1 comments/ 47895 views/ 3 favorites Therapist Ch. 01 By: MungoParkIII Leroy Haggis was a happy, comfortable man. He was a board certified ophthalmologist who learned a bit of hypnosis from some friends. He quickly went to school and between the courses he had completed and a few online courses he got some type of official looking degree while gaining some proficiency in hypnosis. Closing down his original practice he went into business as a Hypno-therapist. The ad in the yellow pages did indicate he was board certified, and surprisingly, it never came up in his conversations with any of his clients. With a fancy looking office, a fake gold disc and a bit of his own mumbo jumbo he began to draw clients and make good money. Some of them, to his own astonishment, he did actually help. His most recent success was especially gratifying, after going down on the woman, having her suck him off, then outright fucking her and then going down her again, he actually figured out what her problem was and she now is living a normal life. Quite a change from the woman who would simply black out from about nine pm until about eight or nine am. Hell, he even got her to agree to a follow up, his balls began to tingle just thinking about the prospect there. Pulling his mind away from his successful treatment of his last patient, Leroy focused in on the next woman. Peeking though the one way glass in the reception area he saw she wasn't as attractive as his last client, but she did have some very large breasts. Hmmm... she had not even entered his office and he already had today's treatment worked out. He quickly read over her history and then took a peek back into the reception area to make sure she was alone. Buzzing his receptionist he had the woman come back into his office. Withdrawing back into the shadows, he watched as the receptionist directed the woman into a chair by the light. Then he came out of the darkness and sat down at the small stool in front of the woman. "I must say Mrs. Danby, I've read over your history and while the case is a very touchy one, I do believe I can help you. I usually recommend we try two or three hypnotic sessions as I investigate the problems you have and then after that time we can sit down and see if we can't help you with your problem." "What do I need to do doctor?" "Well, I'm not a doctor, I'm a therapist, just about the same thing. The only thing you will need to do is watch this disc as it twists in the light. I will hypnotize you and then give you come instructions so I can try to resolve your problems. But first I need you to sign this form. Okay?" "Okay doct..., okay therapist," she replied, grabbing the form and signing it without reading. Smiling, he began spinning the disc as the woman focused her attention on the flashing display. In just a few moments she was completely under and didn't hesitate at all when Leroy asked her to remove her blouse and bra. "Now, I am going to do this and you lick the head of my cock as it slips up between your breasts," he told her, after leaning her back in the chair and straddling her. He lightly greased up his cock and slid them between her very large breasts. After the first few pushes he grabbed her hands and had her push her breasts together for him. Sliding his cock in and out of her tits he watched how she darted her head forward to lick his cock as it appeared. He'd then withdraw and then thrust in again. Continuing to thrust his cock he could hear his balls slapping against her stomach. He let his mind wander back to his previous patient, how she shoved his tongue deep into her pussy, tasting her tangy juices before sucking on her clit till she came. What a turn on. He began to feel the pleasure course down the length of his shaft and build in his balls. Shoving himself into her fleshy breasts he moaned loudly, arched his back and came, spurting his cum all over her face. He then paused, moving his cock into her mouth as he took his hand and milked out the last droplets of fluid into her mouth. Before he climbed off of the woman, he told her, "Now remember, when you hear that door click closed," he said pointing at a door behind him, "you will forget everything after I showed you the golden disc until I closed the door. Do you understand?" She nodded. He handed her a towel and told her to clean up and get dressed. He waited by the door and when she was completely buttoned up and had tossed the towel to the side, he pulled the door closed with a loud click. The woman looked at him and he said, "Well, we are finished for today, make sure you make an appointment for tomorrow." "Thank you," she said, walking out of his office. Therapist Ch. 01 Editor's Note: This is a very edited version of a previously published story by this author. * He is a freshman attending Louisiana State University on a four year science scholarship and has come home several days early for the Thanksgiving holiday. It is Monday afternoon. He is having lunch with his mother; they are sitting at the kitchen table. He tells his mother about a girl he met who is helping him with his English literature. She is pretty, he tells her. But his mother will have none of it, even though he tells her that they are not serious, that he is only using her to help him with his studies. But she insists that he not see her again. He tells her that he won't see her, that he will get another study buddy from the dorm. But she doesn't believe him. George Hoover can live with his mother not believing him. He has lived with it for eighteen years. He can live with her beating him, belittling him, even molesting him. He has also lived with that for eighteen years. But it is when she threatens to take him out of college that he snaps. It is when she threatens to take away his only refuge from her that he fights back -- for the first time in his subservient life to her. Donna, sweet lovely Donna, has that much influence upon him. She is the first girl that has ever taken a romantic interest in him, tells him how strong he is, how beautiful his long blonde hair looks. She is the only girl that he has ever kissed, the only girl that he has ever loved. She is the only person who has ever loved him. They held hands walking from the library. It is when his mother threatens to take that away from him that he finally acts in his own defense. "You're not going back to that school to fuck some whore who'll only give you some kind of disease," she yells at him. "She's only a friend mother. We haven't had sex. I'm still a virgin mother." "Don't you talk back to me, you little bastard." She slaps him hard across the face, leaving the imprint of her hand on his cheek. "And don't you lie to me. Don't you tell me that you're still a virgin, because I know you're not. I know you've fucked all those high school whores you went out with. I ought to cut it off. You're just like . . ." "Mother you know I never went out with . . ." "Don't you interrupt me when I'm talking to you, you little bastard." She hits him again. He puts his hand to his cheek and cringes away from her. "You're just like your father. He was always interrupting me when I was talking to him, till I threw him out." "I wasn't interrupting you mother. I was just trying to remind you that you wouldn't let me date any girls when I was in high school," he says to her. "And I thought dad left you because he couldn't stand your hollering at him and belittling him any more?" "What!" She screams at him. "Did that whore in college tell you that? Did that college bitch tell you to talk that way to me? Now I know you're not going back there. You're not going to talk like that to me and get away with it you little bastard." She grabs him by the hair -- the way she has always done -- and drags him down the hall to the punishment room. The combat boots she is wearing make a loud thump with each step she takes. The room is dirty, not having been swept or cleaned in about nine years; there is an old, dirty sheet covering the only window. The room is bare of everything except a large picture of her hanging on the wall, a set of shackles and three foot chain attached to an eyebolt in the baseboard and another pair of shackles and 20 inch chain attached to a cable running through an eyebolt in the ceiling. This latter cable runs across the ceiling, tying off near the closet door across the room. Then there is her Whip, her precious leather Whip with a brass handle. It's lying on the floor coiled up like a snake waiting to strike. He thinks of fighting back. But his five foot five 145 pounds are no match for her five foot ten and 210 pounds. Besides, he knows it will only make her angrier. He knows too what his punishment is going to be for his insolence. It is what his punishment has always been when she is angry at him. He resigns himself to her brutality. "Donna, where can you be? I'm left all alone. I need you. Sanctuary of my life, love of my life, help me, tell me what to do," he asks her through his thoughts. But Donna might just as well have been on the moon. She cannot help him now. Nor are his thoughts of her going to help him now. He resigns himself. When they get into the punishment room, she punches him hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to his knees. She stands over him. "You know the rules. Take off your clothes you little bastard or I'll rip them off you." She has always referred to him as her little bastard. In his entire life, whenever she is angry, he can never remember her referring to him by any other name. "Mother, please." He can barely whisper. He is on his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath. She kicks him in the side; her combat boots leave an ugly bruise. He falls face down on the bare floor. "I said take off your clothes you little bastard." Then she walks across the room and picks up the Whip. "Mother, please. I'm too old for this." "Shut up you little bastard," she barks. Then she hits him on the back with the Whip. He can feel the welt rising across his shoulder and down his back. She strikes him two more times across his back, tearing his T-shirt. He tries to get up but she kicks him down again. This time the blow lands on his left temple, knocking him unconscious. Then she grabs his T-shirt at the collar -- the LSU T-shirt Donna had bought for him -- and rips it from his back, revealing three deep red streaks running diagonally from his left shoulder to his waist. When he comes to he is lying naked on the floor; two old, healed small scars can be seen on his left buttocks and another one on his right thigh, just below his cheek. There is another old four inch long scar just below his right shoulder blade. His wrists are shackled with padlocks to the twenty inch chain that is attached to the cable hanging from the eyebolt in the ceiling. His ankles are shackled with padlocks to the three foot long chain that is connected to the eyebolt in the baseboard. His left eye is closed and swollen. His head is swimming. It is dark and the room is empty. Through his good eye he can see by the moon light filtering through the sheet on the window that the Snake is laying on floor on the other side of the room where she threw it. It lies where she has always thrown it -- just beyond his reach. The college LSU T-shirt that Donna had bought him is in shreds lying next to him. He does not know where the rest of his clothes are; they are not in the room. His back hurts. He has no idea what time it is or how long he has laid here. He figures that it has probably been just a few hours. His side aches. He is hungry. But he knows better than to call out. He knows that he must sit in silence and wait for her to bring his food to him. He learned that lesson when he was only in the first or second grade. Or was it earlier. He can't remember; it has been too many years. *********************************** "What do you mean asking me to fix you something to eat? Can't you see that I'm watching television you little bastard?" Seven-year-old George looks across the room at his mother. He is standing in the doorway to the living room. Suddenly he is scared. She called him a little bastard and she only does that when she is angry. She calls him a little bastard whenever she hits him. He tries to think if there is anything he has done to make her angry. He can think of nothing. He has stayed in his room all day playing with his toy dinosaurs . . . staying away from her. She hasn't come out of her bedroom all day. Not for breakfast, nor for lunch. She has stayed in her bedroom watching television. She has been watching her video of a woman tying up a naked man and beating him. Every now and then she would moan and yell out. Whenever she is in her room watching her video, moaning and yelling out, he knows better than to disturb her. He also knows better than to fix his own meals because she beats him whenever he does. He cannot ask his daddy to fix him something to eat. His daddy left early this morning to go deer hunting, saying he would be back tomorrow night. So, he has gone hungry. When she finally did come out of her bedroom, she went straight to the living room to watch the evening news. George heard the television on and walked toward the living room. As he walked down the hall past her bedroom, he saw a large flesh colored object lying on her bed. It looks just like his penis only much larger. He does not know what it is. Upon coming to the door leading into the living room he told her he was hungry. George just stands in the doorway into the living room. He does not know whether he should repeat his statement or remain silent. He is scared. "Come here to me you little bastard! Get over here!" She is sitting on the sofa. The only thing she is wearing is a torn slip. Her large right breast hangs out through the tear in it. Her legs are open wide. George can see her dark pubic hair. "Are you going to hit me?" he asks timidly. "Now why would I hit you Georgie Boy? The only thing you did was to tell me that you're hungry. I'm sorry I yelled at you. Would you like some milk?" She calls him Georgie Boy when she has a treat for him. Seldom are the times though. He wonders what the treat is. "Yes Ma'am," he says and nods his head. "Then come over here and sit in mommy's lap." He