Getting Even With Mary Anne free porn video

I don't know where I was the night Mary Anne McAlister cried rape. I

haven't a clue and that's the truth. I know Sheriff Parker found me

at six the next morning lying in a pool of my own vomit under the

Ultine Bridge, I can still feel the boot he used to wake me. Now, old

Parker was one of those good ol' boy's "born and raised in the county

like all the Parker's going way back."  He had no time for city folk

who fancied their chances at farming, even less if the miserable

bastards failed.  Right from the start he'd been down on my dad

explaining how they "did things around here."  Dad had been polite,

he'd even tried to fit in but it was no secret that Parker and the

rest of the locals had enjoyed watching dad's dream trickle down the

toilet.  Parker and me were like old friends by then which is why I

didn't take that boot too personally.  When they'd dragged me back to

the McAlister City lockup I figured that I he was going to do me on

some stupid vagrancy rap or drunk an' disorderly.

In fact the first I knew about Mary Anne or her accusations was while

they were fingerprinting me. Parker and his boy's did this whole

thing were they talk about you and what's likely to happen, right in

front of you, like you weren't even there. It was from this

"conversation" that I worked out the story, that some guy had

grabbed Mary Anne on the way back from a church social, that he'd

beat and raped her leaving her to walk home barefoot and half naked.

I also knew that she'd made a positive ID.  I mean she didn't say it was

some guy my height or weight, she'd said it was me, by name. I got to

confess I'd lost it then.  I mean I was too high to remember much at

all that night but I knew I didn't rape her, even drunk and out of my

head I wouldn't do that.

I mean I knew Mary Anne of course, everyone did, it's impossible to

be a McAlister in McAlister City and not be known. Mary Anne and I

had attended the same small high school until I'd dropped out that

summer. In fact she ruled that school in the same way that her father

ruled the rest of town, through fear and favor. For a time because

she and her friends thought big city life was cool, they'd let me

hang with them. I knew their wild side as well as anyone but I

couldn't for the life of me figure why she'd fingered me.

While I was trying to work it out old Parker decided to explain what

happened to guy's who rape in his county.  He then explained what

happened to guy's dumb enough to rape the first citizen's daughter,

and just to make sure I didn't forget he let two of his larger

deputy's write it on my face with their fists.

I was charged, my mugshot released to the press and a court hearing

all  worked out before they told my folks or even bothered to look

for a lawyer. Around here they call that country justice, I suppose I

was lucky they couldn't find a rope.

Somehow Momma managed to dry Dad out long enough to come and see me.

She looked even smaller and thinner than she had before, he sort of

staggered around trying not to be sick.  We didn't say much, she

promised to find a lawyer but I knew they couldn't afford one, they'd

spent every cent they'd had in the world trying to make the farm Dad

had dreamed about into reality. I'd thanked them but said that I

preferred the court attorney because he was more likely to know the

judges. She'd just smiled and said that we'd see, like she had when

I'd asked for something expensive for Christmas. As if the world's

most brilliant lawyer would stand a chance in McAlister City.

After they'd gone I heard the two deputy's discussing how best to

beat a confession out of me. Old Parker, he just waited for the

jitters and the withdrawal to set in.  He knew all you had to do with

a junkie was wait and let the addiction do it's work, soon he'd be

hurting so bad he'd admit anything to just make it stop.

And of course I did.

All in all the trial was as fair as you can get in a town that had

already been told I was guilty. By then I'd been Upstate long enough

to get myself straightened out, I'd withdrawn the confession straight

away, not that it would do any good, Mary Anne's testimony alone was

enough to bury me.  She sat in the witness box in this white summer

dress, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders, she looked

like a distressed angel, sobbing as she told of the frightening

ordeal.  God, I'm only sorry the Oscar committee hadn't been there to

reward her performance.  When she looked up at that jury and told

them how she'd pleaded with me to stop, hell at that moment even I

would have thought I was guilty.  I suppose it was then I realized I

was done for.  No amount of scientific evidence could win against

such a performance, not when the people of this town had been

believing whatever a McAlister  told them for over a century.  Of

course they may have been more skeptical if they knew her like I had.

If they'd hung out in the same bars in Ogden where she often danced

topless on the pool tables, or if they'd seen her so high on coke

that she couldn't even remember her own name.  And around here a name

like McAlister is a difficult one to forget.

I suppose I was lucky that the death penalty was not an option.

Twenty years seemed almost like a slap on the wrist compared to the

trial. I consoled myself that no matter how bad jail was it had to be

better than living and dying in McAlister.

Dad died that winter, it was unusually cold that year and he wasn't

really been cut out for trailer park living.  Somehow Momma managed

the seventy mile trek up to the state pen to see me.  She looked

fragile, like a strong gust of wind would just blow her over, but

I knew she'd be all right, she'd always been the strong one. I told

her to go stay with her sister in Phily, to get out of McAlister and

forget about me. I knew it couldn't be easy for her to live in a

place like that, what with the small minds and the sharp tongues. It

was probably as easy as being a convicted rapist in the state pen.

She promised she'd think about it, but I knew she'd never leave.

McAlister for all it's faults was closer to the pen than Phily. With

Dad gone I was all she had left.

In some ways I had to be grateful for what happened.  I could easily

have drowned in my own vomit that night or on one of the other

night's afterwards. After we'd lost the farm I'd hit rock bottom

started doing drugs and drinking too much. If I'd have carried on

that way there would have been an early grave in my future. Jail

changed all that. Oh, don't get me wrong jail is hell, the first few

months I got beaten up on a regular basis, but after the guards had

decided I'd had enough they stopped turning a blind eye. Strangely

old McAlister's political influence started working in my favor. The

case had made enough nationwide publicity to make my constant

"accidents" look bad on the prison authorities. I was moved to a

secure block and it was then my life started to turn around.  To

protect me from the other prisoners I spent most of the time locked

down.  Bored shitless I'd started reading, anything and everything

from crime novels to technical books.  After three years I got my

high school equivalence diploma, then started taking correspondence

courses in a variety of subjects.  Physically I was better too, the

jail ran a tough regime and I ended up stronger and healthier than I

think I'd ever been.

Sometimes at night I would lay there and wonder what would have

happened if I had died that night. One thing seemed clear, it

would have pissed Mary Anne off to be cheated of such a perfect

scapegoat. For looking back I knew that this was not a genuine

error or a case of mistaken identity. I could see it in her eyes when

she pointed me out in the courtroom, that look of hate and power. I

had known then that she'd lied, though I still had no idea why.

