A Televangelist Blackmailed

[Scuttle Buttin']

Solomon Rice, a reporter for the Atlanta Journal Constitution, was sitting in a hotel bar in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, nursing his second vodka tonic and staring at the basketball game on the smallish tv in the corner without really paying attention to it. He'd been waiting for a half hour, and had decided that if she still hadn't shown by the time he was finished with this drink, then he was going to give up, catch an early flight back to Atlanta, and consider it a lesson learned.

The "she" in this case was a woman whose name he didn't actually know, but who claimed to have information he wanted. Ordinarily, he wouldn't hop a flight to Louisiana without a much better idea of what the information was, but whoever this informant was had either good timing, or good luck. The information, she said, could be used to take down one of the single best-known televangelists in the country, a "slam dunk" as she called it, and it just so happened that this same hyper-religious bitch had stood him up for an interview when she breezed through town a month previous to whip the faithful into a frenzy and fill the coffers before heading out of town, and entirely ignoring their appointment.

He was starting to get tired of wasting his fucking nights in shitty hotel bars waiting for women that never showed.

Solomon noticed his glass was empty, and knew that meant he should go. But he couldn't just leave. The idea of sticking it to the bitch, who clearly felt she was better than him because people she paid told her so, was just too tempting to pass up.

"Fucking fuck," he muttered and raised his empty glass to the bartender, ordering one more. Once he got the nod in reply, he turned his eyes back to the basketball game, and let his attention drift once more. What the fuck am I doing with my life? he wondered, somewhat aimlessly. He was only 32, by no means old, with dark hair and dark eyes, and he was in a runner's shape for a guy that kept weird hours and generally ate shitty food while chasing down a story. But he had to thank his habit, born in him during cross country in high school, of using the time he was running to clear his head, sort through the details of a story, and then organize how he would lay it all out. Complex stories meant longer time on the treadmill on running through some wooded trail on the outskirts of Atlanta, and over time he found himself even dependent on his runs to get a story out. If he ever ended up in a wheel chair, his career would probably be over. There's a happy thought.

At some point, while lost in his swirling thoughts, the bartender had left him a fresh drink. He began nursing anew, taking small slow drinks, and vowing that if she didn't show up by the time this one was done, he really was going to leave. As much as he wanted to stick it to Christ bitch, he couldn't take spending all night in this place.

 

[southern_slut]

He was slumped over and hardly coherent. That's what I get for missing my cab I guess. Sliding into the seat next to him I pulled out a cigarette and began to fill my lungs with the calming haze.

"So, you want to bring that filthy rhetoric around her ears? I'm your girl."

Grace Abernathy was 32 and had been sitting on this secret for nearly 11 years now. She'd gone to college with her, cried with her, laughed with her, and to be fair had made her this hateful bitch she'd become. Producing a manilla envelope from my handbag and sliding it over like some cheap detective movie.

"She thought I'd gotten rid of this. I could never really though. She was too important."

On that tape was a night of maddening lesbian passions that few could conceive. Hours of screaming, passionate sex. Two young women wanting everything the other had and then some.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He almost didn't realize someone had slid into the seat next to him, until he figure out she was talking to him and had to snap himself out of the haze he'd found himself in. So she did show! His heart was instantly pumping faster, and the sleepy feeling that had been slowly creeping in was gone without a trace. Son of a bitch, she's here.

Still, he had to remain calm. If this turned out to be nothing, it wouldn't be the first time he was told a source had something amazing only for it to turn out to be nothing at all. He was surprised by the envelope, however. He expected a story, and for this to turn into an interview with her spinning her tale to him. Hard evidence, though? It was almost more than he could hope for.

He raised his eyebrows at her as he lifted the envelope, and could tell right away there was a video tape in it. A video tape! Where the fuck do you get a VCR anymore? She was going to make him work for it. Opening the envelope, he looked down into it, confirming it was nothing more than the tape, then looked back to her.

"Interesting... I'm going to go see if they have something to watch this on." He reached into his back pocket, pulling out business card with his cell and desk numbers on it, and slid them across to her, like a miniature version of what she'd just done. "If you need to get ahold of me, here's my personal cell number. I still have your number in case I have any kind of follow up."