hesitantly walks over to her. When he gets near enough, she picks him up and sits him on her left thigh. She smiles at him and says, "Here, mommy has a lot of milk for her little Georgie Boy." Then cupping her exposed right breast she shoves it into his face. But he jerks his head back, looses his balance and falls to the floor between her legs. He looks up at his mother in fear and astonishment. He does not know what to do. "I said suck my tit you little bastard." She grabs him by the hair and pulls him into a standing position. She wraps her large legs around his little body, holding him in a vice-like grip. While holding him by the hair with her left hand and cupping her right breast with her other hand, she shoves her nipple into his face. She again orders him to suck her tit. He dare not disobey her. As he begins to suck her she closes her eyes. His eyes are wide open, watching her face. He continues to suck her nipple. She lets go of her breast and grabs his left wrist. She puts his hand between her thighs. He can feel her hair, her wetness. She rubs his hand against herself and begins to moan. It is the same moan he heard coming from her bedroom several times earlier today. After several minutes her moans become louder and she begins to thrust her hips against his body. Then she screams out, scaring George. He stops sucking her and pulls his hand out from between her legs. He then tries to wriggle out from between her legs but she is too strong. She yanks on his hair. "I thought I told you to suck my tit you little bastard. Now suck it!" He again begins to suck her right nipple, keeping his wide open eyes fixed on her face. He dare not disobey her. Through two newscasts and a game show which followed them, she holds him between her thighs while her left hand clutches tight onto his hair. For an hour and a half she forces him to suck her nipple. When the game show is over she drags him by his hair into the punishment room. Once there she throws him across the room and pushes a love seat in front of the door, blocking his escape and revealing an eyebolt driven into the baseboard. Next she does what she has always done when she is angry at him. She rips off all his clothes. Then she takes some shackles out of the closet and shackles his ankles to the eyebolt. Next she ties his hands in front of him with a cord. Then she holds him by the hair and beats him with one of his father's belts. She beats him until he has numerous welt marks on his back, buttocks and thighs. The next afternoon she comes into the room and takes off the shackles and unties him. She sends him to his bedroom with a warning that if he tells his father about anything that happened she will kill both him and his father. Just before his father comes home from hunting, she brings him a cold bowl of oatmeal to eat. It is the only thing he has eaten in two days. That is the way it has been all of his life. The only memories George has of his mother are of her sexually molesting him, ripping his clothes off, tying him up and beating him. His father left the day after his ninth birthday, telling her that he had had enough of her nagging and hollering at him. The following day she removed the love seat and a sewing desk and chair from the punishment room. Next she fixed up the chain, cable and eyebolt in the ceiling. That's also when she bought the Whip. Then she beat him and fed him cold oatmeal for three days. *********************************** The next afternoon she comes in with a large stainless steel chamber pot. She says nothing to him. She just stands over him . . . waiting . . . waiting. He has been sitting on the floor in the fetal position with his arms wrapped around his legs, trying to keep his naked body warm. The torn T-shirt is lying on the floor next to him. There is neither heat nor air conditioning in the room; she closed the vent years ago. But he knows what she was waiting for. He feels ashamed. He silently hopes that she will just drop the pot within his reach and leave. But she does not. She just stands there and waits. After several minutes, he opens his legs so that she can see him. He is embarrassed. He closes his good eye; he doesn't want to see her face. "The doctor made a mistake when he circumcised you," she says in a belittling tone. "He should have cut your weenie dick off you little bastard. Maybe then you wouldn't be running after every whore you meet." He does not answer her. He knows from experience that it would only get her angry again and lead to more insults, more beatings. He bows his head and silently prays that she just goes away. "I guess you didn't lie to me after all. I can see that your dick isn't big enough to fuck anyone." She throws the chamber pot at him. But her aim is bad. It hits him a glancing blow on the shoulder and bounces into the corner. Then she drops a roll of toilet paper within his reach and walks out of the room, closing the door behind herself. He is glad when she leaves. For when he is alone he can regain some measure of dignity for his naked body. Now too, he can relieve himself in solitude. He knows better than to soil her floor, the floor that is stained with his blood. She doesn't return for several hours, by then it is dark. She puts a bowl of oatmeal on the floor just out of his reach; the only food she has ever given him after chaining him up. Then she gets her Whip and stands over the bowl, the toe of her combat boot just an inch away from it. After several minutes, she nudges it forward with her toe and waits. George waits too. He doesn't know whether to reach out for the bowl or to wait for her to leave before retrieving it. Sometimes she orders him to retrieve the bowl. Sometimes she doesn't; she just leaves. Sometimes in the past, she would allow him to get it without incident. At other times, she would hit him with the Whip when he reached out for the bowl of food. What she would do now he does not know. So, he waits. She stands there for thirty minutes with her arms folded and the Whip in her hand, looking down on the naked young man. When the oatmeal gets cold she throws the Snake across the room and leaves. George retrieves the food and scoops it out of the bowl with his fingers. Then he licks the bowl clean so as to get every morsel of food. He knows from experience that it might be a long time before she brings him anything else to eat. He is there for several days. Once every evening she has brought him a bowl of oatmeal and each day she has waited until it is cold before leaving. She has picked up the chamber pot only twice and returned it without incident. Now it is nearly full and it stinks, but he is thankful that she has not whipped him any more. His back and side no longer hurt but his eye is still a little bloodshot. The swelling has gone down and he can see through it. His wrists and ankles are raw from the shackles. He has no idea what day it is -- and dares not ask -- but he is sure that the Thanksgiving holiday is over. He guesses that it is either the Friday or the Saturday after. He has to get back to college. He has to get back to his studies. He has to get back to Donna, his precious Donna. She comes in early in the evening and puts the bowl of oatmeal on the floor. As usual it is just out of his reach. She stands over it . . . over him. Then she nudges it forward a few inches with the toe of her combat boot and waits. George only wants to get back to college, back to his precious Donna. He is crazy with fear that he will never see her again. He is afraid that his mother will never let him go back to school. But he has to see the love of his life again. He cannot let his mother take her away from him. He is sitting on the floor and looks up at her. He looks at the keys. They are dangling from her waist. Her precious Whip is in her hand. He lowers his head, looks at the floor and shakes his head in resignation. He knows what he will do, what he must do. He knows too what her reaction will be. He has been thinking about it all day, contemplating and planning every movement, every action . . . and reaction. He slowly stands up. He stands up to face her, arms at his side, palms facing her. He raises his head and looks her in the eyes. He tilts his head slightly to the left. She is puzzled by his actions. He has never done this before. He has never before shown himself like this to her. But his actions catch her off guard and that is what he wants, that is what he has been planning. Before she has time to contemplate what he is doing, he acts. "Fuck you," he says to her in disgust. "What!" she screams at him in shocked disbelief. "Why you little bastard." She kicks the oatmeal at him and lashes out with the Whip. But that is exactly what he expects her to do and he is ready for her. Instead of bowing in submission to her blows, he grabs the Whip with both hands, ignoring the pain it inflicts across his shoulder and down his back. That is the sacrifice he must endure. He knows from his studies in chess, that in order to capture the enemy's queen you must sacrifice one of your own pieces. He sacrifices his back in order to win his freedom. He pulls hard on the Whip, pulling her off balance. Caught off guard, she lets go of the Whip and falls forward onto the floor. She is on her hands and knees. He swings at her with the Whip with all his strength; its brass handle hits her in the back of the head. She falls flat on the floor. He hits her again and again and again until she lies lifeless on the floor. Her skull is cracked open, her brains are oozing out and her blood is spreading out in a large circle across the cold hard floor. He sits down near her fractured head; only his heels, his naked buttocks and his testicles and penis are touching the floor. He folds his arms across his knees. He still has the Whip in his hand. He watches the blood spread out toward him. He watches it creep around his right heel and head for his testicles. When it gets too close he tries to stop it with his finger. But it will not stop inching forward. He moves away from it and away from her. He drops the Whip on the floor and folds his hands across his knees and closes his eyes. Therapist Ch. 01 When he opens his eyes again it is dark. He wonders if he slept or not. He is not sure. He looks at the Snake lying lifeless on the floor. It can no longer hurt him; she can no longer hurt him. He gets up and rolls her over being careful to avoid the blood. She stares blankly at the ceiling. He removes the keys from her waist and unlocks the shackles from his wrists and ankles without looking at her. He walks naked across the floor, leaving a bloody imprint of his heel as he does so. He goes to the bathroom and takes a shower. After, he puts on an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Next he turns on the television in the living room to determine what day it is; it is Friday evening. He is glad for now he can still get back to college and back to Donna. Then he goes into the kitchen to fix himself something to eat. He spends the night sleeping on the sofa in the living room. The next morning he goes to his mother's bedroom. The bed is unmade and there is a large realistic looking, flesh colored dildo lying next to one of the pillows. There is a half of a cup of coffee on the nightstand next to her bed. Her television is on; he mutes it. He looks around the room. His only thought, his only concern is getting back to Donna, his precious Donna. But he does not know what he will do with his mother. He goes to the kitchen for some breakfast. After breakfast he goes to the punishment room to see her. He dare not call the police. They will surely take Donna away from him. Standing over her he makes a decision. He will bury her in her garden along the side of the house. He spends the rest of the day digging in her garden. It is on the side of the house in an area about eight foot wide and fifteen feet long. There is a six-foot high wooden fence on one side that shields him from the neighbors next door. Situated on a corner, the house itself shields his digging from the other side. To the front of the area is a six-foot high wooden gate and to the rear of the house is a large empty lot with a lot of high weeds. He digs all day in solitude; no one notices what he is doing. He digs the grave deep so that the smell of the decomposing body will not penetrate up through the soil. That night he wraps his mother's body in a bed sheet and buries her. He empties the chamber pot and wipes up the blood with some bath towels. He puts the towels in a plastic bag and puts the bag in the trunk of his car. He tells himself that he will dispose of it in a dumpster once he gets back to LSU and back to his salvation, back to Donna. It is nearing nine o'clock Saturday evening. George only has one thing on his mind now: get back to LSU and Donna. He cleans up the kitchen and takes a quick shower. He packs his bag and puts it in the trunk along side the plastic bag of bloody towels. He goes to his mother's bedroom and gets her checkbook, thankful that she put his name on the account when he started college. He quietly closes the door as he leaves the room, leaving the muted television on, the bed unmade and the dildo lying next to the pillow. He checks the balance; there is over 9,200 dollars in it. He wonders where she got all that money. He knows that she only gets a few hundred dollars a month from her stock investments. He knows too that his mother paid off the mortgage on the house a little over year ago. He figures that she just put the mortgage payments in the bank. But then he doesn't care where she got it. It's his now. There is just enough for someone to live off of. With frugal living, a part time job and his scholarship he figures he ought to be able to make it at college. Before going to bed he sets his alarm for 5:45. He wants to get up early and back to his Donna. Therapist Ch. 01 ****Warning**** This story contains non consensual sex. This is FICTIONAL and everyone is OVER 18. If you read this story, you have done so at your own discretion. Beer_tease is the co-author of this story. * I've been feeling obsessed with these sexual fantasies of late. To the point that while I'm in my classes, all I can do is play out different fantasies