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Chapter 1 A:

 

The early Tuesday’s morning heat clung to the quiet house, the first rays of sunrise barely slipping through the heavy curtains of Luz López’s bedroom. She slept soundly, her breaths soft, unaware of the world stirring outside. The house was still, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner. The digital clock glowed 6:15, casting a faint red hue across the room. A sharp vibration from her phone on the nightstand broke the stillness, jolting her awake. She fumbled for it, expecting a misplaced alarm or a family emergency.

The blue light of the screen reveals an unknown number: 

- "Hello, Luz López."

Her pulse quickens, sleep fading. Surprised by the unfamiliar number, she types, 

- "Who is this?" - The soft breathing of her 18-year-old son, Timmy, echoes down the hall.

A reply arrived: -“You don’t wanna know. I’m here to bring a little justice.” Luz squinted at the screen, her eyes struggling to focus in the dim light, her mind foggy from sleep. Assuming it was a prank, she, a 35-year-old single mother, sent a laughing emoji and blocked the number, dismissing the annoyance.

Ten minutes later, Luz’s eyelids grew heavy, her body sinking back toward sleep, assuming she’d rid herself of the nuisance. Her phone buzzed again from another unknown number, snapping her awake: “That wasn’t very polite. We’re starting off on the wrong foot.” Attached was a photo of documents. Surprised by his persistence, Luz opened the image, seeing official papers—loan forms, signatures—but her memory failed her. The documents looked familiar, yet she couldn’t place them.

Another message follows:  

- "Need help remembering?" Luz’s breath catches as she zooms in. Her heart sinks—she recognizes them now: a financial statement from a local charity she’d volunteered for two years ago, showing funds she’d redirected to cover her late husband’s funeral costs and debts after his sudden death. The transactions, meant to be temporary, were never reported, leaving a trail of falsified records she thought had been buried. Panic flooded her, memories of her desperation returning: overwhelming funeral expenses, unpaid debts piling up,the fear fading as no one noticed. Until now.

Another message buzzes: 

- “Record yourself, full body, the way you’re now. State your name and age. You have five minutes, or the authorities will see.” Her thin sleepwear made her feel exposed, though alone. -“How did you get this? I have money, I can pay you whatever you want,” she typed frantically, her heart pounding, knowing the plea was likely futile.

 

Another message arrived: -“I don’t need money. Four minutes, thirty seconds. Record.”

 

Luz’s mind raced, her fingers hovering over the phone. She could ignore the message, block him again, or even call the police—but the embezzlement was real. The charity funds she’d taken two years ago to cover her husband’s funeral costs and debts could send her to prison, strip away her home, her reputation. Worse, Timmy would learn his mother was a thief. The weight of the consequences crushed her defiance, leaving her no choice but to comply.

 

She slid out of bed, her bare feet touching the cool floor, and stood, her gaze catching her reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. A wave of shame washed over her as she saw herself, the thin sleepwear clinging to her curves, barely concealing her body in the dim light. Her stomach churned at the thought of exposing herself to a stranger, her privacy stripped away by his command. “What if Timmy stirred and saw her like this?” The idea of recording herself felt like a violation, each step deeper into an unknown threat. She hesitated, her hands trembling, torn between defiance and the looming threat of the charity records. In the mirror, her silhouette stood vulnerable—her tan skin glowing faintly, the sleepwear’s delicate fabric outlining her full breasts and the curve of her hips, her dark hair falling loosely over her shoulders.

 

Forcing herself to move, Luz grabbed the phone and positioned it to record her reflection in the mirror. She whispered, “My name is Luz López,” her voice catching, then louder to steady it, “I’m thirty-five years old.” She turned slowly, capturing her front and back in the mirror’s frame, her skin prickling with vulnerability, nearly dropping the phone as her hands trembled. Facing the mirror again, she swallowed hard, her eyes stinging but refusing to let tears fall. Sending the video felt like a betrayal of herself, a piece of her dignity stolen.

 

She collapsed back onto the bed, her body sinking into the mattress, clutching the phone. A message came in: “Well done. I’ll be in touch.” Luz’s heart remained heavy with doubt about what the future held.