 

[southern_slut]

Sighing, ordering a double, and drowning away the last of the guilt. It's not like she didn't have a right to be mad at me, it was cruel and she was right to be angry. However her war on homosexuality was worse, it was treason, and it burned like a hot poker in my soul. I knew there was no going back. As the reporter walked off I could only imagine how he'd find the images on the tape.

It began the fall of our junior year. As sophomores we'd come together as the greatest of friends and worked through aches and pains of growing up in college. We came together and even had kissed on occasion. We were both afraid of what would come but we couldn't stop ourselves. It felt too right.

I'd been taping an interview for an assignment and she was my interviewee. We talked and asked questions and laughed at the silly answers. After a while I threw her a curve ball, asking her about lesbianism in college. She was confused and awkward and so cute. We traded back and forth and she came to realize what I really asking. With tears standing in her eyes she said those words I've never forgotten,
"You're my everything, you're my angel."

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

There wouldn't be a VCR in the room, he knew, but maybe they had them in a back room for some kind of training video. Sexual harassment or that sort of thing. He approached the young kid at the front desk, and began the delicate process of bribery. There was no way he wasn't seeing this tape tonight, and if there was a VCR in this hotel, there was no way this kid wasn't letting him use it.

It turned out to be easier than expected, and only being poorer by $150, he was being led to a break room with a small TV and cheap VCR sitting on a wobbly table. He reminded the kid once more that he was not to be disturbed, then closed the door and practically ripped the envelope in half trying to get the tape out. Ejecting the tape that was in it, "Be The Best Bellhop You Can Be!" written in a font that was cheerful as fuck across the top of it, and tossed it carelessly aside, replacing it quickly with the tape he was given. It took a second for the picture to come to life, and when it did he found he was looking at a younger version of the woman he'd just spoken to... and her. He was struggling mightily to keep himself in check, reminding himself over and over that this might be nothing, and at first it seemed to be nothing but an innocent interview project for some class. She was perhaps a little less attractive, not having the expensive stylists and flawless clothes she did now, but there was still a youthful sexiness about her. After being stood up as he was - and embarrassing him when he had to return to his editor empty handed after promising a quality interview they could run over a couple days - her laugh still grated on him, and he clenched his teeth slightly as he thought, Annoying cunt.

But still, he kept watching. And then it happened. It was clearly no longer midday light it had been during the interview, and they were not laughing. His eyes widened as he realized what he was seeing, and he leaned forward in the uncomfortable folding chair he was sitting in, his face inches from the screen. There they were, the girl he'd just handed his business card to and the annoying cunt herself, one laying on top of the other and both of them with their mouths locked on the other's pussy.

"Holy... fucking... shit..." he muttered. He still couldn't believe what he was seeing. Not only was this far more than he had hoped for, but he realized as he watched that he was growing hard. His mind was split in two: On the one hand, this was turning him on to no end. On the other, while it was pretty clear that the woman on the bottom with a mouthful of pussy was her, it was hard to really see her face, and unless he did it would give her a little bit of wiggle room. It would look a lot like her, but of course not be her, she would say. And then the victim card would come.

Instead, a few moments later it was her coming, and as she tossed her head back and erupted into her orgasm, it became a lock. Now his heart really was pumping, and he had to focus to get the blood out of his cock before he left the room. Stopping the tape, he ejected it and slid it back into the envelope, then flipped the chair around to face the table behind him and opened up his laptop.

Browsing to her homepage - her Godportal, she called it, and once again he thought, Annoying cunt - he found her tour schedule, and looked at where she'd be for the next couple days. Then, quickly to his e-mail program, and he fired off a quick e-mail to her press secretary, informing her that it just so happened he'd be in the same place as her, and he'd like to get that interview in if at all possible.

Once it was sent, he closed everything up and tossed it into his briefcase, and headed for the street to call a cab to the airport. If there was any opening in her schedule, he was going to make sure he was there for it. And then... well, who knew where it went after that.

 

[southern_slut]

Mary MacIntyre, sitting loftily in her make-up chair as brushes were rubbed across her cheeks and a face of innocence and beauty stood out in the brightly lit mirror. She had changed her name to be more Christian friendly. Tracy Freisch wasn't too camera ready. She'd let her blonde locks grow down to her shoulders and her blue eyes stood out like little electric bulbs. Her entire body was fitted and tailored and brushed to draw people towards her message. Of Jesus, God, Holy Spirit, and of strict Christian law.

