Paying In Full - Chapter 6
by Don Jetman
~6~
The very next day Barbara packed up all her old clothes and took them to the local thrift shop. She filled her closet and half of Peter's with the new wardrobe. Peter cringed each time she dressed for work in one of Farmer's new outfits. As a manager in a respected accounting firm, she had always dressed the part, that is, until Farmer began feeding her his special "medicine", those little pink pills that created a relentless hunger for sex. Peter had seen her abandon both bras and panties for some time, and had grown used to the extra button undone on her blouse, or skirts that showed more and more of her stunning long legs. But these new clothes were much different. At first sight, the classic lines and exotic fabrics were almost too stunning for a woman in her position. Longer, more lingering stares rewarded onlookers with glimpses of bare breasts and nipples, flashes of her diamond-studded belly-ring, and even a second or two now and then of an unashamed, brazen display of the delicately shaved and pampered slit between her legs. Peter couldn't imagine how she held her job.
Now and then Peter showed concern and asked Barbara if the men in her office noticed, or if her clients complained. Her answer was always swift and insulting. "You can't stand that Jack bought me these clothes, can you? You can't stand that he buys me things you could never afford. And honestly, I couldn't care less if the people I work with like them or not. In fact, Mr. Fashion Expert, I've had nothing but compliments, especially from the men. At least those with functioning penises. But then, you wouldn't know about that, would you?" So Peter stopped asking. Maybe he just had poor taste in clothes.
Peter's job weighed more heavily on him. His access to much of the company's systems was rescinded, and he was given more and more tedious assignments. As his duties became more secretarial in nature, the hours required to complete them grew with each passing day. He rarely had a free lunch hour, and never got home before early evening. Once home, he'd find Barbara relaxing in one of her expensive nightgowns, or in bed with Farmer humping away on top of her. On the many nights that Farmer stayed over, Peter would leave for work the next day long before Farmer and Barbara would wake. He'd peek in on them, his wife's naked body draped over Farmer's fat cock, the smell of sweat and semen thicker than the fog he drove through on his way to work long before the sun edged over the horizon.
And then there were the weekends. On Saturday and Sunday mornings Barbara dressed in one of five baby-blue skirts, matching heels and gleaming white blouses Farmer had supplied. She fastened the small name tag just above her right breast, her new nickname written in delicate gold script on the baby-blue background. Peter stared as she lingered in front of the mirror to apply her makeup, bent forward slightly at the waist, the tiny skirt rising to show the curve of her perfect bare ass. Then, without a word, she slid her hand down his pants to find his wilted penis, placed the pill on his tongue, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek after he swallowed.
He watched through the window each weekend as she strolled to her new baby-blue Miata convertible, rolling her hips as a slight breeze lifted the skirt, teasing every neighborhood man or boy who had now memorized her schedule. Finally, as she drove away, there was always the practiced wave to him, her arm stretched high, wiggling her fingers in the girly way she had learned from Lizzie. The license plate was the final insult - BABS-LUVS-U. He couldn't quite remember when she had become "Babs", but always suspected the seductive message wasn't only for Farmer as she drove into the city, her open blouse and tousled hair a second invitation to the men who passed her on the freeway. Peter was left with the nagging worry that, just maybe, every man in the city was fucking Barbara except him.
It was that same nagging worry that eventually led Peter to drive by the Perfect 10, circling the block over and over, trying to get a look through the wide glass window that spanned the entire entrance to the spa. At times he could just catch sight of Barbara at the front desk, greeting one of the many slim, tanned young women who seemed to be the only type of client the spa attracted. At other times, one of Barbara's doubles took her place, always dressed in the same powder blue skirt, the translucent white blouse open halfway down the front, and identical gleaming, golden hair style. He began to wonder whether Farmer only hired women who met his strict physical requirements, or whether he seduced and remade other men's wives as he had Barbara.
