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.

2

When the call finally came, early on the second afternoon, Ross glanced at his watch.  It was almost midnight in San Diego.

“Hello.”

“It’s me.”

“I knew that from caller I.D.”  He struggled to keep his voice flat, neutral. 

“Come back.” 

“Why?”

“I need you.”

“Is that why you’ve been fucking this Brad?

“Maybe.  I don’t know.  I asked you not to go to Singapore.”

“And I told you I had to.  It is my job, and this is the place where it has to be done.  You could have come with me.”

“I have my own career and it is here.  I didn’t spend all those years at Stanford just to sit around playing bridge with a bunch of ex-pat wives.”

They both ran down and were silent.  Finally she started again,

“We’ve been through all that too many times already.”

“Yes, we have.  What we haven’t been through is your telling me about the interesting little email I received the other day.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What the hell do you think I want to know?  I see a photograph of you naked on your knees sucking another man’s cock and listen to him fuck your ass, and you ask what I want to know?”

Silence.

“Start with how you met this guy.”

“Last Saturday.  At one of those charity things.  It was my turn to represent the office.  I went alone--if you’d been here this never would have happened--and was seated at a table with four couples and Brad, who is divorced and also was there alone.  I only knew one of the other couples:  the husband is with one of the engineering firms we sometimes use. 

During dinner Brad and I talked.  He is very confident, very smart, and was amusing.  It was nice to have someone take an interest in me. 

After dinner there was the usual charity blind auction and then a band for dancing.  I was just getting ready to leave when Brad asked me to dance, and I thought why not? 

It was nice, and then there was a slower dance and he held me a little closer, nothing improper, and then by accident or on purpose, I don’t know which, another couple may have bumped into him, but his body pressed against mine and I felt his cock rock hard through his trousers and my dress,  It was only momentary.  He immediately pulled back.  But it was electric.  And when it happened again a minute later, we both knew that this time it wasn’t an accident.

We were still dancing, and he was looking at my face to see what I was going to do, to see if I pulled away.  But it felt so good.  I’m so tired of masturbating.  It was right there.  I wanted a cock, and yours was seven thousand miles away.  This one was only a few thin layers of fabric away.

When I didn’t pull away, he pressed a little closer.  And I pressed back.

The song ended.  He said, ‘Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes.’  I don’t think I’ve said the event was at the Hyatt.  He didn’t ask.  He just said to meet him.  That is one of his attractions.

I went back to the table, said good night, went to the lobby.  He had taken a room.  I felt the knowing eyes of the man at the desk on me as we walked to the elevator, but I didn’t care.

We went up to the room and I spent the night with him.”

“And you think that’s it?

You didn’t just spend the night with him.  You let him fuck you inside out and stick his fist up your cunt.  You did more with him in one night than you’ve done with me in eight years.”

“It all just happened.  I told you he doesn’t ask.  He just goes ahead and does things.  Do you want details?”

“I already have more details than I want.  I want  explanations.”

“About what specifically?”

“Why you gave him your ass, for one thing?”

“I didn’t give it.  He took it.”

“Not, from the sound of the recording I heard, against your will.”

“Look.  We went up there, our clothes flew off, and we fucked.  First missionary, then he turned me over onto my knees.  Still in my vagina.

It felt so good.  I was so hungry.  So empty.  And he is strong.  Lots of energy.  He made me come two or three times--I’m not sure--before he did.

And then we collapsed and lay there, still entangled. 

Finally he rolled away and got a bottle of white wine from the in-room bar, and brought me a glass.  I was already a little drunk, but I’m not using that as an excuse.

We drank some wine and talked, and then he leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth, something he hadn’t done, and when we broke, his hand was behind my head, guiding it toward his waist.  I let him.  He had brought me pleasure; I wanted to please him. 

Our juices had dried on his cock.  I could taste them, but I didn’t care.    I said that before, but that was it:  that night I just didn’t care.  I sucked his cock and he came.”

“You swallowed.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t like to swallow mine.”

“This was different.  He was a stranger.  I wanted him to like me.”

“And you don’t care if I like you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.  It’s different with someone the first time than with a spouse you can count on.”

“And the rest?”

“The rest?”

“You do recall his fist up your cunt?  He said you screamed when it went in, so I assume it was memorable.”

“After he came in my mouth, he went down on me. 

I was a little surprised because his come was in me, but he only licked around my clit.

It felt good.  I’d had more wine by then and was feeling it.  I put my head back and closed my eyes and just enjoyed the sensations.

As he used his tongue on me, I felt him slip a finger in and began to move it in and out.  That felt even better. 

After a while I sensed that he had added a second finger, then a third.  And he was fucking me with them harder.  I was feeling fuller and fuller.

I was building toward orgasm.  I don’t recall the fourth finger or his thumb, but he must have slipped them in, for suddenly, unexpectedly, there was this shock of pain and I screamed.  My head jerked off the pillow.  He looked up at me and said, “It’s o.k.  It’s going to be all right.  It’s in and it’s going to feel very good now.”  I looked down and couldn’t believe that his wrist just ended at my lips, and I realized that his entire hand was in me.  I think I whimpered. 

He said, “It doesn’t hurt now, does it?”  And it didn’t.  I nodded no.

‘Put your head back and just enjoy.  It will be phenomenal.’

I lowered my head back on the pillow and closed my eyes again.  I’ve never felt so full.  I mean you have a great cock; but nobody has a cock that thick.

He began to move his arm slowly and stroke me from the inside with his fingers.  There must be something inside me slightly off center.  You know how hard I come when you fuck me with one leg over your shoulder, rather than two.  Well, whatever it is, he touched it and stroked it as he fucked me with his fist harder, and I exploded.  He said I screamed again.  I don’t recall.  I think I may have actually passed out from pleasure, have been for a few moments unconscious.

Well, you asked.”

“And your ass?”

She sighed.

“That was later.  Sometime during the night.  I don’t know when.

We finished the bottle of wine and fell asleep.  I woke when he slipped the end of his cock in me.  There was momentary pain then, too, but nothing like his fist.  Nothing bad.  I was relaxed and maybe still wet from lots of juices.  For all I know he may have lubricated it with something.  Anyway it slipped in fairly easily.  And I just lay there on my side without saying anything, without moving, really without responding in any way.  I just let him do it. 

He put his left hand at the base of my neck and the right on my hip--I was on my left side--and held me firmly and took me.  His cock is long like yours.  And soon it was thrusting all the way up me.  It didn’t feel good or bad.  You know I don’t come from anal.  And even though he’d already come twice, his breathing quickly became ragged and I felt it get hard as cocks do when the semen is flooding from the balls; and he buried it all the way in me and held there.  I couldn’t actually feel the come spurt out, but I did feel his cock pulse. 

After a minute or so, he pulled out.  I didn’t say anything.  Just fell back asleep.

And, so that it’s all out in the open, in the morning he fucked me again, or he had me fuck him.  I was on top. 

Then he said he had to leave.  He didn’t offer an explanation.  He showered, got dressed, put a business card on my purse, and left.

And after a while I went home and soaked in a hot bath.”

“But you kept his card.”

“Yes.”

“And you called him.”

“Yes.”

And when Ross didn’t say anything, she continued.

“I wasn’t going to.

I’m not going to lie to you.  I felt good Sunday afternoon.  My body was sore.  But it was a good sore.  I’d needed sex.  I’d had some great orgasms.  I was relaxed instead of tense.   There was a post-coital glow.  I went to bed early and had the soundest sleep since you flew away.

Monday morning I still felt good.  But as the day went on, I became increasingly distracted.  I was too aware of my body.  My breasts shifting as I moved.  My thighs rubbing together.  It was as though my nerve endings were exposed.  Everything was heightened.  And it began to make me anxious.  Driving home that evening, I was at a stop light and glanced over at the car next to me.  My eyes were drawn to the man’s hands on the steering wheel.  I didn’t even see him.  Just his hands.  I wanted them on me.

I didn’t sleep well that night.    And the next morning, after telling myself countless times that I shouldn’t, I took out his card and called him.

You know the rest.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“No.  And he is certainly not in love with me.”

“In the recording he said something about this weekend.”

“He told me to be out front at 7:00 p.m. tomorrow night.  He made it clear that he is not coming up here.  I’m to be down there waiting for him.  He’ll drive by and if I’m not there, he’ll just keep on going.  He has a place up in the mountains, somewhere around Julian, but on the side overlooking the desert.  His father was a small farmer in the Imperial Valley and he likes looking down on where he came from.  He’s going to take me up there to share with some of his friends.”

“What?  A gang-bang?”

“I guess that’s what it’s called.”

“You’re not going.  You can’t.”

“He was right when he said that I’m lost.  Come back and save me.”

“I have to be in Shanghai on Monday, and I couldn’t get there by tomorrow night anyway.”

“Someone else can go to Shanghai, and it will be enough if I know you are coming.  That you’re on a plane.”

“I can’t send someone else.  I’m meeting with CEOs.  They would be insulted if I foisted them off with Ted or Jim.  And I won’t be emotionally blackmailed.  You can get on a plane as easily, more easily than I can.”

“Then it looks as though I’m going to have an interesting weekend.”

“Carol, don’t do this.”

“I don’t think I mentioned that he told me to wear just a coat and shoes.  Nothing else.  I won’t need clothes.”

3

Email:

       To:  redwards2010@gmail

       From:  The Office of Brad Tomalin

       Subject:  call

       

       619 433-8044    8 p.m. Friday  our time

----------

Carol Edwards left the office early Friday.  For over an hour after her telephone conversation with Ross the preceding night she hadn’t been able to get to sleep, and she wasn’t able to concentrate on work that morning.  Fortunately nothing important required her attention.

Back at their condo on the crest of Point Loma, overlooking the city skyline and San Diego Bay, she mixed a martini and ran a bath.  She seldom drank during the day; but this was not an ordinary day.

She leaned back in the tub.  Was she really going to do this?

Nipples and toes were islands.  Her hands started to slide down her body, then stopped.  Brad had told her not to masturbate.  He wanted to watch her explode into orgasm as the first of many strangers fucked her.  She hadn’t come since last Sunday.  She would explode.

He had said she would come that weekend more than she even wanted to.  That she would be fucked senseless.  Literally.  What would that be like?  To come and come and come.  To be unable to stop coming.  To be fucked into oblivion.

She raised her hands from the water and reached for the martini glass on the wide tile ledge beside the sunken tub.  She didn’t want her hands on her body.  She wanted men’s hands.  And mouths.  And cocks.  Her thoughts paused.  Cocks?  Plural?  She had never been with more than one man at a time, and not even that many men.  Only eight, including Brad.  She had no idea how many there would be tonight and tomorrow; or how long it would last.  And once she was there, she would be completely in their power.  What would it be like to be naked in a room full of strange men.  Their hungry eyes on her like a pack of wild dogs. What would they do to her?  Whatever they wanted.  Anything they wanted.   She doubted they would be gentle.  Her pussy spasmed.  The prospect was frightening and exciting.

She was tired of being in control.  Of always doing the right thing.  Of always doing what others expected her to.  Of being the good daughter.  The good student.  The good architect.  The good wife.

Martini finished, she stepped from the bath and dried herself, before going into the adjacent master bedroom to check her laptop.  Nothing from Ross.  She hadn’t really expected there would be.  She wasn’t even sure she was disappointed there wasn’t.

Still trying to convince herself she hadn’t made up her mind, she returned naked to the bathroom and proceeded to shave the stubble from her pussy--no, she thought, cunt as Brad insisted--and from the crack of her ass.  The position was awkward and obscene.  She studied her puckered anus.  Will total strangers be looking at that in a few hours?  Not just looking.  Spearing with their cocks.  Filling with come.  It did not seem possible.  Everything seemed vaguely unreal; her life a reflection in a hazy mirror.

On those infrequent occasions when she painted her nails she did so only in light pastel shades.  Yet on the way home from the office, she had stopped and bought bright red polish.  Leaning over to reach her toes, her nipples brushed her thighs.  Oh, God, she thought.  Oh, god. 

When she was finished, her fingers and toes seemed tipped with blood, as though she was preparing her body for sacrifice. 

She applied a matching deep red lipstick to her mouth, and wondered how long that would last?

Perhaps the martini was responsible for the giggle as she slid open the doors to the walk-in closet and thought:  at least I don’t have to worry about what to wear.  She stepped into black high-heeled backless sandals because they would be easy to slip off.  Ease of removal, she realized, was likely to become a priority in her choice of attire.

She considered making another martini, but decided not to.  She didn’t want to be drunk.  She wanted to be aware of everything.  To feel everything.  If she went.  If…  It had felt so good last Saturday night and Sunday morning with Brad, and so intense in his office Tuesday.  She craved that intensity.  She needed to feel fully alive again. 

Pulling her Burberry trench coat from a hanger, she moved through the condo to the living room, where she sat on the sofa and gazed down at sailboats gliding across the bay far below.  She and Ross had sat there side by side so often.  Had made love there.  Can I really do this? she asked herself yet again.

Time had moved unevenly for days.  First it rushed, then it screeched to a halt and crawled.  Now it crawled.  Automatically she glanced down at her wrist, but she was not wearing a watch.   Her eyes were drawn to her wedding ring, which Brad had insisted she wear.  Men enjoy knowing they are trashing another man’s wife, he had said.  ‘Trashing’  His exact word.  She realized that he liked being crude with her, more crude than he naturally was, certainly more crude than he had been at the charity dinner before they danced or all this never would have happened.  But did she really want to be trashed?

He had said that he wouldn’t let her be physically damaged, but that it would be a life altering experience.   And she did want her life altered. Her beauty would not last forever and it was going to waste.  She did not want to spend another weekend alone, watching tennis or a movie on television, and drinking too much.

Although she sat motionless, her stomach churned;  and when she noticed that the digital cablebox display read 6:45, it did a backflip.  For a moment she thought she was going to be ill.  What if the elevator was held on another floor and she was seconds too late.  In her mind she saw the back of his car disappearing back down the hill.

Panicked she threw on the Burberry and, fumbling with the belt, dashed for the door.

The elevator came in a  few seconds and, feeling foolish, she found herself standing on the curb much too early. 

A trench coat and high heels are not usual attire on San Diego’s almost invariably sunny evenings, and she felt conspicuous in a residential area of houses, other condominiums, apartments, eucalyptus trees, shrubs, grass, with the street looping up and over the ridge on which her building was poised.  And after a few minutes, she became too hot, until a gust of wind blew beneath the coat and shockingly up between her naked thighs.

Without a watch she had no idea of the time.  Surely it must be 7 by now.  Maybe it is all a cruel hoax and he is sitting somewhere having a drink and laughing at the image of me standing here.  Or maybe he’s caught in traffic.  She was not carrying a cell phone, so he couldn’t call if he was.  No cell phone.  No watch.  No money.  No cash.  Though she could have put them in a coat pocket.  She knew that she had deliberately rendered herself helpless.

From behind her the sound of an opening door.  She had hoped that none of her neighbors would see her, but she could not pretend not to notice.  it was a small building, fifteen units, three each on five floors, and everyone knew everyone else.  She turned and found the one she least wanted to see:  Ravi, a small, skinny, twenty-something computer geek from India, who was always staring at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, particularly when she was in a bikini sunning herself by the swimming pool.  He was accompanied by his small, ratty dog, and looked perplexed as he approached.

“Ah, Carol.  You are expecting rain, is it?”

“No.”  She couldn’t think of a plausible explanation, so didn’t offer any.

“It cannot be too cool for you.”  His gaze trailed down to her bare legs and painted toes.

“I’m going to be out late and it will be cooler then.”

“I see.  With a friend.”

“Yes.” 

At 5’8” she was taller than he and looked over his head to where she willed Brad’s car to appear.  She didn’t even know what kind it was.

“And Ross is in Singapore still?”

“Yes.”

He rattled on, his eyes darting over her, trying to penetrate the folds of her coat, until she wanted to scream. 

Finally sounds of a car coming up the hill, and as she turned  a silver Lexis pulled to a stop.  Before she could get in, Brad stepped out.  Somehow she didn’t think it was to open the door for her.  He was wearing a dark blue short-sleeved knit shirt that stretched tight across his thick shoulders and light tan linen slacks.  He was smiling.  Ravi stared at him curiously. 

“Well, what have we here?”  Brad said.

“This is Ravi, a neighbor.  He lives in the unit below ours.”

“I’m Brad, Ravi.”  And he put out a hand that engulfed the slighter man’s.

‘Pleased to met you.”  Ravi seemed suddenly to need to be somewhere else.

“As I drove up, I saw where you were looking and knew that you must be wondering about Carol’s coat.”

“No.  Ah.  That is yes.  On such a pleasant night.  When it will not rain, I think.”

“She is a beautiful woman, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yes.  Everyone knows that.  You cannot help but notice that.”

What is he doing, Carol wondered and then discovered.

“I asked her to wear it.  She is naked underneath.”

“Oh, no!”  said Ravi.

Oh, no!  thought Carol.

“Oh, yes,” said Brad.  And then instantly, as she knew he would.  “Show him.”

“I can’t”

He just stood looking at her.

“Here?”

He still stood, smiling.

She was angry.  Furious.  I should turn and go back upstairs.  Ross will return soon and we can go on.  But her fingers moved as though of their own volition to the coat belt, and then to the top button, down to the next, until finally the last was undone and the coat fell open,  revealing a narrow strip of white skin.

Ravi sucked in his breath.  “Oh, My.”

“Show it all to him.”

Carol seemed to be viewing herself from a distance, from a point above and to the left, watching another woman from a window.  She saw the woman’s hands pull the coat wide apart.  What difference did it make if someone else saw her,  if everyone else saw her.

“What is happening here?” croaked Ravi.

“I’m taking her to be gangbanged.  Clothes aren’t necessary.”

“I don’t understand.  Who are you?”

“You know what ‘gangbanged’ means?”

“Yes.  She is going to have sex with many men, isn’t it?”

“It is.  Lovely flesh.  Bruiseable”

“Bruiseable?.”

“Great body.  Great tits.  Go ahead.  You can touch.”

Hesitating, Ravi peered questioningly at Carol, who continued to hold her coat open, exposing herself like a flasher, and said nothing.  But when his brown hand reached out and tentatively cupped her breast, she cringed.

“Oh, my.  Oh, my.”  Then gathering courage.   “Can I participate?”

“No.  The guest list is already full, though I suppose we could always make room for one more.  Or,” Brad laughed, “Twenty.

“But everyone has to have a recent STD test.  No rubbers.  Flesh against flesh.  Real holes filled with real cum.’

Carol winced as Ravi’s hand tightened.

“But I’ll tell you what.  If you want, have yourself tested and send the results to me.  Here’s my card.  And I’ll give it some thought.  Maybe something can be arranged.”

