“Fantasy”

by H. Jekyll

Part Two of Four: Richard is to Cat as Henry is to Mouse

(MF, oral, seduction, cheat)

*  *  *  *  *

Copyright 2004 by H. Jekyll. Permission is granted to post 
on any site that does not charge for entrance, as long as 
full attribution is given to the author. The story should 
not be read by anyone under the legal age to read sexually 
explicit stories, or by anyone in a location where it is 
illegal to read such stories.

“Fantasy” previously appeared at "Ruthie's Club." An 
illustrated and formatted version can be found there. See: 
http://www.ruthiesclub.com/.

I love to correspond with fellow netizens: h_jekyll2000
@yahoo.com

The H. Jekyll stories are archived in the Alt Sex Stories 
Text Repository 
(http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/), and at 
"Ruthie's Club."

*  *  *  *  *

“Fantasy, Part Two: Richard is to Cat as Henry is to Mouse”


“The little present you sent arrived. So you enjoyed 
seducing my wife. But you told me she was a bitch. Is that 
what made it so much fun, you fucker? Are you going to cut 
her loose now that you’ve had your fun? I want to talk to 
her. Now, you asshole!”

A message to Richard, sent to voice mail again. Words sent 
out to nowhere.

God, he was good. So goddamned good. Jesus fucking Christ. 
So good. How could a man born of woman turn her in those 
few minutes on the phone, turn a woman who despised him? He 
was the fucking Antichrist. Maybe I should be worshipping 
him, our malevolent God.

What was Alice thinking by the end of the call? What was 
she thinking when I came home? What about when we were in 
bed together and I was eating her? Was she busy counting 
the hours until Thursday afternoon, when she’d be home 
alone again, when he could talk about his tongue? Was she 
telling herself she was stupid, reassuring herself with me, 
trying to convince herself sex with me could be as good as 
the dream he was weaving. Was she trying to keep from 
thinking about him? Or was she fantasizing that my mouth 
was his? 

And what about the second call? Did her heart stop when the 
phone rang? She’d hoped he wouldn’t call, and she was 
desperate for it. I could imagine the whole sequence, her 
startled pause at the first ring, her intake of breath, her 
hesitant walk toward the phone, her hand hanging above it, 
the sudden grab before voice mail would click in, an almost 
breathless “hello?”

“Hello dear Alice. I knew you would answer.”

Was she afraid to pick it up? Something in her changed 
before the call ended, maybe before it began. Maybe I would 
hear it one day, too.

* * * * *

I got a call, but it wasn’t from Richard this time. It was 
my PI, returning his call, wanting to meet but not offering 
hope. I think back on it and know my mind was torn in 
halves. I was a loser. Alice was gone. But she would return 
if only I could talk with her alone. She must! I drifted 
toward whatever I'd heard most recently, and at this 
particular moment Mickey was talking. It was time to plan a 
strategy. He wanted to do it in the parking lot at the 
Liberace museum. “Is there any particular reason for that?” 
It was convenient. So, okay, that’s where we met.

“Why couldn’t we just talk on the phone, Mickey?”

“He might be listening in.”

“Listening?”

“He has a lot of money, and he’s using a lot of manpower to 
keep you away. It’s a logical step, and it’s good to be a 
little paranoid in my business.”

Something else to consider.

“Anyway, Henry, getting to any of Moriarty’s places seems 
to be out of the picture, unless you’re willing to do some 
seriously illegal stuff with some seriously dangerous 
people for seriously big bucks. And you still might not 
succeed, or you might even land in jail.”

“Yeah.”

“So if you want to have someone see Alice, I’d suggest you 
call the police.”

“For an adult runaway?”

“Yes, because no one has actually heard from her, not 
really, and if you accuse him of kidnapping someone they 
might feel they actually have to look in on her. And he 
isn’t going to stiff them if he doesn’t have to. I don’t 
think. Probably not. Well, I don’t know, but it can’t 
hurt.”