Soon the drive-bys weren't enough for Peter. He began lurking in the neighborhood, slowly walking by the Perfect 10 while staring inside. No one seemed to notice, and every time he watched Barbara at work he felt more relieved that the job and the business were legitimate. But what could "accountant Barbara" find so thrilling about catering to wealthy women as "bimbo Babs" on her weekends? Did pleasing Farmer mean that much to her?
One Sunday morning he slipped into a rental car he had parked across the street and followed Barbara to work. Farmer had promoted her to manager a month ago, and she arrived early now to open the spa. It was a crisp fall day and he watched the steady breeze lift Barbara's skirt as she unlocked the front door. He stared at her long, tanned legs, the muscles of her calves so beautifully defined atop the ice-blue heels. He knew she was naked under the skirt, but the sudden sight of the shaved cleft of her sex from behind as she leaned to unlock the door left him breathless for a second. It seemed like a lifetime since he had felt the warm, wet fist of her sex around his penis, a lifetime since he ran his hands over her perfect ass, a lifetime since his fingers circled and pulled gently at her nipples. But after a short time his desire faded to resignation. Maybe she was too good for him. Maybe she deserved Farmer instead. His wealth. His body. His cock.
When she entered the spa, Peter noticed she had forgotten to lock the door behind her. He strolled to the door and pushed - it opened easily, and he went inside. The lobby was empty and the lights were off - it was still two hours before opening. He circled the front desk and passed through an arched doorway in back of the main counter.
The room contained a small table, fridge, and coffeemaker. A small monitor high on the facing wall glowed with an image of the empty lobby. Below it was an array of eight by ten glossy color photos of each employee. Barbara's sat at the top with a pyramid of other head shots below, each one hand-signed in flowery script, all clones of Farmer's perfect woman.
Peter looked over at a second monitor and found a keyboard on a shelf below it. Barbara's smiling face looked back at him from the screen, a duplicate of her wall photo. Below it were "In' and "Out" fields for her work hours. She had logged in only minutes before and left the "Out" field blank. He saw a hint of more text at the bottom of the screen, and scrolled down to read it. At first it showed her full name, address, age, marital status, phone number, social security number, position and hire date. At the very bottom of the screen, "Update In Progress" flashed repeatedly in bright red text. He couldn't resist placing his finger on the "Enter" key and pressing it.
After multiple screens of data scrolled by too quickly to read, it finally stopped on a new page. A message at the top read:
"Forgery or falsehood will be grounds for dismissal. Updates must be completed in full on the date due. *Verification by coworker required where necessary. All medical exams, testing, and prescription renewals to be performed by Drs. Kazinski & Colby - no exceptions."
Barbara had completed most of personal information, except for her weight and measurements. These had an asterisk to one side and an option for a coworker's initials. Further down, things got more personal. Peter stared at fields for "Menstrual Cycle", "Contraception Method/prescription due date", "HIV/STD Cert", "Pelvic/Breast Exam", and "Prescribed Medications". Barbara had updated all the remaining fields recently - Farmer knew more about her medical status than he did.
But there was more. The next page was titled "Sexual History and Preferences". Under "Sexual History" Barbara had listed each by name and date. Peter was almost afraid to look. There were six names listed before his with dates early enough to be high school or college crushes. Barbara had never told him about them, but he had never asked. The name after Peter's shocked him. He knew the man, but only by reputation. He was the son of one of her father's best friends, a wealthy Senator known for being a player himself. Even more shocking was the date, beginning a year after he and Barbara were married, and the "End Date" left blank. Only a year? Could he have been that inept in bed, that unable to satisfy her that she had taken a lover so soon and kept seeing him all this time? After that, with some small relief, Farmer's name was last, again with an open end date.
Peter almost hoped there wouldn't be more, but one last screen titled "Sexual Preferences" scrolled into view. These fields were large open blocks filled with text - Barbara's text.
Preferred Sexual Acts: "Oral and anal. Love the taste of semen - swallowing every drop. Very large penis a must for straight sex - sometimes riding it, sometimes just being impaled and stretched."