He talks about me as thought he owns me, Carol thought.  As though my body is his.  How can he be so sure of himself.  Of me.  But then look at me standing here.

“Close your coat.  It’s time to go.” 

And, surprisingly, he did hold the car door for her.

4

The sun was setting behind them, but it was still light as  the Lexus reached the top of the on-ramp and merged with traffic heading east on Interstate 8.  Pulling into a middle lane, Brad said, “Lose the coat.”

She didn’t even consider refusing.  She had climbed on the merry-go-round and there was no getting off.  No more decisions to be made.  Just do whatever she was told.

“No.  Let it fall to your waist.  Keep sitting on it.  I don’t want you to leak on the leather, though,” he laughed, “I expect that will be a greater problem on the ride back when you will be gaping.”

“The shoes, too?”

“Doesn’t matter.  They don’t hide anything.”

She kicked them off.  The plush carpet felt sensuous against the soles of her bare feet.

For more than a half hour they sped east. moving beyond the fringes of the city into the darkening desert.  He didn’t talk, so neither did she. 

She had been to Julian, but not often, and remembered that it took more than an hour.  The first half on the Interstate; then the last on narrow, twisting state highway 79.  She was surprised that the music coming from the multiple speakers was classical.  Something Baroque she could not identify.

Night fell, and she stopped wondering if anyone in passing cars or trucks could see her.  To be naked seemed natural.  Her insides no longer churned.   Now that it was decided, she was calm.  Until just after they turned off the Interstate and the telephone rang.

A voice actuated system.

Brad said, “Hello, Ross.”

And she heard her husband’s voice.

“Where are you, you bastard?  Is Carol there?”

“I’m in my car.  According to the GPS precisely 21.54 miles from my mountain cabin.  Would you like latitude and longitude?  And yes, your wife is here.”

“Let me talk to her.”

“She can hear you.  All she has to do is speak.”

“Carol?”  His agony carried across an ocean.

Finally, “Yes.”

“What are you doing?”

There was no answer.

“Stop,”  pleaded Ross.  Then to Brad, “Let her go.”

       

“She is not captive.  I didn’t kidnap her.  All she has to do is ask and I’ll stop.  Though how she’ll get home is problematic.  Tell him what you’re wearing.”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not quite true.”

“What?”

“Your wedding ring.”

“He’s right.  I’m naked except for my wedding ring.  He insisted i wear it.”

“Carol, don’t do this.  I’m pleading with you.  Please don’t do this.”

“It’s too late.”

Ross started to say something, but Brad cut in.  “Wait.  There’s an old filling station up ahead where they still pump gas.”  Then to Carol, “No.  I didn’t tell you to pull up your coat.”

               

“Carol?”

               

“Forget it, Ross,”  Brad continued.  “At this very moment men are driving from all points of the compass to fuck your wife.  East from San Diego.  South from Los Angeles.  West from Phoenix.  North from El Centro. One guy might even fly down from Vegas.  And you can’t do a thing about it. 

               

“We are going to trash your wife., Ross.  Totally.  If she isn’t fucked by more men this weekend than any other woman on the planet, she’ll come close.   For the next thirty-six hours or so, whatever you are doing, know that there is a cock inside her. Or two or three.  She probably doesn’t even know what being airtight means, but in less than an hour she will be. She is never going to be the same.  And she knew that when she got in my car.  I’ve never known anyone else  move so willing toward her own destruction.  We are going to baptize the new Carol in come.  Full immersion.  Glazed from the tip of her delicate toes to the top of her beautiful head.  I’ll send you a picture.”

               

As he spoke the Lexis came around a tight curve and he slowed and  pulled into a tiny two pump station surrounded by pine trees.  A gangly teenager slouched out.  Ross lowered his window and that on Carol’s side of the car.

               

Bored, the boy mumbled, “What can I do for you?”

               

“Fill it with premium.”

               

Carol was stiff.  Frozen.  Suddenly it did matter who saw her.

               

The boy filled the tank, his mind a thousand miles away.

               

Coming back to Brad’s window, he said, “That’s $26.42.” 

               

Brad handed him a credit card, which he took into the shack that posed as an office, without looking into the car.  But coming out with the receipt, his glance passed over Carol, moved on, then returned in a classic double-take.

               

“What the hey?”

               

His eyes were glued to her bare shoulders and breasts, and as he neared the car, the rest of her nakedness.

               

Beside Brad, he leaned down.  “What’s going on?  What’s with her?  Are you all right, lady?”

               

“Answer him.”

               

“I’m all right.”

               

“What’s going on?”

               

“Tell him.”

               

“He’s taking me to be gangbanged and clothes are not necessary.”

               

“Are you serious?”

               

“Yes.”

               

“Oh, man.”

               

“And what’s even better,” said Brad, “is that she’s married and her husband is listening.  Aren’t you Ross?  Ross?  Well, maybe he hung up.”

               

“Can I take a picture,  No one will ever believe this.”

               

How old are you?  I don’t want to corrupt minors.”

               

“19.”

               

“O.K.  No, not through here,” as the boy pulled out his cell phone. “Go around to her side.”  And to Carol, “Open your door.”

               

The boy said, “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.  Is this really all right with you?”

               

“Yes.”

               

He snapped a shot.

               

“Turn toward him.  Put your feet up on the seat.  Spread the lips open.  Let him see it all.”

               

“Amazing.  Awesome.  Thank you.  Thank you.”

               

“Enough,” said Brad. 

And as they pulled away, “By tomorrow you’ll be an Internet star.”

WORLDS APART

by

W. L. Telford

5

On the Interstate Carol’s mind had drifted, but exposing herself to the boy, and the bulge tenting his jeans, brought her back to the present.  That must hurt, she thought. 

She half-turned toward Brad, leaned against the door, and raised her left foot onto the seat, leaving the other on the floor, knees far apart, her wet cunt toward him.  “How much farther?”

He glanced at her and grinned.  “It glistens.  Can’t wait?  Won’t be long.  Ten minutes.”  When his right hand moved from the steering wheel to her thigh, she could not quite stifle an inarticulate sound.  The first of many she would make that night.

Forest broken by a few scattered farm houses and cottages in starlight.  She closed her eyes, opening them again when his hand left her for the steering wheel as he turned onto a gravel driveway, which climbed almost a quarter mile up to what he called a cabin, but was a modern multi-story house.  A sensor automatically turned on lights both inside and on a deck as the Lexis came to a stop.  The sides of the house were wood; the front all glass.

“I own the hill,”  he said.  “No neighbors in sight or sound.  You can scream all you want.  Leave the coat.”  And this time he didn’t help her with her door.

Instead he opened the trunk, removed what looked like two duffle bags, and carried them across the deck to a sliding glass door.  Awkwardly in the darkness and her heels, goose bumps on naked skin, she followed.  There was plenty of room for parking, she noticed.

“Leave your shoes,” he said as he opened the door.  “To welcome the others.”

Barefoot she followed him into the living area, which rose to the full 30’ height of the house.  A kitchen was beneath a balcony that she supposed lead to bedrooms.  A huge stone fireplace filled one end wall.

One of the bags contained a self-inflating mattress.  She sat on an ivory colored leather sofa as he set it up.   “I doubt you’ll remain here long, but it’s a place to start.  Have you had a drink today?”

“A martini.  Hours ago.”

He went across to a cabinet and then to the kitchen area, returning with two glasses, handing her one.  “A weak gin and tonic,” he said, and sat down beside her, his clothed leg touching her naked one.

“Your guests should start arriving soon.  Oh, I almost forgot.”  And he got up and went to the other bag, which was still by the door.

“Time to mount your thrown.  Hands and knees.  Doggie.” 

Her momentary pleasure at the thought that he was going to fuck her  ended when she felt a nozzle press against her anus and gel squirt inside.

“After the first few, you’ll loosen up and there will be plenty of come to lubricate, but we don’t want you to tear at the very start.”

She was disappointed when he returned to the sofa.

“Don’t you want me?”

He laughed.  “In time, babe.  But I want you to be aware that you are the kind of girl who spreads her legs for total strangers.  And that’s just what I want you to do.  When you hear that first car coming up the drive, I want you on your back, juicy cunt pointing at the door, legs spread in the widest V you can manage, feet in the air.  Then I want you to beg whoever it is to fuck you and make you come.  In fact, get that way now.”

Taking a camera from his pocket, he walked around the mattress. 

“Raise your head.  Look at me.  Smile.”  The flash went off several times.  

“ ‘Before’ shots.  To be compared with ‘after’.” 

Her hand jerked at the sound of an engine.  Ice cubes rattled in the glass.  Brad reached for it.  She took a deep gulp.  “Assume the position.  You lover approaches.  I wonder who it is?  Don’t you?  But then you don’t know any of them.”

‘V’ing her legs, she let her head fall back onto the mattress.  Her eyes  fixed on lights built into the ceiling far above her.  She felt her body trembling.  She wanted to run.  But there was no place to run.  And she didn’t really want to run.  She wanted to be right where she was.  She had placed herself there.  But she wanted it to begin.  A car door slammed.  Men’s voices.  More than one, but she couldn’t tell how many.  Steps on the gravel; then the deck.

One voice, “Nice shoes.”

Another, “Hey, Brad.’

And a third,  “V’ for victory.”

She raised her head and saw three men, one probably in his twenties, the other two around her own age.  Average looking guys.  The kind she saw every day and didn’t really notice.  Just guys.   Two were wearing jeans and t-shirts, the other slacks and a short-sleeved Hawaiian print.  “Please fuck me,” she begged.  “Please fuck me and make me come.”

“All right!”  And they gave high fives.

“Only one at a time at first,” said Brad.  “And in her cunt.”

They started to argue.

Brad said, “First one undressed goes first.”

Carol let her head fall back, but she heard the hurried sounds.  Then a triumphant, “I won.”  “Shit.”  Followed almost instantly by a body falling on her, knocking the breath from her lungs.  A hard cock slid easily past her outer lips and buried itself.  No foreplay.  The entire week had been foreplay.

It was the youngest one.  He had brown hair and his breath smelled of beer.  The irrelevant thought passed through her mind that she didn’t know his name or if Brad had told him hers.  Names?  When his cock felt so good.  Her legs were pushed back toward her ears by his shoulders.  She was almost bent in two.  Bracing himself on his hands and toes, his body straight, he pounded her hard and fast. 

“Oh God.  Oh God.  Oh God.”  She chanted, ever louder until she went over.  “Aaagggh!”  Flopping beneath him like a hooked fish, she felt him flood her cunt.

“Come on,”  a voice said.  “Get out of the way.”

Post-orgasm, she needed time to recover.  But there was no time.  Another body fell on her.  Another cock slammed in and begin pumping in and out.  And she found she didn’t need time.  Already she was building toward another orgasm.  It built and built.  But this guy shouted and shuttered and came too soon.  She had barely started to descend when a third body pressed her down.  Were there more voices?  She hadn’t heard other cars.  But then she was already half out of her mind and her screams could have drowned out an ambulance.

A face above her.  Lips pulled back in animal grimace.  Forth of spittle.  A face of pain or hate or ecstasy.  Or all three.  She didn’t care.   She gasped the words aloud in rhythm to his thrusts.  “I don’t care.  I don’t care.”

Carol Edwards shuttered to her second orgasm as she felt herself being filled with semen for the third time.   A weight on the mattress near her head.  She turned.  A spongy cock shiny with pre-come shoved into her mouth.  Another into her cunt.  And she--and everyone else--lost count.

Faces came and faces went.  Laughing.  Sneering.  Gasping.  Groaning.  Sweat fell from them onto her.  Brown hair.  Blond.  Gray.  Bald.  Cocks filled her cunt and mouth.  Spewed.  Softened.  Withdrew.  Were replaced.  Mostly white faces; but a few Hispanic and black.  She tasted the differences between the first few loads in her mouth, and then like cheap wine, it all began to taste the same.  A pubic hair caught in her throat.  She choked.  A flood of semen washed it down.

The house had filled with men.  She heard snatches of conversation.

“Great looking piece.”

“Yeah.  Brad said she was, but better than I expected.  Wonder why she’s doing this.  She wouldn’t have any trouble finding someone to fuck her.”

…

“What’s the slut’s name?”

“Donn known.  Donn care.  Fuck meat.”

“Hey, Brad, what’s the slut’s name?

“Carol.  Carol Edwards.”

…

“Is that ring for real?”

“Yeah.”

“So where’s her husband?

“Somewhere.  Asia.  Australia.  Somewhere over there.”

“Man, if that were mine, I’d be home nailing it to the mattress every night.”

…

“Where’d Brad find her?”

“Some charity thing, I think.”

“I’d donate.”

…

“No.  You go next.  I’m waiting for that fine ass.”

“Brad.  Brad.  When you going to open the other holes?”

…

A familiar face.  She knew this face, but couldn’t place it.  Then, of course:  it was Brad.  Her lips wrapped around a cock, sucking, she could only see him intermittently, until the cock came and she swallowed.

Brad’s cock slipped into her swamped cunt.  There was so much come, she could hardly feel it. His full weigh came down on her.  His hands gripped her ass as he rolled onto his back, keeping his cock lodged in her cunt, before moving his hands to each side of her head, fingers twining in cum streaked hair.  Locking her face a few inches above his.

“I want to watch this in your eyes,” he said.

Why?  she wondered, already dazed and confused.  What’s going to happen?  Until other hands spread her ass.  “Ohhh,”  she screamed.  “No.”   Her anus displaced and partially blocked by Brad’s cock in her cunt, resisted being forced open.  Below her Brad saw her green eyes widen in pain and disbelief as it was breached.  Two cocks buried completely within her.  She had never felt so full.  They began to move, separated only by a thin membrane of flesh.  “You’re going to rip me in two,” she tried to protest, but was cut short by a third cock plunging into her mouth.  Airtight, she thought.  So this is what he meant.   And the crowd went wild.

Cheers.  Shouts.  Applause.   “Give it to the cunt.”  “Fuck her.  Fuck her.  Fuck her.”  “I’ve got the asshole next.”  “Mouth.”  “Cunt.”  “Form lines.”

Words and sounds reached Carol only dimly.  She was stuffed, skewered, impaled.  Yet she couldn’t multitask. The cocks ramming into her did not blend.  Each was distinct. 

Her mind focused on one then another.  At one moment she felt the veins in the cock with her tongue.   Then her nipples dragging over Brad’s chest.  Each hair.  Then the fingers of a man she had not yet seen digging into her ass.

A pain in her neck as the cock in her mouth forced her head back. 

Brad and the man in her ass settled into a rhythm:  one thrusting in, while the other pulled out.  But she screamed as they lost it and both plunged in at the same time, all but drilling completely through her and meeting in her gut.

Her cunt had already been stretched and was too loose, and her over stimulated clit almost hurt.  She didn’t think she could come again.

The cock in her mouth was enlarging, swelling with blood and come.  She tightened her lips and sucked, and it spewed.  Brad saw her throat swallow.  And the sight made him come.  As he forced his hips up, they forced her ass back onto the third cock, which drill deep, causing it to come.  Carol’s mind whiled from one to another to another in an endless circle.  I’m flooded, she thought.

She collapsed onto Brad, her breasts flattening against his chest.

“No,” she heard him say, as new cocks approached her.  “I want to glaze her first, now while she is still at least partially aware of what’s happening.”

Groans.

He rolled her off to the side.  “You’ll all have plenty of time to recover and come again.  But we’re going to do this now.”  Then to Carol, “Roll onto your stomach.”

She did and lay there, spent, eyes closed.

“All right.  Everyone around the mattress.  Jamie and Bill just came and are excused.  But everyone else.  No exceptions.”

Some of the men were naked; some dressed.  Most had glasses or bottles that they had to set down to free their hands.

Zippers.  Labored breathing. Stroking.  Something splattered against her shoulder blade.

“Wipe it off in her hair.”

A wet cock against her skull.

Spatter on the soles of her feet.  Then more quickly, volleys on her ass, the backs of her thighs, her spine.  Everywhere.

“That’s enough for this side.  Anyone volunteer to rub it in?  I’ve got some rubber gloves.”

Hands moved over her skin.  “Cover every inch.  Between her toes.  Lift her hair and get the back of her neck.  Inside her ears.”  A camera flashed.  “No.  Only me.  There are guys here who don’t want to be seen.  I’ll email all of you copies that don’t show any faces except hers.”

“Onto your back.”

When Carol didn’t move, a hand slapped her ass.

“Wha...What?”

“Roll over.”

She did. 

“Arms out. Legs apart.  O.K.”

A hot sticky rain.  Some thick.  Some watery.  In gushers and in droplets.  On her feet and legs and belly and arms and hands and breasts and throat and face.  Cock after cock erupting, then being wiped on her face or in her clotted hair.

“She can spread it out on this side herself.” 

Carol opened her eyes.  Come slipped into them and blinded her. 

“You don’t need to see.  Just reach down and coat yourself.”

“My eyes sting.”

“We’ll clean you up when you’re finished.”

Keeping her eyes squeezed closed, she sat up and reached down for her feet.  Her fingers recoiled, then spread the slippery substance.  Over her ankles, working their way up.  It was, she thought, like applying suntan lotion.  And it wasn’t.  It was not suntan lotion beneath her fingers, but come.  The come of she did not even know how many men.  Strangers.  She had never even imagined such a thing.  She did not know the time.  Had it been one hour or three?  Whatever, she had already been fucked that night by many more men than in the first 35 years of her life.  And it had only just begun.

“Don’t miss your armpits.”

Her nipples responded to her hands.  She covered her throat.  Spread come across her cheeks and lips, nose and forehead.

“I think that’s got it.  You can lie back.”

Camera flash penetrated her eyelids.  Brad was right, she thought and understood perhaps for the first time,  this night really is life altering.  She imagined the pores of her skin as large as if under a microscope, come pouring through them into her.  She would never be able to fully wipe it off.  The image, the memory indelible.  I will never be the same.  What must I look like? she wondered.  It would be a few days before she saw the inhuman answer.

…

Led to a shower, washed, dried, led back to the wiped down mattress, her body ever weaker, her nerve ends numbing.  “I can’t,” she mumbled as her thigh muscles gave out while she was riding one man with another in her ass.  So they fucked her yielding flesh themselves.

Ever more dimly she felt hands pulling and pushing her yielding body, arranging and rearranging it  as they wished.  Face up.  Face down.  On her side.  Almost always two or three cocks in her.  Her throat hurt.  Too many cocks and too many screams.  She lost her voice.

Men sat and stood, watching, the frenzied smells and sounds of sex filling the night, waiting for an opening.  Some left.  New ones arrived.  Some stayed for seconds and thirds.

...

Brad Tomalin’s cellphone rang.

“Hello, Ross.  What is it, Saturday afternoon there?”

