Virtual Slavery Ch. 05bywltedford©
A messenger was waiting at the door of my room.
"Mrs. Lynn Plath?" he asked.
"I was directed to hand this to you personally."
"By whom?" The question was merely conversation as I reached into my purse for the card to open the door and some money to tip him. I wasn't really listening and can't remember if he answered.
I assumed it was another congratulatory note. Fortunately I didn't tear open the envelope until I was in the room. Talk about a fall! I felt as though an elevator cable had broken. I abruptly sat down. That is to say I collapsed onto the bed. The photographs fell from my hand.
After a moment I leaned over and retrieved them. There were two pictures of me, somewhat fuzzy, but more than clear enough. In one I am naked on my knees facing away from the camera, my wrists tied. In the other I am on the bed, naked but for black high heels and the necklace Winston gave me as a wedding present. My ankles are tied in the air. My wrists are also tired behind my back, though they are not visible. My sex is completely exposed.
There were two other pieces of paper: the cover of FORBES on which I appeared; and a sheet of hotel stationery on which was printed: Telephone Room 1601.
A man's somewhat out of breath voice answered on the fourth ring.
"Mrs. Plath, I assume."
"Yes. And who are you and what do you want?"
"My name is Brad. I am just two flights up. Please join me. I'm sure we don't want to have this discussion inadvertently overheard."
Before I could respond, he hung up.
In disbelief I stared at the photographs. I knew exactly when the photos were taken and where and of course by whom, but I couldn't conceive how this Brad person had obtained them. I noticed that my face was not visible in either picture, though every other part of me was. Still there was the necklace. I assumed that he wanted money.
Leaving my purse in the room, taking only the card to unlock the door, I walked to the elevator and rode up to the fourteenth floor.
I had myself under control by the time I knocked. Or so I thought.
The door was opened by a monster. Literally and figuratively. One of the fattest men I have ever seen. I recognized him immediately as having been at an adjacent table at the award dinner. He is nothing if not memorable.
"Do come in, Lynn."
I pushed past him.
"What is this all about?"
"Would you care for a drink first?"
The room was large, with a bar to one side and a couch and several stuffed chairs loosely arranged around a low teak table on which was situated an open notebook computer. A desk and other furniture was scattered about. One wall of the room was all window glass. Closed doors led to other parts of the suite. The only unexpected objects were three camcorders mounted on tripods. One was directly behind the couch; the other two at the sides of the room. Red glowing lights indicted the cameras were recording.
"What is going on here?"
"Do please sit down."
"But you will want to see something, actually several things, on the computer."
He moved well enough on his feet, but had difficulty sitting, and just sort of leaned back until he sank onto the couch.
"Sit here, by me. I promise I will not touch you." He smiled pleasantly.
"I want to know what this is all about."
"The quickest way to learn is to sit."
His bulk caused such a depression in the cushion that I slid closer than I intended and brushed against his tree trunk thigh, before recoiling.
His smile broadened.
"Settled now?" he asked, and when I did not reply, reached out and turned the laptop toward me.
The image on the screen was the one of me on my knees. He clicked and the image changed to the other one of me in the envelope.
I sat frozen as click followed click and images of me that had not seemed obscene at the time but did now in this hotel room kept appearing on the screen. There were dozens. I hadn't realized there were so many.
When the horror show ended, we both sat silently until I finally asked, "How did you get these?"
"I will tell you, but in fact how I got them is not nearly as important as that I do have them.
"Now, all of those, along with the cover of FORBES for people who might not recognize the exquisite Ming Dynasty creation you wear around your lovely
throat--which I must say I particularly admire in the pose where you are standing with your head thrown back while wearing nothing else but black high heels--is ready to be sent as Email. You might want to peruse the list of recipients before it goes out and let me know if I have missed anyone who might be interested."
A click and the screen changed. Beyond my shock I was impressed with his thoroughness. As he well knew, he hadn't missed anyone. It seemed that everyone I had ever known was there, and a good many I had forgotten. Everyone at Broadthroup from my partners to the mail room. The adult members of my family, parents, brother, aunts, uncles, cousins. Members of committees and boards on which I served. Friends. He kept scrolling as I stared numbly. It went on and on.
