Virtual Slavery

7

Brad

"A pleasant domestic scene," I said, "You look good that way."

She was sitting on the edge of the bed naked, one foot on the floor, one drawn up so she could reach her toenails, which she was painting while I watched. I had no systematic plan for ever increasing dominance over her. We both knew that had been totally established in Saint Louis. There was simply this wonderful freedom of having a beautiful intelligent woman to whom I could do whatever I wanted. When I noticed on her calendar--posted on the Broadthroup and Brown internal network and therefore, through Charlie, to me--that she was scheduled to be in New York on the second Thursday in December, I dialed the number of the cell phone I had included with the video and told her I would have a room at the Plaza where she would be expected after her business was completed.

"But I am due to fly directly back to Boston."

"Then you will have to tell Winston that you have to stay over and catch an early flight the next morning, won't you?"

I enjoyed having power over both of them, taking the man's--the handsome man to whom women had I am sure always been attracted--wife from his bed and keeping her in mine for the night. I imagined him alone, masturbating over pictures of her, while I was playing with the real thing. Later in Boston I enjoyed coming in her mouth just before sending her home to him.

I had her suck me off as soon as she came to the room that afternoon.

I met her at the door wearing only a bathrobe and, after only a single word of greeting, to which she grudgingly replied, pushed her down to a squat, dropped my robe and stuck my cock in her mouth. One. Two. Three.

She was wearing a gray tailored suit and a white silk blouse and gray

heels. She had to hike her skirt up to her thighs to make room for my legs and the material drew tight across her ass.

I let her suck as she wanted and was pleased to feel that she took me deeper into her mouth than she had the first time. The contrast of this immaculately dressed woman with my nakedness was stimulating. "I'm sure all the men who meet you in business would like to have you like this," I said.

After I came I put on my robe again.

She looked around. "Only a single room. Reducing expenses? "

"Just a loving couple spending the night together in the city," I said ingenuously.

"What now?"

"Undress and follow me into the bathroom."

She blanched, "At least let me have a drink first."

I laughed. "It isn't what you think. And I don't want you drunk tonight, so let's wait. I've already called down for champagne to be brought up in a while."

Despite what had already happened between us, she was uncomfortable undressing.

I admired the line of her spine leading down to the crack of her ass as she walked ahead of me to the bathroom like a prisoner being led to the guillotine. "How tall are you," I asked.

"5'8."

"That's what I thought. Another thing we have in common."

She turned and flared at me. "We don't have anything in common."

"You are quite wrong. In addition to our heights, we have the same social and academic backgrounds, both our fathers were physicians, you received your MBA at Harvard, mine is from Wharton, the same areas of expertise, many of the same interests, including I am coming to suspect sexual proclivities."

"First I don't know anything about you, except you say your name is Bradley Rankin and that you are wealthy. From personal experience, you are an obscene pervert. As to sexual proclivities, that is absurd."

"I have no secrets. I will tell you anything you want to know about me."

"I don't want to know anything."

"I doubt that is true, but you will learn anyway.

"About sex, you forget that I have an increasing fund of information. Item: Winston's photographs. You like being tied up. You like being on display. You like being passive and dominated."

"By him."

"Professional dominatrix's of my acquaintance tell me that the majority of their clients are powerful businessmen, who seek release from the constant struggle of their working lives in sexual submission. I am not saying all powerful men are that way. Among others I am not. But a significant minority are, and so are you. You may recall a wet cunt in Saint Louis. You may recall an orgasm or two. Or maybe more. And If you don't, I'll soon give you another. Not for your pleasure, but for my own in being able to force it upon you. I know I am physically repugnant, and that I make sex dirty and perverse--and you ain't seen nothing yet, lady--but that is how you secretly deep down want it, can't permit yourself to admit it , and are thrilled when a man takes total responsibility and forces poor little helpless you to perform these terrible acts.

"I may be quite wrong. You may hate every second. If so, it doesn't matter. Maybe even all the better. But I don't think so. I think part of you--not all--but a fundamental element, likes being my slave.

"Say it, see if it doesn't turn you on. Go ahead, say you like being my slave."

"I won't"

"Of course you will."