I missed that.  Too noisy.”

To Ross Edwards it sounded as though he were calling a sports bar during a big game.

“I want to talk to Carol.”

“A good one, Ross.  She’s more than a little occupied at the moment.  And will be for many moments and hours to come.  I’ll send you some pictures.  Just a second I’ll take one now.”

“I’m going to come back there and kill you.”

“When?”

“When is this going to end?”

“Sometime Sunday morning.  Around thirty more hours and I have no idea how many more men.  Didn’t Carol say you were going to Shanghai?  Got to keep your mind on business, man.   Hey, Willie, get off her face for a minute and let the slut say hi to her husband.”

Brad walked over to the mattress and held out the phone. 

On the other end, Ross heard only a low kneeing.

...

The emailed image arrived a few minutes later.

He could not see much of his wife.  One foot in the air beside a man’s butt.  He was shocked at the toenail polish.  Part of a shoulder and arm.  The rest was hidden by men’s naked bodies.  Ross couldn’t tell how many or exactly what they were doing to her.  One, presumably ‘Willie’ was sitting on her face, but what part of him was directly over her mouth was unclear.  Was his cock in her mouth or her tongue up his ass?

“The bitch,” Ross said aloud, as against his will he felt his cock harden.  “The fucking bitch.”

6

Single malt scotch is a drink of peat fires and cold seas, not the Equator, but air conditioning can make Singapore cool enough; and while his wife was being fucked to oblivion, Ross Edwards tried to drink his way there.  The difference was that she succeeded.

Ross was not usually a heavy drinker.  A martini in the evening; a pitcher of margaritas on past happy San Diego weekends with Carol; wine with diner.  He seldom drank during the day; and he couldn’t remember the last time he was truly drunk.  But after staring for several minutes at that photo of men on his wife like a pride of lions devouring a kill, her kneeing sound echoing in his mind, he opened a bottle of Lagavulin, distilled on a small island off the Scotland coast a world away.

               

Lagavulin is rich, flavorful, strong; but it didn’t work.   At least not completely.  Images of Carol’s plundered body hazed, but they did not vanish.  Every minute, minute after minute, hour after hour, as he filled and drained and refilled his glass, helpless, he knew that a cock, cocks, were in her.  Rending.  Filling.  Coming.  Taking pleasure.  It was abominable.  It was impossible.  It was true.

From what he could see in the photograph she had been on her back.  That foot.   That vulnerable, well-formed foot.  He had never seen such vivid polish on her toenails.  Her applying it.  Preparing herself for animals.

Clumsily he tore off his clothes, fell back into an armchair naked as he knew she was naked, and began furiously jerking his cock.

Despite the alcohol he was excruciatingly hard.  He saw them fucking her. Fucking.  Turning her body, fine-boned, full breasted--he remembered the first time he saw them, touched them, kissed those dark nipples.   Hands.  A sea of hands.  Turning her this way and that to suit their pleasure.  Over, onto her knees, spreading her ass.  Mashing her breasts.   Twisting her nipples.  He saw her cry out, a cry muffled by a cock shoving between cum slick lips.  He saw the men’s bodies jerk and spasm.  Spasm.  Spasm.  And he did himself.  Sex had obsessed his mind for days, ever since that first devastating email. 

Semen spurted out, up, arched in the air, splashed back onto his hand and belly.  It kept pouring out, as he knew it was pouring into his wife.  Pouring.  Even when it stopped, his cock remained hard.

A come covered hand reached unsteadily for another glass of amber liquid.

...

Half a bottle of Lagavulin brought poisoned sleep.  Sleep filled with Carol.  Laughing.  Smiling.  The moment he first saw her on the Stanford campus when she was working on her masters in architecture and he on his MBA.  The breathtaking moment he first saw her naked.  Writhing naked beneath a mass of men.  Screaming.  In orgasm or pain.  Even in shallow, troubled sleep his mind was aware that she was being fucked by man after man.  He hoped her screams were of pain.  He hoped they were hurting her.  She deserved to be hurt.

His cock was so hard it hurt and woke him.

The room was dark.  Night had fallen.  He glanced at his watch, but the numbers blurred.  He reached for the bottle, but in mid-motion changed direction and grabbed his cock instead.  Strangers were taking pleasure from his wife, and he had only his hand.

…

Daylight. 

On the third try, he managed to open his eyes.  His head was being beaten with a hammer.  His tongue was thick.  A dried crust on his hand and cock and belly.  He smelled of sweat and sex.  For a moment he thought he was going to vomit.  He bent down.  His head between his knees.  The moment passed.  He straightened and clumsily brought his left arm to his face and peered at his watch.  9:35  Sunday morning.  He tried to figure out the time in California, but couldn’t subtract 15.  Still Saturday though.  Toward evening.  She was entering her second exhausting night.

He hated her.  Hated her as he had never hated anyone or anything.  And at the same time, perhaps because of that hatred, he wanted her as much, more, than he ever had.  She could deny him nothing now.  He could use her any way he wanted.  Everyone else had fucked the ass that she had so seldom and reluctantly given to him.  It hurts, she said.  I’ll show you hurt, he thought.  I’ll shove it so far up your slut ass you choke.

His stomach spasmed, and he stumbled to the bathroom.

…

He showered.  Carol was being fucked.

He shaved.  Gargled with mouthwash.  Brushed his teeth.  Carol was being fucked. 

He made a cup of coffee and sipped it tentatively.  Uncertain if it would stay down. 

Slowly he packed his suitcase, called for a taxi, rode to Changi Airport for the five hour flight to Shanghai.  Glancing out the window at the passing traffic, he saw Carol being fucked.

In the Singapore Airlines VIP lounge he dared to sip a gin and tonic.  It did some good.   Helped settle his stomach. The ringing in his ears went down a tone.  The throbbing in his head slowed.  He took another sip and looked around the room.  She had been fucked by many more men than this.  He wondered who was in her at that very minute.  What he was doing to her.  How he was using her.  Ross could not endure this.  No man could.  He made the mistake of taking a gulp of his drink.

…

Three hours later and six miles above the South China Sea, a flight attendant in first class bent over to pick up a magazine, causing her uniform skirt momentarily to stretch tight across her hips.

She did not really look like Carol.  She was merely pretty, not beautiful.  But she was about the same height, and had the same light brown almost blond shoulder length hair.  And good legs and ankles.  From her accent Ross surmised that she was Australian.

When she straightened he noticed her wedding ring. 

An almost overwhelming urge flooded over him.  He wanted to hurt her.  He wanted to fuck her until her eyes bulged.  He wanted to make her scream.  He wanted to do to her what was endlessly being done to Carol.  He wanted to humiliate her husband.  Tie him naked to a chair and make him watch.   He wanted to do to others what was being done to him.

7

Chrysalis. 

The camera flash reflecting off the sheen of come coating her body made it appear solid and hard.  I look like a chrysalis, Carol thought.   A new life form waiting to be born.  But whatever has emerged, whatever I have become, is most definitely not a butterfly.

The picture, along with dozens of others, was in an online gallery.  Even though it was password protected, she felt uneasy.  She had no idea how many people Brad had given the password to, or how many others they would share it with.  Knowing that evidence of the weekend would endure forever in cyberspace was somehow worse than having no idea how many men had actually used her.  By Saturday dawn she had become insensible and had no more memory of what had happened after that than a woman given Rohypnol.

The link to the gallery arrived in an email Tuesday evening with a subject line:  what I did last weekend. 

She had followed Brad’s advice to put in for a few day’s vacation time in advance, and was only now beginning to feel human again.  If I am human, she reminded herself.

She was bruised and battered inside and out.  Brad had kept his word that she would not be seriously injured; but she had been hard used.  Her breasts, her ass, her thighs, her arms bore blue-purple finger prints.  Every part of her ached.  Her cunt and ass and mouth and throat were sore.  Her hair was sore.  Urinating almost made her cry.

Photograph after photograph of men she had never seen.  Only the first few seemed vaguely familiar.  And Brad, who from the evidence had taken her at least a half dozen times.  And one or two others.  A huge Spanish speaking man with an enormous cock who make her scream.  And a weasel spitting in her face.

That is why my throat hurts, she thought, as she flicked though a series depicting her with her nose flattened against men’s groins.  Brad said I’d learn to deep throat.

The last two images were ‘before’ and ‘after.’

There she was beautiful, smiling  at the camera through the V of her legs.  Hair clean and soft.  Lipstick smooth.  Skin unmarked.  The almost childlike slit of her shaved cunt pencil line closed.  Her puckered anus tight.

And there was someone, something.  A discarded rag doll.  Sprawled.  Eyes staring vacantly.  Hair matted.  Mouth slack.  Arms and legs akimbo.  Flesh bruised.  Flaccid.  Like a melted candle.  Cunt and ass gaping wide.  Pools of come inside both.  Streams of come draining out.

There was a second link in Brad’s email.  This to a site that purported to contain amateur porn.  It did not require a password.   Halfway down a page of thumbnails, she saw the photo the filling station attendant had taken.  She clicked and it enlarged.  The incongruity of her nakedness framed by the open car door made it even more obscene, as did her smile as she held her cunt open for the camera and the world.  The picture was in sharp focus.   She was unmistakably recognizable.

A cold wave broke over her.  Anyone might see this.  Her father.  She flashed on her father’s shock at discovering that his good daughter was a shameless slut.  Could he prevent himself staring at her cunt like any other man?  Would he even want to?  People at the office.  Friends.  Long forgotten high school classmates.  Teachers.  Neighbors.

The only email text:  I told you, baby, I’d make you a star.

…

The email reached Ross Edwards between meetings in Tokyo Wednesday morning.  It contained the same two links his wife was viewing, but the subject was:  your wife and your brain.  The text:  I’m fucking both.  And a .jpeg was attached.

With a mixture of apprehension and sexual anticipation, Ross opened  the image, quickly followed by a perplexed, “What the hell?” 

He couldn’t figure out what he was looking at.

An enormous irregular circle filled his MacBook Air.  On the screen it was seven inches in diameter, touching the top and bottom of the screen and leaving little blotchy space on the sides.

At first it looked like a crater on the Moon.  Then a tunnel.  The mouth of a cave.  An open manhole.

“My god.”  That was it.  “My god,” Ross repeated in soft disbelief as he realized he was looking straight up his wife’s asshole.

8

The blades of the disposable razor moved carefully over tenderized mons, then down labia and around anus, removing five days’ stubble.  She didn’t expect anyone would see, but shaving seemed the right thing to do. 

Even the slight pressure of the razor was painful.  A cock in her cunt or ass would be excruciating.  Yet as she touched her body, she remembered how full she had been, and now she was empty.  A hollowness waiting to be filled:  the first nascent erotic thought of her rebirth.

She removed chipped polish from her fingers and toes and

went back to work.

The firm was located in a converted warehouse in the Gaslamp Quarter and had just over one hundred employees, forty of whom were architects.  Carol was on a first name basis with them all, and they all greeted her with the standard polite questions about her days off, without really seeing her or hearing her replies.  Only the founding principal and Carol’s boss, Rik Cronin, looked at her carefully--but then he always looked at her carefully--and asked,  “Are you ill?   You look tired.”

“I’m fine.”  She forced a smile.  “I didn’t sleep as well in the mountains as I expected.”

“Sometimes vacations are more tiring than work.”

“That’s true.”

If only he knew, she thought, and continued on to her office.

Carefully skirting any act or word that could be legally construed as sexual harassment, Rik had let her know several years ago that he found her attractive, and since Ross had moved to Singapore increasingly found excuses to invite her to ‘business’ lunches in which he let his eyes wander a little too openly and his hands brush against her, accidentally of course, a little too frequently. 

Fiftyish, paunchy, married, he was never anyone Carol would have become involved with.  But then, she realized, he isn’t any worse than dozens of men who fucked me last weekend.

She was the lead architect on a new research center being built on Torrey Mesa near the UCSD campus and it was good to turn her mind from herself and become absorbed in the details of the project.  Yet sometimes when she moved in her chair, or stood, or walked to a conference room or someone else’s office or cubicle, something shifted inside her, bringing discomfort and memory.

As she drove home and made herself a martini that evening, she again felt empty.  Increasingly.  I need it, she thought.  I am one sick bitch.  I need it even if it hurts.  And then an unexpected thought:  especially if it hurts.

…

A day passed. 

There are no books on post gangbang etiquette, but he should have called me by now, Carol thought.  It had been four days of silence since Brad poured her into her bed.  He should have checked to see if I’m all right.  Whatever happens, the world will come to an end before I call him.

Another day passed.

She had just returned to her desk from a meeting when the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“My office.  Noon.”

Without waiting for a response, he hung up.

…

Tomalin Enterprises occupied two floors of a high rise building only  a few blocks away, but she did not feel like walking, so she drove. 

Riding the elevator up from underground parking to the thirty-first floor again, her stomach fluttered.  What is wrong with me?, she wondered.  I’m hardly some teenager on a first date.

Expecting to be shown right in, Carol was nonplussed when his assistant, a silver haired, stylish dressed woman stopped her with, “He’s just finishing up a meeting.  Won’t be more than a few minutes.”

Carol sat on a sofa across from the woman’s desk and the wall of solid wood panelling to Brad’s office.  She must have spoken to the woman before--was it really only a little over a week?--but had been in such a state that she had no recollection.  The name plate on the desk read Amanda Black.

Carol started when the double doors to Brad’s office opened.  Three men came out.  One of them grinned at her knowingly as he passed.

Brad stood waiting.  She walked into the office, then stopped uncertain.

Closing the doors, he crossed the room and sat in one of the armchairs.  After straightening the crease in his trousers, he said, “Let’s see it.”

That’s what he said before:  ”Show it to me.”  It.  What did I expect--tenderness?

He didn’t speak again until she was naked. 

“My.  My.”  Then, “Turn around.  Slowly.”

With her back to him, she was looking out the glass side of the building  south across the bay and Coronado to Mexico and the Pacific Ocean.

“Come over here.”

When she was standing in front of him, “Closer.”  He parted his legs and she knew to drop to her knees.

She winced when he reached for her breasts, but he only cupped them, letting their weight rest in his palms.

“Take it out.”

Leaning forward she fumbled with his zipper.  He had to lean back and help her.  His cock sprung free.   Pre-come leaking from the tip pleased her.  He is not as cold and detached as he acts, Carol thought.  Aroused by the proof he wanted her and by the thought of being naked before him--I’m always naked in this office, she thought.  And I always will be.  There is no other reason for me to be here-- she wrapped her hand around the shaft.  It was too big.  She wanted it; but it would hurt too much.  “I’m very sore.  Please be gentle.”

“I’m not going to fuck you.”

“No?” 

“No.  You’re just here to give me a blowjob.”

She caught the ‘just.‘  A delivery girl.  A commodity.  Like ordering a pizza or sandwiches to be sent in for lunch.  Today I think I’ll have a blowjob.

She felt herself become wetter at the thought of being a call girl used merely to serve his pleasure.  Too bad.  I don’t care if I leak all over his carpet.  And she bent and licked the salty pre-come from the tip of his cock before engulfing it with her mouth.

In silence broken only by the wet sounds of her lips sliding up and down, only his hard flesh told her he was excited .  He could have been reading a newspaper or looking at a computer screen--and the time would come when he would be--until finally he said, “Lick my balls.”

“That’s good.  Now suck one into your mouth.  Keep stroking my cock with your hand...Now the other.  That’s good.  Run your tongue from the base of my cock to the tip.  Open the hole.  Lick there.  Down again.”

His hands left her breasts and moved to each side of her head.

“I want you to take it all.  We know you can.”

“My throat is sore,” she protested.

“I expect it is.”   He pulled her face down.

When the tip touched something in the back of her mouth, she  winced, gagged, and instinctively tried to pull away.   His hands were too strong.  Even as she struggled futilely, she responded to being overpowered by that strength.  “Open your throat and relax.  This is going to happen.”  And it did.  The glans of his cock slipped past a final obstacle and her lips touched public hair. 

He held her there motionless.  She could not breathe, but he didn’t care.  Or perhaps he did and that is exactly what he wants, Carol thought.  “Move your tongue.”  She tried.  Apparently it was enough.  “Good.”  And slowly he let her head rise until his cock slipped out and she gasped for air.  “Again.”  Before she had fully regained breath, he pulled her all the way down.

This time he held her even longer and she fought her impulse to struggle until he finally let her up.

“You were drooling on my pants.”

Gasping.  “I...I thought I was...going to pass out.  Would you…”

“Have let that happen?  Maybe.  I want you to know how totally I own you.  Even the air you breath.  Now suck.  I’m not through yet.”

Dutifully she bent forward.  “Tighten your lips and actually suck.  Let me feel more tongue.  Caress my balls with your hand.  That’s good.  Take it a little deeper.  You don’t have to go all the way down.  Good.  Good.  Keep that rhythm.”

Sucking, bobbing head.  Heavy breasts swaying.  The weave of the carpet against knees.

“I was going to send a photo to your husband, but I’ve decided not to.    This one will just between us.  I like the idea that he doesn’t know you’re being used at this moment.  Look at me.  I want to see it in your eyes.  Ahh.  There.”

She tasted the first spurt, before unexpectedly he pulled out.  
“Keep your mouth open.  Stick out your tongue.”  Obediently she did and he shot most of his load there where she tasted it, before directing the final spurts onto her face.  She felt  a splatter just below her right eye and another lower, beside her mouth.  He thrust his cock back in.  “Lick it clean.”

“No don’t wipe your face.  Wear it to your car.”

Incredulously, “You don’t mean in the elevator?”

He didn’t bother to reply and said as she started to pick up her clothes. “Leave your undergarments.  No bra, panties, pantyhose in my presence again unless I give you specific permission.”

When she had on her dress and shoes, “Come and look at yourself.” 

Carol followed him into his private bathroom.  It was as unmistakable as she feared.  A droplet dangled from her chin.

“You look quite beautiful.”

Just as she was at the door, Brad said, “Ravi sent me his test results.  I told him he can use you three times a week.  But only your mouth and ass.  Not your cunt.”

“I’m so sore.”

“Maybe he won’t call you tonight.”

But they both knew he would.

“I’m going to be out of town for a couple of days.  Have duplicates made of your condo keys.  You can leave them with Mrs. Black.”

Against her hopes, but as she expected Brad had deliberately arranged, Mrs. Black was at her desk and gave a cheery, “Have a nice afternoon, Mrs. Edwards,” as Carol passed.

No one else was waiting for the elevator, and no one was on it when it came.  Carol moved to the center of the car and stood there straight, her head held high.  She was what she was.  She would not try to hide.

On the 27th floor, the car stopped and three chattering women instantly fell silent when they saw her.  As did everyone else who entered the elevator on the long way down.