After I'd been Upstate for six years I got my answer.

In all my life I'd never expected Betty Ross to visit me. It's

true that when I'd been in with the clique I'd fucked her a few

times, but then the slut would fuck anything with a pulse. When I'd

been sent down she'd been Mary Anne's best friend and one of the Ra

Ra crowd that yelled abuse at me from the public gallery.

However, outside in the real world times had changed.  It was the end

of the eighties and the farming crisis had really started to hit

hard.  Even long established folk's like the Ross's were starting to

go under and Betty had woken up one day to discover that her

popularity had been directly linked to her pocket book.  Suddenly the

clique she'd been in since junior high had decided to freeze her out.

I could tell that she was livid, that she was here more for her own

revenge than in a sudden fit of conscience.  Not that it mattered,

what she did tell me was what had really happened that night.

Seems Mary Anne had gone to Ogden with the usual crowd intending to

get drunk and get wild.  Ogden is pretty much the same kind of

shit hole as McAlister the only advantage it had for the McAlister

kids was that it wasn't *their* shit hole.  Stuff they did in Ogden

was unlikely to make it back to Ma and Pa provided they didn't go too

far.  It seems that Mary Anne's chosen beau for the evening was

Bobbie Wright, nice kid, football player, strong but not that smart.

Part way through the evening, Mary Anne had decided to try a range of

recreational spices which included the new drug E and a lot of coke.

After that she lost it for a while and only really understood what

was happening when she felt Bobbie thrust into her.  Now Mary Anne's

Daddy was one of those old bores that ran the Moral Crusade for

America.  You know, the type that are always telling everyone else

that what was they are doing is wrong.  He'd cultivated a squeaky

clean image full of images of an America that probably never existed.

He preached moral leadership and the punishment of the wicked.  The

Crusade formed an important part of his political power base.  His

unstained reputation was used to batter the God fearing folk of

McAlister County into keeping him and his acolytes in power.  He was

the type who would sacrifice a wayward daughter to hang on to power.

I think Mary Anne understood this, realized that her excesses would

be overlooked as long as she wasn't a political embarrassment.  As a

result she made sure she left no evidence, the only drugs she used

left no tracks and she had kept her virginity intact by trading

blow jobs for pussy licks rather than doin' the dirty.  The watchword

had been plausible deniability, or it had been until Bobbie Wright

took it into his head to fuck her.

Now thanks to Bobbie she was no longer a virgin. She feared she was

pregnant, understood that her father wouldn't contemplate a back door

abortion, the liberal press were too good at digging up such scandals

and old McAlister had dreams that stretched beyond McAlister County.

Visions of bearing Bobbie's child, or worse  being forced to

marry him fluttered through her mind. Then the idea had come, a way

to explain her lost virginity and leave a politically acceptable

let out if the bitch needed an abortion. She'd been raped, now all she

needed was a rapist.

Sitting in the visitor's hall listening to the story all I could

think about was how cold and calculating the bitch had been. To go

from stoned to deliberately ruining someone's life in less than an

hour showed her to be a very nasty piece of work. Through my reading

I now knew what a sociopath was and I could see that now she'd gotten

away with it she was likely to get even more outrageous. I admit that

what Betty had first told me my first reaction had been relief, the

big problem with having a hole in your life is that you can never be

sure what happened. I'd always felt that I was innocent, but it was

more a gut reaction than one based on solid fact. I went back to my

cell feeling if anything relieved. I didn't even mind that Betty had

refused to swear out a statement, it was hard going against the

McAlisters. It was only later when I brooded about the injustice, all

the lost years, that the cold dark anger had started to grow. Even

then I had no plans to do anything about it, well not for another

fourteen years anyway.

Gradually the years slipped by. I got a job in the carpentry shop,

started studying a whole range of subjects from computers to

accounting.  When the jail got computers I started designing web

pages for local charities, building up good will and a good

reputation. One of the charity guy's put in a good word with the

ACLU who found me a lawyer but there was little evidence either

way outside of Mary Anne's identification. We found we didn't

have enough for an appeal. So I continued to work year after year and

gradually my anger grew.

Strangely it was O.J. Simpson who saved me. Remember the Simpson

trial?  Well, it was prime time viewing back in the pen.  I don't

think there were any of us that didn't wonder how we could have done

with a few million dollars worth of legal talent.  I started reading

up on the DNA fingerprint techniques used in the case and realized

that there might be a way out.  I knew old Parker had taken some

vaginal swabs from Mary Anne, back then they had been used only for

blood typing, but now there was this fingerprint technique.  All I

needed was some way to restart the inquiry.

Then, my mother died suddenly of a heart attack.  Somehow she had

managed to keep a small life insurance policy running.  At first I'd

ignored the money, I felt it was like I was picking over her bones if

I used it.  Eventually though a couple of my supporters persuaded me

to try.  I had just enough to get the swabs DNA tested, my lawyer

was hopeful and I waited nervously.  At first it was unclear if the

swabs, which had been in storage at the FBI crime lab for ten years,

would be in good enough condition for retesting.  There was an

anxious wait but eventually the results came back as I'd hoped.  For

a while I'd feared that old McAlister would use his political clout

to block an appeal but with the ACLU on my side he wasn't going

to risk it.  Not now that he was a national figure.  In fact he'd

been so vigorous in denouncing the Simpson jury for ignoring the DNA

evidence that he had trapped himself.

The retrial we really more of a hearing, Mary Anne probably realizing

that she might be liable for perjury charges didn't even show up,

standing by her original statement and claiming it was all too

traumatic. I'm told that worked in my favor, no emotional outburst to

cloud the scientific evidence and suddenly it was all over.

They released me after 12 years with a full pardon and a payout from

some justice fund. I sued the state and the City of McAlister Police

Department anyway. Now that I was proved to be an innocent man all my

allegations of police brutality were finally taken seriously. I hear

old Parker was forced to resign, my lawyer also said that I could sue

him individually. I decided to consider it. I spent the next few

months doing chat shows and TV specials, there was even a TV

Movie, all adding money to my already substantial coffers.  Of course

Mary Anne never changed her story, to admit now that there was

never a rape could put her in jail and kill her father's political

ambitions.  She announced on Oprah that she had been raped but

had made "a terrible mistake" in the identification.  Tearfully she

had begged me to forgive her in a performance almost as good as

the one she'd given in court.  I of course had smiled, kissed and

hugged her to the delight of the studio audience. Prison had taught

me patience, I could afford to wait. Incidentally,  I was told that

Bobbie Wright left town that same day, it probably hadn't escaped him

that the same test that had freed me could put him in jail.  After

all Mary Anne had already sent one innocent man to jail to save her

reputation, if I had been him I'd have run too.

