Susan Carter - The hidden camera

She knew she was in a trap and her time with Allan… her time with him when he was home and full of what was happening at the bank… Allan was like a rock and Nancy leaned against him… hoping… dreading against the day… the day when she would be discovered.

She was leading a double life. She was a frigid wife on one level… she existed as Allan's elegant shapely wife on one level… and… when the phone rang… when the phone rang during the day when she was alone and home… when she picked up the phone and heard the slightly drunken, casually sloppy voice of Tom.

And her life changed.

She was constantly blackmailed. It seemed she couldn't think of anything else than being blackmailed. She was always buying her way to freedom… she would buy her way by going to a party in return for which she would receive pictures, pictures that had been taken by someone… pictures of her… if only she would go to a party… if only she would give in.

One party led to the next until she no longer cared about anything… even Allan. Nothing seemed to matter… her life was so bad, so evil, so committed to obscenity. There didn't seem anything left to live for. There came a time in her life when it no longer seemed worth living. It was then she thought constantly about suicide. She felt she was a thing, a piece of flesh to be driven into an orgiastic state.

And then there would be the sunny mornings with Allan and the need to react as a good wife.

Her life was becoming crazily split between Allan and another whole life of lewdness. Allan… and his friends were beginning to notice how heavily she drank… there was talk about it…

Allan would calm her and provide an emotion anchor for her, and then he would go off to the office… and the phone would ring. It was always Tom at some cocktail lounge, some bar, calling… with the sound of cool jazz in the background. Tom always to be somewhere, some place, where something exciting was happening. Always he was drunk and always he wanted a favor. More and more however, it was getting to be a favor for Fred Hartman. She found herself on his estate, in the bedroom provided for her where she could feel like a queen.

Yet, like the taste of ashes in the mouth, like a cold gray Monday morning a dawning with a drizzle, she knew her life couldn't go on. Once again, the phone rang. She answered it wearily, knowing who it was, not even really wanting to bargain. At the last party thrown by Fred Hartman, Ben and Herman had fucked her simultaneously on the stage and then she had greedily crawled about and sucked the cocks of all eleven guests. She had sucked each guest in his chair until he had pumped white-hot cum into her gluttonously sucking mouth… and Tom had taken pictures of her… and… she had willingly posed… and had driven home in the dawn… and talked to her nosy neighbor, Mrs. Hunter… and thought about suicide for the thousandth time… a victim of the evilest type of blackmail and her own darkest lusts.

And then, it all ended. The horrible nightmare was over! She was summoned to the Hartman estate at mid-day. Puzzled, she went, not knowing why she had been summoned at that strange hour. She was ushered into the office of Fred Hartman himself. Usually, if anything, she saw him right before performing at one of his parties. Now, she was in his office… and Tom Nelson was there.

Hartman's office was full of clean lines and bright color. Tom Nelson was poised at a small wet bar. Hartman ignored him, smiling at Nancy and politely offering her a seat. Nancy looked up at Hartman and found him tanned and tawny and at ease. Both of them looked at Tom Nelson who was terribly drunk.

His face was red and his clothing was messy… it looked as if he hadn't changed in days. His eyes were wetly flat and unfocused as he smiled. He raised his glass in a hollow toast… it was dry. He shrugged and poured another.

Fred Hartman nodded in a dry abstract way at Tom Nelson. "He was always an amusing nuisance. Now he's a definite problem. I offer no excuses. Sometimes, regretfully, I have to deal with people like him." Hartman stood up, tall and austere, his hands in his pockets. "I am lazy. I am slovenly. For this, I must apologize. I employed a person like Tom Nelson, never thinking of how he got hold of someone as lovely as you, never bothering myself to ask why."

Silently, dike a magician fanning out cards, he spread out pictures of Nancy… dozens and dozens of obscene pictures of Nancy taken by Tom Nelson with Rita's enthusiastic co-operation. He threw down a thick sheath of black negatives. "I'm sorry," he said, "I really didn't know he was blackmailing you." He seemed almost embarrassed. "I thought… I thought you were doing it of your own free will… because you wanted to."

Nancy looked away from the pictures. Always, in the past, she had been promised the negatives if only she would… always, in the past, she had given in, even though she knew that more pictures of her were going to be taken.

Now, Fred Hartman was lining up her pictures and negatives, pointing down at them on his desk with a long bony finger. "These, I think, are yours. Your property. Again, all I can say is, I didn't care and didn't know. I'm sorry."

Nancy looked at him with disbelieving eyes. "You're letting me go?"

Hartman's only answer was a curt bow.

"Nothing?" Nancy looked at him with almost a wet pout on her lips. After all this time, after all she had done, she had come to like him watching her… she liked knowing he was out there in the shadows, his eyes fixed on her body, her lewdness… "You want nothing in exchange?"

"Nothing," said Hartman, enunciating the word carefully, "nothing at all."

Nancy stared at him defiantly, her breasts thrust out and heaving slightly with the denied passion she was feeling. Oddly, a part of her exalted at being finally freed of the threat of blackmail… and a part felt the black fog of despair rolling over her at the knowledge there would be no more shows… no more chances to be queen – to hold momentary power over a great many men… "Nothing?" she asked plaintively.

"Nothing," Hartman repeated implacably. Then, his frosty features cracked into an almost warm smile. "Unless, of course, you want to."

Unless she wanted to.

And so it came about that Nancy Dodge came to be known as the stunning, witty wife of Allan Dodge. Allan Dodge came to be a very successful young banker, handling big accounts, like the Hartman estate account. They had a quietly interesting life in which Nancy entertained in their new townhouse and was the perfect wife, giving her time to charities and public events.

And… at isolated times… well in advance… when she was alone… the phone would ring. It was always Fred Hartman himself and always… insinuatingly, temptingly, he had something planned that she found irresistible. Always, after listening to his musically droning voice outlining all sorts of perverted pleasures, she would agree. She would eagerly agree to be part of his plans and then she would hang up. She hung up with a little smile of anticipation on her lips.

She loved Allan, but… Fred thrilled her.

And, as Fred had once said to her, "No reason, you know, why you can't have the best of both worlds."