in my mind. I'm not paying the attention in my classes that is needed and now my grades are suffering for it. I didn't know what else to do, so I decided to book an appointment with a therapist. I felt that this is the responsible thing to do. I knew I needed to talk to someone about it. Daily masturbation and internet searches only took me so far. Being a freshman in college, away from home, I was excited at the prospect of getting away from my rotten high school experience. It was the same repetitive melodrama. Being an Army Brat, I transferred from one small school to the next. It was always the same. Same girls fucking the same kind of guys. I was always the outsider. That is why, the prospect of college was so appealing. An escape to something different, something better, anything that would diverge from the same high school social setting. I was afraid that I would begin to explore these fantasies - or any sexual situations outside of my imagination, but 'Thank God' it hasn't happened. That's all I would need, further digression from my studies. Men certainly interested me, however, I am scared to open up. I've been on a few dates. They were nice. Flowers, dinner, movie, some chit-chat. But, there wasn't any chemistry. Nothing made me want to have any type of sexual encounter with them. However, when I'm in class, that's all I can think about. Sometimes, it's bad enough, I leave the class to go to the bathroom, just to momentarily satisfy myself in the stall. It helps, sometimes. I went to the school counseling office, and got a bunch of names for referrals for psychologists, whom I might be able to talk about this. That was a chore in itself, it's not like any of them listed themselves as sex therapist. It was a difficult choice for me, I wasn't sure if I wanted to go with a woman, someone that could possibly relate to me and I might be able to open up to. It all sounded good, until my devil's advocate suggested that maybe, just maybe if I went with a man, I could help get past my barriers. Talking to a man about my issues... what harm could there be. Then, one particular name stood out, Dr. Alex Miller. Receiving his Masters here at the same university, but he had received his Baccalaureate and Doctorates from somewhere else. I wrote down the names of several women, and just one mans. Later that night, I was studying for my Economics class as my mind started wandering to the guy that sits next to me. Isaac always smelled so good. I imagined him and I studying in the library. Dropping my pen, it lands next to his foot, I lean over resting on one of his legs as I reach between them reaching for my pen. Accidentally rubbing his crotch. The librarian just announced that the library was getting ready to close. Isaac and I packed up our things and jumped into his car. As we got onto the interstate on the way back to my house, Isaac pulled off on an exit that wouldn't lead to my house. "What are you doing?" The confusion obvious on my face and in my voice. Stopping at a lookout point and turned off his car. Gripping the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Slowly turning his gaze towards me, trapping me within their predatory gaze. I could feel the color drain from my face. "You know what you do to me. Every day in class, the swishing of your hair. Then you biting on your pen or your constant squirming." Sighing heavily. God, I couldn't start fantasizing now, but I'm so horny. Sitting in my flannel pants and a cotton tank top, my typical sleep wear. My parents are very well off, so I live off campus in my own apartment, so I never have to worry about roommates. Deciding that I wouldn't get any studying done, I walked over to the couch. Laying back, sliding my hands into my pants, continuing my fantasy. Sliding my fingers into my wet slit, I moved them back up to my clit and started making slow circles. Isaac reached over to me in the passenger seat. Grabbing me by the arm, he pulled me towards him and threw me into the back seat. My legs got stuck between the driver and passenger seat. I tried to pull them in towards me, but I wasn't quick enough. I was at an awkward angle as my back was towards him as he started sliding his way back to me. Grabbing me by my hair to position my head closer to the door. I reach up to try and fight him, but to no avail. He slides his hand up my skirt to pull my thong tight against my pussy. It's painful, and I cry. "Please Isaac, please stop." He laughs, only to be encouraged by my pleas. He keeps pulling on my thong. Applying more and more pressure to the thin material. I can feel it digging deeper into my pussy until the thin material finally gives and rips away from my body. He spreads my legs apart with his knees and used one hand to pull his cock free. Aiming his cock head towards my slit, rubbing his head against my dripping pussy. Without warning he pushes his cock in half way. I can feel my virginal walls contracting at the invading force entering my body. I let out a blood curdling scream as his second thrust savagely rips away my virginal head. With his third thrust, I could feel his cock bottoming out in my cunt and my head hitting against the car door. The tears flowed freely as he continued trying to fit his whole cock into my pussy, but only to be deterred by hitting my back wall. My pussy betrays my body by releasing more juices onto his cock. Slowly the pain starts to fade, only to be replaced by an intense feeling growing deep within my gut. The harder he pushes into me, the stronger the sensation builds. Raising my hips to meet his thrust, he pulls me by my hair off of the door. With his other hand, he painfully digs into my breast causing my whole body to spasm on his cock. In my fantasy my pussy starts cumming around his cock. Isaac continues to push his cock as hard as he can, and as deep as it would go, spraying his seed deep inside of me. And with his orgasm, cum runs down my pussy, through my thong and into my flannel pants. Laying my head back onto the couch I fall asleep. The next morning with sun shining on my face, I reach for the phone to call Dr. Alex Miller's office and make an appointment. Therapist Ch. 02 Leroy Haggis walked into his office, said, "Good Morning," to his receptionist and then went back into his private office. He took off his sport jacket, hung it in the closet and then sat down at his desk. Just a few minutes later there was a knock on his door and the receptionist carried in a cup of coffee and put it on his desk in front of him. As she turned and walked out of the office, he watched the way her ass swayed from side to side. Feeling his cock begin to twitch a bit he called to the receptionist on the intercom and asked, "Who do we have scheduled today?" "Well, you have a new patient in about thirty minutes and then at eleven you have the follow up with Sarah." "Ah Sarah," he thought to himself, Sarah was his crowning achievement. Not only did she completely respond to his treatment, once he brought her out of hypnosis there were no residual memories for any of the sessions. Sarah had simply come in, did exactly what he told her to do and whenever she began to show any awareness of the sexual contact, the closing door would make a loud click and she would forget everything. Some of his other patients had been equally as easy to wipe the memory of the sessions from their minds, but there were a number that had to be hypnotized a second or third time before he got them completely back to normal. Other than Sarah, he also had a new patient coming in, a new patient always excited him, so many possibilities. Remembering the one the with the huge breasts he saw the day before he felt his cock stiffen some as he pictured it sliding through the soft flesh between the breasts. Oh and how his cum splashed onto her face. His receptionist buzzed in on the intercom to announce his first patient had arrived. He instructed the receptionist to give her the standard paperwork and then moved over to where he could look into the waiting area through the one way glass. The woman was very attractive with long blonde hair, some nice, perky breasts and a very tight little ass. Moving back into his office he thought that his one would be a nice change from the bigger ladies he had recently seen. Thinking of her tiny ass, he figured she needed to be taken from behind, that would be the proper treatment for her problem. All he had to do was wait as she filled out the paperwork. He arranged the patient's chair so the woman could climb onto all fours on it and he could comfortably stand behind her. Once he arranged the chair, he set up the light and moved his stool into position. When the receptionist buzzed in and said the paperwork was finished, he moved to his desk and told her to show the patient in. Sitting at his desk he watched the woman enter the room and, with the help of the receptionist, sit down in the patient's chair. Haggis then said, "Good morning Julia, I hope you are doing well today." "Pretty good doctor," she replied. "Now as you understand, I'll want to examine you while in a hypnotic state, do you understand?" She nodded. "Okay, I'll need you to sign this waiver if you would," he said, handing her a clipboard with a printed form on it. As she tried to read it he said, "Yes, the text is so small, it's some official medical document I have to use. It simply gives me permission to talk to you when you are in the hypnotic state." "Just talk?" "Just talk," he replied. Nodding, she picked up the pen and signed the paper. Handing it back to him she asked, "Okay, what do I do now." Putting the clipboard away, he sat in the stool near her and then spun his gold disc in the light. "Just watch the sparkling disc and when you are ready I'll tell you what to do next." In just a few moments he put the disc in his pocket and asked her to undress. While watching her, he quickly pulled off his clothing and then instructed her to kneel on the chair. When she finished he had her put her hands on the chair as he moved behind her. Without another word, he took his hand and put it up between her legs. Sliding two finger into her pussy, he got them coated in her juices and then slid up to her clit where he slowly began circling. The woman began moving her hips, pushing against his fingers as he moved faster and faster. Finally she moaned loudly and as she came he pushed his fingers deep into her pussy and felt her pussy walls squeeze around him as she came. Licking his fingers, he went back to the paperwork she filled out and glanced quickly over her history. As she came out of the trance he'd need to be able to refer to at least a few of the things she mentioned. Working out a strategy, he placed the notes back on his desk and looked back at the beautiful woman still kneeling for him. Therapist Ch. 02 It is early Sunday morning and George is just returning to LSU from visiting his mother in New Orleans for Thanksgiving. He is on his way to Donna's apartment on Nicholson Drive just off campus. He knows that Donna likes to sleep late on Sundays but he needs to see her. After what happened while he was visiting his mother, he needs to know that she still cares about him. He needs to know that she loves him. While driving into the parking lot of her apartment he reminisces about when they first met and started dating. *********************************** It was originally in his course on English literature. At that time, she approached him after class one day and asked him if he would like to work with her on an assignment that the professor had given the class. He agreed. He is not too good at grammar so she began helping him write some of his compositions. They had been seeing each other, meeting for lunch in the student union together and studying together for a couple of weeks when she asked him to help her look up something in the library. Later, as they walked back to her apartment, he held her hand. The next afternoon when they met in the Greek Theater, she kissed him on the lips; it was the first time he had ever been kissed by a girl. But he did not tell her this. "Want to go to the game this Friday night," Donna asks him. They are sitting in the fifth row of the theater. She is sitting in his lap, straddling his thighs. Her arms are around his neck and she is playing with the label on the back of his T-shirt. He has his hands on her sides, just holding her. "Sure," George answers her, "I haven't been to any of the games yet. It will be nice to do something different for a change." "George, you're a freshman at LSU and you tell me you have never gone to any of our football games? I don't believe that. Why not? What's wrong with you?" "There's nothing wrong with me. I've never been to a football game in my life or a baseball game or a basketball game or any kind of ball game. I don't like playing ball. I'd rather play chess. To me chess is a whole heck of a lot more brutal than any sport I can think of." "Oh, come on," Donna says mockingly. "I've played chess before and it don't seem all that vicious to me." "You might have played chess but do you know the strategy behind the movement of the pieces?" "No, not really." "Well in football there's a rule against piling on once the man is down, but in chess if you don't pile on the pressure you'll lose. Again in football you cannot hit a man when he is down, but in chess if you don't hit him when he's down, then he'll win the game. You cannot hit a man below the belt, but in chess if you don't hit your opponent in his weak spot, then you'll lose." "You really think so? I mean, in other sports you psych your opponent up and there are all kinds of strategies to win, including hitting an offensive or defensive line in its weak spot and things like that." "Sure there is some mental gymnastics and strategy in other sports but nothing like the psychological warfare and strategy that exist in chess." He runs his fingers through his hair. "For example, in football once you've broken through your opponent's line and tackled the quarterback the play is over. Not so in chess, once you've broken through your opponent's defenses you have to hit him again and again or he's going to be able to regroup and then get you." Donna does not answer him. She is