Sexual Frequency: "Multiple times a day, with the right man. Always excited, wet, and ready, day and night."
Sexual Partners: "Men, men, men - big muscles, big cocks, confident, powerful, even rough at times, must be able to own me. Mr. Farmer - perfect. Husband could never satisfy, but kind and useful to keep around."
Fantasies: "Sex slave to powerful men. Sex in public. ****** sex with biker gangs. Torturing weak men. Making husband watch worthy men fuck me. Anything Mr. Farmer wants - *********."
Obsessions: "Being taken and OWNED by alpha males with outrageously huge cocks. Revenge on husband for years of clumsy sex and final unforgivable cowardly act - humiliating him, torturing him, ruining him for all other women, forever."
Favorite Recent Fuck: "Mr. Farmer, Mr. Farmer, Mr. Farmer. My body is yours, Lover, 24x7."
Finally, there was a constant swirling icon. Just below it, Peter watched a pulsing progress bar that read "20% completed" crawl slowly across the screen. He looked up at Barbara's picture on the wall above him. She was gloriously beautiful - it was those big, sparkling eyes and wide, intoxicating smile he had first fallen madly in love with. But her smile hid something else now - a hunger for sex, and the pleasure that seemed to fill her when she sucked his manhood from him. Peter could no longer tell whether she got more pleasure from his humiliation and destruction, or from Farmer's huge cock. Maybe she no longer drew a line between the two. Perhaps they had coalesced into the one and only obsession that kept her "always excited, wet, and ready, day and night".
Peter began to notice a faint voice in another part of the spa. Each time he tried to listen, it went silent again. It seemed to be leaking through the overhead ceiling panels, and sure enough, when he reached up and raised one of them a bit the voice was there, but still indistinct. He stood on a chair and poked his head through the opening, only to find a low, dark utility corridor stretching back through the expanse of the spa.
Certain that none of the other employees had arrived yet, and knowing the spa wouldn't open for at least another hour and a half, Peter returned to the lobby and found the entrance to the main spa unlocked. The hallway lead to the darkened locker room and showers, but light spilled from a second open door just to his left. Peering quietly into the room, he saw Barbara sitting at a computer screen, her back to him, listening intently. Sudden bursts of light exploded from the screen, followed by a flickering series of brightly colored images. As the images continued to race and flicker across the screen, Farmer's voice spoke to her from an overhead speaker. She sat there, frozen before the monitor, and answered in a dull, disembodied voice Peter never would have recognized as Barbara's.
"What do you live for, Barbara?"
She sat motionless, except for a slight tremor - two short sideways jerks of her head that reminded Peter of a broken toy.
"What do you live for, Barbara?"
"F-Father - fam-i-ly - work - love..."
It was as if she had to dig to find the words, then regurgitate them with maximum effort.
"No, Barbara."
She twitched again. "No?"
"You live for sex, Barbara."
Her shoulders relaxed and she nodded slowly, just once.
"Sexxxx...Yessss"
"And whom do you most want to have sex with, Barbara?"
"Mmmmm...you...mmmmm."
"And why is that, Barbara?"
She took a sudden, deep breath, then let it out slowly as she would a long, silent moan.
"Good sexxxx...penis is so big...feels sooo good..."
"But that's not the only reason, is it, Barbara? What is it you've wanted, even as a young girl? What kind of man makes you wet - made you wet, even back then?"
She relaxed even more and seemed to shrink in her seat, her head bowed, her hands now clasped in her lap. When she answered, it was in a much younger girl's voice - higher pitched, bashful, but innocently honest.
"A man who makes me safe, buys me pretty things - a man like Daddy."
"Did Daddy protect you from all the other boys, Barbara? Bad boys who might do nasty things to you, boys who might hurt you?"
"He made them go away when they tried to do things to me - when they tried to kiss me - when they put their hands on my boobs and under my dress. He protected me. Chased all of them away. Because they just wanted sex."
