I felt myself pressed back into my chair. I was still sticky with cum, and my cock was refusing to go down. I was flushed, still, with arousal: could feel it in the redness of cheeks, the flutter in my chest, and the swelling of my prostate. I ran through the images he had spun for me. Him slapping his elephant trunk cock off his quads, his seed splattering on the floor. The veined thickness of his manhood teasing and training my asshole. The heavy thud of his footsteps as he lumbered his way to me. His huge body pressing heavily on my puny one. I could almost feel his weight again: the chorded strength of his pecs, the rough tangles of dark body hair. And his smell. It was so clear to me. The feeling of being wetly pressed into his pits, the sweaty tangle of hair forced into my nose, and the heavy, masculine musk assaulting me.
The red dot on my screen indicating a new email blinked mercilessly. It was, of course, from him.
"David, I trust you enjoyed my most recent addition to our series. I suspect you enjoyed it too much. Breaking the pact is not allowed. You know this. Punishment includes more little details about your little life making it into further series, and something more creative. The Amazon link below has a wishlist. Not for me this time, for you. Order all of the items and stand by for further orders. You obviously need more training."
I click into the link. Nipples clamps. Silicon ball gag. A series of butt plugs, starting with a puny training size. And an obscenely huge dildo, furrowed by thick veins in a pattern vaguely similar to Writer's. In fact, incredibly similar. I pull up one of the videos he had sent me to confirm, and was again lost in lust for his oversized... everything. His legs, thick slabs of muscle, bloated with strength. His balls, baseball size, only normal-looking when his monstrous cock rested atop them. The veins, yes, that's what I was looking for. I compared it to the dildo, which was made by some German company I had never heard of. Uncannily similar, I thought... though probably smaller than him.
With hands still stickily wet from my breach of our pact, I clicked buy, entered my details, expedited to shipping and watched the website merrily inform me that the instruments of my punishment would be with me soon.
My legs, I find, are working again, so I drag myself to the shower.
*****
While I wait to hear from the Writer again, I entertain myself with our back catalogue, and the lusty comments underneath them. One user, who I know had paid top dollar for a few pictures and an appearance in one story, writes longing fan fiction under each post. No longer able to afford the Writer's ministrations, he lingers pathetically in the comments, asking whether anyone knows who the David of the story is, and writing hammy paragraphs imagining himself replacing David.
A text from UPS lets me know that my package is arriving on Friday, so I book a day off work to wait for it. I am simultaneously terrified and aroused by the thought of my wife finding it, and, the night before it arrives, I annoy her by asking about her work schedule and lunch plans. While she showers before bed, I entertain myself with fantasies of her finding the delivery, first thinking of the excuses I would make, but then I imagine myself showing her the stories, and the small selection of photos and videos I had amassed of the Writer. As my left hand strays to a nipple, and my right hand to my erection, I keep my ear trained on the sound of the shower, and build an increasingly elaborate fantasy in my head. I imagine Susan wielding the enormous dildo, teasing my hole with it, training it to accept more and more. We're recording our sessions for the Writer, showing him that I can take him, paying for his flights. Susan watches him fuck me, helps guide the enormity of his cock into the hole that she helped train for him.