That was over a year ago. Since then I've fought hard to

reestablish myself.  So far I've been lucky.  I don't know, there is

something that people find attractive about someone who's won out

against the odds.  After I got out there seemed a lot of people who

wanted to be associated with me and my success.  I was able to take

the little web work I'd done and build on it.  I now own a small

company in California specializing in corporate web design. These

day's I'm quite successful I have a house overlooking the ocean

about twenty miles from L.A.  and I'm able to work from home.  Up

until recently I 'd been too busy to think about all the loose ends

in my life, but now finally I've been able to think about getting

even.  She'd done well for herself, a political sciences degree

had led to a job as a political lobbyist in Washington.  I suspect

that daddy's increasing national influence helped there.  Still she'd

been having a good life while I rotted in jail, she had that nice

apartment in Washington, that fancy little Italian sports car, all

those rich and eligible men friends.  Yep, she was very comfortable

which made it just the right time to take it all away.

I suppose most people would have made a beeline straight for the

bitch and settled it then and there.  I suppose I could have, I'd

dreamed about it enough, but to be honest I was enjoying my freedom

too much to want to go back to jail right now.  Besides, it hadn't

escaped my attention that there was a far more fitting punishment I

could dish out, one that was all nice and legal.

That's why I hired a detective to find Bobbie Wright, I sort

of figured the guy owed me for not speaking out. I don't know why I

thought I could change his mind, testifying against the McAlister clan

was as dangerous now as it was then. No, that's not true I knew

exactly what would change his mind. The DNA profile of Mary Anne's

"attacker" was in an FBI data bank in Washington. Even someone as dumb

as old Bobbie must have realized that it was a sword hanging over his

head. I felt sure that I could convince him that the only way out was

a preemptive strike, to get his version out before he was an accused

rapist. Bobbie had really gone to ground,  it took my detective

several months to find him but he finally tracked Bobbie down to a

suburb of Las Vegas where he was working in a heath spa.  I figured

the guy might freak if I just showed up so I sent him a card asking

him to call.  The card sort of suggested I was looking up several old

friends.  I still didn't know if he knew that I knew, if you know

what I mean?

Anyway, I got no reply, so I decided to give him a few days before I

visited in person. I want to state right now that what subsequently

happened was not in the plan. My one aim in life at that point was to

get the bitch convicted of perjury and serving time in jail. I kind

of figured she wouldn't be in long, her daddy's political clout would

see to that.  Still it didn't matter, I wanted to see how her

wonderful career would go when she got out the pen with a criminal

record.

Yes, I had carefully laid my plans against her when fate moved it's

giant hand. Well, that part I'll tell you latter.

==========================================================

It had started innocently enough, I'd decided to go to Vegas in

person to look up my old friend Bobbie Wright. I figured once I

explained the situation to him it wouldn't be too long before he saw

things my way. Just to be sure I'd had my guy track down Betty Ross

in case I needed someone to collaborate things, I figured she'd

cooperate, life as a "dancer" on the L.A. strip is never easy even

when you don't have a three year old daughter to feed.

I'd sent Bobbie another card this time explicitly telling him why I

was going to call and pointing out the benefit's of getting his story

out first. I rang the airport to book a flight when I suddenly

realized the date, that Tuesday would have been Mom's birthday. For

some reason I felt a pang, the need to visit the humble little grave

in the corner of St. Paul's churchyard. I decided to let Bobbie stew,

to instead drive over to McAlister county and see mom. This was after

all my first holiday in fourteen years I wanted the sky, the sun, the

freedom of the open road. So I set off not realizing the events I'd

set in motion.

Even before I reached McAlister City I realized that they'd been hit

hard. The farming crisis had just started to hit when dad's place had

gone down. He'd just been the weakest, the one with the least capital

but he hadn't been the last. Of course I'd read about it in jail, I'd

read just about everything. I knew that old McAlister had used the

crisis as a springboard to build his national platform. Christ, his

family have lived of the backs of these folks for generations and

even when they had reached there lowest ebb they'd found a McAlister

profiting from it. I suppose I was guilty in some ways too. A Federal

judge had decided that beating a confession from me and tainting my

trial meant that the City of McAlister had infringed my civil rights.

After that a six figure settlement had come as no surprise. Of course

I figured I deserved the money after what they'd done but it

wasn't until I reached town and saw the closed schools and the

unpainted buildings that I understood where that money had come from.

I suppose I'd liked to imagine that old man McAlister had written out

a check and paid it himself but of course he hadn't, that type never

do.  It had been the ordinary folks that paid while life in the big

house on the hill had gone on as normal.

Still I was sure his loyal constituents probably wouldn't see it like

that. I kept my head down, cursing that the new Toyota looked so

obviously out of place.  Fortunately that early in the morning the

streets were deserted.  It wasn't too hard to park the car, turn the

collar of my leather jacket up and slip over the churchyard wall.

The place was overgrown, I suppose the city couldn't afford to tend

it, and it took me some time to find momma's grave.  The headstone

was small and unassuming, she'd apparently wanted the cheapest she

could find so I'd have money for my defense.  I admit I cried, all

those years in jail she'd probably only managed to visit two or three

times.  It had been easy to trick myself into thinking she was just

somewhere else.  Now I knew different.  Of course dad wasn't there,

Momma had him cremated and then had snuck up to the old farm and

scattered his ashes there.  She said she wanted him to have his

dream, then and forever in a way that meant than no one could take

it from him again.  I'd had another little cry.  I'd decided then and

there to move her, there was no way that she would end up here

surrounded by people that had despised and hated her in life.  I

figured I'd get the body shipped to California, perhaps to a spot

near my house.  Momma always loved the ocean, she'd never seen the

Pacific, perhaps I could find her a spot with a view?

Of course I could do nothing about dad but I decided that before I

left I would visit one last time. So I took an eccentric route up to

the farm. It was eccentric because I decided to stop next to the

Ultine Bridge and walk down to the last place I'd been free. So I

headed off flicking the radio though all the God stations and country

stations looking for one good solid rock station

And then in passing I heard my name. I tuned back lapping up details

of the news report with a feeling of shock. Apparently after

receiving my second card Bobbie Wright had sat down and written out a

complete confession. Naming names, telling it as it really was. He'd

left nothing out, the drugs, the sex, Mary Anne's little plan.

Everything I'd wanted.

Then the idiot hung himself, like I said Bobbie wasn't smart.

