Amanda is forced to go out on a date with Jake’s horny teacher. Sommer reluctantly launches her OnlyFans account and Jake learns more about his beloved Ava.
It was only much later that night, when the house was quiet and darkness had settled in, that Sommer finally replied to the email. Jake watched the screen of his computer, the glow casting eerie shadows on his chubby face, as the words in her written email appeared.
"If you are who I suspect you are," she began, her letters as cold as the steel dumbbells she often used for her workouts, "then I suggest you delete that video immediately. If you aren't, I suggest you do the same. Because, trust me, I will find out who you are."
Jake chuckled under his breath as he read the email, a smirk playing on his lips. He had her just where he wanted her. He knew Sommer was a fierce creature, but she wouldn't risk her relationship and reputation over a video. The thought of her squirming made him feel powerful, a feeling he hadn’t felt often in his pathetic life.
The rest of Sommer's email was just more threats—Don’t you know who I am? You’ll get canceled. You’re sick. Jake only laughed as he read it, shaking his head at her empty threats.
The following days Sommer avoided Jake whenever possible, her eyes flickering towards him with accusation every time they did meet. Jake knew she was onto him, but she was playing it safe—biding her time, waiting for a mistake.
As long as she wasn’t absolutely sure it was Jake, she’d never risk confronting him directly—and definitely not with the chance of Amanda finding out. No, Jake was certain she’d try to get to his computer first. That was her style: sneaky, indirect, and always a bimbo step behind.
Jake decided to send Sommer on a wild goose chase by accidentally (but very much on purpose) mentioning a certain obscure detail in a follow-up email—just enough to nudge her toward suspecting someone else entirely. The tactic worked almost immediately.
Sommer's demeanor shifted back to its usual state: bitchy, dismissive, and—most importantly—blissfully uninterested in Jake’s existence.
The plot twisted further as Jake took to planning his next move. He had always felt Sommer’s superiority was a challenge, a wall he needed to conquer. And now that he had the upper hand, the thrill was even more intense. His mind raced with ideas of what humiliating tasks he could demand of her, each more depraved and degrading than the last.
Sommer had always preached about the sanctity of female empowerment and how degrading OnlyFans was, slut-shaming any woman who dared to make a good living from their hot body.
Jake, sitting in his dimly lit room with a smug smile, couldn’t wait to see her reaction. He knew she'd be furious, but he didn’t care. It was time she learned that no one was above the rules—not even her. Jake would force Sommer to open her own OnlyFans page.
He watched as the email disappeared into the digital void, the anticipation building within him like a storm approaching shore. The thought of Sommer, the queen of fitness reduced to being on OnlyFans, peddling her body for coins was a deliciously cruel twist of fate. He had given her a taste of her own bitchy medicine.
Within the hour, the reply came, the screen flickering with the notification. Sommer’s refusal was as expected—she had too much pride to submit so easily. But Jake knew the raw fear of Amanda discovering her infidelity would be too much for Sommer.
"I won't, I'm not some cheap whore who goes on OnlyFans," Sommer’s email read, the words echoing with the kind of defiance that Jake knew was just a facade. He leaned back in his chair, stroking his chubby chin thoughtfully. Time to up the ante.
He began crafting his next email, each word a bullet aimed at her pride. "You know, Sommer, I've always found your holier-than-thou act quite entertaining. You strut around, flaunting your perfect body, telling the world you're a lesbian. Yet, I have you in a video, getting plowed by a guy in Amanda's bed. I wonder what she would have to say about it?"
Jake hit send and waited. The silence in the house was thick with anticipation. He knew Sommer was secluded in her bedroom, her eyes scanning the email with a mix of fury and fear. He pictured her beautiful face contorting in rage, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the armrests of her chair.
Moments later, his email got a notification. "You bastard, I will fucking kill you one day, you get that, you are messing with the wrong girl," it read, Sommer's words causing him to laugh out loud.
Jake knew that was the perfect bait. He quickly replied, "OnlyFans page will be up before tomorrow is over, or enjoy being single, I guess." The smugness in his tone was palpable, even through the digital screen.
Sommer’s response was swift and filled with a fury that could melt steel. "Fine, asshole. But that's the only thing I am doing. I'm not the type of girl to be forced into anything or taken advantage of."
Her words were a declaration of war, a promise that she wouldn't be his puppet for long. Or so the delusional bimbo bitch thought.
Jake shut off the computer and headed to bed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. From the ceiling above, he could just make out the sound of footsteps—Sommer pacing, agitated.