A click and the screen changed. The word SEND was highlighted.
"As you now know, Lynn, I can change your life with the tip of one finger, though I don't suppose that most of the recipients will check their Email until tomorrow. I'm sure it will be interesting when you return from your triumph. Just imagine."
"How much do you want?"
He laughed. "I knew you would ask that. I am as familiar with your finances as I am everything else about you, and I assure you that I don't want your money. You have done quite well for yourself by most standards, but your entire net worth does not approach the daily fluctuations in mine."
It was then that I began to be afraid.
"Then what do you want?"
"Why it should be obvious. What else is there? I want you."
I felt as though I were on that falling elevator again. Stalling for time while my mind raced, I said, "You were going to tell me how you obtained the pictures."
But the unexpected reply only threw me into greater confusion.
"Your husband gave them to me."
"Winston gave them to me, although I did not then know his name. He sent them over the Internet."
Anger flashed through me. "The incredible fool!"
"You must not be too hard on him. He did keep your face hidden. It was all anonymous. Except for the necklace, of course, and that only appeared in the one sequence. And what were the odds that anyone would ever make the connection. He couldn't have foreseen the magazine cover. No one could have. Besides he was lonely and bored and neglected."
"You know that?"
"I concluded it."
"Were there others?"
"You mean who received the photos? I believe so. In fact I am sure there were. Not many I don't think. Winston even let us suggest poses for you. Remember the dildoes and the spread eagle. You have already acquiesced to my wishes."
My brain was in overload. Too much information. Too many shocks. Too fast. As he intended.
"You need a drink. Tangarey and tonic is your usual. There is an unopened bottle on the bar. Go fix yourself one."
I did not trust myself to speak and shook my head negatively.
"You are much too intelligent a woman, Lynn, to mistake a demand for a suggestion."
I got to my feet and crossed to the bar. While my trembling fingers fumbled with the bottle top I heard a sound and turned to see him pushing the coffee table away from the sofa.
"While you are there, pour a very small cognac for me."
I noticed that he omitted please.
I finished mixing my drink and took a swallow. I considered not pouring his, but I did, turned and walked toward him.
"Sit there," he said, indicating the chair on the other side of where the table had been, about six or eight feet in front of him.
Only too willing to put distance between us, I sat down, keeping my feet and knees together, glad my dress was long. The camcorder directly over his shoulder stared at me like an unblinking eye.
He waited patiently until I took another swallow of my gin and tonic. As I lowered the glass, he said, "Remove your shoes."
I have relived that instant--and the next--endlessly, agonized over it as I have no other. I am justifiably considered to be decisive, and once a decision is made, I don't have second thoughts. But this. So precisely pedestrian an act. Something I had naturally done thousands of times.
I could see the faces, of Jason Walters, the senior partner who has been my mentor and is the individual most responsible for my promotion; and of Christopher, my personal assistant; and of Judy, my secretary, and of my parents, and my brother, Jack; and all the others. I could never return to the office. Not even to the industry. Though even at that moment, I did know I could refuse. This Brad person might not even follow though. It might be a bluff. But I sensed that it was not, that he would take pleasure in humiliating me one way or another. But as I say, even at that moment I knew I could simply walk away from everything and disappear with Winston that much sooner. But 'everything' was what I had worked for all my life. And I was furious with Winston for putting me in this position, however unwittingly. And even at that moment I knew, although I did not fully admit it to myself until a long time later, that some tiny perverse sliver of myself was aroused, or at least stimulated, sensitized, by the prospect of being used helplessly by this man. His very grotesqueness. To be touched by such a creature.
I have wondered if I had not already fallen under his control. I had come to his room. I had sat beside him. I had made and brought the drinks. But those were different. Removing my shoes was so innocent. And yet it wasn't. It was letting him tell me to undress. It was more than crossing a line, it was passing over a threshold to a whole new dimension in which I was truly helpless, where things would happen to me, where I would do things that I could not even imagine. Removing my shoes was surrender.
