Chapter 1

Sitting there in the car, I was going over in my mind the last three days of my life. I looked at myself in my hand mirror, wondering: How did I let it go this far and just where is all this going?

I should start back five days ago where my whole life turned upside down. I had just dropped off my two children at school and I decided for the very first time to stop by a donut shop for a quick cup of coffee and, of course, a glazed donut. I walked in and I moved in behind a man standing in line waiting his turn.

As we stood there waiting he turned around and said, "Good morning." I smiled and said the same back. He turned back around and then after a moment he turned around again and asked. "Did you go to UCLA in '87?"

I smiled and said, "Yes, Class of '89. Why do you ask?"

He said, "Oh, you just look so familiar. Is your name Linda Banks?"

I looked at him and I could not recognize his face whatsoever. I said, "No, it is Linda Jackson now; it was Banks but I'm married now. I'm sorry, but I just do not remember you. What is your name?"

He stuck out his hand and said, "It's Carl, Carl Nelson. We met only once and I'm sure you wouldn't remember me, but I never forgot meeting you. Do you live around here?"

I shook his hand and said, "Yeah, we live over on 19^th Street. Do you live nearby?" He pointed across the street to a new neighborhood and said, "Over at Cypress Estates. It would mean a lot if you and your husband joined Jamie and I for a BBQ tomorrow night. We can talk about school."

I was pleasant and told him I would talk with my husband and I would call his wife. He gave me his telephone number, we spoke some more and later that day I spoke with my husband and after some discussion we decided that we would go meet Carl and his wife.

I called and spoke with Elisabeth Nelson and the next night we were at their house for the BBQ. Nothing really happened then; I mean, it was pleasant. Elisabeth was nice and so was Carl. We left around 9:30 and went home.

Yesterday after Clark went to work I received a Federal Express package. It was one of those large envelopes. I signed for it and, walking back into the living room, I opened it up. I could tell there were a lot of pictures inside and I pulled them out to see what they were and who sent them. I froze as I looked at the first picture. It was so raw and so dirty. There was this woman on her back with her legs up in the air and she was holding onto the ass cheeks of the man who was having sex with her. From the way that she was digging her hands into his ass cheeks it was very obvious that she was pulling on him as he screwed her.

Her face was not that clear, however from the way that her mouth was open it was also obvious that she was in ecstasy as the man was inside of her. Then I saw a red butterfly tattoo on her right upper thigh and a yellow flower just above her right ankle as she had her legs sticking up allowing him full access into her.

Oh, my God. Me! Shirley was with me the day that I had the yellow flower put on me. I looked closely at the picture but I could not really see my face clearly. I just sat down there in the hallway on the floor. I looked at the next picture and this time I had a different man in me; this man was dark, dark black, and I had my hands pulling myself open for him as I had the other man.

I looked at the next picture, then the next. There I was in 13 different pictures and in every picture there was a different man fucking me. There was more. In the 14^th picture I was kneeling over one man sucking his dick while another man was behind me fucking me.

These pictures clearly showed my face and the ecstasy that I was enjoying what was happening to me.

I felt sick; I could not believe my eyes. The reason I could not believe it was, I had no memory of any of that happening to me. Sure, I did screw boys at UCLA but never like what I was looking at. In three different pictures I was between two black men while I sucked off a white man.

On the last picture, written in red ink, was this note: "Call me on my cell now or Clark gets a package just like this one." I sat there trying to figure out how whoever it was had managed to make up these pictures like this. Because of the football jerseys that the different men were wearing it looked like I was fucking the UCLA football team -- all of them.

I sat there and cried. I knew that if Clark saw these pictures that he would leave me. I knew that nothing I could say would make these go away. I managed to get up and I went into the den. I sat down on the couch and dropped the pile of pictures on the coffee table in front of me. I saw the note and telephone number; I reached for the phone and dialed.

"Hello." It was Carl Nelson's voice. I just listened.

"Is that you, Linda? I take it you received my package. You better talk to me or I'll just hang up and Clark will receive his package this afternoon."

"Yes, it's me. How, why, where did you... how did you... ? I didn't do those things."

