“What’s up?” I asked with concern. She looked up, her eyes red from the tears. “Oh shit, have you been caught shoplifting?”
She shook her head. “It’s worse.”
“Fuck, you’re not pregnant, are you?” I asked softly in case anyone heard.
“Of course not.” She snapped.
It took some time to get the story out of her. Daddy had made her join the production line at Roxton’s Pie factory. It was hard work which she didn’t like so she found another job at a fashion shop. She went upstairs, to tell the office she was leaving, when she spotted some signed time sheets. She took one, filled in her name, put ten hours per day, every day and slipped it in with others that been filled in on the desk.
“Paul Roxton, the son of the owner was now threatening to tell the police. She was to meet him that night at nine at the box warehouse. She was to wear a short skirt, small nickers and no bra. His attentions were obvious. I looked at my watch, it was 8.30.
Lexy burst into tears again. “I know what he wants but if I don’t do it, he will tell the police.” She sobbed.
“There are two ways we can handle this.” I said. “I can come with you and beat the shit out of him, threaten him with more if he says anything.”
“He will run to his daddy.” She snarled between the tears.
“You’re probably right. So, plan B. is, I follow you in, film what happens on my phone, jumping out when he is directly threatening you with rape or is about to. We then blackmail him back.”
She stopped her sobbing to listen to my plan, made up on the spot.
“He’s chosen the box warehouse because it doesn’t have any CCTV, he’d have to leave a door open for you to get in, which means I can get in if you don’t close the door. You keep saying you don’t want to do anything, that you didn’t do anything and beg him to leave you alone.”
“That won’t stop him.” she snapped.
“Of course not. It will show he has power over you; it will probably excite him more. He’ll want to humiliate you. Each time he tells you to do things, like show your knickers, or get your boobs out, he’s digging a hole for himself, if he says you have to do something, like a blow job, or full on sex, that’s very serious, its jail time. If I get that on video he’s fucked.”
She looked at her watch. “Will it work?” she asked.
“There’s no guarantee, but we have a plan C. We go to the police together, tell them the full story, the truth. Just getting you wear a short dress is telling what his intentions are.”
“What do you think is best?”
“Plan C, but then dad will find out.”
“Plan B.” She said firmly.
She rushed off, returning a few minutes later. She’d changed into a skirt that hardly covered her panties, and a loose fitting top her tits bounced in. When she climbed into my truck, I could clearly see her arse cheeks. I’m ashamed to say my cock twitched.
I parked a little away from the fire door to the box warehouse and walked twenty metres behind her, watching her enter the building, leaving it a few minutes before I crept in, phone in hand.
“So, the thieving whore has arrived. She’s going to have to be very persuasive to stop me telling he police.” Paul Roxton sneered.