She would begin my jacking my shaft with both hands, gently, while she
licked the tip and glans, slavering her tongue all over my dickhead and
allowing a stream of her saliva to trickle down to my balls. Then she’d
suck my balls lightly until the dripping abated, after which she’d
return to the head and lick some more. She was waiting for my precome
ooze to reach the proper state – enough to lubricate my shaft. She had
found that with enough lubrication of this kind she could take me as
deeply as she wanted to, with no discomfort.

I wrote on the back of the sheet:

“Dear Ann. These photos will enjoy a wide distribution to the police,
your parents, and the shool population at large unless we can reach an
agreement. Imagine hundreds of copies of the picture with Bill
Arnold’s dick in your mouth or Bill Arnold coming on your face, dist-
ributed all over campus. Imagine pictures of you snorting coke being
sent to the cops. Imagine a copy of this contact sheet finding its way
to your father’s office, or to your home and your mother. If you wish
to avoid all these things, meet me at the Fish and Chips shop in the
Sanderson Mall today after school. We can discuss my terms. Don’t
worry, I can be reasonable, but don’t imagine I am bluffing. I have
nothing to lose by publishing these as 8 x 10 glossies.”

I folded the sheet into four and put it in an envelope marked “Open in
Private!”. I went back to school, cut another class, and, when I was
sure I was not being observed, slipped the envelope into her locker
through the vent. At first it stuck, and I paniced a little, but a
little back-and-forth action made it slip right through.

I waited until the next bell rang, then stood across the quad looking
through a telephoto lens at Ann’s locker. The hubub of the between-
class activity hid me perfectly, and after two minutes or so I spied
her heading toward her locker. She looked just as she always did,
aloof and superior. I could not believe that such a debasing scene did
nothing to change her attitude, but she clearly still held herself
“above it all.”

Just for a few moments longer, Ann, I thought.

She opened her locker and the envelop fell to the ground. I must have
gasped a little when another girl picked it up, looked at it, and handed
it to her. She said something, probably intended to be witty, but Ann
frosted her with a snooty look and the girl walked away. Ann read the
envelope, closed her locker, and walked over to sit on the planter that
surrounded the flagpole. Checking to see that no one was near, she
opened the envelope and unfolded the sheet.

She must have opened it to the photo side first, because her face went
white, her eyes grew large as saucers, and she clasped the sheet
immediately to her chest to hide the side where the photos where. She
looked around again, frantic, then noticed the writing on the reverse
side. She stuffed the sheet back into the envelope without reading it,
then ran off to the girls room, looking a little ill.

I chuckled to myself. Ann looked about as un-superior as a person
could, stumbling frantically off to the bathroom clutching sex photos of
herself. I knew she was going there to read the note, to scan the
photos again in disbelief. I knew she was scared and suffering, and in
the darkest reaches of my heart I felt great. She was, I guess, a
symbol for all the elite people of the world, to me. She was the
embodiment of all the things a normal person never gets to have.

Well, this time it was going to be different. Very, very different.

I sat down in a back booth and ordered a bowl of red chowder. I was a
bit nervous – confrontation has never been my strong suit – but
something about the quality of this event had brought out my ruthless
side. Under normal circumstances I would have been tongue tied around a
girl like her. Now I was in charge, and there was nothing that could
change that.