The thought made him chuckle softly into the dark. He pulled the covers over himself, satisfied. Whatever storm he had stirred, it wasn’t raining on him.
The next day, as he sat in the lunch hall at school, the email notification chimed on his phone. He glanced around nervously before reading it. It was from Sommer. She had created the OnlyFans page, just like he had told her to. He couldn’t believe it. The fear of discovery had been too much for her. The email contained the link and a single sentence: "Kill you soon _!_"
It started as a faint murmur, a buzz that grew louder and louder until it was all anyone could talk about. Jake realized the news of Sommer’s OnlyFans account was spreading. The school was soon ablaze with horny hype. Even the girls talked about it with eager eyes.
"Will she actually do hardcore on there? Should I even bother subscribing?"
"Sommer hasn’t posted a thing yet. I bet it’s going to be totally lame—tame and boring. She’s just cashing in, like everyone else. No way she’s doing anything lewd."
Those were some of the comments Jake overheard.
He didn’t say anything, but inside, a strange thrill stirred. The idea that he would be the one pulling the strings, shaping the content she’d eventually share—that he'd control it—sent a rush of raw and absolute power coursing through him.
"You should post something too. I'll be fair—just a little twerk in leggings. You've done that before anyway," Jake typed quickly, firing off the email to Sommer between bites of his lunch. Casual as it seemed, the message carried more weight than he let on. He leaned back in the chair, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he hit send. Would she submit to him?
Jake packed up his things, feeling like the king of hot bitches. He was the shadow broker, pulling the strings of the most popular influencers and their hot daughter. He couldn't wait to see the look on Sommer’s face when one day he had her eating out of his hand—literally.
As he sauntered to his next class, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A new email from Sommer. He opened the email, expecting another round of empty threats. But what he saw took his breath completely away.
The video was of Sommer, dressed in the tightest leggings she could possibly fit into, twerking in a way that left nothing to the imagination. Her tongue was out, her eyes glaring into the camera with a mix of defiance and defeat. The screen was filled with the bounce of her round, firm ass and the flex of her muscular legs. It was everything the school was talking about—everything Jake had demanded and more.
"Good slut," Jake murmured to himself, watching the video on loop. He had never seen Sommer so... animalistic. It was like he had peeled back the layers of her perfect exterior to reveal the whore beneath. He felt a twisted sense of pride—like he had created a masterpiece.
He saw a new email from Sommer—Chilling words: "Did you enjoy that? I am going to kill you."
"Don't forget, I am going to kill you." Sommer ended the conversation between them for the day.
Jake settled into his chair, the buzz of the classroom around him barely registering. He had a smug grin on his face as he watched the video of Sommer's twerking again. Her ass looked so hot and round in those tight leggings. The way she moved, it was like watching a wild animal in heat. It was mesmerizing.
The classroom was filled with whispers and giggles. Phones were being passed around, each one playing the same video—Sommer's video. He could see the screens flicker and he knew they were all eagerly watching Sommer's slutty ass-dancing.
Mr. Walter Thorne was the kind of teacher whose presence in a room made the air feel slightly more humid—not from any real temperature change, but from the sheer dampness of his dull personality.
He was in his mid-forties, though his broken posture and aura suggested someone who had given up somewhere around thirty.
Walter's body was thin but soft, as if he had been slowly deflating for years without anyone noticing. His shoulders hunched forward in permanent apology, and his arms hung like wet towels at his sides. His voice was a soft, nasal drone as Thorne tried to get attention to himself.
None of the students listened. Far too busy with ogling Sommer's twerking with their wide eyes.
Jake's gaze flicked to Walter, the desperation in his eyes was almost comical. He was trying to get the class's attention but all he got were giggles and whispers as the students coomed over the hot body of Sommer Ray.
The gears in Jake’s twisted mind began to turn. It dawned on him—Walter would be the perfect pawn in his sick little game. The thought grew like a tumor in his mind. He had seen the way the man ogled the female students, and his women colleges. The way his eyes lingered upon their bodies, and the way he would sweat when they caught him staring like a desperate creep.
But before he could act on his plan, the classroom door swung open, and Ava strutted in, her curvy body a stark contrast to the stick-thin Walter. The room grew quiet, the students' eyes snapping away from their screens like they had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
Her gaze swept over the room, her eyes lingering on Jake for a moment too long before she beckoned him over with a wave of her hand. The smug smile on his face faded into a mask of innocence as he shuffled over to her, the clack of his shoes echoing through the room like the beat of a drum unwanted.