 

Three days had passed since the unsettling messages on Tuesday, and with no further contact, Luz López had convinced herself it was just a prank. The strange demand to record herself had faded to a fleeting memory, a bizarre moment she’d nearly forgotten as she settled back into her routine as a single mother.

On Friday, she slept peacefully in her bedroom, the quiet hum of the summer morning wrapping the house in calm. At 6:30 a.m., her phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling her from a light sleep. She reached for it, her mind still half in a dream. The screen showed a message from an unknown number: “Thought I forgot about you, Luz? I haven’t. For breakfast, wear a blouse with a neckline and a skirt, you choose the rest. Do it well and there’ll be no more tasks today.”

 

Luz’s eyes lingered on the message, a faint suspicion stirring that this was still some elaborate prank. The task seemed simple enough, almost trivial, reinforcing her thought that it might not be serious. She tried to close her eyes and sleep another twenty minutes until 6:50, but the idea of the blackmailer’s return kept looping in her head, a nagging curiosity about his game. Unable to drift off, she sighed and slid out of bed, her bare feet touching the warm floor.

 

She walked to her wardrobe, the morning light filtering through the curtains as she searched for clothes matching his demands. Selecting a blouse with a light neckline and a skirt that ended below mid-thigh, she laid them out, then chose a black bra and thong from her drawer, figuring they’d work. Luz slipped off her sleepwear—a loose t-shirt, no bra, short pants, and a pair of panties—leaving her completely naked for a moment. Her reflection caught in the mirror: firm, round, medium-sized breasts with pink nipples, a flat stomach, a large, round, firm ass, her pussy shaved, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders—a typical sexy Latina figure. She dressed quickly, sliding on the black thong, securing the bra, and pulling on the blouse and skirt, the fabric hugging her curves.

 

Before leaving, she glanced at herself in the full-length mirror, noting the suggestive outfit—her cleavage pronounced, the skirt clinging to her hips—but shrugged it off, still convinced the task was manageable. She stepped out of her bedroom, descended the stairs, passed through the living room, and entered the kitchen. The morning light filled the space, curtains almost closed as always. Luz began preparing breakfast, the sizzle of eggs filling the air as she moved confidently, focused on the routine.

 

Timmy’s footsteps approached, and Luz turned, a smile ready. “Morning, kiddo,” she said, stirring the eggs at the counter.

 

-“Hey, Mom,” Timmy replied, his voice sleepy as he crossed the kitchen. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, a familiar gesture, and as he did, Luz’s breasts brushed briefly against his chest through the blouse. The contact was fleeting, barely registering in her mind as she focused on the pan. -“What’s for breakfast?” he asked, stepping back.

 

-“Eggs and toast,” she said, keeping her tone light. Timmy lingered at the island, his hoodie and jeans contrasting her outfit. His eyes widened slightly at her appearance. -“Why are you dressed like that for breakfast?” he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

 

The question caught her off guard, but Luz turned to the stove, the spatula scraping. -“Trying something new,” she said, her voice casual, adjusting the blouse without concern. -“Found this in the closet, thought I’d wear it.”

 

-“It looks good,” Timmy said, half-laughing, unsure. -“But it’s kind of… a lot for breakfast, right?”

 

Luz shrugged, the blouse shifting slightly, quickly adjusted. -“Sometimes you need a change,” she said, her tone steady, still thinking the blackmailer’s task was a harmless quirk. -“You look pretty,” Timmy added, grabbing juice from the fridge. -“Different, but pretty.”

 

-“Thanks, kiddo,” Luz replied, her words carrying a faint amusement, the task feeling manageable despite the oddity. They sat at the table, eating their eggs and toast, the clink of forks filling the comfortable silence. Timmy scrolled his phone between bites, while Luz sipped her coffee, the morning routine grounding her. -“Got any big plans for school today?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

 

-“Just the usual,” Timmy said, shrugging. -“Math test, probably gonna bomb it.” He grinned, and Luz chuckled, the small talk easing her mind further. -“You’ll do fine,” she said. -“Just don’t stay up late gaming again.”

 

Timmy laughed, finishing his juice. -“Gotta go, Mom, I’m running late for school.” He stood, grabbing his backpack, and approached Luz as she cleared the plates and cups from the table, stacking them by the sink. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, a quick goodbye, and Luz turned slightly, her blouse brushing against him briefly again, the contact unremarkable in her mind as she focused on the dishes. -“See you later,” he said, heading for the door.