I studied his face as I pressed the toe of one burgundy pump, dyed to match the dress, against the heel of the other, and pushed it off; then with stockinged foot slipped out of the second shoe. He raised the snifter and took a sip of cognac, exhaled, which became a wheeze, and smiled.
Once into that new dimension, he gave me no time to retreat. Before the night was through, he would have images of me infinitely more compromising that those supplied by Winston. I simply removed my shoes and was lost.
"What are you wearing beneath that enchanting dress?"
Instinctively I started to say that it was none of his business, but then I began to understand my new condition. "A bra, pantyhose, panties."
"Remove your pantyhose and panties."
I took a big swallow from my drink, which was almost pure gin, before setting it on the floor. Raising my hips from the chair, I reached beneath my dress and pulled my undergarments off in one motion and tossed them to the side, extraordinarily sensitive of my bare thighs pressing together.
"Pull up the hem of your dress. Higher."
I lifted the material above my knees.
"Higher. To the waist."
The orders came more rapidly. "Open your knees. Wider." I felt blood rush to my face when I knew he could see my sex as so few had. And never a total stranger. For that matter I was a stranger to myself. I seemed to become the camera over his shoulder, watching someone else strip naked.
"Can you unzip the dress yourself or would you like help?"
I shook my head and reached back.
"Good. Pull the top down to just below your breasts. Ahh, they are lovely. Beautifully formed. Erotic nipples.
I did, still clutching the dress to me.
"Let it fall, fool. Step out of it. Turn around. Slowly."
When my back was to him, he said, "Stop." I think I shuddered. "Move your feet further apart and bend over, away from me. Further. Your feet further apart and bend further."
Refusing to obey no longer even crossed my mind.
"Reach back and spread your butt." I remember that he used that word. "Show me your asshole." He added, "After all it's nothing I haven't already seen." I could feel his eyes and the camera, the cameras, boring into me. "I'm told you find it painful. When were you last fucked in the ass?"
Head down, from beneath the shadow of my dangling hair, I mumbled, "I...I don 't know. I don't remember."
"Well was it yesterday, a week ago, a month ago?"
"More than a month. Several."
He seemed to like me in that position.
"Get down on the floor. On all fours."
Grateful to be less exposed, I knelt.
"Hands and knees, I said."
The carpet was rough under my palms.
"Crawl over to the windows, and then back. Slowly. "
I did, stopping when I was back beside my chair.
"No. All the way to me." Now it was going to happen: more than just displaying myself. I reminded myself that I had no choice.
He tired to seem impassive, but as I neared him I felt heat radiating from his body and saw drops of sweat on his face, and smelled a peculiar odor, not necessarily foul, but sharp.
"You are really quite beautiful, wonderful skin. Your photographs don't do you justice. This is going to be a great, great pleasure. It already is."
Unwilling to stare up at him, I remained on all fours with my head down. His black patent leather shoes were directly before my eyes. He had unexpectedly small feet.
"What?" I raised my head.
"Go ahead. Lick them. My shoes."
I thought: I will do worse. Without having the least idea how much worse I would do.
The surface was smooth. There was no real taste. It was like licking a piece of plastic.
"All over." And he raised one leg. "Including the sole."
Still they were formal wear and had seldom been worn outside, though there was an earthy taste.
"Good. You are doing very well. Move your tongue up my leg. The left one."
As lightly as possible I followed the seam of his tuxedo trousers. When I reached the knee my head was briefly caught between his bulging thighs.
"Up the fly."
There was dampness there. Sweat and precome seeping through cloth. A massive bulge. But there were massive bulges everywhere beneath his clothes.
Powerful hands grabbed my head, mashing my face against his crotch, rubbing it side to side,until I could not breathe.
As he released me, my head came up to gasp and I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror, a naked worshiper kneeling before a smiling Buddha. I gave an involuntary moan.
"You will learn that my body places certain obstacles in the way of my pleasure, though it compensates in other ways."
Whenever he made such flat declarative statements with such absolute assurance: You will learn...how to fuck a man of my bulk..how to take a cock down your throat without gagging...how to lick an asshole...how to eat a cunt...and on and on...I saw into an endless tunnel of degradation leading far into the future.