Walter's voice washed over the class like a wave of boredom, a monotone serenade that seemed to dull the shine of the sun outside. He began to lecture, his words as bland as the oatmeal he likely had for breakfast.
"Hi, I just wanted to say in person that I have to cancel our tutoring later today. I hope that's OK," she spoke to him, her voice as warm as a freshly baked cookie. Jake gave her a quick reassuring nod, so that she knew he was not mad.
"Yeah, of course, Ava. Whatever you need to do," Jake said with a genuine smile, his eyes glinting with a friendly understanding at her. She smiled.
"I hope everything is okay," Jake said to her, his voice sincere. He truly meant it. Ava was the only one who had ever treated him like he mattered, like he wasn't just a waste of space. And he didn't want to ruin that for anything. "Oh, it is fine, just my husband." Ava shared.
Her words hung in the air like a sweet melody that only Jake could hear. The idea of her lucky husband having failed Ava somehow, it gave him satisfaction.
"Nothing serious, I hope?" Jake asked.
Ava hesitated for a moment, realizing she was probably sharing more with a student than she should. Her expression softened as she tried to brush it off.
"You should get back to class, Jake," she said with a small smile.
Without waiting for a reply, Ava turned and walked away, leaving Jake with more questions than answers. He stared hungrily after her swaying ass. "Fucking hot."
Jake had restrained himself from searching the internet for everything there was to know about Ava—until now. Their latest conversation had lit a hot fire in him, one he could no longer ignore.
Hours later, back in the quiet of his bedroom, the urge finally won. His chubby fingers hovering briefly over the keyboard before giving in. With quick strokes, Jake began researching all there was to know about his beloved Ava Josephine Calloway.
She wasn’t protecting herself at all—probably unaware of just how much information about her was floating freely online. Jake found her home address. Her social security number. The name of her husband and where he worked. He was a big cheese Realtor.
Her hobbies, her interests, the places she liked to go. Areas where he might just run into her—outside of school. It was all too easy to find. Jake studied her deeply.
Not that he was exactly looking for dirt—but if there had been any, Jake would’ve found it now.
The woman was spotless. A true Miss Goody-Two-Shoes if there ever was one.
No scandals, no rumors, not even a speeding ticket or an overdue library book to be found.
Now satisfied with having learned more about Ava, Jake turned his attention to his mother, Amanda. He thought about poor Mr. Walter Thorne and suddenly had a mischievous idea—wouldn't it be absolutely hilarious to set them both up on a blind date?
Jake chuckled to himself, then burst into full-blown laughter several times as he hammered out an outrageous email. He crafted messages to both Walter and his mother: to Amanda, he was forcing her into showing up for a blind date this Saturday under the pretense of letting Amanda discover who was actually behind the humiliating blackmail.
To Walter, he took a different approach—he simply dressed up the invitation with a flirtatious tone, a casual date request, and a few flattering photos of Amanda. That was all that it took.
Mr. Thorne was fully hooked, eager, and desperately ready for some hot action.
Saturday night rolled around, and the tension in the house was as thick as the smog that often hung over the Los Angeles skyline. Amanda looked stunning in a red dress that hugged her curves like a second skin. Jake spied upon her from his bedroom door where she waited icily near the front door.
She had told Sommer that she was going out to meet a potential new sponsor. Besides, Sommer was already in the doghouse for launching her OnlyFans account without telling Amanda first. Jake had overheard the couple arguing about it several times during the week.
The doorbell rang, and Amanda took a deep breath before walking to the door. She had no idea what kind of mess the blackmailer had gotten her into, but she had to play along. She opened the door to reveal a very nervous and slightly sweaty Walter Thorne.
"That's who I was jealous and nervous about? Bahaha! Have fun with your sponsor," Sommer laughed, peeking over Amanda's shoulder at the cretin of a man. Before she stepped back and flopped down before the TV, Kassie also casually watched a movie by her side.
Jake had watched from his bedroom, his heart racing as he saw Walter's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when Amanda opened the door. The poor man looked like he had seen a unicorn. But then again, who wouldn't get excited by the sight of a busty blonde bombshell absolutely dressed to kill? And kill she just might, that glare.
Amanda’s eyes narrowed, she put a jacket on and followed the man out to his beaten up car that had seen better days. A shitty Sedan that was close to breaking.