I almost laughed, for the first time since Alice left.

“Who should I call?”

“I have a friend. He’ll want a photo. Other than that, I 
can keep a tail if you want, but it’s expensive. I can keep 
looking for more residences. And I’ll let you know if I 
find they’re out and about.”

When I got home I found Richard had called me back.

“Yes, Henry, I enjoyed seducing little Alice. It was great 
fun sucking her down my rabbit hole. The fall into 
Wonderland was great fun for her, too. Isn’t seduction 
always like that? And, yes, her being a bitch made it all 
the better. But she won’t ever be a bitch again. No, she’s 
completely docile. You wouldn’t believe the transformation! 
I intend to continue enjoying her in all sorts of ways. 
Ciao.”

* * * * *

That night I dreamed of Alice. She was lying on the bed, 
naked, her pale chest and neck covered in ecstatic 
splotches, writhing sexually, her eyes almost closed, her 
mouth open in an O. I was so swollen I thought I would 
explode, but I couldn’t get to her. I was on the floor and 
I couldn’t crawl to her. I could see her, but in the dream 
I was blind. I could hear her grunting little sex sounds 
while I tried and tried to crawl to her, but I couldn’t get 
to her.

* * * * *

Nothing happened. The days passed and Alice fell ever 
further distant. I wondered, how has she changed? What does 
she look like now? Does she ever think of me at all?

The next week there was another voice mail from Richard. 
“Hello, Henry. So you had to bring in the police, did you? 
Do you realize how much trouble this could cause you? We’ll 
be polite, of course, once we let the officers actually 
visit, but I may have to punish Alice for it.”

I called right back. “You fucker! What have you done to 
her? Have you hurt her?”

He picked up the call. 

“Henry, Henry, Henry. What makes you think I’d harm sweet 
Alice?” He laughed his warm laugh.

“Let her tell me that herself!”

“Trust me, she’s fine, just fine, but she can’t talk right 
now. I suppose I should say she’s indisposed.” That laugh 
again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. She’s just in the pit of 
despair for a bit, being disciplined.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Oh you can read about it. I didn’t make it up. It came 
from that old monkey researcher. Harry Harlow. For the sake 
of science he tied up monkeys down in little featureless 
pits. He made them stay there for ages, to see what the 
effect would be. It quite destroyed them mentally, I’m 
afraid.”

“What the hell have you done to my wife?”

“Nothing, Henry. Really nothing. Don’t you go worrying 
yourself. Anyway, she’s not in a real pit. I substituted 
some simple sensory deprivation and movement restriction.”


“You what?”

“Not to worry, Hen...”

“You fucking what!?”

“Oh, she’s happy as a lark. Stop worrying so. Well, not 
exactly happy, not right at this moment. Pit of despair, 
you know. She’s probably as miserable as a person can 
be...”

“Richard!”

“...probably crying and talking to herself and begging for 
me to let her out.”

“God damn it!”

“But I’ll end it in a while and make her happy. A little 
change of position. A few caresses. Some touching of the 
genitals. She’ll be completely grateful to me before the 
night is over. You should see her, Henry. She goes off like 
a Roman candle. And, it makes her so compliant! Well, have 
a nice evening.”

He hung up. I called over and again that evening, but he 
didn’t pick up the phone or call back. No, he did whatever 
he wanted with her while I called uselessly.

* * * * *

My other calls were to the police officer Mickey mentioned. 
I called every day. I left messages about Richard’s claims 
of punishment. The officer was very polite. I thought they 
must all go to the same politeness workshops. I actually 
bought a phone recorder while I waited, to give me 
something to do.

It was another week before the cop came by. Oh, inscrutable 
officer, standing at the door, what do you have to tell me? 
Are there wives who want to go back to their husbands? Do 
they want help escaping a mistake? I knew the answer. The 
bell had rung, so I knew the news had to be bad.