just sitting in his lap, straddling his thighs and looking into his eyes. George continues, "In chess if you're not totally, ruthlessly brutal with your opponent, then you'll lose the game." He pauses. Then "In any contact sport you're expected to conduct yourself in a sportsman like demeanor. You're supposed to exhibit sportsmanlike conduct. If you don't then you will be penalized. You can't attack your opponent with the intention of actually hurting him physically or again, you will be penalized. He can and does expect you to be somewhat merciful with him once you have him quote down unquote." He makes the quote sign with his fingers. "For example, you can't repeatedly hit the quarterback once you've tackled him. But in chess there is no such expectation. You're expected to continually hit the king until he surrenders or is checkmated." Donna still does not answer him. She is just looking into his eyes, seeing a brutal side of George she has never seen before. "In chess you sit across from your opponent, you skewer his pieces and watch him squirm. You do not offer him quarters nor do you take prisoners. I can't think of any sport that is more violent or more brutal than chess. In all other sports you merely attack a man's physical body. In chess you attack his ego, his pride. There's nothing more brutal than that except actual warfare." "I never thought of chess that way. I always looked upon it as just a complicated board game." "That's how most people look at chess. But they don't understand the strategy behind the game. When I was in high school I was called a geek and a loser by a lot of the other students. They laughed at me because I preferred to sit by myself and study chess moves than to play ball. But I didn't . . ." "George, I don't think you're a geek. I think you're a kind, sweet, gentle soul. And I'm not just saying that. I like you George. I'm falling in love with you George. I'm sure of it." George lowers his eyes momentarily. When he looks up she is leaning forward, her face only inches away from his. An October breeze catches her long brown hair and blows it in his face. She brushes the hair aside and kisses him lightly on the lips. Then she quickly kisses him again openmouthed, her tongue darting into his mouth. He kisses her back. After several long seconds she breaks the kiss and says lightheartedly, "I don't believe that I could fall in love with a geek." "OK, let's go to the game together. Who are we playing?" he asks changing the subject. He doesn't know what else to say. He has never been in love before. "I don't know who we're playing this week either but I want to buy you a new LSU T-shirt for the game. One that matches the one I have. That way we can go to the game as a team ourselves. Would you like that?" "Yes, I would love it." He wraps his arms around her hugging her. For the first time in his life George is happy. ************************************ As he is walking up the stairs to her apartment he notices a used condom on the top step. He thinks how disgusting it is. "If they must have sex outside of marriage, why don't they dispose of their whoredom properly?" he says to himself as he steps around it. He knows that Donna would never have sex outside of marriage. She's not a tramp; she's a nice girl. He had hoped he would have been able to eventually introduce Donna to his mother. But now, because of what he has done, he can't. He can never introduce the two of them. Why couldn't his mother accept it when he told her about Donna? Why couldn't his mother be more understanding? Why did that bitch have to force him to make a choice? Now he is glad that Donna did not come with him to New Orleans as he originally wanted. He didn't want to leave her on campus by herself over the Thanksgiving holidays but she insisted he go alone. She told him that it would be better if he just told his mother about their relationship for right now. She said that there would be plenty of time later for her to meet his mother. He knocks on the door to her small apartment. After several minutes, she opens the door to let him in. She is still in her sheer neglige. The baby blue nightie is just long enough to cover her cheeks and vagina. It is tied with a bow just below her breasts; her navel is showing. She invites him in but he hesitates; he can see her nipples through the sheer material. George has never seen a woman dressed in a sheer neglige before. His mother taught him that it is degrading to a woman for a man to look upon her if she is not properly dressed. She told him that people would think that she's a tramp if he enters into her apartment and she is not properly dressed. He does not want to destroy Donna's good reputation. So he says, "You're not decent. I'll wait outside until you're dressed." He turns his head and looks away. "George, you woke me up. Come in. Don't be so modest; I'll put on a robe. Just be quiet and don't wake my roommate." While Donna gets a robe from the closet, George keeps his eyes focused on the floor. He does not want her to see him looking at her body. He does not want to give her the impression that he is after her sex. He wants her to like him for himself. His mother taught him that. Donna sits on the edge of her bed. She has not yet put on the robe; she is holding it in her lap. "What's so important that you had to wake me at . . . what time it is," she looks at the clock on her nightstand, "at 7:19 on a Sunday morning?" "I just had to see you that's all. I missed you. I thought about you all during the holidays." "Come here and sit next to me on the bed. Hey! What happened to your eye; it's all bloodshot." "I tripped over some boxes in my garage," he lies to her as he sits down. He is glad that his long sleeve shirt hides his scarred wrists. He looks across the room to see her roommate sleeping in her own bed. He can see her bare back and wonders if she has on any panties. Donna once told him that she sleeps in the nude. His mother told him that only whores and bad boys sleep in the nude. Donna touches the side of his face with her hand. He takes her hand in his and looks away. He is very uncomfortable sitting next to the nearly nude coed. "Are you going to put your robe on?" he asks her. He is embarrassed. "What's the matter?" she asks. "Nothing. It's just that I've never seen a girl in a nightgown before." "It's alright. Why don't we go out for some breakfast, my treat?" She gets up and walks across the room to a vanity dresser. She throws the robe over the back of a nearby chair. Her back is to him. She watches him through the mirror behind the vanity dresser as she takes off the top to her nightie. He is watching her. She smiles seductively at him through the mirror. Then she bends over at the waist and slides the bottom of the neglige down her smooth legs, presenting her ass to him. She is naked when she stands up. She looks in the mirror again and sees that George is looking away. "George, I told you not to be so modest," she says to him. "It's not like I'm stripping in front of an audience. I did it for you." He looks at her. "I've never seen a naked woman in the flesh before." In one glance, he takes all of her in. He can see her naked back and her very round, naked ass. Through the mirror, he can see her breasts, her navel and her vagina with a thin crop of dark pubic hair. Years of repressed sexuality suddenly floods upon him. He feels a stirring in his groin. "Well, you've seen one, you've seen them all," she says to him jokingly. She walks over to a chest of drawers. She opens a drawer and takes out a bra. She watches him as she puts in on. He is just staring at her, at her vagina. She takes a thong out of the drawer. She turns around and bends over again, again presenting her ass to him. She slides the thong up her legs. When she straightens up, she turns around to face him. He is still just staring at her, mesmerized by her nudity. "George, come out of it." "Oh, I'm sorry. You're beautiful." "You're just saying that because you've seen my naked ass." "No, I'm not. I think you're a very beautiful woman." She takes a pair of jeans out of a drawer and puts them on. "My breasts are too small," she says as she buttons the jeans and pulls up the zipper. "I don't think so." She cups her breasts and adjusts her bra. "Are you saying that because you saw them just now?" "No." He bows his head and looks at the floor. He is very uncomfortable, never having been in the same room with a naked woman and never having discussed sex with a woman before this. The only thing he knows bout sex is what very little his mother told him when he was younger. She turns around, takes a T-shirt out of another drawer and puts it on, keeping her back to him. Then she takes a pair of socks out of a drawer and comes and sits next to him on the bed. She puts on the socks. Next she reaches under her bed and pulls out a pair of shoes. She puts them on. While she is doing this neither of them says anything to the other. George has just been sitting on the bed watching her get dressed. Then Donna turns to face him. "George, have you ever had sex before?" He looks away from her. Then he looks at the floor again. "No," he says almost inaudibly. "I'm a virgin." "That's great George! That means you don't have any STDs. I don't have any STDs either and since I'm on the pill and can't get pregnant, that means we don't have to use a condom when we have sex." She puts her arms around his neck and tries to kiss him but he breaks away from her and stands up. He looks at her incredulously. He cannot believe what he just heard her say. "Let's go to breakfast," he says changing the subject. "Don't you want to make love to me?" she asks in a playfully but sexy voice. "No! Not now. I just want to eat breakfast." Never having been in this type of situation before, he does not know what else to say. "OK, but I'm yours when you want me baby," she says and then she pecks him on the cheek. "Let's go to that little diner around the corner. I like their rolls." The noise of their talking causes Donna's roommate to stir in her sleep; she turns over and George can see her naked breasts. They have never met before. He is suddenly filled with fear that she will wake up and get out of bed. Then he will see all of her naked body. She is a total stranger to him and he does not want to see her naked because his mother told him that only bad boys look at naked women. His mother would not like it if she found out that he had looked at a naked woman. Also, he does not want to be in the room with her if she gets out of bed because it might embarrass Donna. He takes hold of Donna's hand and pulls her from the room. They go to the diner around the corner that Donna suggested. Neither of them says anything during the short walk to the diner. They find a seat in the back. "What would you like, my treat?" she asks. "Just some eggs and sausage. I'll pay for it." "Let me get it George. I can afford it; you can't. Remember, I got that trust my parents left me and all you got is that cheap ass scholarship and that dirty dorm room you share." "OK," he answers her. George is in shock. The events of the past weekend, seeing Donna naked – the only girl he has ever seen naked – and Donna's wanting to have sex with him are all too much. He does not want to have sex with Donna. He wants to love her, to marry her and have children with her. Sex should come after marriage. That's what his mother taught him. His mother told him that only whores have sex before marriage. He eats his breakfast in silence wondering why Donna suggested they have sex. Donna is a nice girl; she's a virgin not a whore. She would never have sex before marriage. Donna notices his silence but says nothing. After his revelation to her that he is a virgin, she only wants to get him back in her apartment and make love. After they finish eating, George suggests they go for a drive to see the state capital; he has never seen it. He is afraid that she will try to get him into her apartment to have sex. Her talk of sex has puzzled him. Donna is a good girl and good girls don't have sex before marriage. His mother told him that. He is also confused over how he should respond if she approaches the subject again. So as he drives, he talks about the English Literature class they have together, a movie they saw together the other night, the LSU Tigers and their chances of going to a bowl game – he knows nothing about football. He talks incessantly about several subjects, anything but sex. Donna has resigned to waiting till later to have sex with him. After seeing the capital together, he continues to drive around Baton Rouge trying to think of something, someplace to go, always keeping the conversation off sex. After driving around for over two hours, George asks her if she wants to go to New Orleans and visit the Aquarium of the Americas. He knows that she loved to go to the aquarium when she lived in New Orleans. Donna agrees, thinking that she will get him into her apartment later this evening. The drive to New Orleans is uneventful. Donna sleeps most of the way. George is thankful for that as he is afraid that the subject of sex will come up again. He doesn't know how to respond to questions about sex. His mother never told him how. He wonders whether or not he should introduce Donna to his mother while they are in New Orleans. Then he remembers that his mother is dead. His mind is in total confusion. When they finish touring the Aquarium it is nearing five o'clock. Donna wants to go to one of the seafood restaurants by the lake in Bucktown and get something to eat. George readily submits. He wants to get back to LSU as late as possible in order to avoid discussing sex with her, in order to avoid having sex with her. He wants to wait until after they are married to have sex. His mother would have wanted it that way. Dinner is quiet; they spend it in small talk. But the pressure on him is immense. It has been that way all day. His mind is and has been in total confusion. Donna is a good girl and good girls don't have sex before marriage. That's what his mother taught him. But then why did she say that they won't have to use a condom when they have sex. He cannot think clearly. He is confused. When they finish eating, they