Carol drove from the dark parking levels out in the sunlight, feeling come drying on her skin.  She didn’t wipe her face until she was back in her own office parking lot.

…

She lingered late at work, not wanting to go home, which no longer offered refuge. 

It was strange not to be wearing underwear in her office.  She felt her breasts move more freely, and hoped no one else did, and at times a breath of air caressed her bare pussy.   The taste of sperm lingered in her mouth.  That she had just come from one cock and was moving toward another kept her wet.   She hoped she was not leaving a spot on her dress.    Sex was not just the occasional evening or the weekends with Ross any more.   Sex was noon in Brad’s office.  Probably this evening with Ravi in the condo.  Sex was becoming her life. 

The telephone would ring, or even worse there would be a knock on her door.  She could simply tell Ravi to get stuffed; but she knew she wouldn’t.   She’d already exposed herself to him.  Let him squeeze her breasts.  Know that she was going to be gangbanged.  He would only do to her what countless men had done in Julian; yet because she knew him personally made it different.  More humiliating.  That he was living and sleeping in the same building, just a floor away, that he could claim her at any time.  Three times a week, Brad had said.  How had he decided on that?  And only her mouth and ass.  She was to be used to give pleasure without receiving it.  A convenient hole.  Holes.  She felt herself becoming wetter.

Finally she drove home and was grateful that at least she did not bump into him in the elevator.

Quickly she made herself a strong gin and tonic, which she carried through the sliding glass doors onto the balcony; but after taking two gulps, she put down the heavy crystal double old-fashioned glass, and went and took a shower.  Why am I cleaning myself up for that little creep?, she asked herself; but knew that she wanted to be desired.  She liked the power of her beauty.   Although she had complained to Ross about the way Ravi snuck glances at her around the swimming pool, secretly she had reveled in the lust she aroused and could deny.  Now she couldn’t.  She could no longer say, “No.”  She wondered what kind of cock he had and almost came as she ran the bar of soap between her legs.

Drying off she had to decide what to wear.  Something easy to take off, and she recalled thinking in Brad’s office that that would become a priority.  She settled for a loose sundress.  Not bothering with underwear.  I may save money there.  Implication made touching up her lipstick an erotic act.  She walked barefoot back to the balcony and her unfinished drink.

Being there made her think of Ross.  She frowned.  He wasn’t much in her thoughts these days.  Her cell phone rang.

“Hello, Ravi.”

“Yes.  It is, isn’t it?  Ravi.  I mean me.”  His voice was pitched high and the words nervously fast.

“I’ll come down.”  She didn’t want to have sex with him in her place, and then she remembered Brad telling her to give him keys.

“Yes.  Yes.  That is good.  Very go--”

She closed her cell phone mid-word.  She had to fuck him.  She didn’t  have to chat.

Slipping on a pair of loafers--they weren’t sexy but they wouldn’t be on long; she would make this fast--she automatically checked her appearance in the mirror opposite the front door.  Vanity.  Vanity.  Thy name is Carol.

Ravi lived on the fourth floor.  She took the stairs down. 

She had never been to his unit before.

On the door was a heavy brass knocker shaped in the head of the monkey god, Hanuman.   Ravi opened at the first tap.

“Oh,  yes.  Yes.  Come in.  Come in.”

His unit was laid out exactly like hers and Ross’s but faced north.   The furnishings were a mix of Indian and IKEA.   A camera on a tripod stood pointing toward the sofa.

Ravi was wearing baggy khaki shorts, Birkenstock sandals, and a short sleeved white dress shirt.  Indicating the camera, Ravi said apologetically, “Brad wants a picture.  That is all right, is it?  Then, “Please sit.  A drink?  Wine?  A cocktail?”

Who knows what the old Carol would have done? she thought.  The old Carol wouldn’t be here.  But the new Carol, turned and faced him as he danced toward the kitchen and said,  “We both know why I’m here.”  He stopped dead as she pulled the hem of her dress up over her head, and he collapsed onto the sofa as she tossed it aside and kicked off her loafers.

“Oh.  What have they done to you?” he cried.

In a wide mirror behind him she caught sight of herself.  She had forgotten about her bruises.  They were old news.

“They fucked me senseless.  That is what they did.”

She twirled slowly, displaying all the lascivious marks , enjoying his shock.

“Why do you let them do this?  Who is this Brad?  What hold does he have on you?  Is he blackmailing you?  I will help.”

She laughed.  “You will help blackmail me?”

“No.  No.  That is not.  I will help you.”

“I do not need help.  Or maybe I do.  But not that way.  I’m not being blackmailed.  No one has done anything to me that I did not want.  And you are no better.  You want to do the same.”

In two steps she was in front of him and dropped to her knees for the second time that day.  She half-smiled as in her mind she heard, “On my knees again”  to the melody of Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again.”

“You are so beautiful.”  Ravi’s voice was plaintive.  “Like some goddess or movie star.  I always dreamed.  But you were so far above me.  Unobtainable.  I never thought it would happen.  I had no idea that you were…”

Carol’s  tanned fingers were the exact shade of Ravi’s skin as they unbuckled his belt and pulled off his shorts.  Beneath were a pair of clean white boxers.  He changed for me.  How sweet.  And beneath them a bigger and blacker cock than she had expected on his frail frame.

Leaning forward she rubbed her nipples against it, then formed a tunnel between her breasts.

“Ohhhhh.”

She slid her breasts up and down a few times.  Her first black man,  black men, had been during the gangbang.  Ravi wasn’t black, but his cock was.  She liked the contrast of the hard dark column between her pale breasts.  She saw the reflection in the mirror.  On my knees in front of a man.  About to suck another cock.  Until last Friday she had never been with two men in one day.  And not for love.  Like some slave or whore.  Her second client of the day.  She could service more, and expected that she soon would. She shifted so that her pussy pressed down on the heel of her right foot and moaned. 

The moment her head lowered and her lips wrapped around his cock, Ravi screamed and came.  Gushers.  An unending stream and scream  that surely would be heard by the neighbors.  What did she care?  They didn’t know she was the one in there with him.  Then, defiantly, what if they did? 

Carol Edwards swallowed and swallowed and finally, sperm and scream trickled to a stop.

Ravi’s head was thrown back as Carol stood and retrieved her dress.

He looked up in amazement, and embarrassment.  “I have never...I have thought of you for so long.  For years.  Imagined making love to you.  And all this weekend I thought of you having sex with all those men.  I did not really believe that Brad person, but I arranged to be tested first thing Monday morning.  I do not understand…”  Then something shifted.  Carol felt a momentary chill as his eyes narrowed, hardened,  “Next time I will last longer.”  

----------

To:  Ross Edwards

From:  the office of Brad Tomalin

Subject:  good neighbors

Attachment:  IMG_1091.jpeg

Involuntarily, Ross Edwards spoke aloud:  “Not Ravi, too?”

9

The small things:

The grin from the man yesterday as he left Brad’s office.  Had his cock been in her?  Had he seen her face contorted with lust?  Had she swallowed his come? 

The edginess this morning as she ate breakfast and dressed for work knowing that at any instant the phone might ring and it would be Ravi.

The sense of uneasiness, almost fear at the control she was relinquishing, as with a sound like a dentist drill a man in a hardware store copied the keys to the main entrance of the condo building and to her front door.

Squirming out of her panties and bra in the underground parking before taking the elevator up to give the keys to Mrs. Black.  The brief touch of the leather car seat against her naked ass.  She didn’t really expect that Brad would be there.  He had said he wouldn’t be.  But she liked the sexuality of the act.  She might not even bother to put her underwear back on and again spend the afternoon in her office with her clit dangling in the breeze.

Wondering every time the rising elevator stopped at another floor if someone would get on who had seen her yesterday.

And the immaculately groomed Mrs. Black’s enigmatic smile as Carol handed her the envelope.  “Yes.  Brad told me you’d be dropping these off.”  Her eyes dropped to Carol’s loose breasts beneath a high necked dark blue dress, and then down to her bare legs.  San Diego isn’t Boston.  Legs are tanned year round and many women don’t wear nylons to work.  It wasn’t that unusual.  Before moving back up to her face.  “Was there anything else?”

“N..No.”  Carol stammered.  Then, “Yes.  When will he be back.”

The older woman laughed.  “He didn’t go.  The trip was canceled.”

“Then he’s--”  But she didn’t finish and turned toward the elevator.

He is very, very good at this.  I asked him to make me feel something, and he certainly has.

…

Ravi called that night and brutally took her ass.  As she knew he would.  Lost illusions.  Tarnished angels.  Fallen idols get trampled.

10

She woke and opened her eyes, but did not move.  The red digital display on the bedside clock read 2:18.   The bedroom was

pitch-dark.  Curtains drawn.  Someone was there.  Perhaps she was dreaming.  No.  She held her breath and froze at the sounds of movement.

“Brad?”

“No.”  And it wasn’t.  She had never heard that voice before.  “Don’t turn on the light and don’t scream, and you’ll be all right.”

“But he sent you?”

The only response was to feel the sheet and light blanket covering her being pulled down.

She slept in a white satin nightshirt.  Mid-thigh.  Buttons up the front.  She was lying on her left side.

Weight on the foot of the bed.  She whimpered.

A hand fumbled, found her ankle, moved up.  She panted in fear.  The other hand found her hip.   Turned and pulled her onto her knees, ass up, face down.  The night shirt fell forward to her shoulders. 

She expected the cock to enter her ass and gasped as it slid easily  into her now always wet cunt.  “Ohhh.”  It felt so good. 

Hands gripped her hips.  The cock filled her.  Withdrew.  Plunged and filled her again.  Began a strong, steady rhythm.  Hit the right spots.  Her fingers clawed the sheet.  She bit the pillow and came.

But for the hands holding her ass high, she would have collapsed.

The cock, the beautiful cock--she thought of it that way though she would never see it--the beautiful cock kept thrusting.  Minutes passed.  Time lost meaning.  There was only cock.  She was being raped in her own bed.  In her and Ross’s bed.  Not raped exactly.  She came again.  Shuddering.  Slobbering onto the pillow.

The cock was becoming harder, bigger, swelling with blood and come.  Buried deep, the cock stopped, spasmed, emptied.  The man sighed. 

Hands released her hips.  She fell onto her stomach.  Felt a wet cock being wiped on her ass.  Heard sheets rustle as it was further wiped on them.  Felt weight lifting from the mattress.  Heard clothes being pulled on.  Footsteps moving away, down the corridor toward the living room.  A distant door clicked.

Carol Edwards lay in her bed crying.  She wasn’t even sure why.

…

The next morning she called Brad as soon as she thought he would be at his office. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Edwards, but Mr. Tomalin is in a meeting.”

“Tell him to call me as soon as possible.  It’s important.”

“I’m sure it is.”  What was that in her voice:  condescension?  amusement? 

…

At 8:30 that evening--a time that would soon become significant--on her second martini, half watching the 1940 Alfred Hitchcock classic, REBECCA, on television, she heard a key, and the front door opened.

The moment Brad entered, she confronted him with, “You didn’t return my call.”

“You knew I wouldn’t.  That’s not the way this works.”

“It’s going too far too fast,” she cried half hysterical.

“No.  It isn’t ‘going.’  It’s already ‘gone.’  Or have you forgotten even before the bruises have faded?  If so, I can show you some photos.”

“Is that it?  Are you blackmailing me?”

He laughed.  “I don’t need to blackmail you.  I have no trouble finding women to fuck.  You are certainly an attractive piece; but what’s really interesting here is that for whatever perverse reasons you chose to destroy your old self.  This is all being done of your own free will, assuming free will exists.  All that’s left is for the two of us to discover how far you’ll go; if you have any limits at all.”

“Who was that last night?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

And when he saw in her face that she realized he was right, he started walking toward the back of the condo and called over his shoulder, “Let’s go to bed.  And sleep naked from now on.”

11

The attachments had become an addiction.  Ross Edwards didn’t want to open them, but he couldn’t help himself.  He was appalled, fascinated, disgusted, aroused.  Images, audio files, finally even videos.  He saw his wife being used.  By Brad.  By Ravi.  Increasingly by other neighbors.  By strangers.  In offices.  Condos.  Cars.  In his own living room.  On the couch.  On the floor.  Even in his own bed. But not used in every possible way.  Almost never was there a cock--or anything else--in Carol’s cunt.

And then messages began being left on his answering machine.  Not always messages.  Sometimes a male voice, sometimes Carol’s voice, describing in vivid detail what was being done to her at that very moment.  Sometimes just sounds.  Flesh against flesh.  Groans.  Gasps.  Grunts.  Male.  Female.   A hand slap?  A gurgle?  Unidentifiable sounds.

Ross struggled against it, but he was aware ever minute, night and day, that she might be being used, and he was always aroused.  They both were.  He locked the files in an encrypted disc image on his hard drive, and he masturbated four or five times a day, even in his own office, while looking at or listening to them. 

He had spoken directly to her only once since the telephone call to Brad’s car on their way to Julian.  She had apologized.  Apologized!  As if that were even possible.  And she had said that she couldn’t stop.  She did not want to stop.  She did not understand what possessed her.  Perhaps something about Brad--a sight, a sound, a smell, behavior, attitude, a pheromone--had flipped a switch in her brain.  It did not matter.  She asked if he wanted a divorce.

To himself he thought:  You rotten fucking bitch.  But, wanting to leave his options open as he planned revenge, to her he said only that he would think about it

…

Brad Tomalin did not think of himself as a sadist.  He was interested in power, not pain, although the ability to inflict pain was sometimes proof of power, and the willingness to accept it proof of someone else’s power. 

Brad had a simple definition of power:  the ability to make a man say yes when he wanted to say no.  Or a woman.  And by ‘say’ he meant actions as well as words.  A man on death row does not want to be executed.  The state has the power to make him say yes to his death.

To Brad Tomalin Ross Edwards was a lab rat. 

Carol Edwards was beautiful and she brought him pleasure; but as he had told her, and she would in time see first hand, so did many other women.  He was decent looking, if not handsome, physically strong, ruthless, and wealthy.  Women liked him.  Not all.  But more than enough.

Carol and Ross Edwards were a scientific experiment.  The unique pleasure was clinically to devise new ways to degrade them, and then observe the results.  To increasingly invade their lives and minds and leave them exposed without refuge.  Carol already had little left.  Not her own home or even her own bed, in which she now obediantly slept naked; not even her sleep.  There were only a few times and places when she was not subject to being used instantly.  When she was out shopping, or driving, or other random occasions.   And in her own office.  He would change that.

Brad harbored no ill feelings toward Ross.  He did not know him.  Although he had come to despise him a little.  If someone else had done to him what he was doing to Ross, he would not have sat in Singapore.  He would have had the man killed.  It was as simple as that.  

Carol he could observe first hand, but he had no way of knowing precisely his effect on Ross.  He kept sending the emails, the photos, the audio files, the videos, the telephone messages; dropping them like proverbial stones in a smooth pond, ripples circling out; but he did not see those ripples touch the far shore.  If he had, he would have found the results very interesting. 

…

To:  redwards2010@gmail

From:  the office of Brad Tomalin

Subject:  sleep well

Attachment:  IMG_005.jpeg

Tomorrow at 3:00 a.m. your time--noon ours--you are invited to listen  your wife having an orgasm.

As you know I don’t permit her to come often.   I’ve told her that tomorrow is her lucky day.  She is excited.  But then she is always excited lately.

She doesn’t know it will be with this.

Ross clicked on the image.  ‘This’ proved to be a big black dildo, at least two inches thick and a foot long, with a suction base, sticking up from the middle of Brad’s desk.

…

Ross Edwards got out of the taxi on Upper Bukit Timah Road four miles from his downtown office and glanced around guiltily as though he were meeting a drug dealer.  Ross didn’t use drugs, although he was beginning to think he should.   Google had turned up shops closer to his office, but he didn’t want to chance being seen.

Entering one of Singapore’s ubiquitous shopping plazas, he took an escalator to the mezzanine and in a discreet shop found exactly what he was looking for, all the time wondering if he had been driven truly insane.

…

Once in his apartment, he tested his purchase.  It hurt.  It was supposed to hurt.  He wanted it to hurt. Yet it wasn’t his fault.  But it was his fault.  He no longer knew.

He set the alarm for 2:30, but slept fitfully and was awake before the alarm went off.  When the telephone rang a few minutes after 3, he was naked, lubed, and in position.

He did not pick up the phone, but let the answering machine play over the speaker.

“Hello, Ross, old man.  Getting your beauty rest?  Or are you listening?

“In any event, your beautiful wife has just breathlessly arrived.  Being breathless does wonderful things to her tits beneath that blouse.  I’ll send you a picture, but for the record, she arrived in a lovely fawn colored business suit, cream colored blouse, and matching high heels.  About 3”, I’d say.  They’re new.  A little higher than she wore when you were here. I think you know she’s naked underneath, so it won’t take her long to get undressed.

“Say, hello to Ross, Carol.”

“Hello, Ross.”

“Is that resignation we hear in your voice, Carol?  Ah, well, every marriage has its ups and downs.

“She’s naked now, Ross.

“Climb up there.  I’ll give you a hand.  A big step.  Sensational view.  That’s it.  Right there.  I trust you’ve seen the photo by now, Ross.  Carol is squatting on my desk with her very red, very wet cunt positioned just above her lover.”

“I thought it was going to be you,” she protested.

“Well it’s not.  When did I last let you come?  When did you last have anything in there at all?  Ungrateful wench.

“O.K. Ross here she goes.”  Then, speaking to Carol and having no idea anyone else would obey his command,  “Impale yourself.”

Simultaneous moans an ocean apart as naked Carol Edwards lowered her shaved cunt onto a big black dildo jutting up from a desktop in San Diego and Ross Edwards lowered his hairy ass onto a big black dildo jutting up from the desktop in his study in Singapore.

“Now fuck yourself.” 

And they both did.

Carol Edwards throwing her head back, grabbing, twisting her breasts with her hands. 

Ross Edwards furiously jerking his cock.

Both riding up and down.  Up and down.  Truly fucked.

12

Ravi talked.  Of course Ravi talked.  He was emptying his balls into the most beautiful woman around, and he wanted people to know.  He also wanted to help bring her down.

Ravi asked Brad if he could give out his phone number to others in the building, and soon the formerly pleasant but reserved Mrs. Edwards, Vice President of the 425 San Dimas Street Condominium Association, was on considerably more intimate terms with four of her neighbors.  Ravi made five.  Counting herself, they only needed two more to make a quorum. 

…

Brad Tomalin unlocked the entrance door and went into the now familiar lobby.   Glass doors ahead opened to the patio and swimming pool.  To his right a wall of mailboxes and green potted plants.  To his left the elevator and a door to the central stairwell.

He entered the elevator, but got off at the second floor rather than continuing to the fifth. 