"Well, at least you are asking the right questions. Funny thing about tattoos; they really tell the truth, don't they? Funny thing, too, about those pictures and the way you have kept yourself up all these years. Who can say when those pictures were taken? They could have been taken 15 years ago -- or they could've been taken just last month when Clark was in Texas for that week of training. I mean, look how great you look, and I just love the way you are grabbing every one of those men's asses as they fuck you."

"What do you want? Do you want money? I don't have much, but I can get it."

"Well, my dear, dear Linda, I have not been dreaming of you all these years just to have you pay me off with money. I gave up years ago of thinking I would ever come across you again, and I almost threw out those pictures a couple years ago, but aren't we glad I didn't? Oh, no, I don't want your money, my sweet -- I want you, and you're going to give me what you gave all those boys that night. You see, I was hired to take the pictures and when I wanted to fuck you, bitch, you laughed at me, you cussed me out, you told me you wouldn't fuck me if I was the last man on earth, yet you fucked the whole football team. Well, my dear, now you're not only going to fuck me, you are going to be my very own personal cunt.

"Here's how it's going to work. When I tell you to do something, you will do it -- only this time there won't be any drugs involved, this time you are going to remember everything you will be doing. Oh, you can say no. I give you that option. Go ahead and tell me, go ahead and say it... What, no reply, nothing, you're not going to tell me to fuck myself, you're not going to call me names?"

"No" I said softly. I was stunned, I guess when Shirley and I went to one of the many parties on campus that someone must have drugged me and I ended up fucking the football team and Carl took pictures of it all. I could not remember any of it. And since Shirley was not in any pictures I wonder if she was even there.

I felt beaten, I felt sick and so alone. I could not go to Clark; he thought I was a nice girl. I had lied to him and told him I had only been with one other man before I met him. What was I to do?

I said, "What now? I mean, what do you want me to do. Do you want me to meet you someplace so you can fuck me? I don't want you to come over here."

He yelled, "LISTEN, BITCH! YOU DON'T FUCKING TELL ME WHAT YOU WILL AND WILL NOT DO, GOT THAT, CUNT? YOU DO WHAT THE FUCK I SAY AND YOU KEEP YOUR FUCKING MOUTH SHUT!!"

I was not used to having anyone yell at me, Clark never yelled at me even when he was mad. I didn't say anything; I just waited for Carl to speak again. After awhile he said, "Now, for starters, you better get it through your fucking hard head that you will do exactly as I say, and first thing I want you to do is go to that fucking computer of yours that you and Clark spoke so highly about as being the state of the art, get naked and wait for my e-mail. I want you to adjust your camera so I can see you sitting naked at your desk. Got that, bitch?"

"Yes, I got that. You want me to get naked and sign online. It will take me a few minutes."

"Don't make me fucking wait. Oh, and if you've been crying, wipe those fucking tears and put some makeup on." I heard the phone "click" as Carl hung up

I stood and walked to the bedroom where we have our computer. As I walked I began peeling off my clothes. I felt so trapped. By the time I made it to the chair, I was naked. I sat down and clicked on the Microsoft icon opening up to the net. Since we have DSL, there was no wait. I looked at the camera and I moved it over to the bookshelf to my left. I clicked on the camera icon and I could see myself sitting there naked.

I felt so sick as I waited. Suddenly my screen flashed on and I had an instant message from Carl. It simply said, "Turn your camera on so I can see your cunt."

I did, and then he sent me another instant message: "Smile, cunt, and start fingering yourself and play with that cunt." I have never been called such names; I mean never, ever. No one has ever called me a bitch, let alone a cunt.

I reached between my legs with my right hand and I began playing with my self.

Another message flashed on my screen: "I don't give a shit if you like it or not; make me think that you enjoy it. You better fucking make me believe that you are enjoying yourself. Now get the fuck with it, cunt!"