"You can't make me. Your power of me has its limits. If my husband or anyone at Broadthroup finds out, it ends. And you want this to go on. You can't mark me, you can't beat me up. I won't."

I sighed. "I don't particularly want to hurt you tonight. But I assure you I can without leaving marks. Besides I am not the only one who wants this to go on. You are truly helpless. And you don't want to give that up. You are curious about what I will make you do, even as you know you can't even imagine what it might be. You want the experiences you know I will force upon you. So let's cut the crap, Lynn. Don't make me cause you unnecessary pain. In time you'll feel more pain than you want, I assure you. Say you want to be my whore, which you do. Think about being made to sell your body to other men. I promise I will force you to. Say it!"

Several seconds passed while she stared at me. Intentionally I did not raise my hand or make any threatening gesture.

Finally, "I want to be your whore."

"Did your body react to your saying that? Did you feel it? Just a little? Or a lot?"

When there was no answer, I said, "Say you are my whore."

"I am your whore."

"My cunt."

'Your cunt."

"No, say you are my cunt."

"I am your cunt."

"You are my animal, my bitch."

"I am your animal, your bitch."

"You are my slave."

"I certainly am your slave."

"Good. Now, there are a pair of scissors, a razor and shaving cream on the sink. Shave off all your pubic hair and be sure to get the hairs around your asshole. You'll keep it that way from now on. Both because I prefer smooth cunts and, whenever you undress, as a reminder of me."

"Yes. Whenever I go to the toilet I'll think of you."

"I'm sure piss will make you think of me."

She blushed and then protested, "But Winston."

"Tell him you were lonely in your hotel room and did it for him."

"I will have to call him tonight. I always do when I'm away."

"I'm sure I'll enjoy the conversation." Which I did later than evening with her sitting on my lap with my thick cock up her ass and my fingers on her clit. It was not a long call.

One of the compensations of my body is that it enables me completely to overwhelm a woman, to render her helpless merely by lying on top of her, engulfing her.

When Lynn's blood red toenail polish had dried, I told her to lie back on the bed. Her body trembled when I moved naked toward her. "Keep your arms at your side," I said, as I climbed onto the bed and then onto her.

I merely lay there, crushing her into the mattress, my legs outside hers, which were tight together, the tip of my cock near her cunt but because of my belly unable to penetrate it, all my weight on her, making it difficult for her even to breath, my face just above hers, watching her, examining her, observing her reaction. One woman told me that she had never felt so helpless, that she knew she certainly wasn't going to move. Then I kissed her quite gently and rolled away.

Before she could regain her breath, I pulled her wrists above her head with one hand and pushed her legs apart with the other and began to finger fuck her, first with one, then two and three fingers, moving in and out, withdrawing and touching only her clit .

"You like it," I whispered. "You know you do. You want it. Your body is starting to react. I can see the muscles tighten in your abdomen, your thighs, the flush is coming; to your face and throat. You can't help it. Push against me. Thrust up." And she did. "That's it. Fuck my fingers." She was gasping. I moved faster, three fingers inside her hot flesh, my thumb rubbing her clit. She was close. "Now." I wanted her to respond to the command. "Now. Come for me." And, helplessly, uncontrollably, she screamed, shuddered, and did.

Giving her no time to recover, I pushed her onto her side, facing away from me, folded her body so I could get my cock in her and fucked her. At first her body did not want it, wanted only to recover from her orgasm, but then it began to respond. I did not care. Holding her hips tight, I slammed into her, shaking her body, the entire bed, until I flooded her cunt.

When I pulled out and rolled onto my back, some of my come ran down her thighs.

We had not moved, when a few minutes later, as I had planned, the knock came at the door.

Startled she sat bolt upright.

"That's all right," I said. "It's only room service with the champagne."

She started to get up.

"No," I said. "Get under the covers." I pulled them back and then pulled the sheet over her just above her breasts. "A minute," I called to the door, then leaned down and rearranged the sheet so that one of her legs was bare. "Perfect."

"This is why the single room, isn't it?"

I smiled and put on my robe.

The room service waiter was, of course, polite and discreet and almost succeeded in keeping his eyes from darting from her still flushed body to the still obvious bulge under my robe.

I tipped him generously.