"So, did you marry a man like your Daddy, Barbara?"
Her back straightened a bit, and she unclasped her hands and folded them into the crease between her thighs. The voice of many years ago was gone, replaced with the familiar voice Peter knew. The change filled him with both sentiment and fear.
"I thought he was, but he wasn't. He couldn't buy me things I wanted. He couldn't protect me. He couldn't even chase the other men away."
"But the other men satisfy you now, don't they Barbara? They give you much better sex than he does, don't they?"
Barbara's hands pushed deeper between her legs, prying them apart, palms opening and moving against her inner thighs until her dress was hiked to her waist. Peter stared as her hands slowly circled and probed between her legs and her hips began to thrust forward in the chair.
"I like sex with them - not him. He can't chase them away, and he can't give me sex I like. His penis isn't even big like other men. You protect me like Daddy did. And you buy me things I want, like he did, like I'm your princess. Daddy would like you. So I suck you and fuck you. You and your big cock."
"So, is that what you live for, Barbara?"
Her voice changed again, more abruptly than before. Now it was laced with fierceness, her "S"es sizzling as though they were a warning of potential venomous intent.
"When you own me - my pussy, my ass, my tits, everything I am, everything you want me to be - that's what I live for. Nothing else. It's fucking everything. Nothing else matters."
Farmer's interrogation stopped, but Barbara continued to watch the dancing images on the screen in front of her. Finally, her head dropped back as though she was staring at the ceiling, the chair trembled and creaked, and her voice rose from an unworldly moan to a desperate howl. The sounds of her climax still echoed through the building as Peter bolted through the front door and ran for the car.
~*~
Monday was always the same old grind for Peter. There were piles of work to be done, and often updated software to learn and use. He'd put in his ear buds and listen to Farmer's latest PowerPoint training session describing some new ridiculous office policy, often warning about sexual harassment in the workplace or dress codes for employees. Not surprisingly, men received the brunt of the bad news, while the women seemed to be encouraged to dress for and participate in any form of sex they desired, as long as they OKed things with Farmer first.
Farmer always summoned Peter to his office after his morning staff meeting to gloat about what a sweet fuck Barbara was. There were the lurid details about the new depraved acts he had her perform, sometimes in front of an audience of his friends and other CEOs. He'd stop now and then to get Peter's approval, and to hear Peter acknowledge what a slut his wife had become for Farmer.
It had become easier for Peter to accept Farmer's ownership of Barbara, so agreeing with Farmer was almost automated. In fact, it became strangely exciting for Peter to hear what Farmer had persuaded her to do. He had to admit that after some time, the more perverted and degrading the act, the more aroused he became. Sometimes his own fantasies filled his head, always with Barbara being fucked with a cock too impossibly big to fit inside her while Peter stood by, his little prick jerking and spurting as some giant alpha male brought her to orgasm again and again. A year ago, he would never have imagined when he was made to thank Farmer for fucking Barbara, that he sincerely meant it much of the time.
He had even asked Farmer why he didn't have Barbara divorce him and marry her himself. Farmer had laughed for a full minute before telling Peter it was his job to take care of her when Farmer wasn't using her as his "submissive little cum-bucket", and that actually marrying her would lower Farmer to Peter's pathetic level. Afterwards, Peter fought the temptation to agree with Farmer. But disagreeing with Farmer was too difficult and tiring these days, and Peter was beginning to see that Farmer was almost always right. Even so, he still loved Barbara, but in a way that gave him pleasure to see her perfect body owned and used by Farmer. And if he gave her pleasure as well, so much the better.
This Monday was no different than any other. Peter sat before his monitor, plugged in his ear buds, and opened the file Farmer had sent him. A sudden burst of light almost blinded Peter. Sequences of brightly colored images raced across the screen in a blur between repeating bursts of light that fixed his eyes to the monitor. Then, through the earbuds came Farmer's voice, cold and commanding, yet strangely arousing.
