Chapter 2 TERMS OF REPAYMENT Laura's study was a small room at the front of the house; it had a large window that would have looked out into the front garden, were it not for the fact that Laura routinely kept the blinds closed. She didn't need passers-by staring at her while she browsed the internet. The computer itself sat on a pastel pink table, in front of a neon pink chair - in fact, the room generally was coloured in shades of pink, including the wall paint - and was decorated with more of Laura's Japanese figurines.
A small platoon of little plastic women pouted and beckoned and offered their cleavage to either side of the screen. Laura smiled as she sat down.
Her smile vanished when she checked her email. There was one new meassage, and the message was simple: a photo of a knife. There was no text. Laura felt herself go pale.
The last of the pleasing warmth from her earlier sex vanished instantly. She was terrified. These people knew where she lived. They had been to her house. And now they were very clearly threatening to hurt or kill her. She looked at the picture of the knife.
It was large, almost a cleaver. She could picture it all too easily piercing into her skin, or hacking into her limbs. She felt her hands starting to shake. Impulsively, she hit "Reply" on the email, and typed. "Please, I don't have the money to pay you and I don't know where I can get it. But I can probably find some money, and maybe pay in installments?
Please please give me a chance. I will do whatever you want." She hit send. She sat, shivering, massaging her hands, looking at her computer screen. It was unrealistic to expect an immediate reply. Or maybe any reply. But what else could she do? She couldn't just browse the internet in a state like this.
Or let Erica see her, white-faced and shaking. She waited in silence, staring at her email. She was in luck, or so it seemed. A new email popped up only minutes later.
=== To: Stupid Pink-Haired Bitch Re: Debt I'll use simple language so a slut like you can understand. (1) You still owe us the money. You owe us a million dollars, and we won't go away until it's paid.
(2) You pay us $1,000 a week. This is not a repayment. This is interest. The principal amount of $1 million remains. (3) We have a range of business, political, and scientific interests. You will perform work for them, as required by us.
If we are feeling generous, we may allow this work to credit against your interest payments or even the principal. (4) If you do not make the repayments, or perform the work, we will use a knife on you.
Depending on how we feel, we might kill you, or just cut some bits off.
A slut doesn't need feet to suck cock, right? (5) Your slut girlfriend is pretty; she might be fun to cut too. (6) If you agree to these terms, you will indicate your acceptance by doing the following things: (i) Immediately remove your clothes and send us a photo of yourself naked. (ii) Go to (website provided) and download the software there, which will give us full remote control over your computer and its webcam.
(iii) Never, ever sit in front of this computer again unless your slut tits are visible to its webcam. We get no value out of seeing your tits and it won't count against your debts; it just amuses us to make you do this.
==== Laura looked at it. She felt both horror and relief. Up until she'd received the email, she'd thought her pleas were futile - that she was inevitably going to be attacked and killed if she couldn't repay the money. This was better - it offered a path out, however dark and horrid. But it truly was horrid. A thousand dollars a week was more than double the rent on their house.
Even using all of her salary and Erica's, there would be no money left to eat. And the work - Laura had a horrible feeling the work would be sexual.
She couldn't work in a brothel. She was a lesbian.
She couldn't fuck men at all, let alone for money. Not that she'd be paid any money, it seemed. The last instructions were in some ways the worst, because they were immediate.
Laura didn't really have time to think about it - she had to do it now. She had never let a man see her naked in her life - was she really going to send a nude photo to a stranger now? She looked at the picture of the knife again. She knew she was. She knew she was going to do whatever it took to not see that knife up close.
Nervously, she jumped out of her chair, and ran to the study door to check it was closed. She didn't want Erica seeing her, or asking why she was naked, or why she was taking photos of herself. With the door secured, Laura then quickly wiggled out of her shirt and panties, leaving her totally bare.
Picking up her phone, she aimed the camera at her nude body and then, blushing, took a photograph. That done, she immediately pulled her panties back on, sat back down at the computer, and uploaded the nude photo. The photo looked awful. Her body was still flushed from sex with Erica, with her nipples erect and her hair messy. Her boobs looked huge, which Laura particularly hated.
She'd always wished she had smaller breasts, and her DD-cup melons were a constant source of embarrassment. In her mind she associated large breasts with porn stars, sluts and heterosexual sex. Good lesbians had small breasts, and no amount of logic or positive self-image had helped her stop feeling like a traitor and a slut for having such large tits.
Pouting with unhappiness, she attached the photo to an email, and sent it. Then she went to the website she had been given. It was decorated with animated pictures of naked large-breasted women posing, sucking cocks, and being fucked. Laura grimaced.
She liked looking at naked women, but not at naked women fucking men. There was a large "download" button in the centre of the screen, and she hit it. Her virus scanner immediately warned her she was downloading harmful software; she overrode the scanner and told it to download anyway. Shortly after installing the software, her webcam light flicked on, shining a malevolent web. Her computer was transmitting video.
Someone, somewhere, was looking at her sitting there bare-chested, her tits on display. She blushed even harder, and crossed her arms over her bosom. A new email arrived. === To: Stupid Pink-Haired Bitch Re: Debt Looking good.
Love those fuckballoons. You are one hot slut. Your first $1,000 is due Friday, but you won't need to pay it because we have work for you instead. Turn up at the Mayim Research Clinic tomorrow night at 6 pm, and then each weeknight following at the same time.
Stay until they send you home, and do whatever they say. You will definitely be paying the $1,000 next week, though, so be prepared. === Laura was puzzled. The Mayim Research Clinic? She thought she knew it - a low-lying modern-looking building near the city centre. She had no idea what they did there, but it didn't exactly look like a den of horror. And it certainly wasn't a brothel, so she was relieved, at least a little. Plus the news that she wouldn't have to pay this week was great.
Maybe this wouldn't be so awful, she thought. Maybe she was just going to end up doing unpaid regular work. She looked at the red light on her webcam, staring down at her tits. She shuddered, and turned off her computer.
(To be continued.)