Chapter 9

Where things don't get better before they do.

My skull resounded with the painful throb of my pulse. I must have returned to consciousness, but it was a reluctant and scattered affair. I needed a while to understand the situation I found myself in.

My body seemed numb; I could hardly move a muscle. The room around me was dark. It took me minutes to see the contours of furniture, the only source of light being a grayish square. It might have been a curtained window.

I guess what I saw was a bed. There were no blankets or sheets on it — just a shapeless mound of pillows. The pale outline of a body lay stretched on it, forming an X. Two arms reached for the upper corners. Two legs were spread in the opposite way. She must be a tall person — a woman, I thought.

I tried to move. It just made me groan.

"Bruce?"

The voice was Erica's. She was the woman on the bed. "Erica?" I said. "Is that you? What have they done?"

She moaned softly. "They tied me to the bed. I am naked."

"Why?" I asked, rather stupidly. "I mean, why would they... ?" I interrupted myself. "Oh damn. Erica, I am so sorry. I should never ... Dammit, I am such a stupid idiot."

At that moment a door opened. A shard of white light sprang into the room. It painted hard contrasts all over the naked body on the bed. Even in my dizzy distress I had to admire the sight. Then the silhouettes of two people blocked the light. One was of a man, the other a woman's.

The man's voice was Enthwistle's. "Lovely," he said and walked over to the bed. His hand ran over the black-and-white landscape of the tied body. Erica wriggled to escape it.

"You won't get away with this, Enthwistle," she groaned. He just chuckled. "Oh, but I shall, honey, don't worry." His fingers touched her mouth. He chuckled when she tried to bite him. "Ah, she has a temperament, I like it." Humming to himself he caressed her chest.

"You see, darling Erica," he went on. "You came here to get things done for Onslow. He needs my influence to get what he craves, so he wants to be on my good side. He'd never approve of you being difficult, would he?"

Erica wriggled and groaned as he pulled a nipple cruelly. "Bastard!" I think I understood. Enthwistle chuckled again.

"I like Onslow," he said, stroking her belly. "Now there's a guy who has his priorities straight." Grinning, he scratched the narrow strip of cropped hair that led to the top of her vagina.

"Now, Erica, honey," he went on. "Consider this a, well, ehm ... less traditional way of continuing our business lunch."

Erica flinched. He must have reached her clit.

"Good girl," Enswistle said. "But I don't think I need to hear your side of the conversation anymore." He produced an object and started working on the woman's mouth. His back blocked the scene. I heard Erica's protests; she even yelled loudly. Enthwistle jumped back — she must have bitten him. He cursed and shook his hand. Then he slapped her face hard, calling her a bitch.

I jerked at my ties. It was utterly useless, of course — and quite pathetic. "Stop that!" I yelled. He just cackled his god-awful snicker.

When he moved away, I saw the dark blotch of a gag at the center of Erica's face. Straps ran to each side, keeping it tightly in place. Only her muffled moans could be heard. She arched her body in frustration.

"Asshole," I muttered. "I'll get you for this." I sounded as ridiculous as I felt. I was mad at myself for having allowed this to happen.

"Welcome back, boy," Enthwistle said, turning my way. "I hope you appreciate our efforts — we go to great lengths to entertain our guests. Come in, Myriam. Meet your sweet ex and his latest conquest. Don't be shy, she is all yours. And he too, if you like."

The woman on the threshold entered. Her features were vague as she was mostly lit from the back. But her halo of reddish curls and the way she moved left no doubt who she was. Her short robe seemed sheer against the piercing light. It was all she wore.

"Erica," the old man said as his hand caressed an unwilling face. "Here's your lover's ex-wife. I understand you very much wanted to meet her. Believe me, darling, I do understand why."

Enthwistle chuckled and looked at Myriam. "Myr, honey," he said. "Please take your time to get to know Erica better. She must want you very much, as she has traveled all the way here just for you. She came for lunch, now it seems she is on the menu. Give her your best — she's really earned your undivided attention."