"What do you live for, Peter?"
-END-
~6~
The very next day Barbara packed up all her old clothes and took them to the local thrift shop. She filled her closet and half of Peter's with the new wardrobe. Peter cringed each time she dressed for work in one of Farmer's new outfits. As a manager in a respected accounting firm, she had always dressed the part, that is, until Farmer began feeding her his special "medicine", those little pink pills that created a relentless hunger for sex. Peter had seen her abandon both bras and panties for some time, and had grown used to the extra button undone on her blouse, or skirts that showed more and more of her stunning long legs. But these new clothes were much different. At first sight, the classic lines and exotic fabrics were almost too stunning for a woman in her position. Longer, more lingering stares rewarded onlookers with glimpses of bare breasts and nipples, flashes of her diamond-studded belly-ring, and even a second or two now and then of an unashamed, brazen display of the delicately shaved and pampered slit between her legs. Peter couldn't imagine how she held her job.
Now and then Peter showed concern and asked Barbara if the men in her office noticed, or if her clients complained. Her answer was always swift and insulting. "You can't stand that Jack bought me these clothes, can you? You can't stand that he buys me things you could never afford. And honestly, I couldn't care less if the people I work with like them or not. In fact, Mr. Fashion Expert, I've had nothing but compliments, especially from the men. At least those with functioning penises. But then, you wouldn't know about that, would you?" So Peter stopped asking. Maybe he just had poor taste in clothes.
Peter's job weighed more heavily on him. His access to much of the company's systems was rescinded, and he was given more and more tedious assignments. As his duties became more secretarial in nature, the hours required to complete them grew with each passing day. He rarely had a free lunch hour, and never got home before early evening. Once home, he'd find Barbara relaxing in one of her expensive nightgowns, or in bed with Farmer humping away on top of her. On the many nights that Farmer stayed over, Peter would leave for work the next day long before Farmer and Barbara would wake. He'd peek in on them, his wife's naked body draped over Farmer's fat cock, the smell of sweat and semen thicker than the fog he drove through on his way to work long before the sun edged over the horizon.
And then there were the weekends. On Saturday and Sunday mornings Barbara dressed in one of five baby-blue skirts, matching heels and gleaming white blouses Farmer had supplied. She fastened the small name tag just above her right breast, her new nickname written in delicate gold script on the baby-blue background. Peter stared as she lingered in front of the mirror to apply her makeup, bent forward slightly at the waist, the tiny skirt rising to show the curve of her perfect bare ass. Then, without a word, she slid her hand down his pants to find his wilted penis, placed the pill on his tongue, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek after he swallowed.
He watched through the window each weekend as she strolled to her new baby-blue Miata convertible, rolling her hips as a slight breeze lifted the skirt, teasing every neighborhood man or boy who had now memorized her schedule. Finally, as she drove away, there was always the practiced wave to him, her arm stretched high, wiggling her fingers in the girly way she had learned from Lizzie. The license plate was the final insult - BABS-LUVS-U. He couldn't quite remember when she had become "Babs", but always suspected the seductive message wasn't only for Farmer as she drove into the city, her open blouse and tousled hair a second invitation to the men who passed her on the freeway. Peter was left with the nagging worry that, just maybe, every man in the city was fucking Barbara except him.
It was that same nagging worry that eventually led Peter to drive by the Perfect 10, circling the block over and over, trying to get a look through the wide glass window that spanned the entire entrance to the spa. At times he could just catch sight of Barbara at the front desk, greeting one of the many slim, tanned young women who seemed to be the only type of client the spa attracted. At other times, one of Barbara's doubles took her place, always dressed in the same powder blue skirt, the translucent white blouse open halfway down the front, and identical gleaming, golden hair style. He began to wonder whether Farmer only hired women who met his strict physical requirements, or whether he seduced and remade other men's wives as he had Barbara.