stroll together along the Lake Pontchartrain seawall. They sit on a nearby bench and George begins to tell Donna about his mother, about how wonderful she is, about how kind and loving his mother is. He can hardly wait to introduce them. He tells Donna that he knows that his mother and she will get along fine. Donna puts her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder and tells him that she hopes so. She does not realize that he is speaking of a fantasy mother, the mother of his dreams. She does not realize that George is slowly losing control of his mind. A cool breeze blows up and she suggests they sit in the car where it's warmer. George opens the car door for her. They sit in silence for several minutes. George is trying to think of something to say. But his mind is blank; he is in total confusion. He keeps saying to himself over and over again: Donna is a good girl and good girls don't have sex before marriage. After several minutes of sitting in silence Donna states the unthinkable. "George, I want to go back to my apartment and make love with you." His reply is instantaneous. "I think we should wait until after we're married. It's what my mother would want." "Married! George I don't want to get married. I just want to fuck." It was the exact wrong thing to say to him. "Please Donna, don't talk like that. It makes you sound cheap. It makes you sound like a common whore." It was the exact wrong thing to say to her. She takes offense at being compared to a whore. "George, I'm not a whore. I may not be a virgin like you but I'm not a whore." He looks at her in shocked disbelief. He cannot believe what he just heard her say. She's not a virgin! Donna is not a good girl; Donna had sex before marriage. Doesn't she realize what he did for her? Who he killed for her? He wouldn't have killed his mother for a whore! He wouldn't have told his mother to get fucked for a common whore. Therapist Ch. 02 Donna is talking but he doesn't hear a word she is saying; his mind is focused on the events of the past week. He puts his hands to his ears. He closes his eyes and shakes his head no. His thoughts begin to ramble. Donna is a good girl and good girls don't have sex before marriage. Please let me out Mommy; I won't wet my pants any more. Donna isn't a virgin; she had sex before marriage. I ought to cut it off! Come here you little bastard! Donna is a whore. Donna is a virgin. Your dick isn't big enough to fuck anyone! Oh Donna where can you be. I'm left all alone all by myself. He does not know what to do. His head is swimming. His world is turning upside down, inside out and backwards. He cannot think. He screams at her to shut up. She slaps him across the face and tells him to shut up. The imprint of her hand is on his cheek. That is her second mistake. Her third mistake comes seconds later when she belittles his mother for filling his head with imaginary ideas about sex and marriage. Then for the second time in his life George snaps. He grabs Donna by the throat and squeezes. She fights him and claws at him but his grip is too tight. He does not let go until long after she is dead. When he finally does let go, he can see the imprint of his hands on her neck. She is leaning against the car door and there is a distant stare coming from her eyes. For a long while George just sits and stares at her. He does not know what to do with her. She's not a virgin. She's nothing but a whore and he cannot bury a whore with his mother. His mother wouldn't like that. He thinks about just taking her out of his car and laying her on the ground. But he vetoes that when a police car drives by. He does not know what to do. He turns on the ignition and heads for Interstate 10 and back to Baton Rouge. But he does not stop in LSU or in Baton Rouge. Instead, he continues to drive on the interstate until long after sunset. By then he is traveling on Interstate 10 over the Atchafalaya Bayou. He pulls to the side and stops on the bridge span over the Atchafalaya River Basin which is near the Atchafalaya National Wildlife Refuge. He leaves the engine running while he throws her lifeless body over the side of the bridge and into the water below with the alligators. He drives back to LSU and his studies, that's all he has left. His Donna, his precious Donna is gone, gone forever. He figures that she will not be missed for a while. Both of her parents died in an auto accident when she was little. Since then Donna had been raised by her maternal grandmother who died last year during her senior year at St. Mary's Dominican High School in New Orleans. The house in Lakeview that she and her grandmother were living in was inherited by an aunt who lives in Baltimore. When she came to LSU she took all her earthly belongings with her. Therapist Ch. 02 ****Warning**** This story contains non consensual sex. This is FICTIONAL and everyone is OVER 18. If you read this story, you have done so at your own discretion. Beer_tease is the co-author of this story. * When I walked into the office the waiting room had a small window and a hallway that lead behind the receptionist desk. I stood at the desk and looked around. Not seeing anyone, I turned to take a seat, but knocked over the bell. It made a lot of clatter. I quickly picked it up and set it back onto the desk. That was when a young, voluptuous Asian girl came out. Kim Song was the name on the desk. Smiling meekly I apologized for knocking over the bell. She smiled at me with perfect teeth. Kim was beautiful, being Asian I couldn't even begin to guess her age, but she couldn't be much older than I. She handed me a clipboard with several papers to fill out. Kim told me to fill them out to the best of my ability and to be sure to read everything. I took a seat in one of the chairs in the waiting room and glanced back at Kim. She was leaned over the desk, giving me a full view of her over exposed cleavage, pointing at the bell and turned to walk back down the hall. I watched her and the slit that opened up from the back with each stride, hiding enough to keep it tantalizing. I sat down in the waiting room, no one else there, and began to fill out the paperwork. Trying very hard to ignore the dull throbbing ache that emanated from between my legs. After about 30 min, tired, I stopped reading and just started signing where all the highlighted x's were, and rang the bell. After waiting for a few minutes, about to sit back down, I heard a sound causing me to look up and see Kim walking her slow sultry walk back to the receptionist desk. Flipping through the pages of the clipboard, she smiling she gave me a small nod and waving her hand towards the door at the end of the hall. Entering a small room, full of potted plants, paintings and other small decorative items randomly placed on the different end tables. There was a large round oak coffee table placed in the middle of two large leather couches. Windows covered two of the adjacent walls. Walking towards one of the windows, I looked down into the sporadically crowded street three floors down. Turning back around, I placed both of my hands on the back of a couch and looked at the door that I came in, and noticed a second set of double doors. I sat on the couch facing the doors, with my legs apart and my hands resting on my inner thighs. Wearing inappropriately short shorts, I let my fingers rub against my inner thigh, wondering what this therapist would do, if he caught me diddling my clit. Would he join me? At that moment, I heard a knock at the double doors. Crossing my legs I said, "Hello?" Dr. Alex Miller walked in, smiling. Walking in with a tie and slacks, looking absolutely amazing realizing what a mistake this was. How was I suppose to confess my inner most desires to such a gorgeous man. A man that filled my repertoire of what got me achey between my legs. Handsome, and powerful. I felt the blush run up my cheeks as I stood up and he reached a hand out to me. Taking his, he shook it introducing himself. "Hello, I am Dr. Alex Miller. Please take a seat. I am sorry that I have left you waiting for so long." I smiled, I didn't know what else to say. We both sat down. I watched him flip through the clipboard that I had filled out earlier. Dr. Alex Miller took a lot more time looking at it than Kim the Receptionist did. I was taken aback at how his aura felt across the table. I have no other way of saying it. The charisma that was dripping off of this man made me want to open my legs and beg him to take me right then and there. I took an audible deep breathe and causing him to look up at me and smile. "Is everything okay?" Even his words dripped with something that made me want to sit between his legs and beg him to call me whatever he wanted. "Yes, no." I smiled nervously. Laughing, "good point, if everything was great you wouldn't be here." I smiled. I had no other response. Placing the clipboard behind a notepad, he smiled at me, "Typically, these first session is to let us feel each other out. To see if we are a good fit for each other, and to see if I can provide the help you are searching for." Once again, I sat there smiling like some nervous high school brat waiting for a boy at the freshman dance to ask me for a dance. Facing me the thought of how I was going to tell this complete stranger my sick dirty fantasies made me even more nervous. Sensing the nerves jingling around in my gut, Dr. Alex Miller smile at me and said, "there is no reason to be nervous around me. Would it ease your tension if I told you to just call me Alex, or Dr. Alex if you want to leave it formal?" "Yes." I mumbled out, but what I really wanted to say was, 'Please, let me suck your cock. That should ease whatever nerves I have." I'm such a coward. Dr. Alex continued the session by asking me little questions about myself, my adjustment to college, etc. The conversation naturally flowed, and it seemed intentional he didn't ask me why I had made this appointment. He was definitely trying to find out as much as he could, and took notes during our conversation. In no time, our appointment was over, and I made one for next Tuesday at the same time. I left through the double doors. There was another hallway, a door to the left and another set of double doors at the end of the hallway. Dr. Alex pointed me to the double doors, stating that the one on the left was his office. Walking through the second set of double doors I found a second waiting room. Having a few large cushy leather chairs, and a pair of end tables with flowers an tissue boxes. I smiled at Dr. Alex who shook my hand in farewell. When I got home, I let all of my cloths fall to the floor. I pushed all of the objects and magazines off of my coffee table. It wasn't nearly the size of Dr. Alex's but it still had to do. I angled both of my legs as if they were in stirrups. I let my fingers trace my nipples. Letting them harden as I imagined Dr. Alex lovingly place a nipple into his mouth and roll it around with his tongue. I let my fingers glide down my stomach to my already hardened nub, pretending that Dr. Alex was slowly licking up and down my slit. I placed my other hand above my head, allowing Dr. Alex to hold both of my hands above my head as he slowly eased his thick cock into my sacred virgin hole. I kept moving my hand gently over my clit as I let him continue sliding his cock lovingly in and out of me. Slowly building both of our climaxes as we cum together. Embracing each other on top of his large oak coffee table. Lulling into sleep by the quiet noises of life outside. Waking up a few hours later, still on top of my coffee table. I couldn't help but wonder why I had a fantasy like that one, still being able to get off. It confused me. Normally, there had to be some sort of force. Therapist Ch. 03 After a quick review of his patient's complaints, Leroy Haggis slowly walked from behind his desk. Yes, he was now sure what this woman needed, in fact it was the treatment he thought she might need the first moment he saw her and noticed her tight little ass. Looking over at the chair, he admired the woman, her long blonde hair hanging down from her head, her perky breasts pointing downward and her ass completely ready for him to grab from behind. He walked over behind the naked woman, slipped his hand up between her legs and confirmed her pussy was still wet from the orgasm. Impressed she could come so quickly with just the use of his fingers, he couldn't wait to slide his cock into her pussy. Standing behind her he moved his hands to her hips and just stood for a moment taking in the sight. Before moving forward to her he said, "Now remember, when we finish here we will talk for a few moments and then I will close that door over there. When you hear the lock click you will forget everything that happened after I first showed you the disc. Do you understand?" "Yes doctor," she replied. "I'm not a doctor, just a therapist, but it really doesn't matter now," he said moving up behind her and guiding his cock into her pussy. He pushed his hips forward slowly letting the sensation of her wet softness slide over him. Feeling his balls gently bounce off her clit, he slowly backed up until he nearly slipped out of her before pushing into her again. He continued slowly until about his fourth thrust when he felt her push back against him. He began quickening his pace then sliding out and then quickly sliding back into her until his pubis banged against her ass. Moving faster and faster he soon could hear the loud slap of their bodies as he shoved himself into her. Looking along her side he watched her breasts swing back and forth with each thrust, quivering each time their bodies slapped together. Feeling an odd tickling by his balls, he noticed she had reached up under herself and was diddling her clit while he continued slamming himself into her. She suddenly moaned and he could feel her body shudder as she came. Shoving himself into her up to the hilt, he paused, letting her pussy pulsate over his hard cock. After a few moments the pulsations subsided and he began withdrawing and thrusting again. Giving himself completely into the sensation he held her hips firmly in his hands and pulled her back as he pushed. As their bodies slapped together his balls would