 

“Study for that test!” she called after him, smiling as she began rinsing the plates. Her phone buzzed on the counter: -“Well done. No more challenges today.” Relief washed over Luz, the message confirming the task’s simplicity. As she scrubbed a plate, she thought to herself that wearing a specific outfit had been easy enough—almost too easy. If this was the extent of the blackmailer’s demands, it would be manageable, maybe even just a strange prank. The cold tone of the message lingered, but she pushed it aside, convinced she could handle whatever came next.

 

On Saturday, Luz sleeps fitfully, the phone buzzing at 6:45 a.m. The screen lights up: -"For breakfast, wear a white dress, a red thong and bra. No exceptions". Luz read the message, her brow furrowing as she wondered if this would become a daily ritual. “Why was he doing this?” The tasks seemed odd, almost trivial, and she still couldn’t grasp the blackmailer’s goal—”was it a prank, or something more?” The uncertainty gnawed at her, but the memory of the charity funds she’d taken two years ago to cover her husband’s funeral costs and debts held her in check. She couldn’t risk the consequences—prison, losing her home, Timmy learning the truth. With a sigh, she decided to play along, cautious but not yet alarmed.

 

She slid out of bed, and walked to her wardrobe. Searching through her clothes, she found a white summer dress she hadn’t worn in years, its thin fabric slightly forgotten in the back of the closet. She laid it out, choosing a red thong and bra as instructed. Luz slipped off her sleepwear and stepped into the red thong and secured the bra. She pulled on the white dress, its delicate straps settling on her shoulders, the fabric clinging to her curves.

 

Standing before the full-length mirror, Luz noticed how the dress hugged her figure, accentuating her firm, round breasts, the deep neckline revealing more cleavage than she’d have chosen. The red thong’s outline was starkly visible through the thin white fabric, a bold contrast that outlined her private parts. A twinge of shame flickered as she thought of wearing this in front of Timmy—too revealing for a breakfast with her son—but she pushed it aside. If this was the blackmailer’s game, she’d follow it for now, unwilling to risk the consequences.

 

Luz stepped into the kitchen, pausing at the doorway, surprised to see Timmy already awake, standing at the counter with his back to her, cracking eggs into a sizzling pan. The morning light filtered through the closed curtains, casting a soft glow over the familiar space. “Morning, Honey,” she called from the door, her voice light but curious. “What’s got you up so early?”

 

Timmy glanced over his shoulder, grinning without fully turning. “Woke up early and thought I’d surprise you with breakfast for once,” he said, stirring the eggs. “Figured you’d like a break.”

 

Luz smiled, a flicker of warmth cutting through her unease about the revealing white dress. Not wanting Timmy to see her outfit too closely—the visible red thong still nagging at her—she quickly crossed to the table and sat in a chair, seeking a bit of cover. “That’s sweet of you” she said, adjusting the dress’s hem to cover her thighs, her movements casual to mask her mild self-consciousness.

 

They sat together, eating the scrambled eggs and toast Timmy had prepared, the clink of forks filling the comfortable silence. “These are pretty good,” Luz said, keeping the tone light. “You should cook more often.”

 

Timmy chuckled, grabbing his juice. “Maybe if I don’t bomb my math test.” Luz smiled, the small talk grounding her. “I’m hitting the supermarket later,” she said, her voice steady. “Want to come?”

 

“Sure, I’ll go with you,” Timmy replied, nodding. “We need pasta and stuff.”

 

Her phone buzzed on the table: “Spill juice on the floor. Clean it with a rag, move. Now.” Luz’s throat tightened, a flicker of unease cutting through her belief that this was a prank. “Oops,” she said, deliberately tipping her juice glass as Timmy talked, letting it spill. She stood, turning to grab a rag from the counter, the white dress shifting slightly. As she moved, she sensed Timmy’s eyes flick briefly toward her, catching the faint outline of her red thong through the thin fabric. The subtle visibility made her pause, a twinge of self-consciousness rising, but she brushed it off, still thinking the task was manageable. She knelt to clean the juice, facing him to avoid exposing her back, the neckline dipping to reveal her cleavage. She wiped quickly, her movements practical, hoping Timmy didn’t notice too much.