“Dr. Jekyll, I followed up on your calls. I went by Mr. 
Moriarty’s house and talked with Richard Moriarty and Alice 
Jekyll. At this time that’s all I can do, and I suggest you 
drop the matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“I went there as a courtesy to Mickey Edwards. He’s an old 
friend. But there’s no criminal issue here. Your wife is 
living with Mr. Moriarty voluntarily and she doesn’t intend 
to return. That’s the end of my investigation.”


“How is she?”

“What do you mean?”

“How is she?”

“She’s fine. She was fine.”

“And you’re sure it was her?”

“Doc,” he handed me her photo, “it was her. She’s thinner 
than in this pic and her hair is shorter. She looked fine.”


“Did you talk with her alone?”

“No. They were together, but I talked with her fine. There 
was nothing screwy, no more than things usually are with 
him.”

“How are things screwy with him?”

He stared at me with that blank cop look I always find so 
spooky. Then he sighed.

“Look. This isn’t relevant, but a couple of years back a 
showgirl who was living with him came by to file a 
complaint. She said he’d hurt her, locked her in closets, 
tied her up. BDSM stuff. She had bruises and such. We 
followed it up. Well, suddenly his lawyer has a talk with 
the girl’s lawyer and she drops the charges. Says it was a 
misunderstanding. They’re great friends. She won’t testify 
against him. There’s a non-disclosure clause in the 
settlement, but apparently he paid her off well. She got 
married and moved out of town. End of story.”

“I never heard of that.”

“It never even made the papers. If it weren’t for that case 
I wouldn’t have looked into this even for Mickey. And it 
turns out there’s no crime here.”

“She didn’t have marks? Bruises?”

“No. None that were visible. Look, doc. You can’t see 
everything. She had on a long sleeve shirt, buttoned at the 
wrists. Buttoned at the neck.” A strange expression passed 
across his face and disappeared. “Anyway I’m not going to 
ask her to show me everything. I can’t do that. And it 
wouldn’t have made any difference if she had bruises, and 
if I could prove he made them.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re adults! This is Las Vegas. There’s an 
enormous S-and-M scene here. There are thousands of women 
in it, and probably half of them are soccer moms during the 
day. People can do what they want, doc.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it. There was one thing that bothered me. He was 
controlling. You run across that a lot in this line of 
work, and you get an eye for it. He held one of her hands 
and kept his other arm around her shoulder the whole time. 
He kept jumping in to answer her questions for her. That’s 
all. It wasn’t all that odd, and she wasn’t acting scared. 
She said she was happy there. Take my advice. Drop it. If I 
were you, I’d file for divorce.”

* * * * *

How long had it been since Alice dropped from my life? How 
many weeks? What do you do when your love becomes 
obsession? How long since I slept through the night? I was 
having dreams about her, really just the one dream, and 
waking over and again, thinking I heard her. Chasing 
phantoms. Trying to work. I was always tired. It was time 
to drop the whole thing and find myself again. It was a 
last effort when I asked Mickey to find the showgirl.

And then Mickey couldn’t find her. “What do you mean you 
can’t find her? You said anyone can be found!”

“I exaggerated. Anyway it doesn’t mean I’ll never find her, 
but her tracks are pretty well covered and I’m still trying 
to get her real name.”

“Her real name?”

“I only have her stage name so far…”

“Which is?”

“Oh boy. Bambi McPherson.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Bambi.”

“Yeah.”

“A stripper.”

“A show girl.”

“Who’s disappeared. Let me ask you something. Are you sure 
she’s even still alive?”

What difference would finding her make? So Richard had 
abused another woman? So what? He was rich. He probably 
abused a lot of them, and he seemed to pony up when called 
on it. This woman would tell us what? He tied me up in a 
dark room. He controlled me. Maybe he whipped her too, who 
knows? But she left him and got a settlement.