bounce off of the woman. He thrust again and again, feeling the pressure building inside him, feeling the pleasure course through the length of his cock. Completely oblivious to everything but the sensations in his cock he kept pushing into her, feeling her wetness, her softness, her warmth as it yielded to his cock again and again. He felt himself getting closer and closer... Suddenly, bright lights flashed on and there were flashes and shouting. A man screamed, "This is the Police, let go of her, back away." He looked over and saw a man holding a gun. He immediately released the woman and backed away. Two men tackled him and jerked his hands behind him. From the ground he saw someone put a jacket on the woman and help her up from the chair. He watched as someone slowly closed the door at the back of his office and he heard the lock click loudly. Gasping for breath, he closed his eyes, remaining motionless as the commotion in the room settled down. After a few minutes the police officers helped him to stand up and then unfastened his handcuffs to let him get dressed. His patient had already been moved into another room when the police asked him, "What were you doing to her?" "I was treating her, hypno-therapy, I am a therapist," he replied. "Okay, Doctor Haggis..." "I am not a doctor, just a therapist." "Okay, therapist Haggis, we are going to take you into the station now." "Am I under arrest?" "Yes, you are under arrest. You have the right..." the police officer started. Haggis tried to listen but too much was happening around him to pay attention. After the man stopped talking they walked him out of his office and into the waiting room. He could see the police disconnecting his computers and noticed his receptionist sitting in her chair crying. He wanted to say something to her, but the police officer led him out of the waiting room and walked to toward a police car. Looking into the distance he thought he saw another patient. "Wait, wait, there is another patient, she can tell you how I helped her." "Tell it to your lawyer therapist Haggis." "But..." "Watch your head," Haggis heard the policeman say as he pushed him into the car. The door closed and in a few moments he felt the car begin to move. Therapist Ch. 03 As she drives her Ford Explorer into the Ochsner Hospital employee parking garage, Linda McBride is ecstatic that she has finally gotten herself completely free from her ex-husband. How she ever allowed herself to marry such a jealous, possessive, chauvinistic man she will never know. After four long years of nursing school – two of them fighting her miserly ex-husband in court over alimony payments – she was finally able to secure a job last month that offers her a future. She looks forward to her new job as a neonatal nurse. The pay is enough to live on without having to depend on anyone for anything, particularly alimony from her ex – she only asked the courts for enough to help her get through nursing school. The benefits at her new job are fantastic. Her coworkers are great and it's not too far from her apartment; she let her ex keep the house. It was just an old run down two bedroom flat in Kenner that she didn't want anything to do with anyway. She especially likes that cute physical therapist who works on the fifth floor. She met him her third day on the job. He was sitting alone in the cafeteria and it was unusually crowded for lunch. She asked him if he wouldn't mind sharing his table. He said no. They started talking. At least Linda started talking; George mostly listened and tried to avoid answering her questions. Linda took an immediate liking to him. He is quiet and shy; shorter than her by about three or four inches, has beautiful long blond hair – long for a man anyway – and the deepest blue eyes she has ever seen. But more importantly he's single. From his coworkers, she also found out that he has been working as a physical therapist at the hospital for several years and knows all the ins and outs of the department and the hospital. She frequently uses his knowledge of the hospital as an excuse to come see him and get to know him better. But she is subtle in her pursuit, only visiting him in his department or joining him for lunch once or twice a week. She asks him questions about his job as a therapist, about the hospital, about anything hospital related. While asking him questions about the hospital, she also asks him about himself. She is trying to figure out a way to ask him out to dinner without seeming too forward. She hopes that she is not moving too fast for him. George is so reserved that she is afraid that she will scare him off if she appears to be too pushy. At first, George believes her questions are just her way of getting to know about the hospital and he doesn't mind helping her. But her persistent inquires soon begin to annoy him, especially when she questions him about his personal life. Although he is somewhat naïve – he does not like to admit it – he begins to suspect that her frequent forays to him are for something other than to obtain information about the hospital. He tries to avoid her but he is frequently unsuccessful. She asks him about his ideal date, about his favorite food, the type of movies he enjoys watching. She asks him numerous questions that he dose not want to answer. He suspects that she wants to invite him over to her apartment for dinner and a movie. Linda's constant intrusion into his personal life puts pressure on George. He wants to tell her to go away and leave him alone, but he does not know how to do it politely. In all his 33 years he has only dated one girl. That was when he was in college and he only dated her for about two or three months. He does not know how to deal with Linda's relentless pursuit of him; he has only had that one experience in dealing with a woman whose interest in him was romantic. After four weeks of her questions, George begins to masturbate to relieve himself, to ease the pressure. Every time he encounters her in the hospital and she asks him about his personal life, he goes home that evening and masturbates. He hates doing it. His mother told him when he was a child that only bad boys did such evil things. She told him that he would go blind if he masturbated. He believed her when he was a child. But now that he is older, he knows differently. But still, the thought that he is going to go blind assails him. Whenever he masturbates he immediately rinses his face and eyes off with water. Nor can he get his mother's threats to 'cut it off' out of his mind if she ever caught him masturbating. He frequently hears her belittling him and insulting him. He begins to hate Linda. On the Monday morning of her fifth week at the hospital Linda corners George into accepting a dinner invitation for the following Thursday. She catches him in the elevator and asks him pointedly if he would like to come over to her apartment for dinner and a movie. He wants to just say no but he doesn't know how to. He does not know how to say no politely. His mother told him that he must always be polite to a lady. Nor can he lie to her because his mother also taught him never to tell a lie. He reluctantly agrees to come over to her apartment. When he arrives home after work he masturbates four times. He curses Linda every time. All the while, his mother keeps telling him that she will 'cut it off' if she ever catches him masturbating. He curses his mother. Then he curses Donna for deserting him. He does not sleep at all Monday night. For the next two days the dinner date is the only thing that he thinks about. He knows he has to come up with some excuse to break the date. He is afraid that she will want to have sex with him. But his mother taught him that sex is only for marriage. He is afraid that his mother will 'cut it off' if he has sex with Linda. He does not know what to say to her. Tuesday he procures a bottle of ether from the hospital and uses it to help himself fall asleep. But the pressure of not being able to break the date does not abate. By Wednesday evening he is sick. He calls up his neighbor Robert and cancels his weekly chess match with him, telling him that he is too ill to play. Robert understands. His head is pounding. He tries to watch television but that does not help. There are only situation comedies – which he hates – a war movie, some news channels and a movie about a man who kills his wife so he can collect on her insurance. He leaves the murder mystery on but stares blankly at the screen. After about twenty minutes he gets into his car and begins to drive around New Orleans. George loves New Orleans. As far as he is concerned New Orleans is the greatest city in the world; it has the cuisine, the culture, the history, the architecture, the port, Mardi Gras, music and the birthplace of Jazz. New Orleans has everything. He drives down Tulane Avenue. He loves to drive through his beloved city looking at the sites. He turns onto South Broad and then onto Poydras Street. He drives past the Superdome thinking about his life and his work at the hospital. Whenever he gets upset over something George drives his car around New Orleans. Driving around his beloved city and seeing the sights calms his nerves; it fills him with joy. The only other joy in his life is writing love letters to his precious Donna. He heads toward Lee's Circle and down the beautiful St. Charles Avenue, which he loves. The oak trees, the street car, the beautiful old houses, Tulane and Loyola Universities, they all fill his heart with pride. His meandering eventually takes him back to Canal Street and then to Decatur Street in the famous French Quarter – right down the street from the Café du Monde. He sees a parking spot and pulls into it, thinking how lucky he is to find a parking spot so close to his beloved beignet shop. He thinks about going to get himself some coffee and beignets; he likes to eat there. Suddenly there is a knock on his window. He puts the window down; it is a young prostitute. She wants to know if he would like a date. He tells her no and puts the window back up, hating her for intruding into his thoughts and into his life. He watches her walk away from his car. Her short skirt, her high heels, her fishnet stockings and tank top disgust him. 'She is nothing but a whore,' he says to himself. 'Just like Donna.' A bottle of ether is on the seat next to him. He decides to teach her a lesson. No whore is going to ask him for a date and get away with it. He starts his car and drives slowly down the street. When he pulls even with the prostitute he puts his window down again. She approaches his car. ************************************* Jinny Swaggart didn't want to be a prostitute; she didn't start out with the intention of becoming one. But neither did she want to continue living with her subservient, compliant mother and authoritarian, hypocritical father. Every Sunday he would preach against gays and lesbians, against abortion, against Muslims, against fornication, against drinking and gambling and against almost every liberal agenda imaginable. As a Baptist preacher of God's word he felt that it was his duty to rid America of Satan's evil influence. His congregation heard his ranting every Sunday. He had a fire and brimstone approach that was especially felt in their home. The slightest infraction of the rules would bring immediate and severe penalties. 'American family values will prevail in this house or by God I'll beat them into you,' he would yell at her and her two younger brothers. He was particularly good at administering his brand of discipline when he was drunk. He kept his bourbon hidden in the linen closet of the master bathroom and although he didn't get drunk very often – maybe once or twice a month and almost always on a Friday night – the children knew to stay out of his way when he was drunk. That is when his discipline methods would hit a crescendo. Jinny can remember one particular Friday afternoon when she was sixteen. She attended a classmate's beach birthday party at Jamaica Beach. Unknown to her, her father was at the other end of the beach with a pair of binoculars, spying on her. He watched as she and Roger made out lying together on the beach. She let Roger take off her bathing top and fondle her breasts. He kissed her a few times and stroked her nipples. But that's all they did. But you would have thought she was the whore of Galveston, Texas with the way he ranted when she got home. She got home from the party about six in the evening. As soon as she walked through the door she could tell something was wrong. He was already drunk and he let her have it. He demanded to know what she did at the party. She told him that she hadn't done anything. Then he accused her of dancing naked in front of everyone and insisted she tell him how many boys she let fuck her. She told him none. He slapped her hard across the face and called her a liar and a whore. He then dragged her by her hair into the attached garage, tied her wrists to some exposed water pipe in the wall, ripped her bathing suit off and beat her with a belt until her back, her buttocks and her thighs were bleeding. He would scream out that no daughter of his was going to grow up to be a whore and then he would hit her. All the while he was beating her she could see her mother through the door leading into the kitchen. She just sat at the kitchen table praying that Satan would not tempt her children into sin. Jinny didn't go to school for a week until the wounds healed and she could sit down. Then her father grounded her. For six months she was not allowed to leave the house except to go to school and church nor could she use any phone or computer. Then just before her eighteenth birthday Jinny got pregnant. She was attending Texas Christian University near Ft. Worth, majoring in history. She didn't want to go to TCU; she wanted to go to an out of state college – any college that would put a lot of distance between herself and her father. But he insisted that she attend TCU, not some heathen college that allowed the students to indulge in sex, alcohol and drugs. Since he was paying for it she had no choice. At the time, she was dating a sophomore who was majoring in theology; he wanted to be a preacher