Stepping out of my chair and taking in the white blouse and light blue skirt, leggings, shiny heels. It was a very homemaker appearance, a woman who worked to support her man. Odd for a single woman to promote. My late husband had been a minister and was killed in a particularly rough neighborhood. It helped to play the anti-Islam card. It was thirty minutes to curtain call when my assistant came knocking and told me I had some reporter looking for a few quick words. I gave an indignant wave, letting him know to hurry it along so I could get ready.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He'd been around long enough, and even in their small dealings had been subjected to this woman enough, to know that he would be hurried in, given a few "Praise Jesus, you betcha!" type quotes, and then hurried out because she had somewhere else to be, some other coffer to fill, some adoring congregation that hadn't adored her enough yet. He was not going to be played like that.

He'd spent two days in the city, and much of it had been spent running. At first, he'd had a huge spread planned, easily front-page news given the comments she'd made about homosexuals recently, and a story that would run for days. But the more he'd run, the more her attitude, and the more the images from the tape (which he now had three copies of, including two on DVD and one as a video file on his laptop that he planned to show her) played through his mind, the more his plan began to change. Not only was she an annoying cunt, not only was she a stuck-up hyper-religious bitch, but she was a closet slut on top of it! It was almost too good to be true.

So, he decided to play this first encounter differently. She wasn't going to care about anything he said if he said he had important questions to ask, things he really needed her to clear up for him, or any of that other nonsense she'd probably heard a million times. She was too quick on her feet for that. So, he'd put her on her knees, and see how well she did there instead.

After being led in to where she was prepping to go on stage, he thanked the pleasant and clearly overworked woman that led him back, and approached her.

"Miss MacIntyre, I know you're busy so I won't take up much of your time. I actually just wanted to stop by and say that I was sorry I didn't get to talk to you when you passed through Atlanta, but I hoped that you'd be able to do a full interview next time you come through town." He paused, and a slow, menacing grin crept across his lips. "I'm actually staying in the DoubleTree just a couple blocks away. Not a bad hotel, really. Room 413. Anyway..." he laughed, almost as if he was embarrassed he was rambling like that, "I apologize for taking up your time, I'll leave you be." He started to turn, then stopped as if he'd just remembered something. "Oh! Grace Abernathy says hi, by the way." And with that, he turned on his heel and left, making his way back to the hotel where he'd wait. Something told him he wouldn't have to wait long.

 

[southern_slut]

It's as if iced water had been pushed through my veins. Every inch of me froze in place and my eyes had turned to terror. My assistant couldn't understand why I had suddenly rescheduled my entire day and then tore from the room as I turned to throwing everything within the room and smashing every last bit of it. After a few moments of destruction I stepped out and fixed my hair. Fixing the same droll smile that I used in public I got into my car and made my way over to the hotel I'd been told about. Hunting down the room and giving it a soft knock. Every fiber of my being was furious and my entire body was so rigid you could hear my head turn. When the door opened I smiled like a rabid psychopath.

"Excuse me, we need to talk..."

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

She was there faster than he even he expected. He really must've rattled her. His heart was thumping again as he opened the door, knowing the choices he made in the next few minutes would determine whether he was on the Today show, talking about what he'd uncovered about devout and pious Mary MacIntyre, or whether he decided to extract his revenge in flesh.

"Oh?" he said, eyebrows raising as he quickly looked her up and down. She was still put together, like always, but there was something slightly off about it. She wasn't quite as polished as she usually was. "Now we need to talk, hm? How interesting..." He chuckled. "Come in, then. Can I get you something to drink?" he asked, smiling pleasantly at her. Whichever way he played it, he was going to play it coolly to start. Reel her in before he fully hooked her.

 

[southern_slut]

"Yes, we do. You owe me an explanation. How did you come across... her."

HER was said with such venom and pain that anyone could tell it's what really put her into a frenzy. How she'd kept herself stable this long was a Lordly miracle.

