I never meant for any of this to happen. I have been married for five years and have never even come close to cheating on my husband. None of this is my fault and the only reason I'm telling you any of this is that I need to tell someone, need to get it out of my system. I consider myself to be a reasonably intelligent woman, I'm certainly no babe in the woods but I can't deal with this. If writing about this helps me come to terms with it then, so be it.
I suppose I should start by telling you a little about myself. I'm a twenty-nine year old woman, but my friends say I look a lot younger. I'm a marketing rep for a major software company. I've got chestnut brown hair and blue eyes. I wear my hair short in kind of a funky bob. I'm five six and weigh a hundred and nineteen pounds.. I am the mother of a two year old and am proud of my figure, it took a whole lot of hours in the gym to get it back to a size four. Even though I'm thin, I suppose I've got curves. I'm a C cup and my hips seem a little fuller now then before the baby. I guess I am pretty. My husband says I look like that Australian singer, the one that used to be in the soaps, but I don't know about that.
A few months ago I had to go to a trade show in Dallas with some co-workers. We worked like dogs to get our exhibit set up and were on our feet meeting and greeting for two days straight. We decided to treat ourselves to a nice dinner as a reward. We went to the restaurant at our hotel and had a magnificent meal. I had Gulf Shrimp, it was wonderful. The three of us polished off a bottle of Vouvrey with dinner. Jenny suggested we go to the bar for a night cap. It was early so I figured, "Why not?"
Well, I like to chat so one drink turned into three. I was drinking gin and tonic. They didn't seem to be all that strong. I was not drunk but I suppose I was a little buzzed. A tall, handsome guy came over and started talking to us. He introduced himself as Jack and said he was here for the trade show. He was very nice and wound up paying a lot of attention to me.
Alright, I will admit that I enjoyed the attention. I'm a flirt, no question. Hell, I'm normal, what woman wouldn't enjoy talking to a handsome man? Let me state for the record right now, I had NO intention of doing anything more then flirting with him. NOTHING. I love my husband and had no desire to have a 'fling' with anyone.
Well, he bought us all another round and things began to get fuzzy shortly thereafter. All I can think of is he must have put something in my drink, you know, one of those 'date rape' drugs or something. I know that sounds trite, but it had to have been something like that because I went from buzzed to almost blacked out in no time at all. I had a few drinks under my belt, but not enough to send me that far over that quickly. I have since been over and over that night in my mind, and I think I have pieced together what happened.
I cringe when I think of this, but I guess I got pretty giggly and affectionate. Jenny offered to take me back to my room but I insisted on staying. Jack began to get touchy-feely while talking and I guess I reciprocated, touching his arm and hand while talking to him, sitting close, the whole drill. I can remember at one point laughing at something he said while he had his hand rubbing the small of my back. I remember later, loudly announcing to my companions that Jack could escort me back to my room.
The next real memory I have is waking up in my hotel bed, naked. I don't usually sleep in the nude so I knew something was wrong. I was bleary and hung-over, worse then I have ever been. As my head cleared, I remembered the events at the restaurant. Feeling a chill of foreboding, I forced myself to recall more. Almost as if in a dream, I recalled making love to a man other then my husband. I sat up abruptly in the bed and felt a little sore, 'down there'. I touched myself and the stickiness confirmed my worst nightmare.
"Oh my God!" I moaned head in my hands. I remembered his mouth on my neck, on my breasts, on my.... oh God!
My blouse lay in tatters on the floor, the buttons literally ripped off. I remembered him tearing it off me. Oh God, I remembered loving it! I remembered begging him to fuck me! I remember cumming for him, several times! The memories were fuzzy, as I said, dreamlike. I remembered having sex, but no real details, just sensations and flashes of images.
I wept with bitter shame. I remember thinking, "What if I have AIDS?!"
I took hold of myself and calmed down. I would get a test right away. I would not have sex with my husband until I got the results. I would tell him that I was not feeling well if he got affectionate. He need never know and this would NEVER happen again.
I got up and went into the bathroom to shower. There, on the mirror, was a note.
"Thanks for a wonderful evening. Can't wait to see you again."