Pushing hard with his hands against the cushion, he levered himself up and stepped past me. "Turn and watch," he demanded, as he undid his black tie and peeled off his clothes.
I have already said that I had up to then only been intimate with four men, so it is not much to say that I had never seen anything like his body. Even now, I haven't. It is difficult to describe. Perhaps a hairy Michelin man. Rolls upon rolls of flesh piled on top of one another. Pasty white, speckled with black hair, which is particularly thick on his chest--his breasts are bigger than mine-- shoulders and groin. That he did not seem human almost made it easier to accept. I was sacrificing myself to some mythic beast..
He squatted down like a sumo wrester--that is what he reminds me of
most--and placed his fat ass on the edge of the chair I had occupied. When he spread his knees, a massive purple cock rose from a hairy thicket. The head was swollen with blood and shining with the fluids of his arousal.
"Crawl to me."
I like to think I hesitated a fraction of a second. If I did, it was only a fraction.
When I was between his knees, he leaned his shoulders back which elevated his cock to within an inch of my mouth. One word: "Suck."
As I know only too well, his cock is larger than average, almost exactly the same length as Winston's, but like everything else about the man, thicker. I did not think I could take such an organ. Of course it is no where near the size of Jefferson's, but then a few more minutes would pass before I would become acquainted with that gentlemen.
My lips stretched to encompass the column of flesh.
It did not taste like Winston, but the rubbery texture was the same. The flavor was acrid, sharp, and the odor stronger.
Tentatively I began to bob my head up and down.
"Take it deeper."
I tried and came up gagging, which is when I heard, "You will learn to do better. You will learn to take it all, to bury your nose in my gut, without gagging."
Before I could resume, he said, "Come up on your knees. Spread them apart. I was to see something."
When I complied, he swiftly reached down and stuck the middle finger of his right hand up me and laughed. He withdrew it and held it in my face. " I have not touched you. No one has. Yet your cunt is running. This is turning you on, isn't it, slut?"
"No." I protested. But the finger said otherwise. I truly hadn't even been thinking of myself. My body was just reacting, female to male.
"Taste yourself. Lick it clean."
His finger spread juices over my lips and snaked into my mouth. Obediently I used my tongue.
"Enough. Finish what you started."
He swelled in my mouth. More and more of his fluids mixed with my saliva. His hands came down to my head again. Somewhere under all that fat is muscle. His grip was a vice. He began to thrust his cock up each time he pulled my head down, forcing further and further inside me, until I was taking him much deeper than I ever had Winston. With the first spurt, he held my head still. Later he told me that he had deliberately not come that day, wanting to drown me. He nearly did. It went on and on, spurt after spurt splattering against the roof of my mouth and tongue. His come was thick as though it had taken on the texture of his flesh. Unable to move, I had no choice but to swallow. And swallow. And swallow.
When he finally released me, I fell back and caught the arm of the chair to steady myself. I rested my head against the chair and closed my eyes. When I opened them the illusion that that was all he would want vanished when his cock did not. Although it was not as tumescent had it had been, it was still arrogantly erect. It's purple head demanding. I crawled over to where I had left my glass beside the couch and drained it, trying to cleanse his come from my mouth.
Later he would often refuse to permit me to drink, wanting me cold sober, fully aware of the abominations I was performing or enduring, but that first night he wanted compliance. "Fix yourself another," he said. And I struggled to my feet and did. The second of many as that endless night dragged on. After a while it became a blur. As I wanted it to. And I don't directly remember what happened, although I know from having seen the videos.
I do remember what happened next.
He rolled from the chair onto his back on the floor.
"Come over here and climb on."
Straddling him is like doing the splits. Everything about his body stretches mine. My legs are stretched by the obscene mound of his belly as my lips had been by his cock.
To reach his cock, which is forced to an angle by folds of fat, I slide down, sandpaper bristles of hair chaffing my vagina. "Impale yourself," he orders. And I do.
He does not move. I doubt he can move in that position. And he obviously enjoys making me do all the work, sliding up and down, bringing him pleasure, being forced to draw more of his come into my body.