tagNovels and NovellasVirtual Slavery Ch. 13

Virtual Slavery Ch. 13

bywltedford©

13

Brad

It didn't work.

Turning her into a whore did not reduce her to just another woman. In fact just the opposite.

When I first saw her on the street after we put her out and drove around the block, all impossibly long legs, perfectly molded shoulders, full breasts straining to burst from that silly red dress, slivers of brown areolae visible above the top, she was devastating. And in the blond wig, strange, unknown, yet somehow familiar. Even Jefferson gave a whistle of rare appreciation.

We watched her get picked up and discretely followed to the side street. She was not visible when we slowly cruised by. The guy seemed to be sitting there alone. So I assumed her head was already in his lap and, amazingly, I was jealous. Incredible. Unbelievable. This is some other guy's wife who would never have given me a second look, except as an oddity, whom I have blackmailed into being my sex slave, and I'm jealous of the pleasure she is giving a man I made her sell herself to!

I couldn't believe it myself. I couldn't believe it of myself.

And it went on that way as the night continued, as she climbed into one car after another, as I knew what she was doing with one man after another. I didn't want her doing those things with those men; I wanted her to be doing them with me.

Long before the night was over, if I could have called off the abduction and gang rape, I would have. It was only good luck that Tim had already left home and didn't answer when I called him. I all but decided to take her off the street before they showed up, and double the amount I was paying them and provide them with a couple of other girls; but I didn't quite. I suppose I was too curious about her reaction, and even more about my own.

After witnessing the abduction, Jefferson and I went to an S & M house in west Los Angeles, where I strung up the submissive who most closely resembled Lynn and beat her half to death. So much so, that even Madame Claire, the dominant who runs the place, commented and charged me extra because the girl wouldn't be able to work again for several days.

Jefferson went off with a couple of girls and seemed quite happy when we left for the pickup point.

I was still on edge. Something could have gone wrong. One of the kids could have lost control and really hurt her. Something could still go wrong. Another vehicle happen along before we found her. Or the police. Unlikely at this hour, but possible.


Then there she was standing completely naked. I had no sexual feelings whatsoever. And when she ran, crying, and threw herself at me, I felt...well, tenderness. it was unprecedented.

She had no way of knowing that we were less than a mile from my estate. Amazed at myself, I cradled and comforted her as Jefferson drove us the hill to home.

It was a very near thing. The closest I can ever recall to making such a mistake.

Unavoidable business kept me from seeing her in the morning, before after two hour's sleep Jefferson drove her to her own business appointments.

I told myself that she had only reacted to the situation, that she had run into my arms only because, after the trauma of fearing for her very life, I was familiar. But as I replayed the night over and over in my mind, it kept seeming that she had actually been glad to see me at the airport and that she had been disappointed at my coldness.

Around noon, Jefferson called to tell me that she had refused his offer of a ride to LAX for her flight back to Boston.

I asked Maria to prepare something I could eat cold and gave her the night off, and had my evening drink alone by the pool that evening. Like some stupid lovesick pimply faced adolescent, my thoughts were of her, flying back east through the night. I hadn't had such thoughts since a teenage crush on Jenny Lakeland. Really I had never had such thoughts because my body prevented my making even the slightest real expression of them to young Jenny. And Lynn was real. The possibly was real.

At least I was wise enough not to contact her and blab my maudlin heart out.

I was still wondering what I ought to do, when three days later my telephone rang. Bluebirds broke into song; flowers burst into bloom; butterflies fluttered around my fat head; violins wept with joy; the whole world became soft and warm and fuzzy: it was she! My own true beloved!

But her voice did not murmur sweet nothings or proclaim her eternal devotion. Rather it was brisk and businesslike.

"I don't have long," she said. "between meetings."

"Yes," I interjected breathlessly.

"I have been thinking."

"Yes." I almost added 'dear.' I had never said, 'Yes, dear,' to anyone in my life. Not once. Even in the most egregious, the impulse to be normal can become overwhelming.

"I can't get the images out of my mind. The next time I come out there I want you to put me in the vault."

And I was saved! In a nanosecond, the birds stopped singing; the flowers stopped blooming; the butterflies stopped fluttering; and the hard cruel world clicked back into harsh focus. Hallelujah. Hallelujah ."That's not up to you. I'll do with you what I want when I want."

"I know. I just wanted you to know."

And she hung up.

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