Soon the drive-bys weren't enough for Peter. He began lurking in the neighborhood, slowly walking by the Perfect 10 while staring inside. No one seemed to notice, and every time he watched Barbara at work he felt more relieved that the job and the business were legitimate. But what could "accountant Barbara" find so thrilling about catering to wealthy women as "bimbo Babs" on her weekends? Did pleasing Farmer mean that much to her?
One Sunday morning he slipped into a rental car he had parked across the street and followed Barbara to work. Farmer had promoted her to manager a month ago, and she arrived early now to open the spa. It was a crisp fall day and he watched the steady breeze lift Barbara's skirt as she unlocked the front door. He stared at her long, tanned legs, the muscles of her calves so beautifully defined atop the ice-blue heels. He knew she was naked under the skirt, but the sudden sight of the shaved cleft of her sex from behind as she leaned to unlock the door left him breathless for a second. It seemed like a lifetime since he had felt the warm, wet fist of her sex around his penis, a lifetime since he ran his hands over her perfect ass, a lifetime since his fingers circled and pulled gently at her nipples. But after a short time his desire faded to resignation. Maybe she was too good for him. Maybe she deserved Farmer instead. His wealth. His body. His cock.
When she entered the spa, Peter noticed she had forgotten to lock the door behind her. He strolled to the door and pushed - it opened easily, and he went inside. The lobby was empty and the lights were off - it was still two hours before opening. He circled the front desk and passed through an arched doorway in back of the main counter.
The room contained a small table, fridge, and coffeemaker. A small monitor high on the facing wall glowed with an image of the empty lobby. Below it was an array of eight by ten glossy color photos of each employee. Barbara's sat at the top with a pyramid of other head shots below, each one hand-signed in flowery script, all clones of Farmer's perfect woman.
Peter looked over at a second monitor and found a keyboard on a shelf below it. Barbara's smiling face looked back at him from the screen, a duplicate of her wall photo. Below it were "In' and "Out" fields for her work hours. She had logged in only minutes before and left the "Out" field blank. He saw a hint of more text at the bottom of the screen, and scrolled down to read it. At first it showed her full name, address, age, marital status, phone number, social security number, position and hire date. At the very bottom of the screen, "Update In Progress" flashed repeatedly in bright red text. He couldn't resist placing his finger on the "Enter" key and pressing it.
After multiple screens of data scrolled by too quickly to read, it finally stopped on a new page. A message at the top read:
"Forgery or falsehood will be grounds for dismissal. Updates must be completed in full on the date due. *Verification by coworker required where necessary. All medical exams, testing, and prescription renewals to be performed by Drs. Kazinski & Colby - no exceptions."
Barbara had completed most of personal information, except for her weight and measurements. These had an asterisk to one side and an option for a coworker's initials. Further down, things got more personal. Peter stared at fields for "Menstrual Cycle", "Contraception Method/prescription due date", "HIV/STD Cert", "Pelvic/Breast Exam", and "Prescribed Medications". Barbara had updated all the remaining fields recently - Farmer knew more about her medical status than he did.
But there was more. The next page was titled "Sexual History and Preferences". Under "Sexual History" Barbara had listed each by name and date. Peter was almost afraid to look. There were six names listed before his with dates early enough to be high school or college crushes. Barbara had never told him about them, but he had never asked. The name after Peter's shocked him. He knew the man, but only by reputation. He was the son of one of her father's best friends, a wealthy Senator known for being a player himself. Even more shocking was the date, beginning a year after he and Barbara were married, and the "End Date" left blank. Only a year? Could he have been that inept in bed, that unable to satisfy her that she had taken a lover so soon and kept seeing him all this time? After that, with some small relief, Farmer's name was last, again with an open end date.
Peter almost hoped there wouldn't be more, but one last screen titled "Sexual Preferences" scrolled into view. These fields were large open blocks filled with text - Barbara's text.
Preferred Sexual Acts: "Oral and anal. Love the taste of semen - swallowing every drop. Very large penis a must for straight sex - sometimes riding it, sometimes just being impaled and stretched."
