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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.
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