Myriam shed her short robe and climbed naked on the bed, right between Erica's spread legs. She never looked my way. "Hello Erica," she said. She used the guileless, sweet-tempered voice of the girl I married — eons ago.

Being tied to the chair had a strange effect on me — and on how I felt about what happened in front of me. I had jerked and pulled at my ropes, only to see my frustrations shatter against a wall of amused indifference. No one seemed to care about me. Nothing I did had the slightest impact on what went on. In the end it made me a passive, almost distracted audience-of-one.

The floodlight from the open door drained most of the color. It created the black and white contrasts of a Japanese graphic novel. The bed hung isolated in the darkness around it — like the center stage of a theatre. Or even a cinema screen.

The naked women looked like slow moving actors or dancers. They seemed engaged in a liturgical activity. It took their sexuality to another level — a serene level, almost void of lust. It was as if I was watching a perverted sacrament.

I saw Myriam kneel between the spread thighs, bending forward. Her hand caressed Erica's face, clearing it of stray hair. Then she leant even further. Her dangling tits touched Erica's. A slow tongue licked the gag. I now saw that it wasn't a ball gag at all. A black dildo rose from the stretched mouth. Myriam sank her lips over it. When she rose again, the black cock shone in the bright light. A silver thread of saliva connected its tip with Myriam's open mouth.

"Ericahh," she breathed. "You are so beautiful."

The voice shook me out of the dream. A rush of shame entered my mind. Here I was looking at the woman I loved degrading herself with the woman who was my best friend. Two victims caught in a web of humiliation, partly of my doing — forced to do things against their will.

And I just watched.

"Myriam," I croaked. "Don't do this. I love you, honey. You don't have to do..." A hand cut off my words. It smelled of soap and tobacco.

Myriam looked up. Her face turned my way. I saw the plastic travesty of her smile. I remembered it from a Dallas hotel bar. "It is all right, Bruce," she said. "I love you too, honey." And she returned her attention to the woman on the bed — closing her soft sweet lips around a peaking nipple.

Weird is a word.

I don't know if it was the right word for my state of mind. I felt removed from what I had considered reality up 'til then. Reality is built from tangible, well known things — things we are familiar with. We have an easy, intimate access to them. We live in them. Not that day, however. That hour I was a stranger to my own life.

There was the hand over my mouth, getting sweaty. There was the pornographic show on the bed in front of me — conducted by my two most intimate friends. And there was this hard thing poking into the back of my head. No — it wasn't a gun. When it moved I knew it was a man's erection.

It belonged to the hand that belonged to Enthwistle the Elder. It was accompanied by his chuckles and grunts. And it brought me close to throwing up.

"Aren't they something?" the man hissed. "Look at the slut's ass. I never saw a more perfect whore." He snickered. Then he rubbed his cock deeper into my neck. "And your chick. Wow man, you are one lucky bastard. Look at those legs."

His hand prevented me from answering, but I would not have answered anyway. I'd sooner have bitten the hand until blood poured out. Silly dreams, though — he never gave me the chance.

On the bed Myriam had started eating out Erica's pussy. Her red nailed fingers were on the stretched thighs. There were groans and very wet sounds. Myriam's ass was high up, displaying her shaven cunt and the tiny pinpoint of her asshole.

I didn't even wonder about the rude terms I used for her in my mind — cunt, ass hole. The way I saw Myriam had obviously changed dramatically. She had been Estelle, back at the Houston Hilton. But had she? She certainly wasn't now. She was Myriam and she had a cunt, and an asshole. She had pumped up tits and yes, she acted as much the slut as she had done back then.

But the most hurtful thing now was that she was Myriam — gracious, sweet, but outrageously sluttish Myriam.

After a while Erica started to respond. She arched up from the pillows and began a slow gyrating movement. The natural urges of her body must be taking over. I could only imagine what happened inside her head. She was a warm-blooded lesbian. How could she withstand being eaten by an expert tongue? She was tied up; she had no chance.