Alice could always leave when she got tired of the 
treatment. Unless. Unless. Unless his appetites increased 
over time. Yes, there was that. What if hurting women, and 
abusing them, and then letting them go wasn’t enough for 
him anymore? What if Alice was the one he decided to go 
over the top with? Would anyone ever know? Would someone, 
someday, find parts of a desiccated body out in the desert?

When Mickey found Bambi, I jumped on it. He had her name 
and an address, and more. She lived in Sacramento, she was 
married to an anesthesiologist, and her name was now 
Eleanor Freedman. Mickey even got her home phone number. 
But she wouldn’t talk to me. When I called and told her I 
needed to talk about Richard she cut me off. She didn’t 
know him. Then, click.

I flew to Sacramento. Two steps forward, one step back. 
Tired. Oh Jesus. What would it be like to sleep forever, 
without the dreams? Give up on this. Alice was gone for her 
own reasons.

Still.

The guard at the gate put a call in to Mrs. Freedman’s 
house. Same old story. When he gave my name the response 
was that she wasn’t in. I asked him to call again, and to 
say it had to do with my wife, and that I was desperate. He 
was an older guy, friendly and chatty and probably not too 
hard to get past if I wanted to, if I had had any energy 
left. I waited for a response while we talked, then gave 
him my cell phone number and the name of my motel and left. 
I slept away the rest of the morning and long into the 
afternoon, and it was in my sleep that I found Alice. I was 
looking for her and found her. Suddenly she was there, 
standing in front of a strange building I knew intimately, 
waiting for me. We kissed and I held her and I cried, and 
cried, and cried. I couldn’t stop sobbing while I held her 
tightly, so she wouldn’t disappear. Then something started 
knocking and we both looked to see what it was. That’s when 
I awoke enough to realize it was the door. Who was it? 
Probably some of Richard’s people, come to kick me out of 
town. Hold on. I’m coming. I was wiping my eyes as I went 
to the door.

It was Eleanor Freedman’s attorney. Of course. A very 
polite older man. He told me she, unfortunately, could not 
see me and I should cease and desist and all that. I was 
wiping my face as he told me all this. Finish up, sir, so I 
can go back to sleep, back into the dream where I found my 
Alice. You’re part of the world that’s determined to do 
anything but let me see my wife. Blah, blah, blah, go back 
home. Then, as he was leaving, he passed me a note with 
instructions to walk down to the coffee shop and out the 
back door, to a car that would be waiting. I got a chill. 
What had Mickey said about being paranoid?

In the car was Eleanor Freedman, of course. After the fact, 
everything was "of course." It was all as I should have 
expected it to be. Here was Eleanor Freedman, a real woman 
I could actually see. Even sitting in the driver’s seat she 
was tall, and it was easy to imagine her as a showgirl, in 
her legs and breasts and complexion, but she didn’t look at 
all like a Bambi. No, she looked serious and focused and 
high class, like Eleanor-the-doctor’s-wife might, the sort 
of woman who chairs community boards. She began talking 
right away.

“Dr. Jekyll, I have to be quick. I can’t tell you anything 
about Richard Moriarty. I have a legal settlement that 
forbids any disclosures. And there’s another thing. He 
already told me you were coming here, so he’s watching 
you.”

Another chill.

“His minions get around.”

“I can’t know for sure. He called personally. He let me 
know my past is still in my present, as he says, and that 
it would be a shame for it to mar my future.” She shook her 
head. “He used to be so silver-tongued with me. Now he 
talks like someone from a Raymond Chandler novel.”

“So he’ll blackmail you forever?”

“It’s not exactly like that. My husband knows I was a 
dancer, and so do some friends. It’s not like I was a 
prostitute. I just wouldn’t want the details to get out to 
the whole medical community or the synagogue. Anyway I 
simply can’t be found to have talked with you.”

“Can't you tell me anything?”

“I’m sorry for you. I’m especially sorry for your wife.”

* * * * *

It was past time to give up. I would have. Really, I would 
have, but Mickey called a couple of days later. “Quick, 
Henry. The two of them are going to the opening reception 
of The Barracuda casino.”