Meanwhile, Jake stepped back into his room, feeling the rush of adrenaline slowly fade away. He decided to pass the time playing some video games—his favorite escape from reality. As he plopped down in front of his screen, he couldn’t resist listening to Sommer and Kassie.
Their muffled voices carried through the walls, discussing the latest influencer drama, workout routines, and, of course, their disdain for men. It was the kind of conversation that could make a saint want to reach through the wall and strangle them both.
Amanda had positioned herself in the back seat of the sedan, refusing to sit next to the repulsive man who had introduced himself as Walter. "Jake and Kassie are my students."
Walter talked incessantly during the drive, his voice grating on her nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Despite his clear lack of wealth, he had managed to secure a reservation at a swanky restaurant that Amanda knew was beyond his pay grade. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of sick joke her blackmailer had set her up for. How would this loser pay for them?
When they arrived, the valet looked at Walter’s car with a mix of pity and confusion before taking the keys. Amanda stepped out, feeling like a fish out of water in her high heels and designer dress, surrounded by the sleek luxury vehicles of the restaurant’s usual clientele.
She was sure everyone could see the desperation and embarrassment etched into every line of her gorgeous and perfect face. It hadn't taken long for Amanda to realize that this man was hardly the blackmailer—just another ridiculous joke being played on her. He was far too simple.
As they were led to their table, the whispers grew louder. People began to point and whisper her name. She felt like a zoo animal on display. The heat of their eyes on her was almost too much to bear. "That's Amanda Elise Lee!" Eager voices marked her out as a big time celebrity.
And there was Walter, sweating like a pig in heat, trying to play it cool. He looked like a kid in a candy store who had just been handed a lifetime supply of sugar. But amidst all the gawks and whispers, his eyes constantly roamed over Amanda's hot red dress and her insane curves.
As they were seated, the maître d' gave her a knowing smile. It was clear she was used to serving the rich and famous. The place was dimly lit, with the sound of clinking glasses and hushed laughter setting the scene for a romantic evening—though this was really anything but.
"Walter, it was Walter, right?" Amanda asked coldly as they both studied their order menu. The question hung in the air, a subtle reminder that she didn't even care know the bum man's name.
Walter nodded, his cheeks reddening like a ripe tomato. "Yes, yes it's Walter. That's the name."
"How are you planning to pay for this?" Amanda demanded to know. She scanned a menu, the cheapest things on there went for 80 dollars. She knew Walter, or whoever, could not pay for it.
"Oh, in your email you said that you would pay for everything, did I misunderstand?" Walter did look confused as he spoke, his eyes darting around the menu like a scared rabbit. "Oh, I see."
Amanda felt a wave of anger wash over her, knuckles turning white as she now clenched fists beneath the table. Of course, that blackmailing scumbag would have her pay good for her own humiliation. It was a twisted move, but she couldn’t deny that it was effective. She was trapped.
"I must have forgotten, spoil yourself," she said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
The words tasted sour on her tongue, but she played along. Hoping her own hackers would be soon able to discover the identity of the blackmailer. She had hired the best team to work on it.
Walter took her words as an invitation to go all out. He ordered like a loser who had been starving for months, his eyes lighting up at every expensive dish that passed by their table.
The waiter looked at them both, her expression a mix of bewilderment and amusement as she scribbled down the orders. Plate after plate arrived, each more extravagant than the last.
Amanda picked at a simple salad, her appetite nonexistent amidst the swirl of anger and humiliation. The greens were a sad reminder of the power she had lost to this sniveling little man—and the faceless blackmailer pulling her strings. Meanwhile, Walter chowed down on lobster and filet mignon as if it were his last meal, washing it all down with a bottle of wine that cost more than his car payment. "Have some wine, it is on you!" Walter made a terrible joke.
The conversation was as bland as the meal she barely touched. He talked about his students, his car payments, and his never-ending battles with his insurance company. It was the kind of small talk that could bore the devil himself into a lengthy coma.
"Ah, Walter, you've really outdone yourself," Amanda said with a forced smile, her Grey eyes on the lengthy list of items and their exorbitant prices. The total was well over a thousand dollars—money she could easily throw around without batting an eyelash, but the humiliation stung her.
"Thanks, babe, you spoil me," Walter said, patting his stomach with satisfaction. "What do you say we get out of here and grab a nightcap together over at my place?"
Amanda raised an eyebrow at his bold suggestion. Was the man mentally challenged—or just completely delusional? In what universe did he think this ''date'' was going OK?!
