‘Everything becomes inverted. Pain becomes pleasure. Pleasure becomes pain. And I will do anything I can to increase it, to make sure it never ever stops, because it feels so good.
‘I’ve had the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had while tied up,’ Anna says. ‘Orgasms so intense I passed out, woke up still hanging there, and then the whole thing started all over again.’
She says you lose track of time so quickly when you’re suspended or restrained, like someone’s put you under hypnosis.
‘It’s like I’m in a trance,’ she says, ‘an erotic trance. Like I’ve been there for minutes, but it could be hours. I’m outside time and it all feels endless. And I’m afraid of what might happen when it does.’
It’s at that point, Anna says, caught between the fear of wanting and not wanting, that she feels she might go insane.
‘But I feel so alive,’ she says. ‘More alive than at any time in my life, and at peace. I feel transcendent.’
I’ve never heard Anna talk like this before. She’s normally so giggly and carefree. Now she’s serious and I can hear that she really means what she says.
I remember that look on Anna’s face. Now I understand what she was feeling. Now I want to know even more. I want to know what it feels like to be in Anna’s world.
Anna thinks she’s said enough. I know this because she trails off and goes strangely silent, then abruptly changes the subject.
She says, ‘What are you doing now?’
‘Not much,’ I say.
‘I want you to meet Bundy,’ she says, slightly mischievously.
‘Sure,’ I say.
And I don’t even give it a second thought. I know it’ll be a few hours at least before Jack gets home and I don’t want to sit here stewing all on my own.
10
Bundy says, ‘Take a look at this.’
And he swipes through a series of photos on his phone so fast that at first I can’t make out what I’m looking at, except a blur of clashing colors and close-ups taken at extreme angles.
Bundy’s swiping through the pictures on his phone like a rookie salesman so nervous about giving his first Powerpoint presentation to a room full of important clients that he forgets to let go of the remote and races through all his slides at once.
The slides he’s been up for three days non-stop without sleep to get finished in time for this, his first big sale.
All gone, in less than half a minute.
And he’s left standing there, looking up at a big blank screen before he’s even finished talking through the first slide, hoping he’s still going to make his commission this month.
Bundy’s not nervous, he’s just excited. But he is trying to sell me something. He’s trying to sell me on the idea of snorting a line of cocaine racked out along his penis.
This is what the photos are of mostly, I realize, when he lingers on one just slightly longer than the rest. A portfolio of girls doing exactly that. And this is his pitch to the unwary. Not an easy sell, but he’s giving it his all.
We’ve only just met. Actually, we’ve only just been introduced, by Anna. Bundy doesn’t say, ‘hi’ or ‘nice to meet you’. He says, ‘take a look at this’. And out comes his portfolio of conquests.
This is what Bundy does.
He trawls clubs, bars, clothing stores, fast-food outlets, supermarket checkouts for cute girls. But it’s not enough for them to be cute. They also have to be willing.
He calls it ‘making new friends’.
Proof of these encounters appears daily on his website, Bundy’s Got Talent, for a worldwide audience of bozos.
Sounds innocuous. It’s anything but.
In the armed forces, they call it ‘mission creep’. When a military campaign oversteps its original boundaries and shifts objectives.
This is porno creep.
When pornography oversteps its boundaries and pretends it’s something it isn’t.
Almost as soon as Bundy’s new ‘friends’ have made his acquaintance, he pulls out his camera and tries his damnedest to encourage them to do one of three things, right there and then.
Flash tits. Parade pussy. Suck cock.
On a good day, all three.
On a bad day – and, it has to be said, most days are bad days – Bundy will take anything he can get. He’ll settle for less because less is better than nothing at all and Bundy’s really not fussy. On a bad day he’ll get what’s known in the biz as a sneak shot, a photograph taken of the subject unawares. A photograph that comes in a number of specific sub-categories: the down-blouse, the up-skirt, the crotch shot, the nip-slip, the pussy-slip, and so on.
Bundy seems to fancy himself as the Simon Cowell of internet porn. A curator of adult entertainment, a Svengali of sexual talent – because that’s what he likes to call the girls who have submitted to his dubious charms. Talent.