“Why couldn’t you get me earlier warning?”

“You have about 45 minutes.”


I was there right as his limo stopped, working my way 
through the crowd, working my way toward the red carpet. 
Working, working. Then there they were. Oh God, she was 
beautiful. She wore a sleek, black, long dress, off one 
shoulder, with long black gloves gleaming with rhinestones. 
God, she was thin. That was obvious from a distance. She 
marched up the steps with Richard, leaning right up against 
him, her head almost on his shoulder. He held her waist.

“Alice! Alice!”

She raised her head and hesitated. She looked out toward 
me, but I was too far back, God damn it! I tried to push my 
way through and suddenly I was surrounded by casino 
security personnel, led by Richard’s polite young men. “I’m 
afraid we’ll have to ask you come with us, sir.” Everyone 
was looking at me. I was a crazed and dangerous person, no 
doubt. I felt crazed. I tried to look back toward Alice, 
but by now they were entering the casino and then they were 
gone.

“Alice!”

They pulled me far back. They held me an hour in a small 
room while I yelled at them. Then they let me go. No 
warnings, no lecture, nothing. Just let me go. That was it.

* * * * *

Richard had called again. There was a long voice mail when 
I got home.

“Henry, Henry, Henry. I must say I’m impressed by your 
perseverance. Tracking us. Going all the way to Sacramento. 
Most men would have cut their losses by now. You know she’s 
only a woman.” I could hear the casino crowd in the 
background. The bastard had called from inside while I was 
being held in that little room. 

“Alice is fixing herself for me right now, powdering her 
nose, as they say. She always stays lovely for me. Did you 
notice? Did you enjoy your little peek? I set a new regimen 
for her. She has to make herself beautiful every day. 
Remember how sometimes when you’d caress her leg, she’d 
have some stubble? She couldn’t be bothered with her 
appearance, not too much, now could she? 

“Oh, that wasn’t any special insight, Henry. My little 
joke. Sorry if it startled you. It was just an easy guess. 
Married ten or twelve years? Of course she gets careless 
and uninspired.

“But I never feel stubble. Why? Because she shaves every 
morning. Her vag, too. With a new blade every day. Not 
everywhere. Her arm pits A little around her ass. Anywhere 
there’s unsightly hair. She has to get up an hour early to 
prepare herself. I let her know it’s for the cause, by 
telling her how lovely she is, and letting her know I mean 
it. I set strict rules for her, but there are rewards for 
complying. And of course costs if she disobeys." He 
chuckled again. The bastard was so pleased with himself. 
"She loves me for having rules for her, and enforcing them.

“And did you notice how thin and fit she is? She eats right
 and works out, Henry. She doesn’t have that little tummy 
any more, and her thighs are smooth. I arrange her diet and 
watch her closely, or have her watched. She’s on a strict 
thousand calories a day, low on carbs. It’s inevitable that 
she sneaks food.” He laughed indulgently. Even today 
Richard’s laugh echoes inside my head. I hate the fucking 
thing. I fucking hate it! “Then I have my excuse to use 
discipline. We’ll talk later!”

* * * * *

I called him back. Even though. It had sunk in. His game 
was with me as much as with Alice. He would torment me as 
much as he could, and he’d probably enjoy it as much. What 
a game! The rules were simple. Even though I knew, I 
couldn’t not respond. 

“Richard, you brutal son of a bitch, so you keep her 
through fear. It’s what I thought.”

He picked up the call. Again. This was third time he’d done 
that. He knew exactly how I’d respond.

The first thing he said was: “Brutal? Henry, have you 
learned nothing? You think you lost your wife because I’m 
brutal? If you want to use discipline to good effect you’d 
best not be brutal, or you lower your chances of success. I 
admit I could be brutal now and keep her love, because — as 
you know — she chose me. But no. One isn’t brutal and 
chastisement isn’t random. One knows the limits, and makes 
sure the target knows this is for the greater good, for the 
plan. It fits into the story you’re creating, and after a 
while she accepts it. It never challenges her commitment. 
It even makes her love you more.”