 

“Wow, Mom, you’re making a mess with that juice,” Timmy said, his tone light, no hint of anything beyond casual observation. Luz straightened, adjusting the dress, her cheeks faintly warm. “So clumsy,” she said, forcing a smile to cover her mild discomfort.

 

“You okay? You seem a bit off,” Timmy asked, his eyes briefly meeting hers before looking back to his phone. “Just distracted,” Luz replied, her heart beating a little faster, the task’s oddity lingering in her mind.

 

Her phone buzzed again: “Find something in the lower cabinets. Take your time.” A knot formed in Luz’s stomach, but she pushed it down, still hoping she could handle this. “Need the sugar,” she said, moving toward a low cabinet near the kitchen table. She crouched carefully, the white summer dress riding up, exposing the tops of her thighs near her buttocks. The thin fabric stretched tighter, the red thong’s bold outline starkly visible, highlighting her private parts. Her skin prickled with a flicker of exposure, her heart quickening as she realized Timmy, sitting just behind her, might notice. Unconsciously, she bent a little lower, shifting to reach deeper into the cabinet, and the dress crept up further, revealing the start of her round, firm asscheeks. She moved items slowly—sugar, flour, a can of beans—her fingers trembling slightly, hoping Timmy wasn’t looking, her self-consciousness growing as she felt the dress betray her.

 

“That dress is short, Mom,” Timmy said, his tone curious but not pointed, as if noting it in passing. Luz stood quickly, tugging the hem down, her cheeks flushing with noticeable warmth. “Oh, didn’t realize,” she said, feigning surprise, but the shame stung, the blackmailer’s tasks no longer feeling as simple as she’d hoped. “You going to wear that to the supermarket?” Timmy asked, his voice hesitant, glancing up from his phone. “Haven’t decided,” Luz replied, her tone forcedly casual as she tried to sound normal, avoiding his gaze. “Is it that short?” she added, her voice strained, hoping to downplay the situation. Timmy looked at her, his expression faintly puzzled, as if her question caught him off guard.

The doorbell rang, a welcome distraction pulling Luz from the awkward exchange with her son. She walked to the door, feeling a twinge of exposure in her revealing dress, the red thong’s outline still vivid in her mind. She answered, finding a young deliveryman with a package. “Luz López?” he asked, his eyes briefly glancing at her neckline before returning to the clipboard. “Yes, that’s me,” she said, her voice steady, signing quickly. “Thanks,” she added, handing back the paper. As she turned to close the door, the dress shifted, and she felt acutely exposed, aware that the deliveryman could likely see the red thong’s bold outline through the thin white fabric clinging to her buttocks. Her skin prickled with discomfort, but she dismissed it, closing the door quickly. Her phone buzzed: “Your outfit for the supermarket. No exceptions.”

In her bedroom, Luz placed the package on the bed, her heart pounding as she opened it. Inside lay a black thong, a white bra, skin-tight black leggings, and a cropped black T-shirt. The outfit was brazenly revealing, designed to cling to every curve. Her phone buzzed: “Keep open all curtains and blinds in the house, always. Open the one in your bedroom. Now.”

 

Luz froze, a chill running through her as she realized the blackmailer’s intent was to humiliate her. She considered ending this madness, refusing to let it spiral further, The fear of blackmail held her back. With a heavy breath, she complied, pulling open the curtains, the morning light flooding in. Her skin prickled with shame, knowing she’d have to undress in full view of the open window, the situation slipping out of control.

 

She slid off the white summer dress, the fabric pooling on the floor, revealing her body in the red bra and thong. Her smooth tan skin glowed, her flat stomach tensed, her firm, round, medium-sized breasts strained against the bra, her large, round, firm ass outlined by the thong, her shaved pussy barely covered, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She paused, heart racing, the open window amplifying her vulnerability; neighbors could see her exposed. Her phone buzzed: “Continue. No excuses.” The command sent a jolt through her, her fingers trembling as she unhooked the bra, her breasts freeing, heavy, pink nipples hardening in the air. She lowered the red thong, the fabric sliding down her thighs, pooling at her feet, leaving her completely naked under the harsh light. A shadow flickered at a neighbor’s window—or was it her imagination?

