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                                     STANDARD DISCLAIMER

The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment and 
has been posted only to an appropriate group on the Internet. If it is
found in any other place this is not the responsibility of the author.

The author explicitly prohibits.

1) The posting of this story in an incomplete form. 

2) The use of this story in a larger work without his express 

3) The use of this story on any CD, BBS or Website without the
    written permission of the author.

This work is copyright TM Quin 1998. 

All characters in this story are fictitious, any similarity to 
persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not
necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this
story, some of which are dangerous or illegal.

Quin 1998

                            Getting Even with Mary Anne  by Quin

"Getting Even with Mary Anne"

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, since 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 benefits of getting his story
out first.  I was calling the airport to book a flight when I glanced
at my little desktop calendar, and the date hit me.  Hard.  That
Tuesday would have been Mom's birthday.  That put things into
perspective for me.  I felt a need to visit the humble little grave
in the corner of St.  Paul's churchyard before I started out west --
call it a need for a blessing.

Bobbie would just have to stew for awhile while I drove over to
McAlister county to see mom.  This was my first vacation in fourteen
years, after all.  I wanted the sky, the sun, the freedom of the open
road.  So I hopped in the car, not realizing the events I'd set in

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.  No
real surprise -- Christ, his family have lived of the backs of these
folks for generations, and even when those dirt farmers had reached
their lowest ebb there was 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 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.  So I kept my head down, cursing
that the new Toyota looked so obviously out of place.  Fortunately
the early morning streets were deserted.  It wasn't too hard to park
the car, turn the collar of my leather ja cket up and slip over the
churchyard wall.

The first thing that hit me was how overgrown the place was.  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; if I
knew my mom, she picked the cheapest she could find so I'd have money
for my defense.  I admit I cried.  All those years in jail, she
probably only managed to visit me two or three times.  It had been
easy to trick myself into thinking she was just somewhere else.  Now
I knew differently.  Of course dad wasn't there, Momma had him
cremated and then 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 decided then and there to move her.  There was no way I was going
to let her end up here, surrounded by people that had despised and
looked down on her in life.  I figured I'd get the body shipped to
California, maybe to a spot near my house.  Momma always loved the
ocean, but she'd never seen the Pacific.  I'd find her a spot with a

Of course I couldn't do anything about dad, but I decided to visit
the farm one last time, just to be close to him.  Hopping the
cemetery fence, I got back in the Toyota and headed for this old farm
road that cut up the far side of town.  Taking Route 6 would've been
faster, but the farm road let me stop next to the Ultine Bridge and
walk down to the last place I'd been free.  I drove on, hitting the
scan button on the radio and listening to bits of assorted God talk
and country music in search of good solid rock station

And then I heard my name.  I hit the STOP button and tuned back,
listening to 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.

The news had broken while I was on the road, and from the sound of it
there were a bunch of frustrated journalists trying to find me.
There was even talk of warrants for Mary Anne's arrest, if they could
find her.  Little miss bitch on wheels had dropped completely out of
sight.  I breathed a sigh of relief; getting 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 made sense; 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 hardly seemed
surprising that it was still empty.  For a crazy second I even
thought of buying it back, as a gesture to dad, but common sense

The house itself, when I finally got a good look at it, was a real
mess.  All the clapboards were peeling paint, and the patchy layer
that was left had been faded gray by the sun.  The front gutter was
hanging off the eaves at a crazy angle, and it looked like someone
had just ripped off some of the shutters and left them on the ground
underneath each window.  I felt a lump in my throat.  It wasn't
something you would've seen in "House and Garden" when we'd lived
there, but at least we'd tried to keep the place looking nice.  Now
it just looked like a dump.

But a dump that had an occupant.  There was a shiny new Taurus parked
outside, looking about as out of place as my Toyota had back in town.
Someone was obviously in the house, though by the looks of things
they'd just arrived.  I parked back near the woods, not wanting to
risk my tires on the road, and crept up to the house.

