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Worlds Apart
W. L. Telford
1
Ross Edwards walked from a good meeting into a bad day. More than a bad day. He stepped into hell.
But as he moved along the corridor from the conference room to his private office on the 33rd floor of the TXK Building, facing south, overlooking the Straits of Singapore and a roadstead full of ships waiting to offload cargo, he had no inkling that in a few more minutes his life would change irrevocably. Instead he was going over the details of the deal he had just successfully concluded to license to a Chinese manufacturer technology developed by the year old start-up of which he was the President of International Marketing.
It was a major breakthrough, and the reason his office was in Singapore, between the two rapidly growing Asian giants, China and India, where his and perhaps the world’s future lay.
He nodded to Li, his personal assistant, as he passed, then closed the door of his office behind him.
A corner office with walls of glass, the view was breathtaking. Beyond the dozens of anchored ships, were a few small islands that were also a part of the State of Singapore, and then open water on which a steady procession of more ships moved east and west in shipping lanes as if on a divided highway, and in the distance other islands, these Indonesian.
Ross Edwards kept his desk clear. It was a big desk of modern design, the top a smooth expanse of hand rubbed teak on which sat two laptops, a MacBook Pro for work, a personal MacBook Air. Checking the Pro first, he saw that Li, who had access to his business email accounts, had already dealt with the most recent arrivals.
He opened the Air and logged into his personal Gmail. A little after 10:00 a.m in Singapore on Wednesday morning was just after 7:00 p.m. on Tuesday in San Diego, where Carol, his wife, an architect, had remained when he had to move overseas. Usually she emailed when she got home from work. However, there was only one email, and it was not from her. The sender was B. Tomalin and the subject: she called me.
Ross did not know a B. Tomalin. Routinely he deleted such emails unread, but the subject gave him pause. Who was “she” and what did it have to do with him?
After hesitating briefly, he opened the email.
The only text was an automated “From the office of Brad Tomalin.” At that moment Ross had no idea of the arrogance and insolence of those simple words.
There were two attachments: a jpeg and an mpeg.
This was a different matter. Perhaps if he had been using Windows, he wouldn’t have, but on a a Mac, again he hesitated only momentarily before opening the image, and then he froze, stunned.
The picture was of an office much like his own: spacious, lots of glass, to one side a sofa and two arm chairs around a low table, centered was a big gleaming black desk behind which sat a man, who again was much like Ross. Around forty years old, probably shorter and more solidly built, although you couldn’t really tell because he was sitting in a well padded black swivel chair. He was wearing an impeccably tailored dark blue suit, white shirt, maroon tie. His hands rested comfortably on each arm of the chair. Palms down. Fingers relaxed.
The camera angle was from one side of the desk, and the man had swiveled to face it. He was looking directly into the lens, directly at Ross, and he was smiling. As well he should be. For between his shining black tasseled loafers and neatly creased trousered legs knelt a naked woman. Her head was buried in his lap. Her face was not visible. But Ross Edwards didn’t need to see the face. He knew that body, the flair of those hips, the cleft of that ass, the narrow waist, the indentation of that spine--they had been married for seven years and lived together for a year before that: he had traced that spine with his fingertips a thousand times--the shoulder length light brown, almost blond hair.
What in the name of the nonexistent gods? he thought. What in hell?
The intercom buzzer roused him from immobility. Reaching blindly to one side, his eyes still glued to the image of his naked wife sucking on another man’s cock--though he couldn’t actually see her mouth, it was obvious where it was and what was in it--he pushed a button and said, “Not now.” Then on the MacBook Air opened the audio file.
“Stop.
Don’t take another step. Don’t say a word until I tell you that my office is set up for video taping. I’ve found it useful dealing with staff and clients. There can be no confusion about what has been said or agreed upon. And I always let people know it is being done. I’ve already pushed the button. Everything you say and do is being recorded. You understand?”
Silence.
“It’s not enough to nod. Either say ‘Yes’ aloud or turn around and walk back through that door.”
Ross heard his wife’s strained voice. “Yes.”
“Good. No. Stay there. You said over the telephone that ‘you had to see me.’ So you see me. What do you want?”
Silence lengthened. Finally in a voice that began hesitantly, then became more determined, “I want...I want you...to make me feel something.”
A man’s laughter. “I knew you’d call. I just thought it would take longer.
All right, then. I’ll make you feel something. Show it to me. Strip.
No. Stay there.”
Indistinct sounds, which Ross knew but could not yet really believe were Carol taking off her clothes in front of this stranger. But then he wasn’t a stranger to her. What was she wearing? Her clothes weren’t in the picture. She usually dressed so conservatively at work. Stylish suits with knee length skirts or slacks, hiding her spectacular legs. Low heels. Work was work and she did not want her beauty to be a complication.
