Chapter11
The sound of her personal phone buzzing in her purse pulled Jessica out of her thoughts, focused on the press release she was working on for Bradley. Anyone who had her contact information would know that she was working; even on the east coast, it was business hours. Maybe someone from the meetings?
She’d given her phone number to the emergency phonebook, both at the groups she’d met with in Portland and to people back East. Jessica shook her head and took a deep breath, preparing herself to help someone through a crisis.
The message notification showed an unknown number, and that the message she’d received was an image--she had turned off the ability to preview images back when there had been some scare about hackers exploiting that feature to trash phones, so in order to know what was happening, or why anyone was contacting her, she had to open the message up.
Jessica glanced at her computer. If it was someone having a crisis, she knew that she’d feel guilty all day if she didn’t respond quickly. Besides which, she was actually ahead of schedule for her tasks; she could afford to spend a few moments talking someone off of a metaphorical--or literal, if it came to that--ledge. And if it wasn’t a crisis situation, she could at least satisfy her curiosity.
She opened the message and stared at it as the picture loaded, feeling her stomach lurch, her heart start to pound. The image was her, on her knees, her face covered in dripping, thick white fluids, beaming up at the person holding the camera as someone whose face couldn’t be seen took her from behind.
Jessica felt as if she would throw up. Underneath the image, text popped up. Remember what a good little cunt you were? Jessica’s stomach lurched again, and for a moment, she was almost certain she would throw up--so certain she pressed her fingers to her mouth. Her hands were cold; her face was burning with humiliation.
She remembered the night that picture had been taken vividly. Drake--one of the men she had been “seeing” at the height of her addiction--had invited her over, had told her specifically not to wear any panties or even a bra since he wanted to get down to business right away.
What he hadn’t told her was that he’d invited two friends over, that all three of them had primed themselves by watching porn and taking some kind of male enhancement pills--and that they fully intended to spend the next eight hours using her as much as they possibly could, as some kind of competition to see how long they could all go. Drake had volunteered her for the group’s use.
In the moment, Jessica had gone along with it without question; she hadn’t even--at the time--really felt degraded, only thrilled at the sexual degradation, at the possibility of maybe, finally getting satisfaction.
It wasn’t until the morning after, when she’d been cleaning herself up, finding semen in places she couldn’t even remember being touched, feeling how sore she was from the positions the men had wrenched her body into, seeing the bruises they’d left with their grabbing, shoving hands that the full impact of what she’d done had occurred to her. And then Drake had told her about the pictures. And showed her half a dozen of them.
Jessica closed the message window and shuddered. There was no way that the person who had sent that message could be anyone but Drake, but why was he messaging her? He had clearly gotten a new number; she’d blocked his old one when she’d realized just how completely he’d been intent on degrading her.
What the hell good does it do him to message me when I’m not even in Atlanta anymore? Jessica took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Maybe Drake didn’t know she’d moved. She might as well tell him.
Sorry dickhead, I’m not in ATL anymore, she wrote, tapping ‘send’ and waiting for the message to show that it was completed before she blocked the number. Drake could get whatever he wanted from whatever woman he had managed to find after her; or he could find another unfortunate to indulge his kinks.
Jessica felt her eyes stinging as the reminder of the man who had taken advantage of her at her weakest point brought up even more memories: the time she’d let him take her anally in the back seat of his car, parked in a busy lot outside of a Walmart, because he’d refused to fuck her any other way.
The time she’d gone down on a girl at his command, even giving into his demand that she eat the girl’s ass out so that he would get her off afterwards. A dozen or more things she had done, that she hadn’t wanted to do, all because she had felt like she needed to get off, and Drake had known he could talk her into it in exchange for the sex she craved.
Her phone buzzed again, and Jessica cringed, knowing somehow that it would be Drake. With another new number. He must be using some kind of anonymizer, she thought, sighing. If nothing else, she thought, she could--maybe--talk to someone in one of the meetings about it, see what her legal recourse could be.
But curiosity got the better of her again. I know. You’re in Portland. So am I, as it happens. Just as she finished reading the message, another image came up: Drake’s cock, fully hard, pulled out of his boxers. Why don’t you come by my new place for your lunch break? I promise I’ll be nice this time.
In spite of how much the sight of Drake’s erection revolted her, Jessica could also feel the first stirrings of arousal. Just as much as she remembered how ashamed she’d felt after every encounter with him, she remembered how good she’d felt in the moment--every thought blanked out of her mind, at least for a few minutes. Every anxiety gone. The part of her brain that the addiction still lived in whispered to her.
