Virtual Slavery

14

Winston

Lynn faded from my life like an unfixed print exposed to direct light or as the vibrant colors of some fish dissolve into dead grayness when they are caught and pulled from the water.

Her work now entailed much more travel than ever before, with trips to the west coast or New York several times each month. More and more frequently I found myself alone in our penthouse in Cambridge, resentful of what at the time I thought was her obsessive career. When she was at home, she was always exhausted. She never refused me sex, but it was no better than necrophilia, and gradually I stopped bothering.

I deeply regretted selling the house in Tiburon because I would have surely gone there. I doubt very much that separation would have shocked her into change, and divorce would have inevitably followed. I find myself wondering if that might have been best. But such thinking is futile. I did sell the house. I did stay in Cambridge. And we did stay together, if peculiarly.

My life become one of memory and fantasy.

Memories of days, nights, experiences, with Julie and Anne, and other women, some of whose names I could not even remember, some of whom I was surprised to realize I had known twenty or thirty years earlier, were incomparably more vivid than Lynn's infrequent, wraithlike presence.

I masturbated to those memories considerably more than I had sex with my wife.

And I masturbated to rented videos, seeking out those which featured women who bore some resemblance to Julie and Anne and Lynn in bondage or being sodomized.

And I desultorily cruised the Internet, occasionally sending out the images of Lynn, but not often. I did not take any new pictures of her. That was far beyond our sex life, which consisted of my turning her sleeping body on its side in the mornings on those weekends she was home and sticking my cock in her unresponsive cunt for a few insipid minutes while I fantasized about someone else far away and long ago.

I found myself thinking that perhaps this is all that most people ever get out of life. I realized that I was no longer a young man, yet I could not accept that this was all that was left. It would have not gone on much longer, even before that evening when I came back with some Thai food for my solitary dinner during one of Lynn's California excursions and found an Email from the man I knew of as 'B.'

My interest was engaged when I noted the identification. I had not heard from him for months, but the images he had sent in the past had always been intensely erotic

After apologizing for the lapse in contact, the Email stated that B had a new slave. He trusted that I would appreciate the pictures of her which were included. He invited me to suggest ways I would like to see her posed.

Eagerly I scrolled on, and as the images appeared, I hit the print button. Before the prints came from the printer, I had unzipped my pants and was stroking my cock.

There were three.

In the first only the lower part of the woman's legs and her arms extend beyond an incredibly fat body on top of her. From above it looks like the back of a copulating elephant seal.

The second shows the woman from an angle near her feet as she is sandwiched between two men, the elephant seal now below her, a huge muscular black body above, the white cock stretching her cunt, the black cock her ass, so much so that the the circle of her anus is white from lack of blood flow and appears in immanent danger of tearing. The slave's body is flattened between the men. Only a sliver of long blond hair can be seen. Almost unbearably exciting to me is a black letter B visible on one cheek of her perfect ass.

The third is a closeup of her body, arched back in pain and/or pleasure, from groin to breasts. She is sheened in sweat. Rock hard nipples strain upward. In the foreground to one side is another woman's shoulder and right arm to the wrist, which disappears into the slave's cunt, whose lips cling to it tightly.

Stoking myself furiously, I came, exploding in the best orgasm in weeks.

Wiping my cock in a Kleenex, I arranged the prints side by side on the desk so that I could see them all simultaneously, and continued to stroke myself to a second orgasm, Thai food forgotten and cooling.

I wondered if B was the fat man or the black one, or perhaps neither but behind the camera. I found myself envious that he had so beautiful a slave to play with. I remember thinking that her body was almost as good as Lynn's.

To Be Continued...