of God's word. But he was just another right wing fundamentalist hypocrite who believed in American family values for everyone else except himself. He kept telling Jinny that he had no intention of indulging in his "sexual indiscretions" – as he called them – as soon as he finished college and became a preacher. But she knew better. Her father was the same way. On Sunday morning he would preach against adultery but then every Tuesday afternoon he could be found in bed with his mistress. A prostitute her mother turned a blind eye to. She didn't want to tell her parents that she was pregnant but that isn't something that can easily be hid. She came home from college one weekend seeking advice from her mother. Her mother immediately told her father. Jinny wasn't prepared for that. But then neither was she prepared for her father's reaction. She thought for sure he would beat her with a belt or something worse. But he just sat at the kitchen table, shaking his head. Both her and her mother sat watching him, wondering. After about five or ten minutes he stood up and said, "We're going to New Orleans. You'll have to get an abortion. I can't have my congregation knowing that my daughter is having sex outside of marriage." Here she was two months pregnant and her Baptist anti-abortion preaching father was going to bring her to New Orleans for an abortion. He wasn't the least concerned about her, her future, her health, the hypocrite who got her pregnant or anything except what his congregation would think of him. The following Saturday he took her to a clinic in New Orleans. Two months later she dropped out of college and returned to New Orleans. She got a job as a waitress in a bar but that wasn't enough to pay her rent, car note, insurance and all her other bills. She took up prostitution. For sixteen months she managed to stay out of trouble, always careful when choosing a john. For sixteen months she lived free of her domineering father. For sixteen months she was happy for the first time in her life. Her only blemish came last year when she was arrested for prostitution and possession of two marijuana cigarettes – some of her johns like to smoke it before sex. Her case was pending. Since it was her first offense, her court appointed lawyer told her she would probably pay a fine and maybe do some community service. Unfortunately her happiness ended when she met George. ************************************* "How much?" George asks. "That depends on what you want to do," Jinny answers him. "Is it extra if we go to my house? I live in Airline Park." "Where's that?" He can tell that she's not from New Orleans; her Texas accent annoys George. "In Jefferson Parish." "I don't go into any kinky stuff with the wife and kids and all," she tells him. "Will you bring me back here when we're done?" "I'm not married," he interrupts her. "If you don't mind playing in my house, then hop in. After, I'll bring you anywhere you want to go." She looks up the street momentarily and then back at him. She doesn't want to leave the street. But she hasn't had a trick in two days. She needs the money. "For a hundred dollars I'll give you an hour, straight sex, nothing kinky or ropes and bondage and that kind of thing." "Get in," he orders her. She walks around the front of the car. George watches her as she does so; he is revolted by her. He hates whores. He tells himself that it's because of that whore Donna that his life today is such a wreck. "Well, this is one whore who will pay for messing up my life. I'm going to teach this one a lesson that she will never forget." He picks up the bottle of ether and holds it out of the window, pouring a few drops into a handkerchief. He seals the bottle and after she gets in the car, he immediately puts the cloth against her mouth. She struggles but in a few seconds she is asleep, leaning against the door. He drives back to his house. He pulls into his garage and is glad that he installed the automatic door opener last year. He carries the girl over his shoulder to the punishment room. There is a thick coat of dust on the bare floor. He has not been in this room for 15 years. He drops the prostitute on the dirty floor and rips off all her clothes, throwing them in the far corner. He cuffs and padlocks her wrists to the same shackles that his mother used to chain him to. He leaves enough slack in the cable to allow her to lie on the cold floor. Then he shackles and padlocks her ankles to the chain bolted to the baseboard eyebolt. Next he goes to the bathroom and gets an old towel. He rips the towel into long strips and gags her with it. Standing over her he kicks her in the side and goes into the living room to watch television. He watches the evening news and then switches channels to watch an old movie but soon falls to sleep. When he wakes up it is two in the morning. He hears a noise and, realizing what it is, goes to his bedroom for a bottle of ether. He then runs into the punishment room. The prostitute is sitting on the floor, trying to get loose. She has pulled the gag down; it is around her neck. When she sees him she screams for help. He kicks her in the stomach and tells her to shut up. She squeezes her eyes shut and grimaces in pain. He pours some ether on the remnants of the towel and tries to put it to her mouth. She immediately begins to fight him but George is stronger than her. He punches her in the face several times and through the struggle manages to put the ether soaked towel to her mouth. As soon as she is asleep he puts the gag back on her mouth. He takes all the slack out of the cable attached to the shackles on her wrists, allowing her to lie down but with her arms above her head. He also removes all the slack from the chain on her ankles. She is now lying naked on her back on the floor but with her arms stretched toward the ceiling and her legs stretched toward the near wall. She is nearly immobile. He goes to a far corner and picks up the leather whip with a brass handle, the Snake. It has not been used for 15 years; it falls apart at his touch. He drops it back in the corner and toys with the idea of removing his belt and beating her with it but decides against it. She wouldn't feel the pain. He makes a decision to wait until she wakes up tomorrow. Then he goes to his bedroom to write a love letter to Donna. After he finishes it, he takes a shower and goes to bed, falling to sleep in the nude. Thursday morning George calls the hospital and tells them that he will not be in, that he does not feel well. Then he calls Linda's department and leaves a message for her to call him later that day. Within a few moments of his calling her, she calls him back. He asks her to forgive him but he cannot make dinner; he is just too sick to even leave the bed. To be polite, he suggests that she reserve another evening for them to have dinner. She accepts the invitation and tells him that she hopes he feels better tomorrow. After he hangs up he lies down on his sofa. He is still naked. He feels as if a great burden has been suddenly lifted from his shoulders. He closes his eyes and thinks of himself and Donna swimming together in a tropical lagoon. 'I love you George,' she tells him. 'I love you too Donna.' He soon falls to sleep. When George awakes it is almost ten o'clock in the morning. He walks naked down the hallway to check on the prostitute. She is still lying as he left her earlier. As soon as he walks into the room, she begins to struggle against her restraints. He leaves the room momentarily and returns with a belt. He holds it out in front of her face; she screams a muffled cry. He laughs and hits her across her breasts, stomach, vagina and thighs several times with it. Therapist Ch. 03 Then he loosens the chain on her ankles and pulls on the cable attached to the shackles on her wrists, forcing her to stand up with her arms above her head. Only her toes are touching the floor. Then he beats her until her back, buttocks, thighs, pubic mound, stomach, sides and breasts are streaked with numerous welts. When he is finished, she is crying softly. He leaves the room taking the belt with him. He gets dressed and drives to a local hardware store on Causeway Boulevard to buy a three-foot long wooden poll, some eye-bolt screws and another set of shackles. He wants to modify the existing shackle and cable setup to prevent her from removing the gag and so that he can spread her legs apart. While standing at the checkout he sees some address numbers and letters and has an idea. He asks the salesclerk if she has a Yellow Pages phone book that he may borrow. He looks up the address for a printing supply shop. There is one on Magazine Street; he goes there and purchases a set of metal letters of the alphabet. On his way home he drives by a feed and garden store on Jefferson Highway. Inside he finds just the right leather whip that he needs to punish his prostitute. Upon arriving home, George goes to the punishment room without delay. The prostitute is standing with her arms above her head and her chin on her chest. She looks up when he comes into the room. She begs him for mercy with her eyes. He ignores her. He removes all his clothes and begins to masturbate in front of her. But he stops before he ejaculates. Then sitting on the floor in front of her, he screws the eye-bolts into the ends of the wooden poll. He attaches the second set of shackles and wooden poll to both of her ankles. She is now hanging naked with her arms above her head and her legs spread open. Then he attaches the existing chain that is attached to the eyebolt in the baseboard to the wooden poll. He throws the old set of shackles in the corner. Next George shows her the metal letters he bought but she just stares at them uncomprehendingly. He leaves the room, returning with a butane candle lighter, some needle nose pliers and the letters spread out in a pie pan. He flashes the lighter in her face. "You're nothing but a whore and I'm going to make sure the whole world knows it." She muffles an answer but it is unintelligible. He puts the lighter in the pan and punches her in the stomach, commanding her to be quiet. She squeezes her eyes shut and grimaces in pain. "What, don't you want everyone to know what you are? Don't you want everyone to know that you're nothing but a whore?" She shakes her head no and pleads with her eyes. She has no idea what he is going to do but she knows that it cannot be good. He puts the pan on the floor and picks up the letter W with the pliers. He begins to heat it in front of her face. When she finally realizes what he is going to do she begins to struggle against the constraints. He orders her to be still. But she continues to wrestle against the shackles and cable binding her. "I thought I told you to be still, bitch!" He commands. "Now hold still and take your punishment like the whore I know you are." She ignores him and continues to fight against the restraints. "Be still bitch!" he yells. "I have to brand you. You're a filthy little whore and I have to let everyone know it. Now be still." She refuses to stop struggling against the shackles. "OK, have it your way." He puts the letter and candle lighter in the pan on the floor in front of her and picks up the whip he purchased and beats her with it. He hits her until he is exhausted and out of breath. There are deep red welts all over her body; many of them are bleeding. He stands in front of her, watching her. He is breathing heavily. She too is breathing heavily. Her head is down and she is not moving. George departs from the room, returning a few minutes later with a piece of sawed off broomstick in his hand. "Since you refuse to be still so that I can brand you . . ." He leaves the sentence unfinished and begins to beat her with the broomstick. He beats her back, her buttocks and the back of her thighs. She hangs motionless throughout the whole ordeal. After several minutes he moves around and faces her and begins to beat her breasts, her stomach and her groin. But after only a few whacks he stops. He rams the broomstick deep into her vagina. She grimaces in pain. He takes it out, looks at it and then at her. Then he plunges it back into her vagina and fucks her repeatedly with it. He masturbates while he fucks her with the broomstick but he does not reach an orgasm. He returns to beating her. After several minutes of beating her with the broomstick, she is still hanging motionless but is now breathing weakly. Her eyes are closed. He drops the broomstick, picks up the candle lighter and the letter W with the pliers and heats it. Branding her with the letters, he spells out the word WHORE across her chest just above her breasts. Other than a quiet whimper she does not try to stop him; she is too weak. When he is finished he leaves her hanging there and walks naked into the living room to watch the evening news. When the news is over he fixes himself something to eat. Then he watches a movie. Midway through the movie he goes to the punishment room to check on the prostitute. He is still naked. She looks up weakly as he steps into the room but drops her head back down onto her chest when she realizes who it is that entered. She is barely breathing. He hits her a few of times with the whip before leaving. He returns to watching the movie. When it is over he writes a love letter to Donna. Then he gets a shower and goes to bed, falling to sleep in the nude. "Good morning my little whore," he says to her with a smile on his face as he walks into the room early Friday morning; he is still naked. She does not respond but is just hanging there with her chin on her chest and her arms above her head. He walks up to her and hollers into her ear, "Hey bitch, it's time for your morning beat . . ." He touches her. She is cold; she is dead. He steps back away from her. For several minutes he just stares at her. He did not expect her to die. He wanted to punish her some more. He does not know what to do. He continues to stare at her. Finally, he makes a decision to throw her body into the Mississippi River tonight after he gets off work. He goes to the other side of the room and unhooks the cable, lowering her to the floor. He departs for work leaving her lifeless body lying on the bare floor. On