The door to 2S was directly in front of him when the elevator stopped.  He went around the corner and knocked on 2E.  A woman opened the door.  She was about Carol’s height of 5’9”, but ten years older and fifteen to twenty pounds heavier.  Not fat.  Solid.  Her greying hair was cut short, not much longer than his.  She was wearing a loose shift that reached to thick ankles, flat sandals.  No makeup.  She reminded him of Judi Dench as ‘M’ in the James Bond movies.

“You’re obviously Brad.  I’ve seen you in the building.  I’m Faye.  Come on in.”

All the units must be the same, Brad thought.  Living, dining and kitchen one large wallless space flowing from the glass doors opening onto the balcony back to a corridor leading past the utility room to bedrooms and bathrooms in the rear.

Faye’s space was cluttered.  Almost every inch of the walls was covered by paintings and photographs, some original, some reproductions.  A mobile hung from the ceiling.  Knick knacks, bric-a-brac, and books fought for space on end tables and shelves.  Miniature ceramic elephants.  Music boxes.  Artificial flowers.  A collection of piggy banks.  Toy soldiers.

“Sit where you like.  I’m drinking white wine.  Can I get you a glass.”  Her voice and manner were direct.

‘No.  I’m fine.” 

Brad sat in a chair facing the balcony.  The woman on another across a coffee table from him.

“I admire your directness.  I am too.  You want Carol Edwards.  Fine.  But I have terms.”

“I’m not going to take your cock just to get her pussy.”

He smiled and thought to himself:  you flatter yourself, but said, “I don’t want you to.”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to lick my ass.”

Peals of laughter rose from the woman like chimes from a church bell.  “Really?”  she finally gasped.

“Really.”

The pieces of her face abruptly rearranged.  “You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

Silence.  Then, “No.”

“All right,” and he started to rise from the chair.

“Wait.”

“Well?”   Certain now how this would end.

“Your ass or your asshole?”

“Both.  But not often.  I know you don’t do men.  But an asshole is an asshole.  Male.  Female.  What’s the difference?  And I’m sure you’ve performed annalingus before.”

“They say you don’t permit them to use her pussy.”

“That’s right.  I keep her perpetually horny.  But you can.  You can have her three times a week just like the others; but I’ll let you make her come from time to time, which they can’t.  Say every other week or so.  I’m sure she will be extremely grateful.  And as you may not know, she’s never been with a woman before.  You get that vestige of her tattered virginity.”

“You know I’m am a dominant woman.”

“That’s why I want you to lick my ass.  Also I’m going to choreograph your first encounter.  No permanent damage to the goods.  No bruises above the shoulder or below mid-thigh.  Nothing that will show when she’s wearing normal street clothes.  At least for now.  And I want you to take pictures.  Of her.  Of the two of you together.  I send the most vivid to her husband.”

“You are a bastard.”

Brad inclined his head.

“Do you want me to do it now?”

“Upstairs.”

Eagerly.  “Let’s go.”

Carol was not in sight when they entered her condo.

“She must be in the back.  Go surprise her,” Brad instructed.

He went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself some of Ross’s Lagavulin.

He was sitting in a leather and wood chair facing the off-white sofa when the two women returned.  A hand painted fabric with squares of earth colors against a flat black background hung on the wall behind the sofa, and three matching throw cushions on the sofa itself.  Glass end tables of minimalist modern design at either end.  A large mostly beige and mauve abstract carpet over the hardwood floor.

Carol had just showered and her hair was still damp.   She was barefoot and wearing white shorts and a yellow tank top through which dark nipples were visible.   Although only a few hours earlier, she had been bent over his desk with her skirt above her waist, her beauty struck him anew.  She looked clean and fresh and innocent.  And wary.  Though this could hardly have been unexpected.

“Sit on the sofa, the two of you.  But strip first, Carol.”

The thicker woman rearranged one of the throw cushions and took a seat at one end of the sofa, while with quick movements, Carol Edwards pulled the tank top up and her shorts down, before sitting at the other end.

“Turn and face her.  Lean back.  Your right foot on the sofa back.  Show her what’s she getting.”

Faye’s eyes feasted on splayed flesh.

“Spread it open for her.”  Carol’s hands moved down.  Her eyes on the other woman, whose eyes were fixed on flowering slit,  unaware that her tongue was flicking like a snake.

“Mirror her, Faye.”

Heavy body turned, left leg raised.  The sole of a wider foot pressed against Carol’s elegance. 

Without being told, the older woman pulled up the hem of her shift, exposing muscular thighs and a thick bush of grey wiry hair.

Brad laughed.  “No panties.  You were ready.”

“Yes.”  Voice lust thickened.

“And you would have agree to anything?”

“Almost.”

He kept them sitting there a few moments, withholding a treat from a pet.   Both pairs of eyes were fixed upon the other’s slit.  One pair hungrily; one pair curiously.

“All right:  she’s yours”

With alacrity, Faye pulled her shift over her head, exposing small flat breasts with small hard nipples.   Did the shape of her body form her sexual predilections, or did her lesbianism form her body?, Brad wondered. 

Faye leaned forward and covered Carol.  They both gasped at the contact of hot flesh.  Her face hesitated a few inches above Carol’s, eyes searching, seeking, fleetingly pleading, before lowering, lips meeting in a sweet kiss. 

Faye broke the kiss and breathed,  “Like all the men in this building, I’ve wanted and fantasized about you for so long.  I won’t always be this gentle.”

“Good.” 

“Good?”

Carol nodded

Hands wrapped in Carol’s hair and lips met again.  Mouths opened, tongues touched. 

Strong hands moved.  Carol’s head fell back.  Her lips still parted.  Fingers cupped full breasts, squeezed, teased nipples.  “So beautiful.” 

Small pink diamond hard nipples above larger dark ones.   Breasts melded.  Flattened.  Carol moaned.

Tongue tip traced a line down to Carol’s navel, probed, moved lower.

Faye sat back on her heels, separating their bodies, kneeling on the sofa between Carol’s widely splayed legs.  Carol’s right foot was  still on the sofa back; left on the floor.

“You haven’t had a cock in there today, have you?”

“No.”

“When last?”

“I’m not sure.  Two weeks ago, maybe.”

“You’re to tell me if you have.  I don’t want to stick my tongue up there someday and taste come.”

She flicked Carol’s clit with her forefinger, and the younger woman winced.

Forefinger turned and caressed, parted folds, entered, moved deeper, withdrew, was joined by a second finger as Faye bent forward and laid her tongue against Carol’s clit.

Tongue and fingers began their rhythm.  Carol’s arms were above her head on the sofa arm.  Her head was back.  Throat stretched taut.  Eyes closed.  She had last come fucking herself with the dildo on Brad’s desk several days ago.   This felt so good.  Faye’s lips had been so soft against hers.  So different from a man’s.  And the way she licked and stroked. 

As the pleasure mounted and her breathing quickened and small sounds began to come from her throat, she turned her face toward Brad and opened her eyes, watching him watching her.  Pleased that he was watching her.

Her hips began to move, thrusting up against mouth and fingers, until with a great shudder, she came.

Faye’s face was covered with Carol’s juices.  She licked her lips, leaned back, and spread her knees.

Carol knew what was expected of her. 

Rearranging her legs, she moved her body above the older woman’s, kissed Faye’s mouth, licked her wet cheeks,  stroked her nipples.

“Squeeze.”

Thumbs and forefingers pressed.

“Ahh.   That’s good.  Harder.”  Then again, “Harder.”  Pink flesh was compressed white, bloodless, before, “Enough.”

Hands pushed her head down. 

Carol had never tasted another woman, but she had tasted herself on fingers and cocks.  This was not much different.  Less than the difference in taste among cocks and come.

After Carol released her nipples, Faye remained silent.  But as Carol licked, those muscular thighs closed and clamped her head.  Broad feet and thick ankles locked behind her neck.  Wiry hair caught in her teeth.  Then suddenly released.  Carol was not even sure the woman had come, until a foot pushed her away.

“No more.”

“My turn now, ladies.”  He didn’t want to give them time to recover.

Brad was naked.  When, both women wondered, had that happened?

“Knell on the floor, facing one another, a foot or so apart.”

“That’s good.” 

He stood between them.  His cock pointing toward Carol.  She opened her mouth and sucked him in.  A few seconds passed before he felt warm breath against his ass.  Lips kissed his right cheek, moved slowly toward the center.  Another pause, while Carol’s head continued bobbing.  Hands spread his ass.  A nose bumped.  A tentative tongue.  He reached back with his right hand and forced the face forward.  “Deeper.”  And two tongues and mouths obeyed.

For several minutes he stood savoring the sensations and the women’s servitude, before extracting his cock from Carol Edwards’ mouth and turning around. 

Immediately he felt Carol’s tongue licking his anus. 

His cock was in Faye’s face, the glistening tip an inch from her nose.  Her brown eyes looked up at him.  He looked down inscrutably.  They both listened to Carol slurping.  Finally Faye tilted her head forward, closed the gap, and took him in her mouth.

Brad let her suck on him for a minute.  That was enough.  He wondered what she would do if he came?  But he didn’t really want her.  He would not have cared if she hadn’t taken his cock.  He had simply been curious.  He turned again and gave Carol his come.

…

Tongues, lips, breasts, fingers, legs, cunts, ass, a cock; but the evening, he thought as he drove home, was really about the eyes.

  

13

The alarm went off at 5:00 a.m., an hour earlier than it used to.

Carol Edwards rolled naked from her bed and stumbled into the bathroom, where she came awake beneath a brief shower, careful to keep her hair dry.

She gargled with Listerine and brushed her teeth, applied lipstick, ran a comb through her hair, before returning to the bedroom and donning flat sandals and a sleeveless dress with seven big wood buttons up the front.  She never ran into anyone in the hallways at this hour--and besides everyone in the building must know by now--so to save time she only secured the second and fifth buttons, before leaving her unit and taking the stairs down to the third floor.  Today was David in 3N, Vern in 3E, and Faye.

From a key ring that rivaled the maintenance man’s, she selected 3N and unlocked David’s door.  Leaving keys, dress and sandals in the living room, she walked naked to the back of the unit.

David had a prescribed ritual.

He was lying on his back, pretending to be asleep; but as she pulled down the covers the tent in his pajama bottoms proved that he was not. He kept his eyes closed and made no sound as she freed his cock and took it in her mouth.  She didn’t suck to get him harder, but to cover him with lubricating saliva to make it easier for herself. 

When she thought he was wet enough, she straddled him, facing his feet.   Licking her fingers, she reached back and opened her anus before slowly lowering onto his cock. 

With such constant repetition, anal sex had become easier for her.  She liked the fullness of a cock in her, and in the absence of one in her orphaned pussy, sodomy would have to do.  She had never quite had an anal orgasm, but she thought that someday she might.

David continued to feign sleep as she raised and lowered her hips. 

In the dark room she could just distinguish his long pale feet. 

She did not look back, but sensed that his eyes were open, watching his shaft being alternating buried and revealed. 

He came soundlessly.

She wasn’t always sure, but this morning his cock definitely pulsed and she was instantly wetter.

Lifting.  Plopping sound as he came free.  Carol turned.  Lowered her head and sucked him clean, before tucking his cock back in his pajamas, and leaving the old man, still pretending to sleep.

…

Vern, a plain looking, middle aged high school physics teacher, was waiting for her, sitting in his living room wearing a bathrobe and sipping a cup of coffee.

Carol felt sorry for shy Vern, whom she had never known to have a girl friend.   She was in fact performing a public service, a chartable act.

He smiled at her almost apologetically and said, “Hi.”

“Hi, Vern.”

“Want some coffee?”

“I’d love some, but,” she shrugged,  “no time.”

“Someone else next?”  Disappointed at the lost illusion.

“You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“You don’t kiss at all.”

In reply she let her dress fall open, and he drew in his breath.

“What today?”  Carol asked.

A cushion dropped to the hardwood floor, and she dropped to her knees.

Vern always came quickly and copiously.  His come was unusually thick, as though accumulated and concentrated for years.  Carol had trouble swallowing it all, but she did, wiped her lips with the back of her hand.  And gave him a quick kiss on the top of his bald head, before leaving him to finish his coffee.

…

Faye was more demanding and complicated, but this morning she was still in bed as Carol Edwards made her way to the back of yet another condo unit.

A lamp flicked on in the master bedroom ahead of her.  Faye slept in sheer black negligees which didn’t seem in character.

She was sitting up in bed.  The hard angles of her body incongruous beneath black film.

“Have they used both your holes?”

“Yes.”

“Come over here.  Let me smell your breath….Turn around.”  Hard hands spread her ass.  “You are a disgusting slut. Lick my cunt and get out.”

…

Fifteen minutes later Carol Edwards was back in her own unit, taking her second shower of the day.  In all likelihood it would not be her last.

14

Brad Tomalin left the office late that evening.  On the elevator on the way down to his car he glanced at his watch:  8:30.

As he exited the parking garage and regained a cell phone signal, he said, “Call, Carol.”

“Hello.”

“I’ll be there in about ten minutes.  Get on the floor naked with your ass toward the door, knees apart, head down, so that the first thing I see when I come through the door is your cunt and asshole.  And leave the door unlocked.  I want you aware that anyone could come in.”

…

She heard the door open.  Then silence.  Then, “Very nice.”

Footsteps sharp on the hardwood floor, softened as they reached the carpet.  Brown tasseled loafers, light tan suit trousers seen from the corner of her eyes circled her, stepped back from view.  A shoed foot touched the inside of her right thigh.  “Wider.   Good.  That’s better.”  Footsteps moved away to the side.  “Stretch your arms out as far as you can.  Hands palm down on the carpet.  Very good.”  Footsteps behind her again.  “Reach back and spread your ass.  Hmm.  Both are good, I’m not sure which I prefer.”

Footsteps on hardwood.  A cabinet opened.  Bottle clicked against glass.  Liquid poured.  Footsteps returned.  A body compressed cushions.  Liquid sipped.  Swallowed.  Glass against glass end table.  She could not see him, but she could see him in her mind.  She could see herself in her mind, kneeling submissively, spread open, waiting.  A powerfully erotic tableau.

For several minutes motionless silence, broken only by a glass being lifted and set down.

Finally, “I didn’t plan this.  Just an impulse when I called.  But I like it.  Every evening you are here alone I want you in that exact position exactly at 8:30.  With your door unlocked.  Leave your door unlocked all the time from now on.  If no one comes through the door by 9:00 p.m. you can get up.  I’ll enjoy knowing you are kneeling here waiting.  It will remind you of your subservience.”

“As if that is necessary,” she mumbled into the carpet.

He laughed, finished his drink, fucked her in the ass, and left without another word.

Joints stiff from having been on her knees for so long, Carol got to her feet awkwardly.  Feeling come start to trickle from her ass, she put her hand between her legs to keep it from dropping onto the carpet, and hobbled back to the guest bathroom, which was closest.

Removing her hand in front of the sink, she watched her reflection as if watching a stranger as the hand which she had intended to rinse, rose to the stranger’s mouth which licked the fingers clean.

…

The unlocked door.  Lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, her mind was fixated on the unlocked door at the other end of the condo.  How far away was it?  Thirty steps?  More?  Less?

She had to know and got out of bed and paced the distance.  Eight steps from bed to bedroom door.  Fifteen steps along the corridor to the corner of the living room.  Six steps from the corner to the door.  Twenty-nine.  She had been close.

She stood by the door irresolutely.  In the moonlit room, she could see the latch on the dead bolt to the right, and the lever on the door knob horizontal.  Only a second to turn the lever vertical and the latch left.  She opened the unlocked door a few inches.  Closed it.  Walked back to her bed, counting the steps again along the way.

Again she tried to sleep. 

This was a safe neighborhood.  The main entrance door to the building was locked.  Brad already had a key to her unit and could enter it, or let anyone he chose enter it, at any time.  Having her own door unlocked really didn’t make any difference.  But it did.  As she lay there naked beneath the sheets, she felt decidedly more exposed and vulnerable.  She should have timed it.  Someone, anyone, could be on her in seconds.

…

Brad did not call her to his office the following noon.

At 8:28 that evening, Carol Edwards turned off the television, removed her shorts and t-shirt, folded them neatly, and knelt on the carpet.  She removed her wristwatch, a Cartier gift from Ross on their fifth wedding anniversary, and placed it near where her face would be.  Stretching out her arms caused her nipples to brush against the carpet.  Palms down, she slid her knees farther apart, closed her eyes, and waited.

The position turned her on.  She knew Brad was picturing her this way.  She knew what anyone would see as they opened the door.  And anyone could open the door.  Would Brad come?  Would he send someone else.  Or more than one someone?  Would Ravi or Faye or other neighbors knock and try the handle?  Her cunt tingled, although she knew it would not likely be used. 

A sound.  Her body tensed.  The door opened.  She strained to hear footsteps, but there were none.  The door closed again.

When the hands of her watch reached 9:00, she struggled to her feet and poured herself a big glass of red wine.

15

To:  redwards2010@gmail

From:  the office of Brad Tomalin

Subject:  at 8:30 every evening

www.rossedwardswife.net

password:  carollost

The terminator--not Arnold, but the line separating day from night--does not move across the surface of the planet, it only seems to.  Ross Edwards always remembered  reading a poem in long ago days before business came to dominate his life that suggested Copernicus may not have done mankind a kindness when he proved that the sun does not revolve around us.  For that matter Ross thought that while scientifically right, the Polish astronomer was emotionally wrong.  Each of us is the center of our own universe and everyone else, everything else revolves around us.

Singapore had spun past the terminator and into darkness when he received the email in his apartment.  Although he assumed that the subject line referred to California time, he clicked on the link, typed in the distressingly accurate password, and a window opened onto an empty room of long shadows and the low light near the other terminator 9,000 miles to the east.  His room.  His and Carol’s room.  The living room of their condo in San Diego.

The view was from a high angle near the doorway.   Perhaps above it.   All of the living room was visible as was part of the dining area.  He was startled by the sound of a door opening.  The top of Carol’s head appeared, then her back disappearing around the corner to the corridor to the bedrooms.  At this time of the morning, she could only be returning from her early rounds, about which Brad had considerately informed him.  Ross wondered which of the neighbors she had just done.

He left the computer on, but the picture remained unchanged for almost an hour, before Carol reappeared for a few seconds, dressed for work, walking toward the door.  Briefly  she glanced up at the webcam before going out.

…

Ross checked the link several times the next morning.  The live feed remained unchanged.

He tried to concentrate on his work, and even got a little done, before giving up and leaving the office at 10:00 a.m.

At 11:00 a.m. Singapore time. he was sitting naked in his living room, curtains drawn, idly stroking his cock, stopping from time to time to sip a gin and tonic--no longer did he wait until sunset for his first drink--while watching his other living room, which was empty but brightly illuminated.  Not just the end table lamps, but all the recessed ceiling lights were on.