Sexual Frequency: "Multiple times a day, with the right man. Always excited, wet, and ready, day and night."
Sexual Partners: "Men, men, men - big muscles, big cocks, confident, powerful, even rough at times, must be able to own me. Mr. Farmer - perfect. Husband could never satisfy, but kind and useful to keep around."
Fantasies: "Sex slave to powerful men. Sex in public. ****** sex with biker gangs. Torturing weak men. Making husband watch worthy men fuck me. Anything Mr. Farmer wants - *********."
Obsessions: "Being taken and OWNED by alpha males with outrageously huge cocks. Revenge on husband for years of clumsy sex and final unforgivable cowardly act - humiliating him, torturing him, ruining him for all other women, forever."
Favorite Recent Fuck: "Mr. Farmer, Mr. Farmer, Mr. Farmer. My body is yours, Lover, 24x7."
Finally, there was a constant swirling icon. Just below it, Peter watched a pulsing progress bar that read "20% completed" crawl slowly across the screen. He looked up at Barbara's picture on the wall above him. She was gloriously beautiful - it was those big, sparkling eyes and wide, intoxicating smile he had first fallen madly in love with. But her smile hid something else now - a hunger for sex, and the pleasure that seemed to fill her when she sucked his manhood from him. Peter could no longer tell whether she got more pleasure from his humiliation and destruction, or from Farmer's huge cock. Maybe she no longer drew a line between the two. Perhaps they had coalesced into the one and only obsession that kept her "always excited, wet, and ready, day and night".
Peter began to notice a faint voice in another part of the spa. Each time he tried to listen, it went silent again. It seemed to be leaking through the overhead ceiling panels, and sure enough, when he reached up and raised one of them a bit the voice was there, but still indistinct. He stood on a chair and poked his head through the opening, only to find a low, dark utility corridor stretching back through the expanse of the spa.
Certain that none of the other employees had arrived yet, and knowing the spa wouldn't open for at least another hour and a half, Peter returned to the lobby and found the entrance to the main spa unlocked. The hallway lead to the darkened locker room and showers, but light spilled from a second open door just to his left. Peering quietly into the room, he saw Barbara sitting at a computer screen, her back to him, listening intently. Sudden bursts of light exploded from the screen, followed by a flickering series of brightly colored images. As the images continued to race and flicker across the screen, Farmer's voice spoke to her from an overhead speaker. She sat there, frozen before the monitor, and answered in a dull, disembodied voice Peter never would have recognized as Barbara's.
"What do you live for, Barbara?"
She sat motionless, except for a slight tremor - two short sideways jerks of her head that reminded Peter of a broken toy.
"What do you live for, Barbara?"
"F-Father - fam-i-ly - work - love..."
It was as if she had to dig to find the words, then regurgitate them with maximum effort.
"No, Barbara."
She twitched again. "No?"
"You live for sex, Barbara."
Her shoulders relaxed and she nodded slowly, just once.
"Sexxxx...Yessss"
"And whom do you most want to have sex with, Barbara?"
"Mmmmm...you...mmmmm."
"And why is that, Barbara?"
She took a sudden, deep breath, then let it out slowly as she would a long, silent moan.
"Good sexxxx...penis is so big...feels sooo good..."
"But that's not the only reason, is it, Barbara? What is it you've wanted, even as a young girl? What kind of man makes you wet - made you wet, even back then?"
She relaxed even more and seemed to shrink in her seat, her head bowed, her hands now clasped in her lap. When she answered, it was in a much younger girl's voice - higher pitched, bashful, but innocently honest.
"A man who makes me safe, buys me pretty things - a man like Daddy."
"Did Daddy protect you from all the other boys, Barbara? Bad boys who might do nasty things to you, boys who might hurt you?"
"He made them go away when they tried to do things to me - when they tried to kiss me - when they put their hands on my boobs and under my dress. He protected me. Chased all of them away. Because they just wanted sex."