Something weird was definitely going on there.  Dad had once told me
that he'd seen people here on days when 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 lost the place it had been too painful to come up
here myself, so I'd just thought it was the booze talking through my
old man.  But damn if someone wasn't here.  For a second I thought
about heading back, just hitting the highway and going home.  But
what the hell, 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 that was a good-enough reason.

As I got closer to the car I noticed some other details about it.  It
stood out like my Camry did, all bright and polished, but there were
these little paper mats on the floors, and a pass to a long term
airport parking space.  The Taurus had to be an airport rental.  It
hit me that maybe one of the press had come here to do some feature
on me.  Well, if you were in town anyway, 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, and I could see she was gearing up to
ask this guy what the hell he was doing on her property.  Then she
recognized me.  The sudden, wide-eyed look of horror on her face said
it all.

For an instant we just stared at each other, speechless.  She was
dressed in a white blouse, 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 she turned and ran back inside, squealing.  I
have no idea what made me follow her.  Like I said, the thing I most
wanted was to see her rot in jail, but all those dark lonely nights
planning my revenge just bubbled to the surface.  Before I knew it, I
was inside the house.

I paused then, confused, as memory and reality fought it out in my
head.  Inside, the place was nice, much nicer than when we had lived
there.  The kitchen was modern, and very well equipped.  Our battered
old hand-me-down appliances had been replaced with some seriously
expensive French kitchenware, and the chipped white wall 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 hesitation had given her a chance to take the lead and she hadn't
wasted it.  She was already in the living room, screaming like a
banshee and heading for the phone.  Luckily for me the high heeled
boots hampered her and I managed to get between her and the phone.
Darting sideways, she faked towards the front door, then suddenly
switched back and headed for one of the cabinets.  I spotted the gun
as she tried desperately to pull it from the drawer.  It got caught
on the desktop's underside, 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,
they would've come running with all the noise she'd been making.  No,
at the moment it was her word against mine and hers had already 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, was tossed in a
corner.  A search of the kitchen drawers came up with a variety of
towels and a pair of pink rubber kitchen gloves.  Beggars can't be
choosers.  I pulled on the gloves and wiped down all the surfaces I
was likely to have touched.  Then, I walked back though to where Mary
Anne 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 the construction work was probably necessary to accommodate
the bed, a huge emperor-sized waterbed complete with canopy.  The
sheets and drapes were black silk, highlighted in silver with
matching toss pillows and cushions.  I looked under the canopy --
yup.  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 covered a fairly large range which made me think that
this wasn't a woman's room.  Shit, who am I kidding -- this was Hugh
Hefner'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 was a
political alliance -- Mrs.  McAlister came from a long line of
Republican politicians, and McAlister loved that enough to overlook
her skinny body and buck teeth.  Most people seemed to accept this
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 and
have absolutely none of his own, was completely 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 excesses.  Of course,
there were certain conventions.  He didn't flaunt his funky stuff in
front of the local townspeople's faces -- he did it discreetly 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 quietly, 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.  And
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 out of the
way rather than risk having 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
ringed with reporters by now, and since his wife was now dead he
probably saw no need to keep this place secret from his daughter.  I
smiled, seeing the joke.  All of those reporters clamoring around
McAlister's house, and their target 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.  I mean, 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 by Daddy Dearest, as
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

I went downstairs to find her struggling on the couch.  She looked up
and tried to say something.  Of 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.

She spat a few times, to clear her mouth, and I noticed she was
aiming for my shoes.  "You fuckin' bastard," she howled.  "Untie me

I smiled.  "Or what?  You'll run to daddy?  I don't think you'll be
running anywhere right now, do you?"  I said.

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

"Oh, yeah, that's right, Mary Anne," I laughed.  "You're the expert
at having people thrown in jail."

"You won't even get to jail, you prick," she snarled.  "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 -- 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.  And when she said something incredibly filthy about my
momma, the dam just burst.