The room brought back memories.  Good memories.  They had made love there.  They had been happy there.  Or at least he thought they had been happy there.  Would all this, or something like it, have happened anyway, even if he hadn’t followed his career to Singapore?  He was beginning to think that it would have.  That he was not at fault.  That this, or the potential for it, must always have been buried within Carol, waiting to be unlocked.  Although perhaps if he had stayed, the key would never have been found and turned.

At 11:28 Carol appeared from the left.  Naked.  She was breathtaking.    Literally.  The picture was sharp and clear.  Ross felt as though he were there with her.  That he could reach out and touch her.  For a moment all the anger and humiliating pain disappeared, and he so desperately wanted to touch her, to make love to her, to go back to the happier time before any of this had occurred.

Carol walked toward the camera and looked up and said, expressionlessly, “If you are watching, Ross, I’m to tell you that the door is unlocked.  The door is always unlocked.”

Ross felt as though he were trapped behind a one-way mirror in a soundproof room, he cried out, “Carol!.”  But of course she could not hear and turned away. 

Ross noticed that the floor to ceiling curtain to the balcony was pulled to the side.  He did not need to be told that was Brad’s idea.  People in several buildings father along the crest could see in.  He wondered if any others were watching on the Internet.

She moved from the camera, from him, hips shifting, muscles flexing beneath tanned skin, her back and shoulders, Carol’s body, his wife’s body. 

She stopped, went to her knees, spread her thighs apart, lowered her head to the carpet, stretched out her arms full length.   Light reflected off the wedding ring on her left hand.

The camera and Ross were looking directly between her legs.   His eyes focused on her cunt, then her anus, then her cunt again.  Back and forth.  Eyes and his hand on his cock.  He so wanted to be sinking his cock into her. 

For fourteen minutes, Carol knelt obediently.  For fourteen minutes Ross stroked his cock slowly and sipped his drink.  Both waiting for they knew not what.  Both starting at the sound of the door.

A head appeared at the bottom of Ross’s screen, baseball cap with the bill to the back.  Another.  Then a knit skull cap.  And a feathered Fedora.

“Will you look at that?”

“How not, my man?”

“Girl better than her pic.”

“I told you, bro.”

Four young black men, three in baggy jeans, unlaced boots, untucked oversize shirts to their knees, one in vested pimp suit, appeared on the screen.

“Shut the door, man.  Don’t lock it.  Man said not to lock it.”

They surrounded Carol, looking down.  Through the blond veil of hair that had fallen forward and concealed her face, she saw three pairs of boots and one pair of extremely pointy black patent shoes.

“You been waiting for us girl?  You prayers been answered.  We is here.”

“And we is going to give you a fine time.”

“The time a you sweet life.”

“Man says you like be ridden hard.  We hard riders.”

“That one fine ass.”

Ross watched the suit move, and Carol felt a shoe tip slide up her thigh, then start to push into her cunt.

“Not the cunt, bro.  We can’t use the cunt’s cunt.  We do that we never get to come back.”

She involuntarily flinched as the shoe tip touched her anus.

Black laughter.

“Wooo.  Bitch don’t want you shoe up her ass.”

“Lift up.  Let’s see yo tits and face.”

“Oh, my.”

“You a babe.  How cum you do this?  Kneel here and let strangers come in and fuck you?”

“Who cares, how come, man?  Lez jus do it.”

A long black cock leapt out and slapped Carol in the face.  She opened her mouth.  It plunged in.

Clothes fell.  Three of the black men were soon naked.  One looked to be a mere boy.  Maybe only sixteen.  The others weren’t much older.

Hands everywhere.  Squeezing breasts.  In her hair.  On her ass.  A painful finger buried itself knuckle deep in her ass.  Rotated.  Withdrew.  “Bitch’s clean.”   Hand slap cracked.  “Good bitch.

Pimp suit remained fully dressed.  He never even removed his hat.  Just unzipped and pulled out his cock.

Carol Edwards had discovered that she liked being manhandled.  Lifted.  Pulled.  Turned.  Forced.  Cock after cock in her mouth.  Thrusting for her throat.  Gagging.  Head bobbing.  Spinning.  Dizzy from lack of air.  Almost passing out.  Sensations multiplying.  A cock up her ass.  Mouth.  Ass.  Mouth.  Ass.  Pain from nipple twisted.  “Fuck back, ho.  Take it up.  Bury that black bone in you white ho ass.”

Thousands of miles to the west, Ross was about to come.  He didn’t want to yet.  Unwound his fingers from his cock.  But it was too late.  A fountain of come spurted up and fell back onto his belly.

Carol Edwards was on her hands and knees.  Pimp suit was behind her.  One of the others on his back on the floor in front of her.   All off the carpet.  Hardwood brutal against knees.

“Take it all, girl.  Man said you deep throat.  Eat all that nigger cock.” 

Buried too deep to taste, she gagged on the spasms as come slid down her throat.

Flipped onto her back.  “Floor be killin me.”  Dragged onto the carpet again.  Carpet burning her back.  Over to the sofa.  Black hands on tanned legs.  Lifted the lower half of her body vertical.  Propped her against the sofa upside down.   Ass in the air.  Head on carpet.  Ankles pulled apart and down.  Pile-driving black cock after cock in her ass.  Fingers circled her throat and squeezed.  The men who used her are doing this more frequently, Carol thought.  Faye too.  Brad must tell them to.  Suffocating.  About to black out.  Cock pounding in and out her ass.  Instinctive struggle.  Can’t breath.  Cock filling her bowels with come.  Fingers releasing.  Gasping in air.  Blocked by meat pushing apart her lips.  New meat shoving up her ass.  Teeth biting nipple.  Sensations blurring.   Her mouth tasted come.   Deflating cock slipped out.  A black big toe entered.  She licked and sucked it.

Ross was again jerking his cock frantically.  Seeing stills.  Hearing audios.  Even videos.  Knowing it was happening and imagining. Was nothing like this.  This was happening now.  This very instant. The camera angle didn’t change.  He couldn’t see everything.  Bodies got in the way.  But he could see enough.  These black bastards were fucking the shit out of his wife.  Well, not literally.  One of them had said she was clean.  He could feel their cocks in her.  He wanted it to be him.  What?  He wanted to feel their cocks in him?  He remembered how big the dildo felt in his ass.  How it hurt.  How hard he had come.  Or he wanted to be them and feel his cock in her?  It was all confused.  His cock flooded again.

A lull.  The four men had come twice each.  Two sprawled on the sofa.  Pimp suit lolled in a brushed steel and coffee brown leather chair.  The fourth lay on the floor, beside Carol, whose face down, shuddering body he had just rolled off of.   

“You one fine fuck, lady.”

“Should buy the ho from the man.  Put her on the street.  Make a fortune.”

Carol Edwards heard them, and her insane flesh responded to the  thought of being a street whore.  She wondered if Brad would do it.  If she would let herself be sold?  If she could prevent it?  For that matter it wouldn’t be much different.  Anyone could have her now.  She didn’t choose.  And if she were whoring, some of them would use her cunt.  She’d get to come more.  She already took cock from dawn to night.  And she ate cunt. They just didn’t have to pay.  And, she reminded herself, they were clean.  At least she assumed Brad still was certain they were clean.  For himself, if not for her.

“Floor too fucking hard, man.  Bedroom back there?”

“Yes,” she croaked.

“Lez go.”

The youngest looked at his watch.  “I gotta go.  Had enouff.  For now, anyway, you sweet thing.  But I be back.”

“Me too.  School tomorrow.  I home much later, my momma kill me.”

They started to gather their clothes.

“Well I ain’t.” 

“Me neither.” 

Pimp suit pulled Carol Edwards up by her hair and led her off screen, stooped over, breasts swaying, followed by the one black man still naked, who reminded the other two, “Doan lock the door on you way out.”

For over an hour Ross Edwards watched his computer screen.  A few sounds carried.  He couldn’t be certain what they were.  A man coming?  Slaps?  Flesh against flesh?  A scream of pain or pleasure?

Finally he shut down.

He had left the computer once to take a piss and another time to mix a new drink.  Perhaps they had left then and he had missed them.  Perhaps they were spending the night.

16

Ross Edwards began to hate business lunches. 

He couldn’t avoid them.  They went with the job.  Lunches with staff, with suppliers, lawyers, bankers, customers, prospects, investors, partners.  

His mind was never fully there.  He set the computer to record the live feed to hard drive; but it wasn’t the same.   Viewing the recording later in his office, or sometimes not until that evening back in his apartment, of what had already occurred lacked the intense immediacy of knowing that what he was seeing was happening at that very instant.

The only advantage of being in his apartment was that he could get completely naked and shove the black dildo up his ass while he masturbated.  He shared that with her:  full asses.  His with dildo; hers with strange cocks. 

He had never been attracted to men.  Had never thought of himself as gay or bi.  He didn’t now.  And he would never let Carol or Brad know what they were doing to him.  He would never even give them the satisfaction of knowing he was watching.   But they knew.

...

There was no pattern.  Brad Tomalin saw to that.

Sometimes Ross would watch Carol kneel submissively for two or three nights in a row for the prescribed half hour and no one else appeared.  This was almost worse.  Tension building and building.

And sometimes men would be there night after night.  Sometimes the same man or men for several successive nights. 

For Carol it was better when they were.  Just kneeling, waiting, she could sense her husband’s eyes on her.  She could actually feel the heat of his gaze, though she knew that was not possible.  The heat came from her own flushed flesh. 

We all act differently when we know we are observed, and while she could never be certain, she always assumed she was being observed.  The position was servile and shameless.  As was she.  She felt no shame.  She was eager for the men to come because once they did, she lost herself in the things they did to her and made her do for them.

Ross saw that, saw her face change as she was used--when he could see her face.  Her  features soften, her eyes glaze with lust, even roll back.  Sometimes they made her beg for it; sometimes she begged anyway.

The camera, he decided, must be hidden.  The men never seemed aware of it.  Only Carol and, of course, Brad Tomalin.  And possibly Faye, but about her Ross was not certain.

Faye had appeared twice.

When her close cropped gray head had first moved across the screen, Ross had thought it was a man.  Wearing jeans and a long sleeved shirt, from the back she looked like a man as she walked toward Carol.  Only when she spoke, almost regretfully, did he realize his mistake.

“I wish you didn’t do this.  I could…”  Faye stopped and after a moment reached down and caressed the bare back.  “Get up.”

As Carol straightened up, Faye took her hand and helped her to her feet.  The same height.  Eye to eye.  Faye put her arms around Carol and kissed her.  A long kiss.  Voluptuous naked flesh pressed against hard clothed body.

When the kiss finally ended, Faye led Carol to the sofa.  “On your back.”

Carol lay down.

“Your head at this end.”  It was the end toward the camera.

Her back to the camera, Faye undressed.

Ross had never even seen her in a bathing suit.  Her body dropped straight from the shoulders.  No waist.  No hips.

. 

As she climbed onto the sofa into a 69 position, swinging her left leg over Carol’s head, he had a glimpse of her angular chest.

Flat ass descended onto Carol’s face.  “Lick it.  Lick it all.”  Ross saw his wife’s pink tongue extend, disappear between folds.  Faye sighed and ground back and forth.  “Oh.  Yes.  Like that.  Now back.  No.  My ass.  That’s good.  Very good.  Yes.  My cunt.  Yes.  Yes.”

Her own head fell forward between Carol’s parted thighs. 

In seconds, Carol had stopped licking.  Her head arched back.  Face upside down to the camera.  “Please.  Don’t stop.  Please.  I need to come so much.  I love it.  I love it.  Please.  Oh, God.  Oh, God.  Please.  Pleaaaughhh!”

Faye waited for Carol’s convulsions to end before saying almost gently, “Now finish me.”

And Ross Edwards watched his wife make love to another woman.  It was, he thought, making love.  Or more like it than anything else he had seen happen in that room.

…

Five nights later Faye appeared again.  This time Ross recognized her immediately.

She was dressed in jeans, man’s shirt, and boots, and was carrying a plastic bag from which she removed a 10” flesh colored strap on.

Not undressing, she stepped into the straps, pulled them up over her jeans, knelt behind Carol’s upraised hips, spit on her hand, rubbed the spit on the end of the artificial penis and brutally shoved it up that beautiful ass.

Carol screamed.  Ross saw her outstretched fingers clench into fists.  But she remained in position as Fay fucked her like a metronome for ten minutes, pulled out, stood up, put the strap on back in its bag and leave wordlessly

Carol knelt sobbing for another minute or two, before getting to her feet and, face averted, disappeared off screen.

…

Brad Tomalin played to his audience.  Although he never looked directly at the camera or spoke to Ross, they all knew.

The first night the hated figure appeared on the screen, Brad went and sat in the stainless and leather chair fully dressed, and ordered Carol to suck him off.  Is this all? Ross wondered.  But as he watched his wife’s bobbing head he realized:  it was a recreation of the image in that very first devastating email.

…

Another night.

Brad entered and stripped.  He was justly proud of his strong body.  Without acknowledging the camera he presented himself from the best angles.  He does have a good cock, Ross thought; but then, feeling what was in his hand, so do I.

Brad turned Carol around, so that she was facing the camera.

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you want.”

“What are you?”

“Whatever you want me to be.”

“My slut?”

“Your slut.”

“My whore?”

“Your whore.”

“My slave?”

“Your slave.”

“My cum bucket?”

“Your cum bucket.”


“Piss mop?”

‘Your piss mop.”

(What? thought Ross)

“And what will you do?”

“Anything.  Everything”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Fuck anybody and anything? ...   Are you hesitating?”

“No.  Yes.”

“Which is it?”

“No.”

“Then  you’ll suffer for me?”

“I already do.”

“Give me your pain?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll fuck anybody and anything?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck a dog?”

“Don’t make me do that.  Please.”

“Fuck a dog?”

Finally, “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I’ll fuck a dog.”

(No, thought Ross.  She couldn’t.)

On screen, Carol grunted as Brad entered her.  From the angle Ross couldn’t tell where, but he assumed her ass as usual.

Brad reached forward and pulled Carol’s head back by her hair, holding her face directly toward the camera. 

His hands dropped, fingers fish-hooked her mouth, stretching it into a painfully wide grimace, from which droll streamed.

…

Another night.

Brad Tomalin stood naked in front of the rosewood coffee table sideways to the camera, cock jutting proudly.  Carol Edwards knelt behind him.  Her face buried in his ass.  Her breasts rubbed the backs of his thighs.  Her tongue busy.  When he told her, “Start stroking my cock,”  her right hand reached around and began a rhythm  that was matched by her tongue and Ross’s hand 9,000 miles away.

Brad came without a sound.  Ross was noisier.  Brad’s come arched out and fell onto rosewood.  Ross’s on his fingers and belly.

“Lick it up,” Brad ordered.

Ross watched his wife lower her head.  Brad reached down and pulled her hair to the side so the camera could see her red lips suck goo from wood. 

Ross brought his fingers to his mouth.

…

Another night.

Obviously Brad gave Carol instructions in advance.  Probably while he does her in his office at lunch, Ross thought.  Because some nights instead of leaving her arms stretched out servilely, at the sound of the door opening Carol reached back with both hands and spread her ass cheeks wide.

She had done so this night, and held herself open as Brad stripped off his clothes and fucked her ass where she knelt, forcing a grunt from her on each inward thrust. 

Repeatedly he pulled out all the way, smiled down at the gaping O clearly visible to the camera, before slamming in to the hilt again.

…

Another night.

There was something odd about Carol when she came into view:  she had a tail. 

When she knelt, Ross saw that the two foot long tail of straight black hair sprouted from a red butt plug.

A few minutes later Brad entered accompanied by two men Ross had never seen before.  Seeing Carol, they all laughed.

“I told you.  A well trained pet.”

“Not to mention beautiful,” said one of the strangers.

“And accommodating,” continued Brad.

“Stand up.  Turn around.  Your back toward us.”  Which was also toward the camera.  “Wiggle it.”

Between shoulders, Ross saw Carol awkwardly wiggle her hips.   Her tail swung side to side.

“Good dog.  Come along and you can fetch bones.” 

Brad took her by the upper arm, like a police officer escorting a prisoner, and they all disappeared from view.

…

Another night.

Brad entered, walked past Carol to the sofa.  “Crawl over here.”

She did.

“Arms out.  Put your hands on either side of the leg.” 

He took a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and snapped them on her wrists, gave her ass a resounding slap, and left.

The sofa leg was a 3” square and 1” high block of wood.  Carol could never get leverage to lift the sofa and free herself.  She was trapped.  At the unlikely mercy of anyone who came through the door.  But no one did.

Ross watched the hand print on her ass become redder, then he had to go to a meeting.

He looked in from time to time and found his wife sleeping on the floor.

…

Another night.

A woman’s voice, laughing.

“You were serious.”

“Of course.  Why would I lie?”

Ross saw Brad Tomalin and a black haired woman enter the screen.  Her white sheath dress left tanned shoulders bare and stopped mid-thigh.  They were lovely shoulders.  They were lovely thighs.  And calves.  And ankles above white high heels.  And when she turned, her face was lovely, too.  If she wasn’t quite as beautiful as Carol, she was close.

“And she kneels here every evening, waiting for whoever comes along?”

“Tell her.”

Without turning her nose-down-in-the-carpet face, Carol Edwards said, “Yes.”

“What a slut.  Can I have her one night.  Me and my girl friends?”

“Why not?”

Carol had not been told to move, so she didn’t, remaining kneeling, arms stretched forward this evening, while they undressed.

Ross saw that the woman’s breasts were smaller than Carol’s, but high and firm and perfectly formed.  Her hard nipples were smaller, too, but then most women’s were.

Carol heard the sounds and Ross watched fascinated as the black haired woman went to her knees and began sucking on Brad.

After a few minutes, he pushed her onto her back so close that when she opened her knees, one pressed against Carol’s thigh.

Now Carol could see from the corner of her eye.  Brad kissed the dark haired woman’s mouth, nipples, thighs.  She made small sounds of pleasure.  Knee dug into Carol’s thigh as Brad licked the woman’s cunt, bringing her higher and higher, giving her the orgasm he denied Carol.  Is there no end to the ways the man invents  to torture me, she thought as the woman noisily came.

Brad gave the black haired woman a moment, before rolling her over and pulling her to her knees.  Two beautiful women in identical poses.    Bodies melding together.  Forearms touching, shoulders, hips, thighs, legs, the sides of their feet.

An intake of breath from the woman as Brad entered her.

“Turn your face so I can see you,” she told Carol.

She reached over and brushed away blond hair.  “You are beautiful.”

“So are you.”