Apparently the news had broke while I was on the road, frustrated

journalists were trying to find me,  there was talk of warrants for

Mary Anne's arrest, if they could find her because she'd dropped

completely out of sight. I breathed a sigh of relief, to get to the

farm the usual way would have meant passing the McAlister house, I

could only imagine what kind of media circus would be camped out

there.

Of course I felt vindicated, Bobbie's statement would go a long way

to burying Mary Anne, I admit though that even then I worried that

she could wiggle out of it, a live Bobbie made a much better witness

than a dead one.

I found I'd driven to the farm on autopilot. The road was overgrown,

the house shielded from the road by woods that hadn't been cleared in

a long time. I suppose it figured, the place had only ever been

marginal, that was why it had folded in the first place. With so many

larger and more modern places going for a song it seemed hardly

surprising that it was still empty. For a crazy second I even thought

of buying it back, you know as a gesture to dad, but then good sense

prevailed.

I suppose it was the farm's look of neglect that made the shiny new

Taurus parked outside look so out of place.  The old house obviously

had an occupant, though by the looks of things only a recent one. I'd

parked back near the woods not wanting to risk my tires on the road.

It was puzzling, I for one couldn't figure it out. Dad had once told

me that he'd seen people here on the day's he'd sneaked over to brood

on his failure. In fact it was the risk of these mysterious people

discovering him that had caused him to sneak around in the first

place. After we'd lost the place it had been too painful to come

up here myself and I'd thought it was the booze talking.  Still,

someone was here.  For a second I'd thought of going back, but then I

thought what the hey, a car like that wasn't likely to be from around

here.  The people probably didn't even know who I was.  I'd just go

over quiet and respectful and if they asked, well this was my dad's

grave site, I figured I had a reason.

As I got closer to the car I started to realize that it was just a

little too new. It stood out like my Camry did, all bright and

polished. There were these little paper mats on the floors, a pass to

a long term airport parking space. The Taurus was an airport rental.

It struck me that perhaps one of the press had come here to do some

feature on me. Well if you were in town anyway then stopping

off and getting pictures of the victims house made sense.  I started

to compose just what I'd say if someone asked about Miss Mary Anne

McAlister.

Then suddenly the screen door opened and Mary Anne just walked out

onto the porch.  We both froze, the wide eyed look of horror on her

face said it all.  For an instant we just looked at each other, she

was dressed in a white blouse, a lilac miniskirt and a pair of patent

high heeled knee boots.  For a second she rocked back on those heels

as if she'd been hit, then with a squeal, she turned and ran inside.

I have no idea what made me follow, like I said the thing I most

wanted was to see her rot in jail.  Yet all those dark lonely nights

planning my revenge just bubbled to the surface.  Before I knew it I

was inside.  For a second I stopped, confused, memory and reality

fighting for my perception.  Inside the place was nice, very nice far

better than when we had lived there.  The kitchen was modern, and

very well equipped, our battered old hand me down appliances replaced

with the latest and the best, the chipped tiles replaced with shiny

new ones.  My mind tried to make sense of it, a new kitchen in a

house with busted gutters and peeling paint?  My pause had given her

chance to take a lead and she hadn't wasted it.  She was already in

the living room screaming like a banshee and heading for the phone.

However the high heeled boots hampered her and I managed to get

between her and the phone.  Darting sideways she sold me a dummy,

then she suddenly switched back heading for one of the cabinets.

I spotted the gun as she tried desperately to pull it from the draw.

It got caught and she fought to free it. I have no doubt that her

panic saved my life. With the blood pounding through my head I swung

back my hand and hit her, hard. She folded like a broken doll.

I took the gun and for a second just stood there. I suppose it

dawned on me that I could just walk away at this point. She'd cried

wolf once already and I had a reasonable explanation for being here.

She'd seen me, freaked and pulled a gun, I slugged her in self

defense and then left. No one else was around, if they had been then

they'd be here what with all the noise she'd been making. No, at the

moment it was her word against mine and hers had been proved to be

tainted.

Then I got to thinking that I could possibly extend that principle,

that I had in my hands a way to get a little natural justice.

I started to search the kitchen. There was a door at the back that

led to a large root cellar, back when we lived here we'd just dumped

our junk inside. Opening the door I found that the new occupants did

likewise; a coil of rope, probably a clothes line, came to hand. A

search of the kitchen draws came up with a variety of towels and a

pair of pink rubber kitchen gloves. Well, beggars can't be choosers,

I pulled on the gloves then wiped down all the surfaces I was likely

to have touched.  Then, I walked back though to where she lay

unconscious on the floor and went to work.  I shoved a towel in her

lying little mouth and used the scarf she was wearing to tie it in

place.  The rope I cut into sections with a kitchen knife and used to

tie her wrists, upper arms and ankles.  I had just enough to manage a

hog-tie, then I picked her up and dumped her on the couch.  She was

still out of it so I decided to take a quick look around.

I didn't really figure out what was going on or what she was doing

here until I reached the master bedroom. The room was huge taking up

almost half of the second floor.  Back when we'd lived here this had

been two rooms but someone had obviously knocked them together.  I

figured it was necessary to accommodate the bed, a huge emperor sized

waterbed complete with canopy.  The sheet's and drapes were black silk

highlighted in silver with matching toss pillows and cushions.  I

looked under the canopy, yep there were mirrors on the ceiling.  The

wardrobe was filled with a selection of "interesting" outfits, most

of them for a woman, but the sizes varied quite a lot, which made me

think that this wasn't a woman's room.  Who am I kidding, this was

Hugh Heffner's fantasy playroom and I knew the moment I walked in who

had built it and why *she* was here.

This was daddy's secret little hideaway.

Even when I'd lived in McAlister there had been rumors of the old

man's infidelity. It was widely known that his marriage had been to

secure a political alliance rather than for anything as ordinary as

"love." Most people seemed to accept that and were willing to turn a

blind eye as a result. The hypocrisy of it all, that this man could

preach to the nation on moral values yet have none of his own, was

lost on them. They continued to go on with their lives ignoring his

flirting with the same blind eye they turned to all the McAlister's

excesses.  Of course there were conventions, he didn't flaunt it in

front of their faces, he did it discretely in Ogden like everyone

else.

Or rather he had back then.

I could see how our farm could have looked attractive. It bordered

his property, across the fields and through the woods it was probably

only a couple of miles door to door.  For a fit man like him that was

hardly a problem.  In addition it was far enough from town to

discourage visitors.  I figure he'd bought the place discretely, had

the work done by out of state contractors, then continued to let the

outside become suitably decrepit to disguise that it was in use.