I leaned down and slapped her hard.  The words cut off in mid-tirade,
and she looked stunned.  I don't think anyone had ever hit her before
in her life.  I found I was shocked, too; prior to this morning I'd
never hit a woman before in *my* life, as deep down I'd always viewed
it as cowardice.  Just what was happening to me?  I pushed the
questions away until later -- 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?"  I said, making my
voice as cold as ice.  "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 shrunk into the couch, glaring at me.

I took the chair opposite and got comfortable.  "Well, here we are,
all alone just like we were supposed to have been back then," I said,
feeling a little more cheerful.  "Now that I have your undivided
attention, there's one thing I've always wanted to know."  I leaned
forward.  "Why me?  Why the fuck did you frame me?  I mean, what was
it -- I wasn't a local, I was a stoner, what?  Why did you pick

She turned her head away, into the couch pillow.  "What are you
talking about?"  she muttered.

"Oh, please, honeybunch.  I know all about it," 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 know that you planned it all."

She struggled a little but only to get a better position.  I pushed
her upright until she was leaning against the back of the couch, her
feet still bound beneath her.  She looked at me and I could see this
incredible mixture of emotions in her eyes, but one look will always
stay with me.  It was this barely suppressed look of triumph, as if
the little bitch had actually *enjoyed* the idea of me rotting in
jail.  If I'd had any remaining doubts about what I was about to do,
they evaporated then and there.

"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, okay?  Is that good enough for you?'  She
grinned, her teeth parted ferally.  "I knew I had to blame someone,
so I looked for the person people cared least about, someone I could
just throw away.

"Your family was a joke the moment you got here.  We thought you were
dumb city folk who knew fuck all about anything.  And 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 -- I even offered you a date, I still can't believe I did
that, and you turned me down, you stupid fuck.  That's when I knew
you were just as stupid as the rest of your stupid family."  She
actually laughed.  "Oh, I could have said it was anyone -- Bobbie,
Lance, any of them would've done.  But that would've been dangerous
-- I mean, Sheriff Parker never would've come down that hard on
Bobbie.  He dated Bobbie's momma in school, played little league with
his dad, he was practically family.  If I'd have pointed at them,
someone in town would have shaken their heads and said they didn't
believe it.  But you were so *easy.* You, they believed, you'd lived
down to their expectations.  The whole town despised you so much, I
didn't have to try very hard at all.  And it all worked out like a

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 wandered in and struggled to death.  Ironically, the more they
struggled the deeper they'd sink.  McAlister had been my family's tar
pit and the good citizens had just set up 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 hog-tie and rebound her ankles with a short length of
cord in between, figuring she'd be less trouble hobbled.  She
struggled, of course, and continued to yap on.  I let her -- as long
as 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 over her shoulder at
me.  "Y-you're not--"

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

"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
of the county, remember?  Seems to me I've got nothing to lose."

Her eyes went wild.  "Look, let me go now and we'll call it even,"
she begged.  "I won't press charges, I won't even tell anyone about

"Honey, we are far from even.  I plan on fixing that right now."  I
paused, and pulled out her daddy's gun.  "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 started up the stairs.  At the
top she needed no prompting, heading straight for the bedroom and her
date with destiny.

Once inside, 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 drawer 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, the only bondage gear I could find was a
collar and a ball gag made with a whiffleball.  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 ring in the middle, I tied it to one of the
supports of the canopy with a solid sheepshank.  Now that 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, so there was no way she was my
physical equal.  Deprived of her ability to run, she was as helpless
as when she was tied.

I sat in the old wooden chair by the bedside.  "Okay, whore," I
announced, "I want you to strip for me nice and slow, with lots of
bump an' grind."

Mary Anne wasn't stupid, I had to give her that much.  Hesitantly at
first, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up,
giving herself as much leeway as she could with the rope.

I don't know what I expected to see.  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 caught
the nipples between thumb and finger and rolled them.

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 unable to move.  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 and grinding her crotch in my direction.
Somewhere inside my head, a memory clicked into place and I
recognized the irony in the situation.  Back when I'd hung with her,
I'd seen her dancing on table tops in some of the sleazier Ogden
bars.  I'd *known* that the little whore was an exhibitionist.
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 grunted.

