on the desk, the images and information still up on the screen.
“You must take us for a couple of idiots, Mrs. Suitor.” Stan admonished.
“Did you think we’d find this little secret of yours and not read what you’d posted? Once I knew of your kinky fantasies, I took the liberty of doing a little digging.”
Stan reached down beside the desk and picked up a moderately sized jewelry box. The sight of it made Rachel gasp in shock. Conversely, the lump of dread in her stomach, suddenly transformed into butterflies. She was so focused on the box, she didn’t notice Stan take one step behind her. Before she knew what was happening, something cold ratcheted down around her right wrist. And before she could even unlace her fingers to put up a fight, Stan was wrenching both arms behind her back and snapped the other cuff around her left wrist.
Rachel immediately began to struggle, knowing in her heart it was hopeless. She was keenly aware of the inventory contained within the box. It held a variety of steel manacles she used during her self-bondage and internet games. Twisting her arms, she could tell that Stan had used a set of hinged cuffs, the kind that allowed the wearer little or no motion. While this development was still sinking in, Stan removed a second pair of matching cuffs from his pocket. These he snapped down around Mrs. Suitors arms, just above her elbows.
Rachel immediately felt the strain of having her arms pulled back so awkwardly. She wasn’t oblivious either, of how this new posture thrust out her chest. Desperation struck and she tried to inelegantly rise from the chair. Stan merely had to apply a moderate amount of pressure on her shoulders to keep the housewife planted firmly in place. However, he wasn’t about to stand there all day, holding Rachel down.
Words were still cart-wheeling around inside Rachel’s brain, as she watched Stan open the jewelry box. He extracted a pair of leg manacles, attached by a 12” length of chain. Clipping the first around her left ankle, he drew the limb back. Grasping her right leg, he pulled that back as well. Mrs. Suitor felt her thighs splay wider and wider apart, her torso leaning forward involuntarily.
With no small amount of strain on his part, Stan managed to bring both of Rachel’s ankles out past the front chair legs, which were located behind the manacled woman. Snapping the other cuff around her free ankle, locked Rachel’s legs back in their ungainly position.
“OW!” Rachel said, finally finding her voice, “Okay! I’ll tell you what you want to know. You don’t have to tie me up!”
“That moment has passed Mrs. S.” Stan informed her. “Might as well add to your portfolio while we’re at it.”
The camera flashed behind her once more, as Mrs. Suitor tried futilely to wriggle free of the cuffs. It was obvious that Stan had used the hinged manacles for both her wrists and elbows, holding both joints mere inches from each other. Realizing quickly that escape was impossible, Rachel tried rolling her shoulders to ease the strain. As she did, she glanced at the laptop directly in front of her.
It was the first time she’d been able to look at the images up close. And it was clear, that with the very first picture the ’students’ had taken, her fate had been sealed. When it had been snapped, as she was pulling off her top, Rachel had still been smiling to herself about her observations of men and their sleep needs. The result was, that the photograph portrayed an attractive woman playfully undressing for the camera. There could be no other logical explanation. Although Rachel knew her smile was forced in the other pictures, that didn’t translate to the images. They portrayed the same promiscuous woman in various stages of undress.
And now, other pictures were crowding on to the screen, as Stan snapped away behind her. Most of them were ’headless’ shots. Those pictures that did capture her face, featured only portions of it. Nothing could be discerned from any of them, that the subject was anything but a willing participant. Stan even took a close-up of her breasts, propped on the edge of the chair’s back. When he finally finished, Rachel felt dirty and sick. Dozens of images crammed the laptop, each more damning than the last.
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story continues in A College Education 2