With a working kitchen and bathroom he could install a mistress up

here quite comfortably and have her on hand when he needed her.

By the look of some of the interesting little leather and rubber

outfits in the closet the old man had a few interesting little kinks

of his own.  I suppose it was better to keep everything discretely

out of the way rather than risk someone find them at his house.

And of course that was why *she* was here. Right now with the press

in a feeding frenzy she needed somewhere to hide out, somewhere where

daddy could use his influence to protect her. The main house was

probably ringed with reporters by now and as his wife was now dead I

suppose he no longer needed to keep this place secret from his

daughter.  I smiled seeing the joke.  All of those reporters

clamoring around McAlister's house and she was here, just a few

miles away, safe and sound.

Or so *he* thought.

It was then I realized that I was going to fuck her. Well, I'd

thought about it while I was tying her up, but then it had been, well

just an idea. Now I knew it for sure, I was going to fuck her here

on her daddy's bed. Yes, I'd calmed down, I knew what I was doing

and yes, I know I should have walked away, but I didn't.  I suppose I

justified it by thinking it was natural justice, shit I'd done the

time why shouldn't I do the crime?  I looked outside into the bright

sunshine of the late morning and considered things.  I figured we

wouldn't be disturbed for some time, there was hardly any point

keeping this place a secret then leading the press here.  I doubt

anyone from the main house would head this way until way after

sundown and that gave me all the time in the world.

I went downstairs to find her struggling on the couch. She looked up

and tried to say something. Course, the gag swallowed it whole, but

it didn't matter, that wild, hateful look said it all. Still, I

wanted to hear what she wanted to say of herself. Reaching behind her

head I untied the scarf and pulled the sodden towel free.

"You fuckin' bastard untie me now!"

I smiled, "Or what? You'll run to daddy? I don't think you'll be

running anywhere right now do you?"

"You fuckin' pig. They'll throw you back in jail so fast..."

I cut in, "Course Mary Anne you're the expert at having people thrown

in jail."

She seethed, "You won't even get to jail you prick, if you think you

had it bad with the cops before you just wait until they get through

with you this time." She raged on, motor mouth, all that time in

Washington had taught the bitch some interesting new words. I tried

to keep a lid on my anger, I really did, but I could feel it

building. When she said something about my momma, the dam just burst.

I slapped her hard. She looked stunned, I don't think anyone had ever

hit her before in her life. She whimpered. I found I was shocked too,

prior to this morning I'd never hit a woman before in *my* life, deep

down I viewed it as cowardice. Just what was happening to me? Still,

if I was to control her I had to make her believe *I* was in control

of myself.

"Don't you *ever* mention my mom, understand? A lying, cheating

little slut like you isn't even worthy to mention her name."

She started to say something so I drew my arm back as if I were going

to backhand her.

She whimpered.

"That's better," I said, "the next outburst like that and I hit you

twice."

She just glared.

"Well, here we are all alone just like we were supposed to have been

back then. There's one thing I've always wanted to know babe. Why me?

Was it because I was an outsider, 'cos I was a stoner, why choose

me?"

She flashed me an inquisitive look.

"Oh yes, I know," I said, "your old friend Betty took great delight

in sharing it with me. I've spent the last seven years inside knowing

that it wasn't some innocent mistake. I've known that you've planned

it."

She struggled a little but only to get a better position, I sat her

upright, leaning against the back of the couch with her feet still

bound beneath her. She looked at me and I could see her eyes, a

mixture of emotions but one look will always stay with me. It was a

barely suppressed look of triumph, like the little bitch enjoyed the

idea of me rotting in jail knowing she'd set me up. If I'd had any

remaining doubts about what I was about to do they evaporated then.

"Well?" I demanded, "Let's hear it!"

For a second I thought she wouldn't answer. Hell, if I'd have been

her I'd have said nothing, but she was flushed and angry too and

well, we both did things that day that we'd later regret.

"You want to know why you stupid fuck?" she sneered, " I'll tell you

why.  Because I could, ok, is that good enough for you?  I knew I'd

have to blame someone, so I looked for the person people cared least

about. You're family was a joke the moment you got here. We though

you were dumb city folk who knew fuck all about anything. You know,

never once did any member of your miserable family ever prove us

wrong. Hell, I was charitable, I let you hang with the coolest group

in school, shit I even offered you a date, I still can't believe I

did that, and you turned me down you stupid fuck. It was then I

realized you were just as stupid as the rest of your stupid family.

Oh, I could have said it was anyone, Bobbie, Lance, shit anyone, do

you really think any of them would have been believed over me?  But

you were so *easy* the whole town despised you, I didn't have to try

very hard at all.  Do you really think Sheriff Parker would have come

down that hard on Bobbie, when Parker dated Bobbie's momma in school,

played little league with his dad, I don't think so.  If I'd have

pointed at them someone in town would have shaken their heads and

said they didn't believe it. You, they believed, you'd lived down to

their expectations......"

She continued, but I'd stopped listening, I realized in that instant

that she was right, the whole damned town had enjoyed watching us

fail, seeing our family come apart. For some reason I thought of an

article I'd read in National Geographic about tar pits, how animals

just wondered in and struggled to death. Ironically the more they

struggled the deeper they'd sink. McAlister had been my families tar

pit and the good citizens had just setup camp around us and watched

while we went down. Suddenly, all those boarded up houses and

dilapidated schools no longer made me feel guilty. In a way I'd

already gotten even with them.

Now there was only Mary Anne.

I released the hogtie and rebound her ankles with a short length of

cord in between; I figured she'd be less trouble hobbled. She

struggled of course and continued to yap on. I let her, while her

attention was divided she was easier to handle.

I pushed her towards the stairs and suddenly all the bad mouthing

just dried up. Her eyes were full of fear as she looked back at me.

"That's right sweetheart," I said, "that's exactly what's going to

happen."

"You c..can't," she stammered, "they'll throw you back in jail."

I gave her a twisted smile, "Hell, I'm not even going to make it out

the county remember? Seems to me I've got nothing to loose."

Her eye's were suddenly wild. "Look, let me go now and we'll call it

even. I won't press charges, I won't even tell anyone about this!"

"Honey, we are far from even. I plan on fixing that right now." I

paused, "You know I think I'll give you a choice you never gave me,

you can decide how it goes from here. You can either shut up and walk

up those stairs, or I take this gun and do your kneecaps so you'll

never walk anywhere again. Your choice." Of course I would never have

done that kneecap thing, but I needed something nasty and permanent

as an alternative. I watched as she trembled, then slowly walked up

the stairs.