“You’re fucking crazy! You admit you hurt her!”

“Henry, you don’t want to know these things. Of course I 
hurt her. It’s part of the joy, you know? No, I guess you 
don’t.” 

“What are you doing to her?”

“I’m completing her re-education.”

“Fucker! Shit, you fucker! Fuck you! I’m playing this tape 
for the police. This is kidnapping and battery. You think 
up all these twisted things...”

“Henry, Henry, Henry. Oh, I’m such an evil guy.” He was 
mocking me. “I do these terrible things. Well, I do a lot 
of things. But you know, they’re all just fantasy. They’re 
what people want. Or they find out they want them. 
Everything. And I don’t even have to think them up.”

“You think things up pretty well.” I was trying to sound 
sarcastic.

“Hah! You poor, dear boy. Don’t you know where these come 
from? Don’t you know of all those rape fantasies in romance 
novels? And all those millions of well-educated, 
professional women who read them and get hot? I find more 
on Internet sites than I could possibly ever practice, much 
worse things...”

“That’s not real life.”

“Let me finish. Even though from their vocabulary most 
Webmasters don’t seem to have more than an eighth grade 
education. Anyway. I get more than enough from real life.” 

“Let me talk with her!”

He seemed a little exasperated again. “Let’s take a 
different tack. You could use a nice lecture. Your folks 
were English, if I remember right. Didn’t they love old 
Queen Elizabeth? The first one? The so-called Virgin Queen? 
Good Queen Bess? Role model for women who rule? I believe 
that’s why they named your sister Elizabeth, and you Henry.

“What’s your point?”

“You know what sweet Lizzy had her people do with 
troublesome types? She had them racked, had needles pushed 
under their nails, had them cut, lashed, burned, and 
mutilated. She had them thrown down dry wells and locked up 
in boxes. Have you ever heard of me plucking off a nipple 
with white-hot tongs?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“And then how she killed them!”

“Shut up!”

“She had them hanged, drawn, and quartered. Know what that 
means? First you’re hung for a while, to choke and 
struggle. Then they take you down and stretch you out. 
Naked, of course. This is all in front of throngs of 
cheering crowds, you know.” Richard was getting wound up as 
he talked, excited. “They cut off your privy parts, as they 
would call them. Your dick and balls. Sliced off slowly. To 
maximize the shock and pain and screaming. Then, when 
you’re only moaning again, they butcher you, cut you open 
down the front and pull out your guts. You’d better be 
mostly dead by then, because they burn your intestines in 
front of your eyes. And then they finally cut out your 
heart and hold it up for the crowd!”

“Fucker...”

“But they aren’t done! Your body is cut up. Your head goes 
on a stake and your quarters are hung wherever they want to 
make a point, so the people there will see them rot, and 
smell them, and know it could be them. That’s what good 
Queen Bess did to people!”

“That’s crap!”

“It’s true, it’s true, dear Henry!” Now he was shouting 
into the phone, but he caught himself and took a breath. 
“One thing you should know about me is I’m truthful. In 
fact, Bessie wanted to make the executions worse, and more 
drawn out, and even more terrible. Probably because she was 
a red head. Unfortunately, her advisors convinced her that 
hanging, drawing and quartering were sufficient, if done 
right. The pussies.”

This time I didn’t say anything at all.

“You think she didn’t watch it and get hot? You know? Peek 
from a hiding spot, maybe inside a cloaked carriage, and 
frig herself? Good Queen Bess. I’m sure that got her cunt 
good and wet for her lovers. I imagine she got especially 
hot. Maybe not. But, you see, I don’t have to make up 
anything at all. I just read other people’s fantasies. And 
their realities. People desire things far more than I 
provide.”

“What are you doing to Alice?”