"So, did you marry a man like your Daddy, Barbara?"
Her back straightened a bit, and she unclasped her hands and folded them into the crease between her thighs. The voice of many years ago was gone, replaced with the familiar voice Peter knew. The change filled him with both sentiment and fear.
"I thought he was, but he wasn't. He couldn't buy me things I wanted. He couldn't protect me. He couldn't even chase the other men away."
"But the other men satisfy you now, don't they Barbara? They give you much better sex than he does, don't they?"
Barbara's hands pushed deeper between her legs, prying them apart, palms opening and moving against her inner thighs until her dress was hiked to her waist. Peter stared as her hands slowly circled and probed between her legs and her hips began to thrust forward in the chair.
"I like sex with them - not him. He can't chase them away, and he can't give me sex I like. His penis isn't even big like other men. You protect me like Daddy did. And you buy me things I want, like he did, like I'm your princess. Daddy would like you. So I suck you and fuck you. You and your big cock."
"So, is that what you live for, Barbara?"
Her voice changed again, more abruptly than before. Now it was laced with fierceness, her "S"es sizzling as though they were a warning of potential venomous intent.
"When you own me - my pussy, my ass, my tits, everything I am, everything you want me to be - that's what I live for. Nothing else. It's fucking everything. Nothing else matters."
Farmer's interrogation stopped, but Barbara continued to watch the dancing images on the screen in front of her. Finally, her head dropped back as though she was staring at the ceiling, the chair trembled and creaked, and her voice rose from an unworldly moan to a desperate howl. The sounds of her climax still echoed through the building as Peter bolted through the front door and ran for the car.
~*~
Monday was always the same old grind for Peter. There were piles of work to be done, and often updated software to learn and use. He'd put in his ear buds and listen to Farmer's latest PowerPoint training session describing some new ridiculous office policy, often warning about sexual harassment in the workplace or dress codes for employees. Not surprisingly, men received the brunt of the bad news, while the women seemed to be encouraged to dress for and participate in any form of sex they desired, as long as they OKed things with Farmer first.
Farmer always summoned Peter to his office after his morning staff meeting to gloat about what a sweet fuck Barbara was. There were the lurid details about the new depraved acts he had her perform, sometimes in front of an audience of his friends and other CEOs. He'd stop now and then to get Peter's approval, and to hear Peter acknowledge what a slut his wife had become for Farmer.
It had become easier for Peter to accept Farmer's ownership of Barbara, so agreeing with Farmer was almost automated. In fact, it became strangely exciting for Peter to hear what Farmer had persuaded her to do. He had to admit that after some time, the more perverted and degrading the act, the more aroused he became. Sometimes his own fantasies filled his head, always with Barbara being fucked with a cock too impossibly big to fit inside her while Peter stood by, his little prick jerking and spurting as some giant alpha male brought her to orgasm again and again. A year ago, he would never have imagined when he was made to thank Farmer for fucking Barbara, that he sincerely meant it much of the time.
He had even asked Farmer why he didn't have Barbara divorce him and marry her himself. Farmer had laughed for a full minute before telling Peter it was his job to take care of her when Farmer wasn't using her as his "submissive little cum-bucket", and that actually marrying her would lower Farmer to Peter's pathetic level. Afterwards, Peter fought the temptation to agree with Farmer. But disagreeing with Farmer was too difficult and tiring these days, and Peter was beginning to see that Farmer was almost always right. Even so, he still loved Barbara, but in a way that gave him pleasure to see her perfect body owned and used by Farmer. And if he gave her pleasure as well, so much the better.
This Monday was no different than any other. Peter sat before his monitor, plugged in his ear buds, and opened the file Farmer had sent him. A sudden burst of light almost blinded Peter. Sequences of brightly colored images raced across the screen in a blur between repeating bursts of light that fixed his eyes to the monitor. Then, through the earbuds came Farmer's voice, cold and commanding, yet strangely arousing.
"What do you live for, Peter?"
-END-
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