You’re stronger now. You know you can say no. So, what could it hurt to give him some head? He’ll be hard again right after he comes on your face and then he’ll fuck you like the piece of meat you are. Jessica felt tears stinging her eyes and shook her head.
She winced, remembering the feeling of Drake slapping her face, her ass, telling her she was the best cunt he’d ever dumped a load in, teasing her with the prospect of taking his slick cock out of her pussy and just shoving it in her ass and how he knew she’d come even if she begged him to stop. “Cum-sluts like you don’t care how you get it--that’s why I keep you around, Jessie. Show me what a good little bitch you can be for me, and I’ll fuck you harder.”
Jessica clenched her teeth and swallowed against the lump of tightness in her throat. You have Brad now. He gives you what you need, and he actually respects you. He likes you. She took a slow, deep breath and closed her eyes, forcing her brain to call up the details of their most recent tryst in his office, just that morning.
Brad had worked her with the toy she kept at her desk until she came, murmuring such sweet nothings in her ear that she had almost started crying from how wonderful it was. And then, when she was done, he’d kissed her lightly on the lips and said that he was sure she could repay him later in the day, that he needed to focus on a meeting he had with some business partners.
Not interested, dickhead, Jessica wrote back, and then blocked the new number. Thinking about it for a moment, she set her phone to airplane mode; if Bradley needed anything, he would email her. But in spite of the way she’d overcome the moment of weakness, Jessica could still feel the slick heat in her panties, the warmth spreading along her labia, almost down onto her legs.
She took a deep breath yet again and exhaled on a gusty sigh. In theory, Bradley wouldn’t mind her going and taking care of business in the bathroom, but she had stopped doing that when they’d started having sex. After all, having sex with Brad was supposed to be the cure for her need for self-gratification during work hours.
And now, a few weeks after their first date, they’d started seeing each other occasionally outside of the office as well, Bradley encouraging her to explore the city she’d moved to and rewarding her for it with sex.
She could email him on his personal account and suggest a tryst; Jessica checked Brad’s schedule and saw that he had less than an hour before his next conference call. She would have to wait. You aren’t an animal. You can wait until he’s free, and he’ll want to actually fuck, Jessica told herself. Maybe schedule a lunch with him and order in Vietnamese from up the street.
She smiled. It wouldn’t count as one of their “work lunches” because they would be in the building, and it would solve the problem of her arousal nicely. Jessica steadied herself again and typed up a quick email to her boss, suggesting--in thinly-veiled innuendo--what she wanted, and how she would be happy to repay him for the favor from that morning.
Jessica turned her attention back onto the press release, knowing that Bradley would want to see it before he started his conference call, at least in draft form. In the back of her mind, Jessica thought about what things could be like if Bradley would--somehow--go against his commitment to not treating her, in his words, like “a human fuck-toy.” If she could convince him that what she really needed was for him to treat her completely like a piece of meat, and fuck her like she wasn’t even a person.
But no--no, Jessica reminded herself harshly. She didn’t need that. That was something she had done when she’d been an addict, when she’d been willing to do anything for gratification. She’d given into the shame and degradation because it was the price she’d had to pay to get what she wanted. There was no reason to do that with Bradley, because he didn’t view her as subhuman trash, as nothing more than a receptacle for his semen, something to stick his dick in.
She shuddered, torn between revulsion and desire. Much though she could remember the shame, the horror she’d felt at what she’d let happen from her need to feed her addiction, she couldn’t deny that the memory of it made her hot.
Bradley replied to her email, letting her know to go right ahead; he would be happy to spend lunch with her. Jessica smiled and began putting the plans in motion, ordering online from the Vietnamese place they both liked.
But even as she got back into her work and finished the press release, in the back of her mind there was something like an itch. She’d noticed a new hire on one of the lower floors of the office building: a guy in maybe his late twenties, muscular and clean-cut, who dressed like he wanted to be on the cover of GQ.
The messages from Drake had shaken her ability to block out the trigger of seeing such a handsome, desirable man, and almost subliminally, Jessica imagined herself seeking the new hire out and finding his desk, sweet-talking him into letting her slip under it and suck him off before lunch.
In her little not-quite-conscious mental movie, she fingered herself as she worked him with her mouth, and swallowed down his climax, and then he pulled her out from under the desk, threw her down onto her back on top of the same desk, and fingered her until he was hard enough before screwing her right there--right where anyone could see what a shameless slut she was.
I’m not that person anymore, she told herself firmly as the little fantasy impinged on her ability to focus. I don’t need to be degraded. I am capable of having a healthy relationship with sex. She took a slow breath to steady herself yet again and reminded herself that she would be with Brad in less than an hour and a half, and then her physical needs would be satisfied.