I stood up and headed back towards the closet.  There was a mirror on
the inside of the door and I could see her smiling at my back.
"Let's do it," she begged, her voice husky.  "Right here, right now."

Yeah, right.  Reaching inside the closet, I grabbed a hanger and
tossed it to her.  At first glance 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, and I wanted her to be wearing it
when we did it.  See, I was fully aware that forensics would find
enough evidence linking me to the place even with my precautions --
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, then 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 was the last thing
the McAlisters wanted.  I figured if I played my cards right, I stood
a reasonable chance that 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.

It took her a few minutes to figure out where the straps went on that
outfit.  I think she would have argued but then I drew out the whip
from the closet.  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 weren't

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

I came in close, pulling her in to me while I fumbled behind her for
the cuffs.  The harness had done its 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 she kneed me in the groin.

If her aim had been better I think I'd have had a new set of tonsils.
As it was, my right thigh caught enough of the blow that, though I
still doubled over, I wasn't rolling on the ground in agony.  She
took the chance to sprint for the window, cursing the heels.  That
seemed to have been an unfortunate dress choice for her -- this was
the second time it had hampered her escape.  She screamed, long and
hard enough 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 the
windows I grabbed her and clamped a hand over her mouth, dragging her
back towards the bed.  She struggled, so I got in a little payback
and gave a swift punch to the solar plexus.  She folded over for the
second time that afternoon, wheezing.

Of course I'd left the gag stuff down stairs and I didn't think the
whiffle 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.  It must have hurt like fuck and she whimpered,
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,
cleaving her lips apart and shoving the packing home.  Her mouth was
so well packed that nothing she said even sounded like 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 finish 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 tied her
spread-eagle on the bed.  It hadn't come as an enormous surprise to
find anchor points on the bed frame, but 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.  I put them to
one side for now and pulled out a large box or Trojans.  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, and 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 drawer.  For a popular girl she seemed awfully tight --
I wondered if she was still trading on her specialty.  Hell, for most
guys a girl who likes giving blow jobs would seem like heaven.  I
continued to thrust, 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, and saw that
little look of triumph and hate again.  Then I 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 that rape has nothing at all to do with sex.  It's
about power and the 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.  That was exactly why a lot of guys 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 learned a few things about how women react
during rape -- some cry, some beg, some fight, some surrender, most
react with fear, some just switch off and attempt to deny what's

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.

The bitch.

I realized then that she'd won.  Oh, the guys 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 and a
tooth for a tooth.

Because of that, I couldn't escalate the action.  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 tried to resist 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
wiggling it, begging, pleading for release.  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 feint
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, and a quick flick of my tongue inside
was like an electric shock passing through her.  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 th rust 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, satisfied glow 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 hanging there impossibly horny and
unable to do anything about it.  I admit to considering it, and for a
second I wondered if women get blue ovaries.

In the end, of course, I fucked her.  Again she cooperated, although
this time it was with a strange, almost puppy dog-ish 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, so it proved easy to free her from
the bed and tie her hands behind her.  I tied some rope to the collar
and led her to the large attached bathroom.  First I started running
a bath while I let her sit on the toilet and 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 glanced down submissively.  She knew better than
to fight me when I put the gag back.

By now the bath was ready so I removed the harness and 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

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, arching her back and cooing 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, since 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

"I'm leaving," I told her as soon as I finished tying the knots.  "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.

"Now, you could report this to the police, although you'd be arrested
because of all the warrants out on you," I said.  "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.  See, my momma spread dad's ashes outside, so I came
to visit the old homestead and found you here.  I'll tell them that
you panicked and pulled a gun.  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."  I folded my arms and leaned against the
doorway.  "Just to let you know, that bath was to make sure there was
no evidence left on your body, so you can't say I attacked you
anywhere but here.  Ultimately, your word ain't worth shit at the
moment, and the only evidence that *anything* happened is in this
house.  Of course, 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 think your daddy will
see the benefits of keeping this between ourselves, don't you?"

She sighed, then nodded.

"Thought so."  I grinned.  "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.

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