It was signed, "Love, Jack"
I went hysterical for a few minutes. I tore the note into tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet. I showered for about an hour. The need to catch my plane was the only thing that got me out, that and the need to escape that hotel room.
I almost lost it when I met my husband at the airport. He sensed something was wrong but I just told him I must have caught something in Dallas. I went to my gyno for an HIV test. The 5 days spent waiting for the result were the longest in my life. I felt as if I had come back to life when the result turned up negative. Over the next few weeks, my life slowly became normal again. I compartmentalized my guilt, forcing myself to understand that it had NOT been consensual and that I had nothing to feel guilty over. It only worked to a degree. Foolishly, I didn't unburden myself to the one person that might help me, my husband.
About two months later, the phone rang at work. I answered it.
"Hello Robin," a familiar voice replied. My stomach flopped over. Any doubt I may have had as to who it was evaporated with, "this is Jack, remember me?"
"You have a lot of nerve calling me," I hissed quietly.
"What are you talking about?" he replied, oh so innocently.
"You know what!" I spat out through clenched teeth, "You drugged me and raped me!"
"Robin!" he replied mock shocked, "That's a very serious accusation. Did you go to the police?"
That rocked me back. That action never even entered my mind. Before I could say anything he continued.
"Of course you didn't, and, if you did now, no one would find a trace of anything in your system. Besides, I think our pictures would put to rest any claim of force you might make."
My heart stopped. "Pictures?" I whispered.
"Check your email," he replied as my computer beeped its announcement that I had mail.
"How do you know my email address?" I asked.
"I know a lot about you, you'd be surprised. Take a look at your message," he replied.
With a shaking hand, I opened my email program. I noted a new message from an outside source. The subject line said 'Scrapbook'. It was blank except for an attachment. I opened the attachment and a very clear photo of me...fucking, for want of a better word, certainly not 'making love'...Jack appeared. Me on top, my favorite position. His penis clearly visible in my pussy, my eyes closed, mouth open in passion. Certainly no sign of force.
"Where did you get this?" I asked, my voice quavering.
"Oh, I have more where that came from," he replied happily. "You are very photogenic you know, beautiful cheekbones."
"You know I was drugged," I spat, fighting back tears.
"You son of a bitch!" I hissed.
"OK, shut up cunt," he said contemptuously, "This is getting boring. I'm in town and want to see you. Get your ass over to the Plaza, I'm in room 523."
"Why the FUCK would I even think of doing ANYTHING you want you BASTARD!" I railed.
"Because if you don't, I'll send these snaps over to your husband," was his smug reply.
I deflated like a balloon. I hadn't told my husband, Dave, a thing about that night. At first I was afraid to, then, as the weeks passed, it seemed like it was like a bad dream. If I just pretended it didn't happen it would go away. I know it was denial, pure and simple, but denial is a very seductive state of mind. If Dave saw these now, he'd have doubts I thought. I never told him. He'd see these pictures of me riding this stranger and wonder. He's always been a little insecure, he was very jealous while we were dating. Jack's voice interrupted my thoughts.
"I figured you didn't tell him," Jack said, chuckling, "all you dumb cunts are the same. Get your ass over here, you have twenty minutes," and hung up.
I sat there, stunned, looking at the photo of me on the computer screen. The bastard had the camera angle just perfect, my wedding ring sparkled on my left hand. I thought frantically, kidding myself that he just wanted a repeat and that he would go away. I told myself I could handle it, that I could turn the situation around. I would go over to the Plaza, fuck him and he'd go back to where ever he came from. I found myself making lame excuses to my boss and running out to a taxi. I made it to the Plaza with five minutes to spare. I felt the entire hotel was staring at me as I crossed the lobby to the elevator, that the scarlet 'A' must be emblazoned on my black silk dress. The click of my high heels seemed to echo like thunder as I got into the elevator and pressed 5. I floated down the hall to 523.
I raised my hand to knock when the door opened and Jack grabbed my arm, pulling me into the room. I heard the door lock behind me and the rattle of the chain as he fastened it. I stepped into the room, noticing it was large and plush. It was a suite as the room I stood in appeared to be a sitting room. No bed was visible but a closed door on the far wall seemed like it might lead to a bedroom. An expensive looking sofa with a large mirror over it and a pair of armchairs flanked a low coffee table. Two drinks sat on the table, one appeared to be whisky of some kind, the other was a gin and tonic.