"You must be joking," she said icily, her voice like a shard of ice in the warm, velvety ambiance of the restaurant. The words were like a slap in Walter's stupid face, and his cheeks reddened even further. "I think that you've had enough of both wine and food for one night, or multiple."
But Walter was not so easily deterred. "Look, I know I'm not the catch you're used to," he said, his voice a mix of desperation and hope. "But I'm a good guy, and I know you're going through a tough time. Maybe we can help each other out. I just want some sex, Nothing freaky like that."
Amanda felt her stomach turn. The idea of being intimate with this sad excuse for a man made her almost shake with disgust. With a quick snap of her fingers, the waiter rushed over. "It was a lovely evening, thank you, we're leaving." Amanda said as the waiter accepted her credit card.
Walter's hopeful expression faded as he realized she wasn't going to give him what he wanted. "But...but...you said..." He sputtered, his cheeks a brighter shade of red than the wine he'd just so recently guzzled down. "The email said, you were as desperate as me. We can fix this, OK."
She wrapped her jacket tightly around herself and stormed toward the car, Walter trailing close behind. "Take me home," Amanda snapped, not bothering to look at him. "Or I'll order an Uber."
"Now you listen to me," Walter said, his voice tight with frustration. "I haven’t had any sex in five goddamn years. And then I received your email—where you promised that we'd have some sex tonight, no strings attached. You said you were tired of being a lesbian. So I agreed. I am totally keeping your secret, Amanda. We both get what we want. So what is the problem. Let's just go."
He rested his hand on the backseat car door, his jaw clenched. Amanda stood silently beside in frosty demeanor and waited for him to open up the door already. She should call an uber, it was the smart choice. But Amanda also figured the blackmailer would make her pay if she ditched a date early in any capacity. "Just let me in, people are staring. We can talk about it in your ''car'',"
Walter nodded, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He opened the door and she slid in gracefully, her body a testament to the millions of dollars she had made by flaunting it. He got in and they started driving, with Amanda seated in the back of the car again. "Just take me home, got it?"
Walter's grip tightened on the steering wheel as he nodded, his knuckles whitening with the effort to control his anger. "Yes, of course," he murmured through gritted teeth. The drive was tense, filled with the sound of his heavy breathing and the occasional sigh from Amanda that pierced the silence like a cold and utterly bitchy dagger.
The upscale part of the city gradually morphed into a grimmer, far less welcoming scene. The sleek skyscrapers and designer boutiques gave way to badly graffitied walls and boarded-up storefronts.
Neon lights flickered like a sad reminder of better times as they ventured into deep into the city's underbelly. "Just taking a shortcut," Walter assured, Amanda hit his chair with warning.
But Amanda's instincts screamed at her. Something felt wrong. Her hand clenched around the back of the driver's seat. The sedan rumbled through a particularly desolate alleyway, shadows playing tricks on her already aggravated nerves. She pounded at the chair again. "Home, OK!" She snapped.
Walter ignored her. He pulled over next to a couple of girls who were smoking cigs, looking like they had nothing better to do. One looked up with dead eyes—the kind that suggested she was used to getting picked up by random men for money.
"If I'm not sleeping with you tonight, then you're going to pay for me to enjoy some other pussy, that's only fair." Walter said, as the sedan stopped next to the two girls on the sidewalk. "Gross."
Amanda recoiled with disgust, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the leather upholstery. "This is disgusting," She added and quieted down as Walter now rolled down the car window to speak with the two prostitutes. "Oh yeah, money is no problem. My bitch in the back is paying."
The prostitute didn’t bother to acknowledge Amanda's presence. She just focused on the task at hand, giving Walter what Amanda paid for. The car now rocked slightly, and the moans grew louder.
The alley was a canvas of shadows, a stark contrast to the gleaming life she had been living. At least Walter had allowed Amanda to step outside of the car before they started fucking.
But even that small mercy couldn’t quell the hot rage boiling within. She stood with strong arms crossed, her body tense as she heard a sleazy transaction unfold behind her. Cursing that bum fucking blackmailer under her breath, she could feel the heat of her anger rising.
How dare they reduce her to this? Her, Amanda Elise Lee, a queen of social media and a fitness empire, stood reduced to hearing a pathetic man pay for what no woman would never give him for free. "Ahh! I’m coming! You dirty whore, take my load!”
The squeal of Walter finishing echoed out, a sound that seemed to pierce the very fabric of the night itself. It was high-pitched and desperate, like the squeal of a nasty pig being slaughtered.
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