Miss Elizabeth's Captive

And pleasure myself I did. Jamie’s sphincter yielded but seemed to tease. The camera could not distinguish the subtle welcoming contractions, placing Little Sam in nirvana, from what could be interpreted as attempts to resist.

There was no resistance. When Little Sam pressured the prostate I felt Jamie’s muscles tremble in delight. Not only did his gluteal muscles have entrapped the object of his envy, but his little gland was being so nicely massaged and caressed.

Yet, for the camera, Jamie’s facial expressions suggested otherwise. For the camera, Jamie communicated the pain of unwanted anal penetration. For the camera, his face had the look of horror, of disgust and fear...

Little Sam stroked away with impunity, greedily making up for eight weeks of chastity and frustration. I plumbed Jamie’s amazingly welcoming backside with abandon. And I know he thrilled in every moment.

After many minutes, I grabbed Jamie’s blond locks and pulled back, forcing the angle of my penetration to thrust directly against his prostate. Then I exploded and had Jamie been intact he too would have climaxed. Instead he looked, as Liz had suggested, in his partial state of ecstasy like someone who was about to sneeze but could not.

Jamie could not pull the trigger...and never would.

He could come back for more, yet I was spent, exploding as stated, deeply, forcefully unloading everything I had deep into Jamie’s colon.

The finger hit the stop button of the VCR but my recollections kept going.

In my satiation, I retrieved my margarita and stood at Jamie’s head, blocking the camera. My blond lover gratefully licked Little Sam clean of all juices, and did so with a smile, as I leisurely finished my drink.

Jamie’s look of gratitude was not on tape. He reacted like a frustrated teenaged girl, strangely appreciative th

at her state of virginity had finally passed. But the camera lens was blocked. There was no visual evidence of Jamie’s gratification.

Knowing that I had broken the rules, that my career was over, that my hostess would soon return home and I had little explanation to offer other then suggesting I had encountered a moment of self destruction and could not fight the urges, I left.

On the way home, I was already mentally assembling my resume. I knew it was over. What I did not know was that in my surrender to temptation the recording capability of the examination room added the potential for criminal charges.

The voice of Suzanne Regal, attorney-at-law, brought me from the reverie of debauchery.

“I’m going to step out while settlement discussions commence. I’m sure there are points to be made that are not well fostered by my presence. But keep in mind, Mr. Winthrop, the impressive technology of digital imagery.”

She turned off the tape recorder. One last folder was slid across the table as she said, “Thousands of still shots can be extracted from high definition videotape without diminishing one iota of quality, Mr. Winthrop. Imagine a court room where the prosecutor lines the walls with the likes of that.”

She pointed to the folder as I picked it up and scanned its contents. Within was a mounted close up photo of my face and Jamie’s pubes. It filled the 8 by 11 inch piece of cardboard. My tongue was extended and about to lick the pusillanimous tip of Jamie’s penis.

Suzanne Regal, attorney at law, smiled for only the second time, and stepped out of the room. All heads followed as the guard could be seen directing her to the ladies room.

I was cooked. The phrase ‘there is the perceived inability to escape’ invaded my panicking brain. But the kindnesses also associated with the Stockholm Syndrome could not be forgotten. On that Wednesday afternoon, now so much subject to scrutiny, Jamie’s supple rectum drained Little Sam like a milking machine working a cow’s udder. His passion for that which he himself could not enjoy was gratefully felt, but of course such reaction was not seen on tape.

And with all the cathartic trauma, the legal bravado, the well prepared and rehearsed legal testimony and documentation, I could not help admiring my blonde ingenue. In a way, ‘her’ fine acting was communicating a provocative and suggestive thought, ‘join us, there is indeed no escape but there will be more kindnesses’.

Chapter Twenty Six

Within a minute of the hiatus brought by Suzanne Regal’s departure, I began to understand the need for her dramatic exit. What Liz was leading to could not, should not be heard or witnessed by an officer of the court.

I had a reputation for skillfully negotiating complicated deals, in poker parlance, somehow turning a meager business hand into a modest win or perhaps even better. But in this negotiation I had nothing. This was no hand with which to start.

“I assume that if you just wanted me in jail, I would be wearing a striped uniform and be so ensconced right now, Liz,” I offered in deciding to break the ice first.

“It’s still ‘Miss Elizabeth’ and will continue to be ‘Miss Elizabeth’,” she corrected me with clear firm, enunciation.

“Suzanne gave me a briefing on American law in this area of jurisprudence, Sam. I was not happy with the range of punishments. Jamie is my property. Royal property. For trifling with such in my home country the penalty would be severe.

“You broke the rules and will pay. Troublesome enough that I had to buy an apartment building, hire that senescent boss of yours and toy with MacDonald Bear stock just to find a companion for Jamie.

“Now I have to pay a lawyer to retaliate for the defamation of his character. His interests are also mine.”

Miss Elizabeth finally smiled...evilly...her joy seemed to be brought by my look of perplexed horror as the realization dawned concerning the depth of all her misdeeds and conspiratorial acts.

“Yes, Sam, you’ve arrived in the very place where I wanted you. But you took a rather alarming path. Releasing yourself was not expected.”