"Have a seat my dear, I've fixed you a drink. Help yourself," Jack offered, stepping past me and gesturing to the couch.
"You're crazy if you think I'm going to drink anything you give me," I answered coldly.
He laughed. "I don't need to give you anything now, that drink is perfectly safe. You'll do whatever I want with out chemical aides."
"You have a high opinion of yourself."
"Oh sit down, this self-righteous bullshit is getting tedious," he replied forcefully. I realized I was alone in a room with a man, a dangerous man who was much larger then me. I sat.
Jack produced an envelope from a briefcase on a side table and handed it to me. My worst fears were confirmed as the contents turned out to be more pictures from that night. There was that photo of me on top of him as well as others. Me blowing him, me under him, him licking me and even one of me with my hips propped up by pillows and him doing me doggie style. All of them clearly showed my face as well as his penis in my mouth, vagina, whatever.
I could tell that I was unconscious or only semi-conscious in most of these shots, but they were posed cleverly enough that an outside observer wouldn't be able to tell. A truly disgusting close-up of my pussy dripping his seamen finished the set. I had time to begin to wonder how those photos could have been taken, I had no recollection of a photographer, but then I had only a hazy recollection of the acts themselves, when he took the photos from me and placed them back into the briefcase.
"I rather think your husband would enjoy our little scrapbook, don't you think?" he replied sweetly sitting down on the sofa next to me. I tried to get up but he restrained me with a hand to my shoulder.
"Or your boss, your family, why I bet I could sell these for a bit of money to a men's magazine or some internet site," he mused, " You really are beautiful. A real, classy type and such a body. Guys love looking at you classy types behaving like the whores that you really are. It was so nice of you to sign a model's release." He added a legal document to the pile I was holding. I don't know how, but there was my signature, or a good fake, there at the bottom. "Looks like grounds for a divorce to me, hell, I bet you'd lose a custody case too. No judge would give custody to a slut whore who does porn."
I crumpled, burying my face into my hands and crying. He smiled, knowing he had me.
"Now, now Robin," he soothed, "There's no need to worry. No one ever need see these if you just do as I say."
Yeah, right, and the check's in the mail I thought, but I was ready to grasp at any lifeline at that point, no matter how tenuous.
"What do you want me to do," I mumbled.
"First, stop crying. Go into the bathroom and fix your make-up," he commanded gently.
I still can't believe I meekly did as he asked. Normally I'm stubborn as hell. I guess I was in shock and happy to have some concrete task to focus on. I just did as he said and went to the bathroom to clean up. I normally wear little make-up to work. This was the summer and I already had a bit of a tan so I had just put on a little eye shadow. It didn't take me long to repair the damage done by the tears. I took an extra minute to regain my composure and resolved not to give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing me cry again.
I returned to the room feeling a bit more self confident. It rapidly fled when I saw him setting up a video camera on a tripod.
"What the hell is that for?" I asked, blustering a little to hide my growing despair.
"I'll be just a minute.....there.....all set," he said brightly turning towards me. "Ah, beautiful as I remember."
"I asked what that was for," I repeated.
"And I though I remembered our agreeing that you were going to shut up and do as I say so hubby and the world at large won't get to see what a good fuck you are," he replied brightly. "I've got the stills, now I want some video, then we'll see where we go from there. Now, stand over there," he said gesturing to the center of the room. "You look absolutely beautiful, your husband is one lucky guy," he added framing me in the viewfinder. "I love that dress."
"No," I replied. "You can't make me do this. I'll tell my husband. He loves me. He'll believe me. I don't know why I came here." I turned and started for the door.
"Stop," he commanded, the word ringing with authority. "Does your son love you too?"
I turned slowly, "What does he have to do with this."
"It would be a shame if anything ever happened to him, wouldn't it," he observed.
"Are you threatening my family?" I hissed.
"No, of course not!" he replied, mock indignant. "It's just, well, this is a dangerous world and all kinds of things can happen to kids. I mean, hey, he's at daycare all day, Elm St. right?" He smiled.
I went cold inside.
