The writing bug, when inspiration strikes, is an insect that can’t be ignored. This past holiday I have been stealing time to curl up with my iPad or iPhone and forge through the sequel to The Slave-Girl and the Vampire. Sleep, it seems sometimes, is the enemy of creativity, and creativity the enemy of sleep. Always the demanding questions: What happens next? How does this end? And when the ending does reveal itself… I didn’t see that coming. Ah, well, back to real life…
Happy New Year everyone!
When I was sixteen, my best friend Annie and I discovered my mothers’ porn collection and spent the afternoon studying it. I’d be lying if I said I was not aroused at all, but mostly I was bored and a little creeped out by it all. Annie turned to me after an hour or so and asked, ‘Do you want to try it?’ She looked relieved when I shook my head. We returned the secret stash to its hiding place and never spoke of it again.
I never understood why anyone would want to have sex – not until I came here, that is. I now know what it’s like to dream of sex and wake with a desperate hunger to have it for real. It’s like an obsession, or a wild beast lurking in the shadows of the mind.
But the thought of sex with another woman still leaves me cold. I have, however, grown accustomed to the feel of Eve’s hands and lips, because I know that her interest in me is not sexual. I am her property, a toy for her to play with, not an object of desire.
Watching Dominique fucking Eve is like watching a live show version of the porn movies Annie and I watched all those years ago. What makes it bizarre and, to a degree, horrifying is that they are reenacting the night I lost my virginity. The huge screen on the wall shows very clearly, but silently, every detail of my ravishment, the expression on my face one of pure, animal lust. I have become a porn star in a movie I had had no idea was being recorded. And now Eve is being me, her movements echoing mine on the screen, as Dominique abuses her body the same way mine was so exquisitely abused.
It’s acutely embarrassing, but watching him grab my long hair and force me to suck his rampant cock – and seeing Dominique, almost simultaneously, grab Eve’s dark hair to pull her mouth onto the thick dildo that projects from Dominique’s groin – the memory of that hard flesh in my mouth, slick from its assault below, is suddenly so intense that I can taste the salt and smell the pungent flavour of our combined passion. It had taken me a minute to get used to it, and for a while I did, until he started getting rougher.
But I loved how rough he was. His strength thrilled me. Dominique is struggling to imitate him. She’s tiny in comparison, unable to throw Eve around and hold her the way he had with me, but she tries hard. She’s building up quite a sweat. She takes a great pleasure in smacking Eve’s bum as hard as she can, grinning slyly at me whenever she does, and the way she grabs Eve’s nipples and twists is far harsher than the firm-but-gentler treatment of mine. Eve complains. ‘Harder!’ she gasps through gritted teeth. ‘Harder!’
On screen I am gagging and choking. Eve is mastering the dildo with assurance. I wonder if she misses the taste of man flesh. How cruel her fate to possess the only man in existence and yet be unable to use him. Instead she is forced to live vicariously through us, her slave-girls.
She’s wearing a virtual reality headset. It’s very tight against her eyes and ears, immersing her in a three-dimensional, surround-sound view of the basement room, giving her a front-row seat facing the stage. Almost close enough to reach out and touch me on the bed, just as I’m standing here, almost close enough to reach out and touch her, watching her mouth get stuffed in turn.
But I don’t touch her. I don’t even touch myself, though the memories of that night are making me ache with need. Eve ordered me to watch and be still and silent, and she has taught me not to disobey. The rings through my nipples have served their purpose in that.
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