 

With trembling fingers, Luz grabbed the black thong from the package, stepping into it slowly, pulling it up until it molded to her ass. She secured the white bra, its fabric cupping her medium-sized breasts tightly. The black leggings clung to her legs and butt, the thong’s outline faintly visible beneath. The cropped T-shirt ended at her mid-stomach, accentuating her firm breasts, the outfit indecently revealing. Luz’s resolve hardened—she couldn’t let this go further.

 

She typed, her fingers shaking: 

-This is too much. 

-I won’t wear this in public, especially with my son around. 

-You can forget your little game.

And pressed Send, then blocked the number, her heart pounding rapidly, nerves fraying as she stood in the revealing outfit, hoping her bluff would work. 

Minutes passed, her anxiety mounting, each second stretching as she clutched the phone, her pulse racing.

 

A reply came from another unknown number: “You don’t grasp your situation here, Lopez. Your fraud means prison, losing your home, your reputation. I also now have your video from last night. Comply, or the consequences will be devastating.” Her heart sank, the weight of defeat crushing her. Reluctantly, she typed: “Fine, I’ll wear it. Just stop, please.” The words burned, her defiance crumbling under the threat, though every fiber of her resisted giving in.

 

“Good. Know that blocking my number will have consequences.” Dressed in the revealing outfit, Luz left her bedroom, her steps heavy, and walked to the living room, where Timmy waited, ready to head to the supermarket.

The tight leggings cling to her figure, the black thong’s outline faintly visible beneath, her exposed stomach gleaming under the morning light, her firm breasts accentuated by the short T-shirt. For the first time, Luz feels profoundly exposed in front of Timmy, the outfit’s provocative nature amplifying her shame and fear, especially under her son’s gaze. 

Timmy looks up from his phone, his eyes widening briefly at her appearance, clearly surprised by the outfit, but he says nothing, his silence heavy. Luz, sensing his gaze, feels a wave of guilt and discomfort, the taboo dynamic unsettling her. As she turns toward the door to leave, the leggings highlight her round, firm ass, and Timmy’s glance lingers for a moment, his expression unreadable, a subtle flicker of unease crossing his face. Luz, unaware of his exact thoughts, feels her cheeks burn, cursing the blackmailer for forcing her into this humiliating exposure.

Luz’s heart still raced as she grabbed her keys and purse, the revealing outfit clinging to her body. She opened the front door, stepping into the warm morning air, and unlocked the car. Timmy followed, sliding into the passenger seat as Luz settled behind the wheel. They drove to the supermarket in near silence, the weight of the blackmailer’s demands lingering in her mind.

 

At the supermarket, the hum of activity surrounded them—shoppers pushed carts down the aisles, their murmurs blending with the clatter of groceries, while employees restocked shelves, arranging cans and boxes with quick efficiency. Luz grabbed a cart, her fingers tightening around the handle as she led the way, Timmy trailing behind her. The outfit felt like a spotlight, accentuating her curves with every step. The cropped T-shirt bared her flat stomach, her firm, medium-sized breasts prominent under the white bra, her long dark hair swaying as she moved. Luz’s skin prickled with discomfort, acutely aware of Timmy walking behind her, his position making her worry he might be staring at her ass, its shape impossible to hide in the tight leggings. The gazes of other shoppers—fleeting glances from men, curious looks from women—heightened her unease, each step amplifying her sense of exposure. Was Timmy noticing too, or was it her paranoia?

 

She tried to shift the dynamic, glancing back at him. “Check the sauces over there,” she said, hoping to get him to walk ahead. But Timmy lingered behind, grabbing items from shelves as they moved. Now face-to-face in an aisle, discussing what to buy, Luz caught his eyes drifting briefly from her face to her crotch area. The glance seemed innocent, but it sent a pang of shame through her, cursing the blackmailer for orchestrating this unsettling dynamic. “We need pasta,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil. “And your basil sauce.”

 

“Garlic sticks?” Timmy replies, his fleeting glances fueling her paranoia. Reaching high shelves, the T-shirt rides up; bending down, the leggings tighten, accentuating her figure.

 

Her phone buzzed with a new message from the blackmailer: “Time to pay for your little rebellion earlier, Luz. Aisle 5. Take off your T-shirt and leggings completely. Photos, front and back, face visible. Three minutes.” Her heart stopped, a wave of panic crashing over her. “I can’t, please, someone might see me, my son’s here. I’ll do whatever you want, I can give you money, just say a number. Please,” she typed, her fingers weak with desperation.