Only inches separated their faces.   Carol could feel the heat of the other’s breath.  Feel the jolt of Brad’s thrusts into her body.  The woman squeezed her eyes closed.  “Fuck me.  Fuck me.”  Yet to Carol it was almost as though Brad were fucking her through the other woman’s flesh. 

Ross could not believe what he was watching.  He had never seen anything so erotic.

“I’m coming.”  The woman screamed.  “I’m coming.”

“So,” grunted Brad, who never made much noise during sex, so Carol assumed this was for her benefit.  “So am I.” 

The dark haired beauty collapsed forward.

Brad reached over and pulled Carol Edwards head to his cock.

“Clean it.”

Because of the orgasm, she had thought he had been in the woman’s cunt, but the cock tasted of ass. 

The woman sat up.  “I’m famished.  Ready for dinner?”

They dressed and left Carol sitting on the floor.  Naked.  Empty.  Alone.

…

A few evenings the living room remained empty, and Ross wondered where Carol was and what was happening to her.

Ross watched with increasing horror as she reappeared after one such absence, shuffling like an old woman, her body revealing as it came into focus massive bruises on back and breasts, ass and thighs.  Not inadvertent bruises such as those following the first gangbang, but severe bruises of deliberate torture. 

Carol groaned with pain as she eased slowly into position.

Her ass to the camera was crisscrossed by welts.

17

“Are you starting to pay me now?”  Carol Edwards had asked four days earlier.

She was on the floor of Brad Tomalin’s office, on her side, her head propped up on her right elbow.

“No,” said Brad, as he placed five one hundred dollar bills on his desk.  “These are for a new dress.”

Carol sat upright and looked at him quizzically.

“I’m giving you to a man Friday night.  A car will pick you up at 8.  He likes to tear the clothes off women, and fuck them while they’re crying.  I know you can afford it, but I think he should pay for the one-wear dress.  Buy something stylish.  Something similar to what you were wearing to that charity thing the night we met would be good.  He likes to rape ladies, not tramps.  And although we both know what you are,” and he made an encompassing gesture toward where she sat naked in midday, with a drop of come in the corner of her mouth, “you can still pass.”

“He is going to hurt me?”

“Yes.  Yes he is.  Quite severely, I expect.”

“For how long?”

Brad laughed.  “Until he lets you go.  His car will return you home.

“Wear lingerie:  bra, panties, garter belt, nylons.   Lacy, sexy, elegant not trampy.  More for him to rip off.

“And there are other instructions…”

…

“Open your mouth.”

Though spoken conversationally, the words knifed through the illusion that they were two normal people having evening cocktails.

Upon her arrival a half hour earlier, he had introduced himself as, “Ooni,” but it hadn’t been necessary. 

“I know who you are.  Oblivion’s drummer.  I saw you perform live at the old Jack Murphy stadium when I was a teenager.”

He was pleased.  A good start.  She didn’t want him angry with her.

Oblivion was a rock group that made lifetimes of money in a few years in the early 90s before breaking up.  She seemed to remember that he was from Sweden or Finland.  Somewhere in Scandinavia.  His English, though, was American.

For a while he was a model host, showing her into the spacious living room in the California Mission style house, overlooking a wide lawn sloping gradually to a stand of tall Eucalyptus trees on a hill north of San Diego and inland from Del Mar; asking politely what she would like to drink; mixing and pouring her martini, placing it on a coaster on the end table beside a two piece right-angled sectional; pouring himself a glass of champagne; taking a seat at the far end of the other piece of the sectional; complimenting her on how beautiful she looked, and on her dress; and carrying on the usual meaningless cocktail conversation about weather, climate change which could only have deleterious effects San Diego’s already perfect climate, recent movies, a book he was reading in which Rebecca West wrote that conversation is an illusion because there really are only intersecting monologues.  They both laughed.

Carol’s dress was of flowing blue and green silk, cut high front and back and reaching to just above her knees.  She had chosen it for  style and because she thought it would tear easily.  Never before had that been a consideration.  Just to be safe, she had made a tiny cut in the neckline with fingernail scissors.  Carol liked the dress and was sorry she’d never get to wear it again.

During the seemingly interminable inconsequential chit-chat, she tried to keep her eyes on Ooni, but they were continually drawn to objects on a old dark wood serving table behind him.

Hastily she swallowed the sip of martini she had just taken and opened her mouth.

“Run your tongue over your lips.  Slowly.  Top.  Bottom.   Make them glisten.  Good.”

Carol felt herself trembling.  A muscle in her flat abdomen twitched.

“Now tell me all the ways that mouth can bring me pleasure.”

“I can kiss you.”

Silence.

“And I can lick you.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere you want.  And I can suck you.”

Silence stretched.

“And...And I can talk to you.”

“Is that all?”

“All I can think of.”

“What about scream?   Don’t you think it would bring me pleasure to hear you scream?”

“Y..yes.”

“And beg?  Plead for mercy.  Beg me to stop.  Beg me to let you come?  Which, by the way, Brad says I can if I chose.”

“Yes.”

“You look like a lady, but you are just another slut, aren’t you?  Opening your mouth when a man you’ve just met tells you to.  You’re not just another slut, you are the biggest slut of all.”  Words were coming faster, piling on top of one another, and his voice rising.  Abruptly that ended, and conversational again, “Did you know my wife left me?”

“No.  Recently?”

“A long time ago.”  As he spoke he seemed to forget about Carol Edwards and be looking within himself.  “For another musician.  Another drummer even.  And not as big a band.  He sells insurance now.  They have a couple of kids.”  And then he came back to the present.  “You’re wearing a ring.”

Carol nodded.

“So where’s your husband?”

“Asia.”

“A big place, Asia.  We toured there twice.  Where in Asia?”

“At the moment Bangalore, India.  I think.”

“You think?”

“I don’t...We don’t...I don’t hear from him everyday.”

“Does he know where you are?”

“You mean here in your house?  I didn’t know until I got here.”

“I mean generally.  He knows you are with other men?  That you fuck them and do anything they want, no matter how vile?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know that you voluntarily came to a man who is going to make you scream?”

“I...I think so.”

“Again, ‘think.’ “

“I think Brad emailed him.”

“And what does your husband think of all this?”

“He thinks I’m crazy.”

“And what do you think?”

“He may be right.”

Ooni laughed.

“Do you think he would like to hear you scream?”

“I don’t know...Probably.  I’ve hurt him.”  Immediately she realized that was the wrong thing to say.

This laugh from Ooni was more troubling.

“I’ll punish you for him.  I’ll make you scream for him.  For us all.  I’ll beat you like a drum.”

He smiled and went on matter-of-factly.

“An old expression, but I’ve found it true.  The best drum is a woman’s body.  Don’t know about men.  Might be the same.  Probably is.

“But a woman’s body is great.  Different sounds from different parts.  Ass, breasts, back, legs, soles of feet.  All different sounds.  Call for different strokes, different rhythms.  And the cries and screams and begging are the lyrics.  The body is the drum; the screams the lead singer.  I improvise the lyrics, too.  Loud and soft.  Fast and slow.  It’s an art.  And I’m a good drummer.  Always was.  The best.”

Carol felt her body shaking.

“You’re shaking.  Good.  You’re afraid.  What else are you feeling, knowing that soon you will be naked and helpless before me?”

“I am afraid.  And curious.”

“Excited?  Aroused?  I’ll bet your cunt is wet.”

“Yes.”

“What did Brad tell you about me?”

“That you like to rip women’s clothes off and make them cry.”

“And you still came tonight?”

“Obviously.”

“Did he tell you anything else.”

“To have my...rear clean.  To wear mascara.  Water based.”

“And why do you suppose I specified that?”

“I don’t know.”

“So that it will run down your face when you cry.”

“Oh.”

“What do you think of my toys?”  He gestured over his shoulder.

“I don’t know.  I don’t know what some of them are.”

“Come.  I’ll show you.”  And he stood and held out his hand.  

Although her heels were only a modest 2 ½” high, Carol got unsteadily to her feet and put her hand in his.  Both their palms were damp.

Circling the sectional, he led her to the table.

“You recognize some of these.”  Pointing to several pair of Vice-grips.  A battery operated electric drill.  Plastic electrical ties of various sizes.  Duct tape.  A three foot length of clear plastic ½” diameter hose. “Home Depot is a great place for S and M.  Don’t worry about the drill.  There’s a dildo attachment.  And the ties are perfect for all sorts of things:  wrists, ankles, breasts.  You have big ones.  Secure these around the base.  Tighten them down.  Watch the pressure build up.  Your breasts turn purple with trapped blood.  The sound changes then.  But they do leave marks.

“For your sake, I hope you followed instructions.  The hose is for you to suck my come out of your ass.”

Spread out on display were whips, various leather and metal collars and cuffs,  a leather hood with a metal ring at the top and zippers at mouth and nose; a full body black latex suit, also with strategically placed zippers.  “For when I just want the essentials,”  Ooni said. 

A box with wires running from it like a battery charger sat next to something that resembled an electric shaver.  “A stun gun,” he explained, picking it up and pocketing it. 

“These,” he said pointing to a pile of individually wrapped vials, “are surgical needles.  Sterile.  Where do you think I should place them?”  When she did not reply, his drummer-strong hand still holding hers squeezed hard.  “Where?”

“Ohh.  Please.  Sensitive places.  My breasts.”

“And?”

“Not my vagina?”

“Why not your cunt?  Your clit?  Your ass?  All over?”

Abruptly he stopped crushing her hand and released it. 

Ooni was having trouble controlling his breathing, and Carol Edwards wondered if he was insane or on drugs, or both, and was terrified.  This man could kill her, mutilate her.  What had Brad gotten her into?  She glanced around, desperately seeking a way to escape.

“The trouble,” Ooni said, “Is that you are already such a slut that many of the things I like to do to married whores like you, Brad tells me you are used to, already do routinely.  Ah, well, I will have to be creative.” 

The bony man turned abruptly.   A blur of motion.  Blinding pain exploded in Carol Edward’s mid-section, and she found herself writhing on the floor, gasping for air.  Instantly he was on her, grabbing the collar of her dress, ripping down, pulling the shreds from her shoulders, fingernails slashing at the lacy light blue bra that matched her eyes, digging into her breasts.  “You didn’t think,” he hissed, “that just because you are willing, I wouldn’t rape you.”

The lovely dress tore all the way down.  Matching blue garter belt and panties dug into her flesh as they were pulled off.

Carol was still trying to breath.  She wasn’t even sure what had happened.  Had he punched her?   Used the stun gun?  Her shoes had fallen off.  Only ripped nylons clung to her lower legs.  Rough hands and teeth everywhere.  She was being raped, and fought back instinctively, scratching at his face.  Drawing blood.

“Bitch.”  And this time she saw his fist slam into her gut.

Her legs forced apart.  His cock free of his pants.  “You are sopping, slut.  You love it.”  And he pounded her brutally against the floor.

…

All the rooms had high ceilings.  This one was twelve feet, Carol Edwards thought as her eyes followed the rope from leather wrist cuffs to a pulley.  Her head was behind her arms and she could not look forward, only up or to the sides.  The rope was taut.  Her body, now stripped even of the tattered stockings, stretched full length.  Swaying, striving to balance on the very tips of her toes.  To the sides she saw herself endlessly reflected in a continuous wall of 7’ mirrors that lined the room.  Reflections reflecting helpless reflections.

Now, naked too, looking more corpse than man, Ooni entered the room.

“You do have a body.  Even stretched like that, your tits haven’t flattened. 

“I want you to feel something.”  He held up the stun gun.  “I’ve never experienced it myself, so can’t say first hand, but all women say it is the worst.”

“No.  Please.”

“I told you you would beg.  Now scream.”  He touched the device to her right nipple  and she did. briefly, before blacking out.

…

“Come on.  Come on.  We don’t have all night.  Unfortunately.” 

To the sharp smell of ammonia, Carol regained consciousness.

Ooni was holding something under her nose and slapping her face, not hard.

“There.  That’s better.”

“No more.  Please no more.”

“Oh, there is more.  Some time when we have more time, I will take time.  But I want to finish your introduction.”

Blue eyes in lolling head watched his scrawny ass move away.  A cranking sound.  Pressure on her wrists and arms.  Toes scrambling wildly for vanishing floor.  When the cranking stopped the strain on her arms and shoulders was immense.  In the reflections the gap between the floor and her toes was six inches.

He was back beside her.  His breath in her face.  Right hand found her right breast.  Left hand the crack of her ass.  Pulling on nipple, pushing on ass, he put her in motion.  Swinging a pendulum.  A motion he continued with a bullwhip.

The whip cracked, snaked around her body, between shoulders and thighs, bruising but not quite breaking skin, wrapped, spun her as it unwound.  Caused unbearable pain and promised screams.  And running mascara.

“You are starting to look like an owl,” he observed, when he finally lowered her, sobbing to the floor, and rolled her onto her belly.

Her body on fire with pain, Carol Edwards hardly noticed the cock enter her ass, until it emptied and withdrew and was replaced by something smaller but harder.

“Here,” Ooni said, rolling her onto her back and placing the other end of the plastic tube in her mouth.  “Suck.”

She did. 

Though tears she saw him leaning over her with a video camera, photographing the tainted fluid flowing through the tube.

…

An hour later they were in a bed.  She was crying.

“Do you want to come?”

Hating herself, she nodded between sobs.

“Then climb on.”

Her body hurt.  Not as much as it would in a few hours when it stiffened.  She winced as she swung a leg over him, and gasped at the now rare sensation of a cock, a hard, real cock, in her cunt.   Ooni lay still, hie hands crossed behind his head.  Smiling.  Letting her do all the work. 

Lifting and lowering hips.  A sea of pain penetrated by pleasure.

18

She healed.  Or at least her body did.  And life flowed on.  Though a river deeper and darker.  Like any addict, she built up tolerance and needed ever stronger dosages of her drug of choice.

Carol Edwards had a beautiful mind.  The Ancient Greek ideal:  a sound mind in a sound body.  Well, perhaps not so sound, or so beautiful, any more.

Though that mind was becoming increasingly irrelevant to her life, she sometimes paused to wonder what was happening to it.   Sex, real and anticipated, released hormones and chemicals.  While she had always enjoyed sex; in the past, except at the very start of a few relationships, she was having sex or anticipating sex only at scattered intervals.  A few times a week.  The chemicals flooded her brain and then were washed away.  Now they were always there.  She was always having sex, or just had, or was about to.  Hormones and the semen of several men were always in her body.  She wondered if there were toxic levels. 

She was fucking so much it was changing her body.  That and less sleep.  She had lost a few pounds, which she didn’t need to.  Was more limber and supple.  More toned.  As though she worked out for two or three hours a day.  Which she did.  But not in a gym.  She sensed her brain, constantly bathed in corroding sexual chemicals and stimuli, was changing too.  Surely it was being re-wired.  Some connections atrophying; some grotesquely strengthened.

One thing that had definitely changed was that Brad was permitting her more orgasms.  And the more she had, the more she wanted, even though she was fully aware of what he was doing:  he was perverting her.  Ross might not know that he was a lab rat, but she knew she was.

She never had what might be considered a ‘normal’ orgasm, an orgasm from a single man with a single cock in her vagina. 

Mostly she still just took cocks in the mouth and ass.  But increasingly Brad let her finger herself to orgasm while being butt fucked, or let Faye and other women--Rose, the black haired beauty Brad had fucked beside her had returned several evenings with two or three girl friends to play with her and have her serve them--lick or fist fuck her until she came.  Faye sometimes made her come by fucking her pussy with the strap on or, rarely, after making her douche, by going down on her.  She got to use ever bigger dildos to get herself off, sometimes just the dildo, sometimes the dildo in her cunt while a cock was up her ass.  She was now taking one nearly as thick as an arm.

She was permitted to come while sandwiched between two men, or with cocks in all three holes.

Ooni often made her come while torturing her, further blurring pain and pleasure.

And she was compelled to come while engaging in other bizarre acts.

It didn’t matter.  She got to come.  And that didn’t really even matter either.  She liked to come.  She craved to come.  And the craving was really all.  The constant tension, the constant anticipation, heightened sensibility, heightened sensitivity, nerve ends always activated.  Life lived on a whole new level of intensity.  The rush of constantly desiring and being desired.

I’ve become a bitch constantly in heat, Carol Edwards realized, and did not want to be anything else.

19

To:  redwards2010@gmail

From:  The Office of Brad Tomalin

Subject:  a few things you still don’t know

Attachment:  carolhomemovie5.mp4

In his office Ross Edwards opened the video and turned the volume down to the lowest level which he could hear. 

A darkened screen.  Carol’s voice.

“Please don’t do this.  He doesn’t need to see this.”

From black the screen faded in to the spacious master bathroom of the San Diego condo.  Terra cotta tile floor.  An oversize tub with Jacuzzi nozzles.  A corner shower with clear glass walls.  Double basins.  Toilet.  A woman who could only be Carol on her knees, fully dressed, as though she had just come home from work.  Ross did not recognize the dress and could not see the woman’s face because her head was in the toilet.  Seat raised.  All the way in.

“Drink.”

Indistinguishable sound.

The camera was hand held and wavered.  A man’s left hand and arm entered the screen, moved as Ross knew it would to the flush lever.  Water gushed into the bowl.  The woman did not move.  Hand grabbed a fistful of hair, lifted, turned Carol’s dripping, eyes-closed face toward the camera.  Pushed it back down.

Brad’s voice:  “Wash.  Rinse.  Repeat.” 

The toilet flushed again.

Fade to black.

Fade in to Carol, face still wet, shoulders and bodice of dress damp, still fully dressed, which somehow made it worse, kneeling in the bathtub.

“Open.”

Her mouth opened.

“Wider.”

Nothing happened for almost a minute before a yellow stream arched onto the screen and into Carol’s mouth.

Brad chuckled.  “Always takes me a while when I have a hard-on.

Had to tie her up and use a ring gag at first.  But after three or four times she got used to it.  Swallow.”

Ross saw movement in his wife’ throat.

Her eyes squeezed closed as the stream moved up to her forehead, down painting her cheeks, to her lips which obediently opened again, then lower, soaking her dress until her nipples became visible through the cloth.

Fade to black.

Fade in to a close up of Carol’s contorted face.  Wet sounds.  Heavy breathing.  Grunts.

Slowly the camera zoomed back to reveal her naked in the middle of their bed.  She was on her back, her legs spread, knees pulled beside her breasts,  feet in the air, her right hand buried to the wrist in her cunt, fist-fucking herself.

“You can come,” said Brad.

Sounds of her doing so as the screen faded to black.

An unholy scream that made Ross glad he had turned the volume down.

The screen remained black.

“No.  Oh, god.  No.  I can’t stand it.  It is too much.  Please.  Please let me down.”