She seemed to be taking the threat very seriously because, though the

stairs were probably the best place for her to cause me trouble she

went up them like a lamb. At the top she needed no prompting heading

straight for the bedroom and her date with destiny.

She sat on the bed shivering while I went through daddy's closet.

There were skirts, shorts, and top in a variety of interesting

fabrics, even dresses made from leather and latex.  There

was underwear, some nice, some not so nice.  It looked as if about a

third of the stuff would fit Mary Anne, maybe as much as half

if she didn't have to be comfortable, which of course she didn't.

There was a draw containing various sex toys too.  Even some more

rope and two pairs of leather cuffs which I eagerly grabbed.  Seems

that bondage was only a fringe interest for the old man though, with

the exception of the cuffs I could find only a collar and a ball gag

made with a wiffleball.  Still, I lucked out when I found a whip

thing and more rope in a bag behind the door.

I walked over to her holding the heavy leather collar in my hands. At

first she tried to pull away, but then she seemed to realize it was

useless. She sat still while I buckled the collar around her neck

then locked it there with a small padlock.

Next I took a length of the rope and threaded it through a D ring at

the back of the collar. Doubling it over so that it was now two

strands with the D rind in the middle I tied it to one of the

supports of the canopy.  Now she was loosely tied to the bed I could

afford to free her hands and feet. Like I said, I'd worked out in

jail, there was no way she was my equal, deprived of her ability to

run she was a helpless as when she was tied.

I sat in the old wooden chair by the bedside.

"Ok whore, I want you to strip for me nice and slow with lots of bump

an' grind."

Hesitantly at first she started. I don't know what I expected, I

suppose I wanted her to sob with humiliation, beg me to let her stop.

Instead she teased me, doing all those little things that

professional dancers do. She licked her lips, ran her hands along her

thighs, pouted. She removed each item real slow, letting it down some

way then snatching it back. Her bra she removed with her back to me,

looking over her shoulder and licking her lips suggestively. When she

did turn around her hands were covering her titties and as she drew

them away she rolled the nipples between thumb and finger.

Of course I was hard, I doubt any red blooded man wouldn't be at that

moment. I sat mesmerized like a cobra before a snake charmer, deadly

but impotent. When she let the skirt drop I almost creamed my pants,

as she edged her panties down two inches, then snatched them back one

I almost cried with frustration. Next she raised her hands up and

laced her fingers together behind her head, thrusting those titties

out grinding her crotch in my direction.  Somewhere inside my head

part of me saw the irony of the situation.  Back when I'd hung with

her I'd seen her dancing on table tops, I knew that the little whore

was an exhibitionist.  Yet despite that I'd tried to punish her by

making her strip?  What had I been thinking?  There was no

humiliation here, in fact if anything she was getting off on it, I

shook my head.  Only a fool would think he could humiliate a slut

like this.

"Enough," I said walking back towards the closet.

She smiled. "Let's do it," She begged, her voice husky, "right

here right now."

Reaching inside the closet I grabbed a hanger and tossed it to her.

At first sight it appeared to be a rat's nest of leather straps.

Catching it she looked at it thoughtfully.

"Put it on!" I demanded. It was the kinkiest, most out and out weird

thing in the old man's collection. I wanted her to be wearing it when

we did it. Oh, I was fully aware that forensics would find enough

evidence linking me to the place even with the gloves.  I mean in the

run up to my appeal I'd read everything I could find on the subject.

However, I had no intention of denying I'd been here, just

what I'd been doing. I could imagine this little outfit being given a

forensic exam, being presented as evidence in court. Details of her

being found bound and gagged  in her daddy's private little brothel

being given to the scandal hungry press. I figured  if I played my

cards right I stood a reasonable chance she'd save herself the

embarrassment and wouldn't even press charges.  Hell, even if she did

with a track record like hers I'd be assured of some reasonable

doubt.

Finally she figured the strap thing out, I think she would have

argued but then I drew out the whip.  Trembling slightly she put the

costume on, it consisted of a waistbelt/garterbelt contraption made

from black leather, and a bra like harness that managed to hold up

her nice little titties without covering them.  Oh, there were straps

in between and lots and lots of D rings, but right now they had

little interest.

Once everything was on and buckled I tossed her the cuffs. I had her

put on the ankle set first buckling them over the knee boots. This

presented her behind at an interesting angle and I took a couple of

wide swipes at it with the whip just to keep her nervous. Next I had

her fasten the wrist cuffs and stand with her arms behind her back.

I came in close, pulling her in to me while I fumbled behind her for

the cuffs. The harness had done it's work well thrusting her nice

titties squarely into my chest. I could feel the hardness of her

nipples as they dug into my chest.  The cuffs locked together and I

looked down to see her giving me those big bedroom eyes.  I pulled

her a little closer enjoying the feel of her breasts squishing

against me.  Reaching over I cut the rope that bound the collar to

the bed.  She suddenly let out a sigh and throwing her head back she

puckered up and closed her eyes.  I adjusted my position so that I

could bend down and kiss her.  She opened her eyes and flashed me a

little twisted smile.

Then kneed me in the groin.

If she had been dead on I think I'd have had a new set of tonsils.

As it was my right thigh caught enough of it that, though I still

doubled over,  I wasn't in too bad a condition.  She sprinted for the

window cursing the heels.  That seemed to have been an unfortunate

dress choice for her 'cos this was the second time it had hampered

her escape.  She screamed, long and hard so that my ears rang.  I

think she then realized that this was the wrong side of the house.

That window faced the woods heading out of town and away from daddy's

property.  As quick as she could she turned and hobbled over to the

windows that faced the road.  I'd recovered by then and set off after

her.  Just as she reached them I reached her and clamping a hand over

her mouth dragged her back towards the bed.  She struggled of course

so I got in a little payback and gave a swift punch to the solar

plexus.  From then on she was no trouble.  Of course I'd left the gag

stuff down stairs and I didn't think the wiffle ball would cut it.

So I tore her discarded blouse into strips.  The majority of it I

forced into her mouth, packing it completely, then I took a sleeve

and tied a knot in the center.  I forced the knot into her mouth over

the packing and pulled hard on the trailing ends.  She whimpered, it

must have hurt like fuck, but I didn't care.  I tied it off then spun

her round to admire my handiwork.  The white cotton band dug deeply

into her cheeks before cleaving her lips apart and shoving the

packing home.  Her mouth was so well packed that nothing she said

even appeared to be speech, just a series of low moans and grunts.