 

The reply came swiftly: “Money isn’t the problem, I told you. Are you still resisting? Now the thong comes off too. Time’s running.” Fear gripped Luz, the thought of such exposure in a public store paralyzing her. She cursed herself for resisting, realizing that her defiance had escalated the situation, making it infinitely worse. She glanced around, scanning for people, and felt a flicker of relief that the store wasn’t too busy. Her eyes darted to aisle 5, her mind racing with the risks—cameras, shoppers,Timmy. Heart pounding, she moved toward aisle 5, her steps hesitant but driven by the blackmailer’s threat. Arriving at the empty aisle, she looked around nervously, praying no one would approach, her hands trembling as another message arrived: “Hold the thong in your hand for the photos. Don’t dress until I approve them.”

 

The command deepened her dread, her shame intensifying at the thought of such exposure. Her hands shook as she reached for the T-shirt’s hem, pulling it over her head, the fabric brushing her skin, leaving her firm, medium-sized breasts in the white bra, her flat stomach gleaming under the fluorescent lights. She slid down the leggings, the tight material pulling the black thong slightly, exposing her large, round, firm ass. With a trembling breath, she lowered the thong, the fabric sliding down her thighs, leaving her shaved pussy and ass completely exposed, the cold store air brushing her pussy, sending a shiver of vulnerability through her. 

 

“Mom, where are you?” Timmy’s voice called from another aisle, faint but clear. Luz froze, her heart pounding, not daring to respond for fear of drawing attention to her half-naked state. She clutched the thong in one hand, her other hand gripping the phone, and took the front photo, her face flushed with shame, her shaved pussy and bare stomach stark under the lights. She turned, her large, firm ass bare, the crease between her cheeks exposed, and took the back photo, her hands trembling as she snapped the image, the fear of being caught paralyzing her. She sent the photos, standing frozen in the aisle, one hand holding the thong and trying to cover her pussy, the other clutching the phone, staring at the screen, waiting for the blackmailer’s approval.

 

“Mom!” Timmy called again, his voice now much closer, sending a jolt of adrenaline through her. The fear of him discovering her naked overwhelmed her, her shame burning as the cold air prickled her exposed pussy. Seconds stretched endlessly, her heart racing, every noise amplifying her dread of being caught in such a vulnerable state.

 

Finally, her phone buzzed: “You can dress again. The thong stays off.” Relief mixed with dread as Luz grabbed the leggings, stepping into them one leg at a time, pulling the tight material up her thighs, over her hips, and around her bare, large, round, firm ass, the fabric molding to her curves without the thong, heightening her sense of exposure. She pulled the cropped T-shirt over her head, the tight fabric clinging to her firm, medium-sized breasts in the white bra, settling over her mid-stomach, leaving it partially exposed. Still holding the black thong in her hand, unsure where to hide it, she glanced around the empty aisle. In a panic, she tossed it under the shelf, where it landed out of sight among the dust and shadows.

 

Timmy appeared at the end of aisle 5, his brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you answer? Didn’t you hear me?” he asked, eyeing her oddly.

 

Luz’s heart raced, the adrenaline from her near-naked ordeal still coursing through her. Trying to appear normal, she forced a smile. “I didn’t hear you, honey, i’m sorry. I was checking the prices on these products,” she lied, gesturing vaguely at the shelf.

 

“Cat food?” Timmy said, his tone skeptical. “We don’t have a cat, Mom.”

 

Her stomach twisted, the fear of being caught in her lie mingling with the lingering shame of her exposure. “I was thinking we should adopt one,” she said quickly, her voice strained but steady. “Just checking the food prices and stuff.” Timmy looked at her, seeming to accept the excuse, and tossed a pack of snacks into the cart.

 

The thong remained hidden under the shelf in aisle 5 as they moved on, continuing to shop for household items. “What else do we need at home?” Luz asked, trying to keep her tone light, her discomfort still raw from the blackmailer’s task.

 

Timmy, walking behind her, thought for a moment. “Maybe some milk and bread,” he said, distracted by the shelves. Luz felt his presence behind her, the tight leggings hugging her bare ass, the absence of the thong making every step feel more exposed. She couldn’t shake the unease that Timmy might be glancing at her, though he seemed focused on the products.