"You're surprised I know where he goes to daycare? You'll find I know a lot of things. I'm very well connected and I've done my homework." He bragged, pulling another, fairly thick, file from his briefcase. "It's amazing what you can get nowadays. Medical records, school transcripts, credit reports, work history, it's all there if you know where to look. For example," he said, opening the file and reading, "Your most recent medical records: 'Patient presents for an HIV test. Patient relates a history of an unprotected sexual encounter.'" He looked up at me, "Tsk, tsk, naughty girl!" He went back to reading from the report, "'Patient has been in a monogamous relationship for five years prior to the recent encounter. Patient became sexually active at age nineteen with four partners prior to her husband. No history of STD. Recent PAP normal. Examination reveals normal, healthy, female genitalia consistent with status one para, one grava. No visible signs of STD. Bloodwork done and will be sent for full battery of tests.' Ahh," he looked up, "happily an addendum to the report indicates all tests were negative. What a relief." He closed the file. "You see Robin, I know all about you. I know who you are, what you do and even when you do it. If you go to the police, I'll know that too and you'll pay. I am far from a one man operation and we are very well connected."
"But why are you bothering me!" I blurted, frustrated and angry. "I mean I'm nobody! I'm not some pretty young kid. I'm a mother for God's sake, I'll be thirty in two months!"
"Don't sell yourself short," he smirked. "One; you are a very attractive woman. Two; you present yourself well. You have excellent taste in clothes, you are articulate and intelligent. Those are attractive qualities. Finally; while you are not 'a kid' as you put it, you are still young, you are in excellent shape and a matured but still young 'woman', as opposed to 'girl' has a great appeal to many men."
"But, what do you want from me?" I asked.
"That's easy," he answered, "anything I want. Understand this;" he pointed at me, "you are mine now, my property. I'll let you have your own life, but when I call you, you will come and while you are with me, you will do whatever I say until I dismiss you. If you fail to come, of if you displease me in any way, I will destroy your life and take away everything you love. Can you understand that?"
I was devastated. I have never felt so totally powerless in my life. Weakly I asked, "What do you want me to do?"
"You can start by standing in the middle of the room, like I said."
I went. He got behind the camera and pointed it at me. "Subject is Robin Delany, twenty-nine years old. She looks absolutely lovely in her little black dress, Gucci?" he asked.
"Dior," I replied numbly. I had on a sleeveless black silk dress, simply cut with a squared neckline and a hem about an inch above my knee. It was summer and I was tan so I had skipped the nylons and had on black Prada sling backs with a two inch heel.
"Yep, beautiful dress. Take it off." he commanded. I could see the red light on the camera showing it was on. I guess I didn't move fast enough as he repeated, "I said, take - it - off."
I could feel tears welling in my eyes again as I turned my back to him and reached behind me for the zipper.
"No, face me," he insisted.
I turned to face my tormentor and reached behind me to unzip my dress, the zipper loud in the stillness of the room. I pulled my arms through, but held the dress up in front of me.
"Drop it," he ordered.
I did. The dress puddled at my feet leaving me standing there in my panties, bra and heels. I had on one of those designer push-ups, you know, the ones that make the most of your assets, black with matching bikini panties.
"Very nice," Jack purred. "You really have excellent taste in clothes. Now remove the bra please."
I reached behind me once again and unhooked my bra. I slipped it over my shoulders and let it drop. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cringe. The cool air made my nipples crinkle up and he laughed. I saw him fumble with the camera and it made a low 'wrrring' noise. The pig was zooming in on my tits.
"Beautiful. C cups I believe?" he said. Very lovely, quite perky, they really jut right out there, don't they. Hardly any droop. Quite firm too as I remember. You like the nipples bitten as I recall."
I gritted my teeth. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
"The panties please," he commanded.
I was dreading this part. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and pushed them down over my hips. They slid down my legs to the floor.
"Ho ho!" he cried. "What happened to that lovely brown bush?"
I had shaved for summer. I always did. I didn't want anything showing at the sides of my bathing suit and it made a nice little treat for my husband. We were going away for the weekend tomorrow right from work. I had just waxed so any irritation would be gone by the weekend. I saw him pan the camera down to my crotch.