The screen faded in to an image Ross Edwards had never even imagined.

Carol was hanging naked in a room Ross did not recognize. Her feet were two feet from a hardwood floor.  Her arms were tied behind her.   Wrist to wrist.  Elbow tight to elbow.  Thrusting her breasts out, which wasn’t necessary.  They would have been out anyway because she was hanging by them.  A rope ran about both, distending them to the point it seemed they would be torn off, and then up to the ceiling.

A naked bony man appeared, with a disproportionately healthy erection jutting from his corpse-like pelvis and with, unbelievably, drum sticks in his hands.  Reaching above his head he began beating Carol’s blood black nipples like a snare drum, causing her screams to reach new crescendos.

Fade to black.

Fade in to Carol on the floor.  The camera moved slowly over her body, lingering on sobbing face and rope marks cut deep into the base of her still purple breasts.

Fade to black.

The screen remained black.  “No.  Please.  No more.  Ahgggg!”

Abrupt silence.

The file ended.

Ross sat at his desk, unable to move, stupefied, almost unable to breath.

He gradually came back to his senses and a moment of guilt when he realized his cock was rock hard.  But only a moment.  He could hardly wait to get home.

20

“Carol, could you come to my office?” 

The voice was Rik Cronin’s. 

Most of the staff worked in an open space of the old warehouse, divided into cubicles by shoulder high partitions; but Rik Cronin of course had his own office, as did five of the senior architects, including Carol Edwards.  Rik’s was only a few steps away from her’s, on the other side of an area shared by his secretary and three PA’s for the senior architects.

Distracted, she gave a courtesy knock on his door and entered.  She had just seen an email that Ross had sent ten hours earlier, declaring that he was going to file for divorce.  Though hardly unexpected, it had an effect.

Giving Rik a forced smile, she said, “Good morning.”

She hadn’t noticed anyone else in the room. 

Her heart sank.  Instantly she foresaw everything.  Knew that her life had undergone another seismic shift.  That she had just lost her final refuge.  A familiar voice to her left said, “I don’t believe you are properly dressed to be in my presence.”

Carol Edwards turned and saw Brad Tomalin, sitting, smiling, legs casually crossed in one of the chairs around a conference table on the far side of the room.  She seemed to have lost her voice; but then there was nothing to say.

“I see what appear to be pantyhose, and I suspect a bra and panties.”

“I...I had no way of knowing you were here.”

“Of course not.  But a good executive is always prepared.  No reason to waste all that time pulling them on and off every time I send for you.  Rik won’t mind if we extend the rule to this office as well, will you, Rik?”

“Indeed not.”

Both men smiled.  Brad Tomalin easily.  Rik Cronin tensely.

“So...” said Brad.

“So?” Carol hated that her voice wavered.

“We’re waiting.”

Carol started to speak.  Stopped.  A hundred thoughts ran through her mind and cancelled one another out before reaching the inevitable conclusion.

“All of it?” she finally asked.

Brad nodded.

Standing midway between the two men, she looked at neither, staring at the blank cream colored painted brick wall in front of her as she unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall to the carpeted floor. 

To her right Rik Cronin’s breath became louder as she continued to reveal what was familiar to Brad Tomalin, but which he had so long desired, never seen, and would soon possess.

“Beautiful isn’t she?”

“Yes.  More even than I had imagined.”

“Over here,” Brad ordered.

Carol walked to him, aware of Rik’s eyes boring into her back.

“Take it out and get it wet.”

She got down on her knees for the first time in that office, unzipped his suit pants, bent to the task.

After a few minutes, “That’s enough.  Climb on.  No, face Rik.”

“Where?”

“In the ass.  Don’t think I’m going to reward you for being improperly dressed, do you?”

Placed her bare feet and legs outside his clothed ones, she lowered herself onto his cock and began riding.

“Look at Rik.  Make eye contact.”

She did and saw a face of fearsome lust.

“Lean back against my chest.  Raise you feet to my knees so he can see more clearly what he is getting.”

Rik placed his hands on her hips and raised them so he could thrust up.  Carol threw her head back and groaned.

“Spread open your cunt.  Let him see what he’s not getting.”

Air was forced from her lungs on each inward stroke.   The interior office wall was not thick.  She feared that the sounds were carrying into the reception area.

“Ahhh.”  She felt him come.

Strong hands lifted her.

“Clean it.”   Then as she knelt and did, to Rik,  “Woman will definitely cause an increase in your dry cleaning bills.”

“I can...It will be worth it.”

Brad laughed, “I’m sure it will be.”  He stood, zipped, and walked to the door, which he opened.   Carol Edwards cringed and hoped no one outside could see.  “Enjoy.”

21

Following the Equator. 

Mark Twain didn’t in the book he wrote with that title more than a century ago.  In fact he spent almost no time at all on the Equator except briefly when crossing it four times.

The Equator is father south than most people think.  Not geographically, but relatively.

Start at Greenwich, England, Oº Longitude, and follow the Equator east.

Your first landfall will be far down the African continent near Libreville, Gabon.   Cross the Congo.  Pass just north of Nairobi and Kilimanjaro--”Snow capped mountains on the Equator!  Impossible!” scoffed 19th Century skeptics.  Over the Indian Ocean you will barely notice the atolls of the Maldives, and with continued global warning, soon you won’t notice them at all.  Beyond the mountain jungles of Sumatra, you will pass just south of Singapore.  On to Borneo.  Celebes.  Hundreds of smaller Indonesian islands.  The Pacific will seem as empty as the Indian Ocean, and much, much bigger.  Don’t blink or you will miss Tarawa, where Japanese and Americans slaughtered each other for a while before uniting in the common interests of baseball and consumerism.   Not long before you reach the Galapagos, of tortoise and Darwinian finch fame, you will be two thousand miles south of San Diego, California.  Another continental landfall at Quito, Ecuador.  Northern Brazil.  The mouth of the Amazon.  And back out over the South Atlantic where you began.

Almost all the world’s landmass, people, and troubles--which is perhaps redundant--are found north of that convenient, but imaginary line.  As are Brad Tomalin, and Carol Edwards, and Ross Edwards.   A triangle, not of love, but linked by other powerful imaginary lines.

…

Ross Edwards was becoming a regular at the shop on Upper Bukit Timah Road.  The clerk, always the same slight Chinese middle aged man, neatly dressed in an open collared white dress shirt and dark slacks, now gave him the smile of recognition for a valued customer. 

Ross had hoped that making the decision to divorce Carol, even if he couldn’t act on it until he found time to return to California, would free him.  No longer would it be his woman who was doing Brad Tomalin’s bidding.  But it hadn’t.

The emails, the answering messages, the images, the videos, all continued.  He could, of course, close those accounts or block Brad Tomalin as a sender.  Or he could just delete unread and erase unheard.  But he couldn’t.

Today’s embarrassing purchases were the result of the combined influences of an email that morning in which Brad told him of inserting a butt plug in Carol at lunch which she wore until he removed it at the condo that night, including all afternoon in her office, and an earlier image.

The clerk wrapped the items carefully, smiled politely, handed the parcel to Ross Edwards, and gave a slight bow. 

When Ross got home, he found the clerk had also included a guest pass to a place called, The Kricket Klub.  Ross recognized the address as being in one of Singapore’s few remaining old quarters, yet to be redeveloped into high rises.

Somehow he doubted that the Klub had anything to do with the English game, though there might be a ‘silly mid-off’  and more than a few ‘stumps.’

…

Ross Edwards squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.  He needed for this meeting to be over.  Desperately.  He was too full and he itched. Finally it was, and with great relief he stood and returned to his office, hoping he was walking normally.

Traffic that evening was interminable, and as soon as he reached his apartment, he turned on several lights, walked to the over size  windows, on which he too now left the curtain permanently pulled to one side, and stripped off his clothes.  Calvin Kleins down, black tail fell from where he had wrapped it around his waist.  Except that his sprouted from a black plug rather than red, it was identical to the one Carol sometimes wore.  Ross had discovered that the two foot long strands of ‘hair’ were plastic.  Conveniently washable. 

He had intended to remove the plug as soon as he got home, but walked into the bedroom and turned, looking over his shoulder in the full length mirror.  Carol looked sexy; he looked ridiculous.  ‘I am ridiculous,’ he thought.  ‘If I’m going to be a jackass, I might as well wear the tail.’

The tail swished against the backs of his thighs as he went into the den.  His cock swayed side to side.  Fluid had been oozing from it all day.  Although he deliberately hadn’t masturbated at the office, he’d had repeatedly to unzip and wipe with a tissue. 

Bending to unlock the lower drawer in his desk--this had been the day for his cleaning lady--caused the plug to press harder against his prostate.  He removed yesterday’s other purchase, a black leather penis gag.  Beside it was the Kricket Klub card.  ‘I am not going there,’ Ross Edwards told himself.  Yet he kept the card.

Placing the plastic penis in his mouth and tightening the buckle at the back of his head, he returning to the living room, took his MacBook Air and lay down on the couch.  His tongue sought a comfortable position around the intruding plastic.  Carol took cocks in the mouth and the ass.  This must be what it feels like, he thought.  But was it really?  He could find out at the Kricket Klub.

Deliberately he broke that off and opened his MacBook Air.  He was disappointed to find no new emails. 

He pressed the ‘play messages’ button on his answering machine and when he got over his initial surprise reached down and began to stroke his seeping cock.

…

“Hello, Ross.   Rik Cronin in case you don’t recognize the voice.  It has been a while.

Your lovely wife is here, too.  Brad wants you to know that I’m using her.  Probably more than anyone else these days.  And that’s saying something.  Prerogative of convenient access.  Two or three times most weekdays.   I’ve always liked my work, but never looked forward to getting to the office this much.

I’m in a somewhat graceless but extremely pleasurable position at the moment.  Naked from the waist down, shirt and tie above.  My feet are on my desk and Carol is under it.  Completely naked.  Licking my ass.  Rimming and probing.  The beautiful stand-offish Mrs. Edwards, the office brown nose.  A dream come true.  I must be being rewarded for the good I did in a previous life.

Brad specifically wants you to know that she’s down there precisely at  9:00 a.m. Monday through Friday.  Not licking my ass.  Sucking my dick.  It’s become an office ritual.  Everyone knows.  Just before 9, Mrs. Edwards enters my office, without knocking.  Lipstick pristine.  And fifteen or so minutes later, she leaves, lipstick smeared.  I could let her use my bathroom, but don’t.  At least not for that, though we do go in there sometimes.

I know that I’m not the first one she does every morning, but I love that when she applies that lipstick in your condo, she knows that in an hour it will be rubbing off on my cock.

Don’t know when 9 a.m. here is your time.

When it that in Singapore, Carol?

Midnight, she says. 

That’s all right.  My balls now.

I usually have her again later in the morning or a couple of times in the afternoon.  Have to get some work done, you know.  Though Carol is, perhaps understandably, falling behind a bit.  Her boss doesn’t seem to mind.

Those vary--the later times.  Sometimes her mouth; sometimes her ass.  Sometimes my office; sometimes hers.  Sometimes I have her strip completely naked again; sometimes I just pull up her skirt.  No underwear permitted here either.  Sometimes I have her leave only her shoes on.  Sometimes I have her come in here and strip and just sit around naked until I’m ready.  Or kneel.  Got a chair across from my desk that she looks great in with a leg over each arm.  Trouble is that I can’t glance up too frequently  at that glistening wet slit without getting on with it.

That first one at 9 a.m., though, she is always completely naked.  Comes in.  Strips.  Crawls under my desk and starts sucking.

Funny you always want what you can’t have.  Most women you have a hassle getting deep throat or them taking it up the ass.  With Carol I can’t have her cunt and so I find myself really wanting a normal fuck.  Ah, well. 

Bought a new wall mirror for my office, so I can see both sides now.  Wasn’t that a song?  You wife does look great on her knees.  Back too for that matter.  But I think knees best.  Though I certainly couldn’t choose between the way she is now with my balls in her mouth--move on up to my cock--or with my cock up her ass.  There is being on your knees and there is being on your knees.  All good.  You know how great it is to have a couple of hot wet holes to dump a load in whenever you want.  Sorry, forgot that you don’t know.  At least not any longer Carol’s holes. 

I like dropping into her office and sticking my cock in her mouth while she’s sitting at her desk, or having her stand and bend over the desk, lift her skirt and stick it up her ass.  Sometimes I just take a few strokes, have her lick it clean, and leave.  Of course she never knows how far I’m going to go when I start. 

And of course she hates that its me.  And I love that she hates it.  But I’m beginning to suspect that she’s so kinked that she loves hating it.  If you follow.

Despite that--or because of it--she tries so hard to please. 

Or I reach down and play with her tits. Squeeze those big dark nipples through her dress or blouse.  I trust you recall how that turns her on.  Hypersensitive nipples.  Told me once that she feels they are wired directly to her clit.  Get her panting.  Then leave.

That’s it.   All the way down.

She is good, Ross.  Quite the little woman.  You’re a lucky man.  Or not.

You know the thing--opps.  Going to have...to excuse me.  Getting close to coming.

The thing--ohh, that is good. 

The thing is not her beauty.   Though I must admit that she looks...even...better naked that I imagined.  And I imagined a lot. And---ohh, shit.  Hold there.  Ohh.   Ohh.

Whew.  Woman going to be the death of me.  Be worth it.

That’s it.  Get it all.  Missed a drop.  There.

What was I saying?

Oh, yes.  Beauty.  Woman has the best body I’ve ever seen.  But the thing is that she is also the biggest slut I’ve ever known.  Does things that would make a Tijuana whore blush.  And I’ve gone across the border often enough to know.  Looks so innocent.  A female Dorian Gray.  The lower she sinks, the purer she appears. 

Licks come off the desk, off the floor, out of the toilet--but Brad says you already know that.   Gives the best head I’ve ever had.  Hardly ever gags.  I can sit back and let her do all the work or make her squat  with her back against a wall so she can’t move away and skull fuck her.  Takes it as hard as you want up the ass.  Love pounding her and seeing those big tits sway.  You must remember what that’s like.  Though I hear you didn’t use her ass much.  If you ever get the chance, you’ll find it’s still tight.  I can still make her squeal though.  Enjoy that.  She’s always embarrassed leaving the office after that happens. 

Well, got to go.  I think I’ll have time to do her ass later.  Might sit back and let her fuck her own ass.  Looks great with her facing my feet, crouching, my cock disappearing between those beautiful rising and lowering cheeks.  Slap them to control the rhythm.  Slut takes direction perfectly.

Man, I’m getting turned on again. 

We all owe you a debt of gratitude for going to Singapore, Ross.  Great move.

…

Ross Edwards scrambled to his feet and, choking on the penis gag, stumbled to the living room window.  Reaching back with one hand, he grabbed the base of his tail, ripped out the butt plug, jammed it painfully back in, while he pulled on his cock with his other hand until a jet of come soared out.

On shaking legs, he watched it ooze slowly down the glass. 

A line of headlines passing far below.  LIghts on in an identical building across the street.  He could see into apartments.  A couple in the flickering blue light of a television.  A woman ironing.  A family sitting around the dinner table.  He could see them.  They, if they bothered, could see him.

People who live in glass houses shouldn’t wag their tails.  But, in a gesture of derisive defiance, Ross Edwards turned and waged his anyway.

22

After they left her, even though it was almost midnight,  she pulled a long white cotton beach dress over her head and went barefoot down to her car, a yellow VW Beetle convertible.  In the adjoining space was their other car, a Land Rover that Ross wanted for some reason, although he only ever drove it on freeways and city streets.

With the top up, she drove down the hill to Mission Beach,  a narrow two mile long sand bar of densely packed beach houses, where she was lucky enough to find a parking space. 

She swung herself easily over the waist high sea wall, and crossed twenty yards of  soft sand, cool on the soles of her feet, to continent’s edge.

Water and sky were black and the horizon where they met indistinguishable.  Sky filled with stars.  Water broken by five or six constantly changing pale lines of surf, the most distant where 5’ waves first broke, the closest only an inch or two high where sea lapped at sand.

She was standing on wave-washed sand that was smooth and hard.  Cool water dashed up and over her feet.  In the darkness, illuminated only by lights on the other side of the sea wall, and beneath swirling water, the coral pink polish on her toenails appeared black.  Her mouth and throat were coated with come.  She could still taste it.  Wavelet receded; another approached.  She reached down and scooped up a handful of salt water and brought it to her mouth.  Rinsed.  Spat out.  Come was trickling down her thighs.  She raised the hem of her dress and brought another handful of water up between her legs.  Then a second, before dropping her dress again.  Salt burned raw flesh.

For several more minutes she stood there, watching pale lines, listening to the surf, before turning and walking north toward the lights on the hill at La Jolla, wavelets playing over her bare feet and ankles.

The beach was mostly deserted, but at one of the concrete rings provided at intervals for that purpose,  a dozen or so people were sitting around a bonfire.  Someone was playing a guitar, and others were singing.

A woman’s voice called to her, “Come.  Join us.”

Carol Edwards waved, smiled ‘no’, and walked on in darkness.

23

“You do it this time.”

“No.  Please.  I can’t”

“If you do, I’ll let you come.  If you make me do it, it won’t be just one needle through your nipples, but several, and maybe one in your clit as well.  And you won’t get to come.”

“I can’t.  I really can’t do that to myself.”

“Of course you can.  Just take your right nipple between the thumb and forefinger of your left hand.  Go ahead.  Do it.  Now stretch it out.  Good.  Take one of the needles in your right hand.  Do it, damn it!”

A hand slapped bare flesh.

“Ohh.  No.  Don’t.  I’ll do it.”

“That’s better.  Stretch the nipple out again.  End of the needle right there.  Press down.  You know how sharp those needles are.  It will go right through.  Hardly hurt.  A pinprick.  Literally.”

“I can’t.  I just can’t.”

“I’m going to tell you for the last time.  If I do it, it will hurt.  Serious pain.  Not just needles through each nipple, but at least one driven right in, buried.  Think about an orgasm.  When did you last have one?”

“L..last week.”

“You must need relief.  DO IT!”

“Aghh.”

“There.  That wasn’t so bad, was it?  Only a drop of blood.  Now the other.  Stretch it out.  Make it quick before you have time to think.”

“Ohh.”

“Good.  Good slut.  I like the look.  Not as much as steel or gold rings, but Brad won’t let me permanently pierce you.  Yet.

“Now let me loop these weights over them, and you can suck me off, and then I’ll let you come.  You can even choose:  my fist, the big dildo, your own fingers.  Or maybe you’d like to get off rubbing your clit against the toe of my boot?  You seemed to enjoy that.  Which will it be?”

“Your fist.  Oow, that hurts.”

“Start sucking.  The sooner I come, the sooner you will.  And then I’ll remove the weights and you can remove the needles.”