“Just let it drop on the carpet. Rumpled is sexy.”
“Nice lingerie. When you put that bra and panties on this morning, you were hoping I would see you take them off.
That requires a response.”
“Yes.”
“You are a great looking piece. I’ll give you that. Better even than I remembered”
‘Piece?’, thought Ross. A deliberately degrading term. Piece of ass. Piece of meat. But Carol had called him, had not turned and walked out, had striped naked. This Brad obviously could call her whatever he wanted.
“I see you remembered what I said about liking it shaved. You thought about me while you were doing that too.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes.”
“Great tits. I love big nipples. Can you reach them with your tongue?”
“I don’t know.”
A short laugh. “You’ve never tried?”
“No.”
“Well lift them and try now.
See, I thought you could. Now the other one.
Feel good?”
“Strange.”
“Turn around. I want to see the other side again.
Stop there. That’s good. Move your feet farther apart. Farther. Good. Now bend over and grab your ankles. Keep your legs straight. Beautiful.
O.K. keep your waist bent and reach back with both hands and spread your ass. Pull those cheeks as far apart as you can.”
For moments that lengthened the only sound was of labored breathing. Ross couldn’t tell if it was her’s or his.
“Do you remember how hard my cock got just before it spurted its load deep in your ass?”
Now it was obvious that at least some of the labored breathing was Carol’s. “Yes.”
But she doesn’t even like anal, thought Ross, who was completely unprepared for what came next.
“Do you remember how full your cunt felt with my fist?”
“Y..yes.”
“How you screamed when it went it?”
“Yes.”
“And how you screamed when you came?”
“Yes. Yes.” Almost desperately.
“Picture how you look at this very moment: naked in an office in the middle of a business day, bent over, exposing everything you’ve got to a man you’ve only seen once before. You know you are lost?”
“Yes.”
A cynical laugh. “You wanted me to make you feel something. Are you feeling something?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Embarrassed Humiliated. Uncertain. Frightened. Aroused.”
“Good. But we can improve on that. Come over here and suck my cock.”
So this is the source of the image, thought Ross, an opinion he would soon have to reconsider.
Sounds of a chair, clothes, a zipper. Wet sounds. In his mind Ross saw her lips wrapped around the man’s cock. Saw her head moving up and down as it so often had over him. How could she?
“Ahh. That’s good. Let me feel more tongue. Good. Good. That’s it.
You’re a pretty good cocksucker. Obviously you’ve had a lot of practice. Though you’re going to be better. Your husband should have trained you to take it all. So since he didn’t, I will. Hold still. Be careful with your teeth. Relax your throat. You don’t move. I’ll move your head with my hands.”
Sputtering. Gagging. A gasp for air.
“Not bad. Almost. Let’s try again.”
Again gagging.
“All right for now. But make no mistake, you will take it all. And soon.”
How can he be so certain?, thought Ross.
“It’s wet enough. Get up on my deck. On your back. Feet up.”
Sounds of bodies moving.
“Ohh. Not there. Please.”
A hand slapping flesh.
“You don’t tell me where. You don’t tell me anything. You’ve already taken my cock up all your holes. Say one more word and I will take it out and you can get dressed and get out.
No? I thought not.”
For several minutes the sounds of sodomy. Not flesh on flesh. As far as Ross could tell the man had not undressed. But rhythmic moans from Carol on each inward thrust. “Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.” Heavier breathing, grunts from the man.
“I didn’t tell you you could touch your cunt.”
Half gasping, half sobbing, “But I want to come. Please put it in my pussy.”
“Cunt.”
“Cunt. Please. Fuck my cunt. I need to come.”
“You’ll get to come all you want this weekend. More than you want.”
Weekend? wondered Ross.
Abruptly the grunts and gasps stopped.
Someone shifted position. A chair squeaked.
“Come down from there. I want to finish in your mouth.”
Ass to mouth? She wouldn’t, thought Ross. She never had with him. He’d never even asked.
But from the sounds obviously she would.
“Ahh. Ahh. Ahh. That’s it. Cup my balls. Take it all. Take it. Take it. Swallow.”
And the recording ended.
For ten minutes Ross Edwards, trauma victim, sat motionless behind his beautiful teak desk.
In other offices in the TXK Building and on the streets of the city far below, life went on. A predominately Chinese city, though founded by an Englishman whose name had become a hotel. A city of business that meant business. The cleanest, safest, most soulless city in Asia. A city that made nothing, but facilitated everything. Impossibly life went on.
When Ross Edwards regained his senses, he telephoned his home on the other side of the Pacific Ocean. On the fourth ring, the answering machine picked up. “It’s me,” he said. “Call me.”
But she didn’t for two days.
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