I reached out and took three small bottles of whiskey from the minibar and mixed them into an iced glass. It was gone so fast I couldn't recall drinking it even. Finding the nearest available chair and... brushing off the filth. I took in the unshaven and unkempt journalist who was lording himself over me. His barely contained contempt was pouring out of his very flesh.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He grinned, openly grinned, as she asked how he'd found her, and instead of answering the question he turned and closed the door behind her, flipping the latch over the upper lock as he did. He watched her, silently, as she drank from the mini bar, and then walked over to lean against the dresser across from where she now sat. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he considered her for a moment, knowing this was the moment of truth. He had her either way, more so than even she knew at this moment, and now the only question was the way in which he'd have her.

In answer, finally, he shrugged slightly. "She found me, actually. I guess you've been on her mind, and she thought maybe I could say hi for her the next time I saw you. You remember me, right? The interview you accepted in Atlanta, and then bailed on without so much as a phone call to let me know you weren't showing?" He arched an eyebrow as he looked down at her in the chair, "Or is that something you do so often you can't even remember who you've done it to anymore?"

 

[southern_slut]

"I can't be expected to flatter every paper's pages. Things happen, 60 Minutes is more important than some hick paper. Answer my question."

My smile was almost painted on and it was so odd to see my face enraged and my smile cheery. I was the picture of a raving lunatic. How could she? After all these years, how dare she come back?! She left ME! My indignation must have shown because the smug look across his face grew wider and wider until it hurt to look at him anymore.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He laughed a little, nodding as she spoke. He had expected her to try to charm her way out, and instead she was almost goading him into it. Without even realizing it, he knew what his decision was.

"Yes, I know... things always happen, don't they? Isn't it crazy the way things just happen sometimes? One day, you're waiting for an interview with someone, and only a few days later, you get... well, here, see for yourself." He moved from the dresser and hit a button on his laptop that was open on the table next to her, then spun it around to face her. The sounds of her orgasm filled the room. Leaning back against the dresser, he simply watched her in silence.

 

[southern_slut]

It was bizarre, the mixture of emotions coursing through my heart. Did she still love me? Was it some perversion? A memento, a notch in her bed post? My smile finally drops and I try to take in what this means and why this man has such a tape in his possession. He's upset and he doesn't like me, so he's my first threat. Grace will be dealt with, assuredly. Opting for a sweet, apologetic smile now.

"Look. It's a cute tape. Yet why would my college roommate want us to watch some porn? Is she upset over lesbian rights? I never knew her to bend that way."

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

Another little laugh.

"Cute? A cute tape? Oh, dear," he shakes his head, his eyes remaining fixed on her and continuing to let the video play on the laptop next to her, "It's far more than cute. See, my little hick paper, as you put it, has connections with the Associated Press. And if you'll wait for it..." he pauses, leaning forward slightly as if he's intently listening to the video, "Right... there is the face of the holy, Godly, Jesus-loving, spirit filled Mary MacIntyre, in all her orgasmic glory. Although, I think you're filled with your roommates fingers more than the spirit right there."

He leans back again, palms resting atop the dresser on either side of him now, and the video continues to play on. "If I'm not mistaken, I think that's when you bury your face back into her pussy and..." he pauses again, listening, until Grace is overtaken by her own orgasm, "...there you are, returning the favor."

Slowly, the grin fades from his lips and his eyes darken, "We both know that's you on the video, and we both know I can prove it's you on the video. Or the two DVD copies I've made of it. Or the original video tape I also have. So why don't we cut the bullshit, hm?"

 

[southern_slut]

Trying desperately to spin this however there's no way to deny it is my face on the tape. Taking a deep breath and mixing another few bottle of whiskey and leaning back into the seat.

"Alright, what do you want? An interview? Money?"

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

"An interview?" He laughs, head shaking. "You're kidding, right? An interview? If I gave this up for an interview, I'd be the biggest fucking idiot on the planet. No, I don't need an interview."

He moves off the dresser, spinning the laptop back to face him and turning off the video, the sounds of their sex gone just as quickly as it appeared. Closing the lid, he pushes it back on the table, then moves back to lean against the dresser. His eyes find hers, and he holds her gaze without a hint of a smile on his face.

"Fuck your interview. You had your chance to do that, it's gone now. Instead, I want you to get out of that chair, get down on your knees, and beg me not to release this tape and utterly fucking ruin you."