I wanted to scream, I wanted to yell, I wanted to cry... but what I did do was, I closed my eyes, put on a smile and give the son-of-a-bitch what he demanded, a show. I sure as hell did not want to piss him off. I tried to think of anything that could help me become even a little aroused, but it was no use, I just couldn't. Sure, I did know how to fake a climax, I think any woman can do that. Over the years I had faked it a few times with Clark. I heard my computer ping and ping. I opened my eyes to read: "Not bad, bitch. Now use something to fuck yourself with and I don't want to see any dildos. Use a cucumber, hairbrush or bottle. Fuck yourself and come for me. I want to see you climax hard."

I looked around the room and I saw one of my long neck perfume bottles. I got up, grabbed it and sat back down. I had to sit back a bit while at the same time I scooted my butt forward so I could open my legs more. I inserted it inside of me and began fucking my pussy. I closed my eyes and acted as if I was enjoying it. I heard a ping again; I opened my eyes to read: "Not too fast. Work it nice and slow, take your time, think of my big fat cock in there fucking your cunt."

I closed my eyes and began working the bottle in and out nice and slow, pulling it all the way inside and using my fingertips pulling it back out. I hate to admit it, but after awhile of doing it, the faking became easier, I mean, I began to feel a little pleasure from it. It did not take much longer before I was picturing a big fat cock fucking me. I reflected back on that big black man who had been fucking me in those filthy pictures.

I was picturing myself on my back with him deep inside of me, I recalled a man who was huge in school that I just fell head over heels over because he was so good in bed. He was an asshole out of bed, but in bed he was the best. I had my eyes closed and I pictured myself on my back, with my legs wrapped around his ass, holding onto him hard and pulling him by his ass as he fucked me. Soon he was fucking me faster and faster as I was getting closer and closer to a climax.

I found myself fighting to breathe as I came closer and the feelings of pleasure were taking over. I felt the wave of pleasure build and build as my climax began to race from my toes up to my brain as my pussy throbbed and clung to the fake cock fucking me. I felt myself build and build until I knew I could not go any further. My whole body shook as I sat there fucking myself thinking about that black man fucking me.

I heard ping after ping I opened my eyes to see message after message popping up on my screen, with in seconds my screen was full of instant messages from all different people, mostly men's names but they popped up so fast they were hard to read. I panicked I realized that my little show that Carl forced me to put on for him was not just for him. I don't know how he did it, but I must have had hundreds if not thousands of people watching me. Within moments my computer froze and the messages stopped coming.

The phone rang. I picked up the receiver next to me and Carl said, "Not bad for your first show. Your second show will be in one hour at 11. Then, for the rest of the day, every hour on the hour you will put on a sex show for me. I want you to move the camera from the side where you have it, and put it right in front of you. I want to see that fucking cunt of yours devouring whatever you use to fuck it with. I want a clearer shot of your face and that nasty fucking cunt. You got that, bitch? Oh yeah, sometime before noon you're going to receive another camera and a splitter. Just hold onto them; I'll set it all up when I get there."

I said, "I thought it was just you watching me. What if Clark saw me, or one of our friends? Why are you doing this? I will do anything you want, anything at all, please don't make me do that again, please. I'm sorry I laughed at you, I'm sorry I did not have sex with you. Please, have mercy, I don't want Clark to see this."

Carl said, "I like your attitude, bitch, and you're right about one thing: You're going to do any fucking thing I want you to do. If that means you sit there every hour for the next month putting on a sex show for the whole world to see, then by God you will do just that. You are fucking mine now. I own you body and soul. You either do what I say or pack your fucking bags and move out. You do know that Clarky boy will drop you like a hot fucking piece of coal when he finds out that you are nothing but a nasty, cock-loving, cock-hungry, cock-sucking slut. If he ever saw the way you took on the UCLA football team and he heard you begging them to keep fucking you over and over all night for eight hours, you know he would. Hell, the way you sucked them all off after they fucked you is a whole other set of pictures, not to mention the ass fucking they gave you. Hell, baby, these fucking pictures and the video we made of you all speak for themselves. Just make sure you do what the fuck I want, the way I fucking want it, and everyone will be happy. If you don't, you know damn well what will happen. Right? You hear me, bitch?"

Chapter 2 »