 

Her phone buzzed again, another message from the blackmailer: “Grab a box of NutriFlake cereal, third one back, not the one in the front. Do it now.” Luz’s heart sank as she scanned the cereal aisle, realizing the NutriFlake boxes were on the bottom shelf, right where she stood, with Timmy still behind her. The blackmailer was exposing her again, forcing her to bend in front of her son. She glanced back, noting Timmy was distracted by a display of snacks, but the risk of his attention shifting made her skin prickle with shame.

 

Steeling herself, Luz crouched down, reaching for the first NutriFlake box and setting it aside, then the second, her movements slow as the leggings stretched tighter, accentuating her large, round, firm ass. As she bent lower for the third box, her ass pushed out, the fabric pulling taut, her buttocks parting slightly. She grabbed the third box with one hand, her heart pounding, and quickly returned the first box to the shelf, her shame intensifying at the thought of Timmy’s eyes on her.

 

“Mom?” Timmy’s voice broke through as she placed the second box back, his tone curious. “Why that cereal? It’s horrible.”

 

Luz froze, realizing he was now watching her, his position giving him a clear view of her ass as she bent. Her cheeks flushed with shame, but she forced a casual tone. “Thought we’d try it again,” she said, standing quickly and placing the third box in the cart, her heart racing as she tried to seem normal despite the humiliating exposure.

Luz and Timmy moved through the supermarket, gathering the last of their items, the weight of her earlier exposure in aisle 5 still heavy on her mind. At the checkout line, they stood behind a few shoppers, their carts filled with groceries. Behind Luz, an older man clutched a six-pack of beer cans, his presence uncomfortably close. She felt his eyes lingering on her round ass, the tight leggings accentuating every curve without the thong. The sensation of being watched intensified her unease.

 

To distract herself, Luz turned to Timmy, forcing a casual tone. “It’s so hot today, isn’t it? Feels like summer’s never ending,” she said, adjusting the cropped T-shirt that clung to her firm, medium-sized breasts.

 

“Yeah, it’s brutal,” Timmy replied, glancing at his phone, oblivious to her discomfort. “Maybe we can crank the AC when we get home.”

 

As they chatted, a small boy, about five or six, wandered past, trailing a distracted mother grabbing products from a nearby display. Luz’s heart stopped as she saw the black thong—her thong, discarded under the aisle 5 shelf—dangling from the boy’s hand, his small fingers clutching it like a curious find. Her face flushed with mortifying shame, her mind racing with the horror of it being recognized as hers. The boy’s mother turned, her eyes widening as she noticed. “John, drop that!” she scolded sharply, her tone a mix of shock and parental reprimand. “Where did you get that? That’s dirty!”

 

The thong fell to the floor, landing in plain view of the checkout line. Heads turned—shoppers ahead, the older man behind, and worst of all, Timmy, who glanced down at the crumpled fabric. Luz’s stomach churned, her cheeks burning with humiliation as she felt the weight of their gazes, the taboo exposure unbearable. Timmy caught her eye, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Looks like someone had an accident,” he said, his tone light but teasing, unaware of the thong’s true owner.

 

Luz forced a weak laugh, her voice trembling. “Yeah” she said, avoiding his gaze, her heart pounding as she prayed he didn’t suspect it was hers. The lie felt flimsy, her shame deepening at the thought of her son seeing such an intimate item.

 

The line moved quickly, and they reached the cashier. Luz handed over the items, her movements mechanical, still feeling the older man’s eyes on her ass as he stood behind with his beer cans. Timmy loaded the bags, oblivious to her turmoil. They paid and hurried out of the store, the thong left behind on the floor, a lingering symbol of her humiliation.

 

Outside, as they loaded the groceries into the car, Luz’s phone buzzed with a new message from the blackmailer: “Good job. Get ready for later. It’s a hot day.” The cryptic words sent a chill through her, her fear spiking as she wondered what fresh nightmare awaited. The heat was oppressive, but the message’s implication felt far heavier. She slid into the driver’s seat, Timmy climbing in beside her, and they drove home, shame and paranoia trailing like shadows.

 

Continues on Chapter 1 B

 

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