“Just so you know, I’m not hanging and drawing and 
quartering the lovely Alice. What I’m doing to her now is 
taking her to Cannes, and then to my resort island for a 
brief stay. I do hope you won’t try to track us there.”

* * * * *

He wasn’t done with me. Ten days later he sent me an email 
with several jpeg attachments. They were all photos of 
Alice. They were identified by name and number. I opened 
them in order, beginning with Alice1.jpg.

She was walking with Richard on a beach, topless. She wore 
a dog collar and he held the leash and she was laughing. 

They were having dinner in a large hall in which everyone 
was topless. Some people were naked. 

Still in the hall, Alice was dipping a breast into a glass 
of what looked like port. In the next picture Richard was 
sucking the breast, dribbles of red stuff running down her 
front and down his chin. In this one she looked excited, 
staring down as he sucked and licked her breast in front of 
the throngs of diners. 

There were a couple of photos of them after the meal was 
finished, before the plates had been cleared. There was 
some kind of sex show on a platform in the near background. 
Three men were fucking a woman’s vagina, anus, and mouth 
all at the same time, while she held on to two other men’s 
boners. Another pair of women were tied to chintzy-looking 
torture contraptions. Alice was looking at them in one of 
the photos, while Richard talked to her.

It got more personal. 

Alice was in what looked to be a tropical hut, with her 
arms stretched over her head. Her arms may have been tied. 
It seemed so, though I couldn’t see above her elbows. She 
had a blank look on her face. This was followed by a close-
up of her torso. You could tell she did shave her pubis. 
You could also see several pink lines, like whip marks, on 
her belly.

The pictures grew progressively worse, all the rest taken 
in the hut. There was Alice on her knees pulling down a 
pair of pants, smiling up at the owner. Next she was 
pulling a penis out of his underwear. Then she was holding 
his erection to her mouth and looking up to the face of 
whomever she was sucking. I guess it was Richard. I hoped 
it was Richard. It would be even harder to take if the 
penis were someone else’s, if she would suck anyone at all 
for the camera, instead of just her lover. 

I didn’t want to look at the last one. Richard would have 
held the best for last, wouldn’t he? I actually thought, 
for a moment, you can erase all of these. Dump them. The 
thought passed, though, and I clicked on it.

Yes, it was the worst of them. Alice was tied naked to a 
bed or something, inside the hut, completely spread out. 
You could see the same stripes on her body as before. I 
know they were the same because I went back to compare 
them. Surrounding the bed were six men, none of them 
Richard. All six were masturbating over her, six men 
leaning over her, six dicks stretched over her by six 
hands, a mini bukkake show. One had been caught precisely 
in the act of coming onto her chest. A little puddle was on 
her body already, right above her left breast, and another 
spurt floated between the two of them.

What did Alice think of all this? Her eyes were wide, her 
head was pulled back, and her lips were open as though she 
were saying something. I couldn’t tell how she was 
responding. I just couldn’t tell. 

There was one other thing. Someone had written something 
across her breasts, a special, intimate message in red 
marker: “Hello, Henry. Wish you were here.”

* * * * *

Afterward it was natural to have the dream again, but it 
changed. For a couple of nights I hadn’t dreamed of her at 
all. Maybe I was on the verge of letting go. Who knows? 
Then after the pictures the dream came back. I couldn’t… 
couldn’t what? Couldn’t collect myself. Couldn’t let go. 
Couldn’t not think of Alice fucking a succession of 
faceless men, becoming Richard’s complete sex slave. The 
pictures appeared when I’d turn a corner, or blink, or look 
into the refrigerator. So that night I had the dream again, 
and for nights afterward. Only this time a circle of men 
were spewing on her. The room smelled of spunk, but I 
couldn’t get to her. The stench was overwhelming because 
the men went through an endless cycle of coming, and Alice 
was laughing with delight at each splash of semen, reaching 
her mouth to it, reaching her tongue to it. My loving wife.


End of Part Two

