Virtual Slavery Ch. 05

I move for what seems to be a long time. My breasts drag across his belly. My nipples become painful. My legs cry out. When I hear a sound, a door opening. "What?" I start to rise but his hands grab my breasts so I can't.

Someone is behind me. I can turn my head just far enough to see a black giant, a wall of polished muscle, a shaven bullet head, white teeth in a broad grin.

I struggle to extricate myself. The hands will tear my breasts off if I move.

"Lynn Plath meet Jefferson Jefferson."

A second pair of hands slide over my back toward my buttocks. A finger circles my anus, presses, enters. I am helpless beyond imagination. A strange cock in one orifice; a strange finger in the other.

The finger withdraws, but is immediately replaced by the tip of a cock. It is slippery, covered with lubricant. It feels immense. Pain explodes in me as it tries to force its way in. I am being torn, ripped apart.

"It won't go." The black man's first words.

"Force it."

"No. I'll rip her, rip her bad. You don't want that."

The cock and pain withdraw, but not completely.

Finally from beneath me, a grudging grunt. "You are right. Not tonight."

Of all the things that have been done to me and that I have been made to do, two humiliated me most, at least in the beginning: when Brad took me out in public on what seemed to be a normal date and people actually thought I was his girl friend; and when my body betrayed me with an orgasm. Of course Brad was aware of this. On our 'normal dates' he relished playing the role of attentive lover. And with the orgasms he was calculating and skillful. He laughed at me as he made me come.

Jefferson made me come all the time. But he is magnificent. It is like being fucked by a great smooth black panther. He can lift me with one hand. He has picked me up and fucked me while standing, my legs wrapped around his waist, bouncing my body on his cock like a rag doll.

He made me come that night, but not until Brad made me come himself.

I was in doggie position. Brad was behind me. He sensed exactly when my body started to respond. I did too and tried to fight it. But there had been too much stimulation. For hours my flesh had been looked at, touched, been penetrated by cocks and tongue and fingers. For hours there had been only sex. And under the accumulated assault, Brad's cock became disembodied, the circumstances forgotten, there was just this cock pounding into my cunt, it didn't matter whose, and my orgasm rose and built and exploded.

By the time I came with Jefferson I was pretty much unconscious. I do remember when I first saw his cock I thought I can't possible take that and was grateful he had not forced it up my ass. He would, I thought, have destroyed me. Of course, I was wrong. I could take it. And, as I have learned, even bigger things. My body is capable of opening much more than I believed possible. As Brad points out, if a baby can come out, a hand can certainly go in. Fortunately his hands, like his feet, are relatively small. Though Jefferson's are not.

The video shows Jefferson above me, braced on his fingers and toes, my feet bent all the way back over his broad shoulders, pistoning his giant black shaft into me as though he is doing pushups; and, from another camera, my face screaming, "Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.", sobbing, begging for release.

From the rest of the blur of that night, only two moments stand out.

I am being smothered in doughy folds of flesh. I am on my back on the carpet. Brad is sitting on my face. "Lick it," he says. I am never sure what I lick when he tells me to lick his ass. The creases are too deep and dark. On him truly the place the sun never shines. I stick out my tongue. I don't know what it touches, but the taste is not pleasant. Nor is the smell.

And sometime later I get unsteadily to me feet.

"Where are you going?"

"The bathroom."

"What for?"

"What do you think?"

"Do you have to piss or shit?"

Even in that confused drunken exhausted state, I found myself wondering, How has it become possible for strangers to ask me such a question? "Piss." Defiantly. A word I do not--correction, did not--use.

"Good." Then to Jefferson, "Bring one of the cameras."

And he and Jefferson follow me into the bathroom.

"Get into the bathtub."

I am confused. "I don't understand."

"Just get into the bathtub."

I step into the bathtub. The porcelain is cold beneath my feet.

Brad reaches over and flips the lever that closes the drain.

"Squat down and piss."

"What?"

"You heard me. Squat down and piss."

"No."

His arm flashes out and slaps across my breasts, swings back and grabs and squeezes. "You should have already learned that you do not say 'no' to me."

He forces me down.

"You aren't coming out until you do."

I don't have any idea how many drinks I had had by then, but my bladder is bursting. The stream hisses down, splatters, runs hot over my toes, collects in a yellow puddle above the closed drain.

When I have finished, I start to stand.

"No." Brad pushes hard on my shoulder. "Lie down in it."

I am doomed, I think. I lie down and stare up at two huge naked men.

Jefferson is recording me lying in my own piss.

Brad moves closer, stands against the side of the tub, points his cock at me. I realize what is about to happen and close my eyes. It hits my bruised breasts, moves up over my throat onto my face, up to my hair, then down again.

"Open your mouth."

I do.

I have no memory of how the night ended or when. Sometimes I feel as though I am still in that room, so perhaps it never did. But I found myself back in my own room. It was still dark outside the window. I was wearing only my dress and shoes. I kicked off my shoes, thinking that is how this all started, and fell onto the bed.

My flight arrived back in Boston at 10:05. I was exhausted, destroyed in every possible way. All I wanted was to go home and sleep forever. But I went to the office instead. I called Winston from there and pretended that everything was wonderful, although I did say that I thought I might be coming down with a virus of something, which gave me the excuse to leave the office early and sleep with a nightshirt when I usually sleep naked. Without knowing why, from the beginning I wanted to keep this from Winston.

Two days later, when life seemingly had returned to normal, my secretary buzzed me. "There is a Mr. Rankin on line 5. Bradley Rankin. He stressed that I mention the full name. He said you would want to take the call."

I picked up the phone. "Is that your real name?"

"As a matter of fact it is?"

"Where are you?"

"Los Angeles."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Relieved aren't you? Relax. It is too soon. Besides you are not my sole interest. I just want to let you know that a FedEx package will arrive at your office tomorrow. You will want to be certain no one else opens it. Until next time, then." And, as I would learn is his custom, having completed what he wanted to say, he hung up.

The package arrived in the morning. It was, as I expected, a video tape. As I had not expected, the tape was professionally edited. I was too exhausted to care that this meant others had witnessed my humiliation. Among the thousands and thousands of things I have learned from Brad is that he is a major investor in one of the largest producers and distributors of pornography in the world.

The label read, L. P.: Highlights. Copy 108.

The package also contained a cell phone.

To Be Continued...