 

[southern_slut]

I try and argue, try to fight with him. Beg? What the hell?! I could argue it'd never ruin me but my appeal is to hardcore Christians. Premarital lesbian sex on tape would probably leave me with little more than my life. The cost of damage control would bankrupt me. I keep spinning my wheels and I can't help but come to the conclusion I have to play this game. Stopping him here, and getting rid of these tapes today in this seedy little motel are all I have to do. Slowly sliding out of my chair and onto my knees, my hands cupped in front of me like I were praying.

"Please, please, please. I need you to get rid of the tapes."

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He watches her reaction, knowing the wheels are spinning in her head, trying to find any way around this. She's rich and powerful, adored by millions, and the idea of actually begging someone that she wouldn't even think to speak to normally must be killing her. But she knows as well as he does that she's caught. The only part she doesn't know is just how caught she is.

The smug smile returns to his face when she actually falls to her knees and begs him, and it's right then that he knows he has her. This will be her journey of a thousand miles, and she just took the first step on her knees.

He watches her, silent, as she tells him he needs to get rid of the tape, and for a moment he actually appears to be considering it. That vanishes with a shake of the head, "You know, I just don't feel like it's enough. I mean, this is pretty big news I've got, and reporting the news is my job. I don't think I can allow a sweet little pretty please to stop me from doing my job, do you? Surely you wouldn't let something like that stop you..." Another shake of the head, "No, not nearly enough. I want you to crawl over here to me...

"And then I want you to suck my cock."

 

[southern_slut]

Crawling over, halfway between him and I when the other half of his demand sets in.

"Wait, what?"

There I am, crawling in a designer skirt and blouse, on all fours. My hair is falling across my eyes and it's difficult to see. Surely I was mistaken. Being in the ultra christian circuit had left me sexually negligent for years now.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

She looks caught between ridiculous and sexy as she crawls towards him, the designer clothes she wears clearly not designed for such activity. He's not shocked when she stops short, frankly he would've been more surprised if she'd simply complied, but any doubts he'd had about her are melting away with each passing moment.

"Did I fucking stutter?," he asks, his voice stern as he commands her again, "I said crawl over to me, and suck my cock. Now."

 

[southern_slut]

Slowly, cringingly crawling forward. My eyes closed in disgust and stopping just at his knees. I take in the look on his face and begin my plea.

"Look, you and I can work this out. How much do you want for the tapes?"

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He shakes his head, sighing in frustration, and moves up off the dresser to fully stand before her. Bending at the waist, he reaches down and grabs a handful of her perfectly styled hair, yanking her face to within inches of hers, his eyes intent on hers.

"Listen to me very carefully, bitch. I don't want your fucking money. I don't want a fucking interview from you. I just want you to figure out one thing. As of right now, I own your ass. You like the private jets and the designer clothes and the adoration of all those crowds? Then you're going to pay for it. And I'll decide how you'll pay. I've seen what you can do with that mouth of yours on a pussy, but now," he says, reaching up with his free hand and flicking the tip of his thumb over her bottom lip, "I want to see if your mouth is as good with a cock in it. Do not make me ask you again, bitch."

And with that, he releases his grip on her hair, and once again resumes his position leaning back against the dresser.

 

[southern_slut]

In my head I keep telling myself 'It'll be alright. This'll blow over soon and you can kill this fucker and that fickle bitch and go back to being the Queen.' However I crawl all the way up and slowly begin unzipping his pants. With my teeth. Unlike our outward image, televangelists are notorious pussy hounds and my late husband was the worst. He taught me things porn stars could only hope to know. As I free his cock and let it dangle in front of me, it took me a moment to sigh and say "I can't believe I have to do this again."

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He's surprised when it's her teeth and not her fingers that are unzipping his pants, and he knew then that this wasn't remotely her first time. He wondered, though, if she'd ever really been owned the way he had in mind. Lesbian sex in college was one thing. Being turned into a slut, who would service him when and how he demanded so she could keep the life to which she'd grown accustomed was another thing entirely.

When she comments about having to do this again, he chuckles and shakes his head, "Afraid so, darling. Let's just say God isn't the only master you have to serve now..."