Satisfied, I tied the collar to the bed again and did a quick walk

around the windows to see if she'd gotten a reaction.  The place

remained as quiet as the grave.  Turning I smiled at her and she

flashed me that hateful look.

It was time for us to complete our business.

########

Mary Anne moaned and tugged at the ropes. After I'd done a better

check outside to confirm that we wouldn't be disturbed I'd retied her

spread eagle on the bed. It hadn't come as an enormous surprise to

find purpose made anchor points on the bed frame, still it had made

life easier, which was good since she'd fought me at every turn.

Now she was completely spread and helpless, arms and legs stretched

tightly towards the bedposts and two more ropes tied at her knees

forcing her legs open and back. A quick check of the bedside cabinet

found a number of items I'd previously overlooked like a pair of

handcuffs and some kind of padded leather blindfold.  For now I put

them to one side and pulled out a large box or Trojans.  Hell, it

pays to be careful these days especially when you're fucking a whore

as easy as this one.

My pecker had recovered from Mary Anne's little assault and the sight

of her all bound open and helpless was enough to encourage him to

harden. I jacked off for a while until everything was nice and firm

then rolled on the rubber and dived right in.

Needless to say she was dry, she squealed like a pig when I first

thrust in. Seeing I was getting nowhere I used some of the lube I'd

found in the draw. For a popular girl she seemed awfully tight, I

wondered if she was still trading, hell for most guys a girl who

likes giving blow jobs would seem like heaven. I continued to trust

gradually building speed.

I don't know at what point I realized something was wrong. Perhaps it

was the little grunts of encouragement that came from behind the gag

or the way she thrust against me and clamped down as I withdrew. In

any case I soon realized that she was fucking me as hard as the bonds

would allow. Puzzled I looked into her eyes, saw that little look of

triumph and hate and understood. The bitch was deliberately

consenting.

Now that may seem strange until you realize just what rape is. I

confess that like a lot of people I just thought the rapist wanted to

get his rocks off, but while in prison I'd been forced to attend

these group therapy sessions with some of the other sex offenders and

I finally realized the truth.

Rape is nothing to do with sex it is to do with power, your ability

to force someone to do something against their will. Raping a woman

is an attack at a deep emotional level, it cheapens her, attacks her

concept of self worth, violates her identity. This was exactly why a

lot of guy's in that room did what they did. As they confessed their

crimes, told details and motivations it became clear that I'd been

forced to join a club for misogynists. Still I'd learnt a few things

about how women react, some cry, some beg, some fight, some

surrender, most react with fear, some just switch off and attempt to

deny what's happening.

Mary Anne did none of those things, Mary Anne fucked back, not from

lust or as an act of surrender but out of hate. She wasn't giving me

the satisfaction of control, she turned the situation around took

control  back, making the act hollow, robbing me of my victory.

What a bitch.

I realized then that she'd won. Oh, the guy's in that room back at

the pen may have hit her or killed her or whatever but I couldn't do

that. The funny thing was that back before they'd locked me up I

wouldn't have done this at all no matter what the provocation it

wasn't who I was. Or rather it wasn't who I'd been. I realized that I

wasn't even doing this for the power, this was plain and simple

revenge in the old testament tradition of an eye for an eye a tooth

for a tooth.

Because of that I couldn't escalate and she knew it, thrusting her

little pelvis up with that look of victory in her eye.  Like I said

she's a sociopath, there was nothing I could do to injure her supreme

self confidence.

Unless.........

Withdrawing I grabbed the padded blindfold and strapped it over her

eyes. She seemed confused but didn't resist, why should she even

bound and helpless she had the situation under control?

I started at her neck finding the join between collar and skin and

following it with my tongue. She tasted of salt and faintly of

perfume. A small gurgling moan emerged from her throat which I took

to be encouragement. Next I removed her right boot replacing the cuff

on her bare ankle. She'd tried to resist of course but with her knee

still tied she wasn't able to stop me. Slowly I ran my tongue over

the sole of her foot feeling relieved that she'd showered that

morning. The gargle had become a muffled scream by the time I started

sucking on her big toe. She moaned, thrust her little mound in the

air and wiggled, begging, pleading for release but I pressed on

taking the power from her, the only power she cared about at that

moment, the power to make her cum. I removed the other boot but it

was a faint and instead I licked the backs of her knees and the

inside of her thighs.  There was a point, about six inches bellow her

crotch where the thigh seemed especially sensitive, a lick there was

almost guaranteed a scream, so I picked at it in between working her

feet and those oh so sensitive nipples.  By the time I reached her

pussy the lips were already parted, a quick flick of my tongue inside

was like an electric shock passing through her as she reared up and

screamed into the gag.  I moved elsewhere, then surprised her by

lapping the entire length of her pussy from just above the anus to

just below the clit.  She sobbed and moaned with frustration, muscles

tense as they fought the bonds.  Gently I blew on her engorged clit

listening to her going wild, again she thrust her pussy towards me

and again I denied her.

Reaching up I removed the blindfold and was surprised to find her

eyes wet with tears.  This time she begged, really begged, probably

the first time in her life that she'd had to lower herself to this.

I felt the warm glow of satisfaction of a job well done.  You can't

humiliate a slut, you can't humble a sociopath, but you can tease a

woman until she begs you to fuck her.

If I'd been really nasty I suppose I could have left her there

impossibly horny but denied. I admit to considering it and for a

second I wondered if women get blue ovaries?

In the end of course I fucked her, and again she cooperated, though

this time it was with a strange almost puppy dog enthusiasm.  She came

about thirty second before me, her pussy spasms feeling wonderful as

I shot my load into the rubber.

We were both exhausted but I realized I didn't have time to linger. I

wanted to be a good distance away before they found her and I still

had some cleaning up to do.

She was too exhausted to fight, it proved easy to free her from the

bed then tie her hands behind her. I tied some rope to the collar and

led her to the en suite bathroom. First I started filling a bath

during which I let her pee, enjoying the fact that it made her

uncomfortable for me to watch.  Then I removed her gag and gave her a

drink.  She started to croak something but I put a finger to her

lips. She looked up, her harsh hating looks gone for the moment, then

she looked down submissively. She knew better than to fight me when I

put the gag back.

By now the bath was ready so removing the harness I helped her into

it. I bathed her, slow and sensual, letting my gloved hand slide

freely over her naked body. She cooed a little, even more so when I

gently cleaned between the folds of her pussy. I slipped a finger

inside, cleaning and probing feeling the heat building there again.

Next I dried her down, even powdering her body and applying perfume.

I think she thought I was doing it for her benefit because she closed

her eyes, arched her back and cooed into the gag.  I smiled, I

doubted that anyone could find any forensic evidence on her now.

I decided to tie her to a chair rather than the bed. I was still

toying with the idea of taking the sheets with me when I left. Still

The chair proved more than adequate and though the fire had started to

reappear in her eyes it wasn't to difficult to tie her down.

"I'm leaving," I told her, "my guess is that your daddy will be

here sometime this evening and he'll free you then."

She nodded, weakly.

"Good," I said letting my voice harden, "I'm going to tell you what

will happen now. That is if you and daddy have any sense."

She glared at me much to my satisfaction.

"You could report this to the police, though 'course you'd be

arrested 'cos of all the warrant's out on you. I'll cut you some

slack and tell you exactly what I'm going to say. First up I won't

deny I was here, my momma spread dad's ashes outside, I came to visit

the old homestead and found you here. I'll tell them that you panicked

and pulled a gun, that I hit you in self defense, brought you up here

and put you on the bed. When you came 'round we fought and I left and

that's it. Just to let you know, there is no evidence on your body,

you can't say I attacked you anywhere but here. Your word ain't

worth shit at the moment and the only evidence that *anything*

happened is in this house. Now if you want to explain your daddy's

private little brothel go ahead." I held up the harness. "You can

start by explaining how you came to be wearing this."

I smiled. "I think your daddy will see the benefits of keeping this

between ourselves don't you?"

She sighed, then nodded.

"Bye apple pie, it's been a pleasure."

I collected up a pile of things I would have to burn like the

bed sheet and the rubber and left her tied to the chair.

################################################

You know it might have ended there if old man McAlister hadn't

opened his stupid mouth.

I returned to my car dumped the bag of evidence in the boot and

started to get ready to leave. Absent mindedly I turned on the radio

while I pulled some cans from the cooler and started plotting a route

back home. It was then I heard him, old man McAlister, giving a

statement to journalists. I admit to only half listening. The guy's a

windbag, always has been and loves the sound of his own voice far too

much. Finally though someone asked a question and his answer shook

me.

Apparently some judge had decided that Bobbie's suicide note was not

admissible evidence. I didn't understand why, still don't, I'd always

assumed that a confession in a suicide note was evidence enough but

there was some bizarre legal precedent that said otherwise. I smelt

the stench of McAlister's political influence and so did some of the

journalists. As the questions became more hostile McAlister excused

himself. The news anchor said that it wasn't over, Bobbie's note had

named all of those involved, some prosecutor had smelt blood and

was "pursuing other leads." Still, it said enough, with daddy's

influence she was probably not going to jail.

She looked up in surprise when I reentered the room, she'd struggled

and managed to knock the chair over but hadn't got no further.  Using

the knife I cut her free, using the spare rope to tie her more

securely.  Then threw her over my shoulder and took her downstairs to

where my car was waiting with the trunk open.  Sometimes if a man

wants justice he has to do it himself.  Dumping her inside I hogtied

wrists to ankles, then closed the trunk.  I felt some urgency, I

figured daddy may ring his pumpkin to pass on the good news, maybe

come over himself.  I needed a few things from the house and quick.

I took all her baggage, checked the Taurus in case there was any

more.  Fortunately she had been living from a bag so there was

nothing to pack.  About the only thing of hers I left was the mobile

phone, everything else joined her in the trunk.  I unloaded the

larder and refrigerator into a box which I dumped in the back seat, ran

upstairs to recover her boots.  While I was there it struck me that

it was a waste for all of daddy's kinky stuff to be left behind.

Anything that might remotely fit her joined her in the trunk.

Now for the final act. The farm was too far from town to get any

public utilities, a diesel generator provided power, cooking gas was

fed from a tank outside. It took me a few minutes to figure the timer

on the oven, setting it to come on in about 2 hours, then I turned

all the burners on full and started to fill the house with gas.

I was in the next state when the house exploded, fortunately all the

press nearby ensured that the report came quickly. Old man McAlister

was frantic, the local police and the fire people where there like a

rash. I settled back and enjoyed the spectacle as relayed by radio.

It was only then that I wondered how to get her back to California.

In the end I left her tied up in the hayloft of an old barn while I

picked up some camping gear in the next town.  I don't know which of

us was more relieved when I came back and found she was still there.

The story of how we got back is almost an epic in it's own right,

perhaps one we can tell some other time.

So what happened? Well, McAlister admitted hiding a fugitive, claimed

his daughter must have died in the explosion. Of course the FBI

determined there was no human remains and that the explosion was

deliberate. The current theory is that Mary Anne faked her own death

to avoid prosecution. Most people suspect that daddy is still hiding

her somewhere, he'll find out what the grand jury believes next

week.  Now that McAlister's power base was broken all sorts of people

started coming out of the woodwork.  I hear that Betty has agreed to

testify if she's granted immunity.  As injured party I've received

some good publicity too.  Just last week Barbara Walters was sitting

in my den doing a "60 Minutes" interview.  At the end she asked where

I thought Mary Anne was, I'd just shrugged and said I figured she was

out of the country by now.  I had to suppress a smile of course, what

with Mary Anne being bound and gagged less than twenty feet from

where Barbara was sitting.

And Mary Anne?  At the moment she spends most days strapped into the

padded box I built under the stairs.  That old box is working wonders

with Mary Anne's attitude, the girl's so happy to be out of it that

she'll do anything for you, anything at all.

At night I take her out and we play, like I said she's much more

amenable these days. It's interesting how people's expectations

contract to meet their environment. When I was in jail I used to

think it was a good day if I avoided being beaten up. I think Mary

Anne's finding the same thing. Back in Washington I suspect you'd

have to buy her a meal, take her to a show or buy her something nice

just to get to first base. These days she'll fuck you for a square

meal.

I like the box, it puts her conveniently at hand if I need her but it

has it's disadvantages, like I have to keep her gagged all day in

case I have any unexpected visitors.  So I have a contractor working

on converting my basement.  I pay well and he doesn't ask questions, 

like what the little room at the back is for. He's obviously an

honest man otherwise he'd have realized that it's the same dimensions

as a standard jail cell.  In fact exactly like the cell I spent most

of the past twelve years in.  I don't think I need tell you what

that's for, the nice thing about DIY justice is that you can make the

penalty fit the crime, I'm sure that twelve years will be long enough

for her to ponder her mistake.

Of course I haven't told her about that yet.

The End