the way to work he curses his mother and then Donna for fucking up his life. When George arrives at the hospital Friday morning Linda meets him in the parking garage and asks him when he would like to come over for dinner. He gives her a vague answer, telling her he is not sure when he can come over. He uses as an excuse his sickness yesterday. He tells her that his stomach is still a little upset from yesterday. Right now George has other things on his mind and does not want to be bothered by Linda. But once they are in the elevator together, he rethinks his answer to her and tells her he will give her a definite date later on during the day. The day drags on. The only thing that George can think about is the dead prostitute he left lying on the floor in his house. He just wants to get home and get her out of his house. He goes out of his way to avoid meeting Linda all day. He even skips lunch, afraid that he will meet her in the cafeteria. He just gets himself a candy bar and soft drink from the machines by the elevators. He contemplates checking out early but decides against it. He cannot do anything with the body until after nightfall and checking out early will not help there. So he sticks it out until five o'clock. He figures that Linda will probably try to corner him into setting another dinner date so he goes to the other side of the hospital and leaves by a different entrance. As soon as George gets home he goes to the punishment room. She is still lying where he left her. He was hoping that she would be gone, that she would somehow have just disappeared. "Filthy whore," he says to her. "Why did you have to go and die? Why did you have to fuck up my life like that? Now I have to spend my Friday evening getting rid of your body. I hate you. I hate all women. They ain't good for nothing but doing housework and killing." George sits on the floor in front of her; his arms crossed over his knees. He sits and stares at her for a long time. He does not know why he kidnapped her and why he beat her. He realizes that something in him has changed but he does not know what it is. He does not know what brought on the change. He is lost and confused. He does not know what to do. His head is swimming. He thinks about Donna and about Linda. The he thinks about his dead mother. "Come here Georgie Boy, I have a surprise for you," he hears her say. He closes his eyes and puts his head on his arms. When he opens them again it is dark and the phone is ringing. He gets up and goes to his bedroom to answer it but it's a wrong number. He glances at the clock next to his bed; it is almost eight o'clock. He is hungry so he fixes himself a sandwich. After he finishes eating he goes to the linen closet and gets out a white bed sheet. He unshackles the prostitute and then wraps her lifeless body in the sheet. Next he puts her body into the trunk of his car. He stands over it and stares at it. His mind is a blank. For several minutes he just stands behind the car with his hands on the lid of the trunk, staring at the corpse. "Filthy bitch!" he says. Then he slams the lid. Just after ten o'clock he drives to Audubon Park and dumps her body into the Mississippi River behind the park. But George has no desire to return home at this time; his mind is too frayed. So, instead of heading for his house and in order to get away from the traffic, he decides to drive around his beloved city for a little while. As he leaves Audubon Park he drives down Lake Ave and turns right onto South Carrollton Avenue. He continues to drive slowly down Carrollton Avenue past Canal Street on to where it runs into Wisner Boulevard. He turns onto it and heads out toward the Lake Pontchartrain. He turns left onto Lelong Drive. He likes to drive down this long avenue flanked with its trees on both sides. As he approaches the New Orleans Museum of Art he reminisces of the many times he has visited there to look at the beautiful statues and paintings. He especially likes to study the nude paintings. He wishes that the world could see the beauty of the nude human body that he sees. He turns left back onto Wisner Boulevard and heads toward the lake. He drives past Bayou St. John on his right and City Park on his left. His meandering eventually brings him to Lake Pontchartrain and he pulls into one of the parking bays and turns off the ignition. He gets out and sits on the sea wall and stares out onto the lake. He thinks about Donna and begins to cry. He longs to feel her arms around him again, to kiss her again or just to walk across campus with her again. He is lost without her. She would be able to tell him what to do. He hears the laughter of a woman and looks to his right. A young couple is wrapped arm in arm sitting a few yards from him. He thinks about moving farther left; he wants to be alone. Before he can move, they leave. His thoughts turn from them as he watches the lights of the cars crossing the lake on the Causeway Bridge. He wonders where they are going and if any of them has a corpse in the trunk of their car. After watching the cars cross the bridge for about 30 minutes he gets back into his car and goes home. He drives back to LSU and his studies, that's all he has left. His Donna, his precious Donna is gone, gone forever. Oh Donna, Oh Donna, where can you be; where can you be? Therapist Ch. 03 ****Warning**** This story contains non consensual sex. This is FICTIONAL and everyone is OVER 18. If you read this story, you have done so at your own discretion. Beer_tease is the co-author of this story. * A week later, I returned to Dr. Alex's office. Kim was there again, with her perky tits jutting out of her low cut blouse. I've thought about women before, though few and far between. However today, Ms. Kim's outfit left me trying to hide the drool that was foaming at the corner of my mouth. After sitting for a few minutes in the waiting room, Kim informed me that the Doctor was ready for me. I was determined to make sure that I was focused on the real issues that brought me here. I had to push both Kim and that one fantasy with Dr. Alex out of my mind. I wasn't here to find love. I was here to find a "healthy" outlet with my constant sexual attraction to sex, violence, and rock-n-roll. Well, not very much of the latter. I sat on the couch, this time with my back wedged into the corner of the couch, between the cushy arm and leathery back. Dr. Alex came through the double doors and sat across from me. He put the notepad into his lap and didn't say anything. Just sat there looking at me. I was the first to break my eyes away, like an acknowledging submissive dog. I bit my lower lip and we continued to sit there for what seemed like forever. Finally, Dr. Alex broke the silence. "How have you been doing since our last session?" "Fine." Was the short retort that I could muster. I kept my gaze away from his. I couldn't, or wouldn't look him in the eyes. "That's good to hear. Let talk about the reason why you have set up this appointment. You marked here that you believe your a sexual addict, but yet you've never had sex." I felt my face flush. I felt the blood rush to my face and the mild ache grow between my legs. "No, I haven't." "Say it." It caught me off guard. Locking me into his gaze. I wasn't sure what he wanted me to say. The question must of run across my face, but yet he offered no further explanation of what he wanted me to say. And then, it dawned on me. "I'm a virgin." "Then how exactly do you believe your a sex addict." "I... I... ummm... ahhh... I... I..." I wasn't sure how to say the words. Fidgeting in my seat, I wasn't sure how to continue, how to put to words what I was feeling, what I wanted, and how I wanted it. "Do you watch porn?" "Yes." Fine, he could ask me the questions, and I can provide the answers. Simple, effective. "Have you ever had Cybersex?" "Yes." "Does the thought of sex consistently plague the majority of your thoughts?" "Yes." "Thoughts of multiple sex partners?" "Yes." I felt tears brimming at the edge of my sanity. He was making me feel dirty. "Voyeurism? Exhibitionism?" "Yes." "Do you masturbate, constantly?" "Y-y-yes." Tears slowly started rolling down my cheeks at the very real possibility that I may really be sex crazed. "Tell me your typical fantasy." I wasn't sure where to start, but hell might as well go all out. I was already embarrassed to the core. Worse case scenario, I won't come back and I'll check out one of the female psychiatrist. I took a deep breath. Then another. I looked into his eyes again, and all I could see this time was encouragement. I closed my eyes, and didn't reopen them until the end of my fantasy. "Well, the ones that I've been having lately, that are getting out of control are typically the fantasies I have that are during class. Lately, I find it hard to concentrate in class. It's starting to effect my grades. I will go to class, and I will try, try very hard to pay attention. But, an attractive classmate, or my teacher and my thoughts will go askew. I'll leave the classroom and go straight to the bathroom." "As soon as I get into the stall, I slide my pants and panties down, just as if I was going to go to the bathroom. I let my knees fall apart and slide one hand up my shirt under my bra and the other onto my clit, allowing my fingers to work their magic. Closing my eyes, I imagine that one of the boys in my class follow me into the bathroom, and watch me through the slit between the door. I always leave the door unlocked for just this specific situation to occur." "As I start to reach my climax, the boy opens the door and without a word unzips his pants, pulling out a semi hard cock. I'm in to much shock to remove my hands. Wrapping his hands in my hair, shoves his cock into my mouth and I hear the door latch click shut. I can feel his semi thick cock sliding past my lips, onto my tongue. I'm trying to pull away from him, now using my hands. He shoves my face harder against his groin, and holds me there while his partially hard cock is still in my mouth." "'Suck it bitch, or I'll make sure these pictures that I have on my phone go out to everyone.' Hoarsely whispering down to me." "Even in my fantasy, I'm wondering if they are true. With his semi-erect cock still in my mouth, I stop fighting him and start sucking his cock. I swirl my tongue around his tip and slide it down the underside of his shaft. His cock is growing, longer, thicker and harder in my mouth. I try to keep as much of it in my mouth as I can, but it will no longer fit. I try to control my gag reflex and let it slide into my throat, but it doesn't work." "My classmate laughs and wraps his second hand into the rest of my hair and pulls my face closer to his pelvis. I could feel his cock slowly making its way to the back of my throat. My throat, tried rejecting his cock with my gag reflex, but his persistent cock would not be dissuaded. I tried to relax, but he was not patient he was not waiting to do things at my pace." "I held my breath to imitate the lack of oxygen that would be flowing into my body. I fantasized about his long thick member slid further into my throat. As I start getting dizzy, I gasp for air, pretending that it's his cock leaving my hungry mouth. He shoves his cock back down my throat, and keeps working it in until my nose is buried against him. Pulling his cock out again, he pushes it all the way down my throat, but instead of pulling it all the way out again, he quickly starts pounding his member down my throat. The ecstasy of his cock sliding in and out of my mouth starts making the tingling ache grow within my vagina. I slide my hand back down between my legs and the other onto my breast to pinch at my nipples." "Seeing my hand slide down between my legs sends the boy over the edge and pulls his cock out pumping his load all over my face, onto my shirt and onto my exposed legs. Scooping up some of his semen off of my face he then sticks it into my mouth. I saver the taste and roll it around in my mouth. I climax at this point, hearing my own cum drip into the toilet." "Leaning back against the toilet, I don't feel satisfied, but I feel under control again. I feel like I can go back into class and focus, not worrying about sliding my hands down my pants in the middle of my peers. When I walk back into class, I can feel the smile on my face. The smile at a thought of a boy that had cum all over me, I wonder what kind of embarrassment there would be, but I suppose I wouldn't even notice them because I'd be to busy savoring the taste of cum in my mouth." "And that is all I can think about. Not about class, but the possibility that he will use those pictures as blackmail later and take my virginity." I can feel the throbbing ache between my legs as the slow realization of what I had just done, I had just told him something I've never shared with anyone. My panties were soaking through at the thought of how hard his cock is under that notepad as he listened intently at how I masturbate during class. I slowly open my eyes now. Not sure what to expect from him, but only to be disappointed that his pad covers his lap. Dr. Alex is whipping his pen across his note pad and finally asks me, "What do you expect to get out of these sessions?" I couldn't even look him in the eye again, as I quietly answered him, "I only want to be able to concentrate in my classes. I'm a good student. I want to be able to go back to being a good student. These dirty thoughts are to distracting. I need you to fix me, to make me normal. To make me not obsessed with sex." "Okay, well, I'm afraid that is all the time we have today. Why don't we go ahead and schedule you again for next week, same time?" "Yes, sir." I said, trying not to sound disappointed. "You can see yourself out right?" "Next week then." I said as I stood and saw myself out. Therapist Ch. 04 It is Tuesday morning. Linda has not seen George since Friday morning. He promised her then to give her a date on when he was going to come over for dinner but she never got the chance to talk to him again Friday because she got caught up in her work. When she got off Friday, she went to his department but one of his coworkers had said that he had just left for the day, moments before she got there. She didn't get to see him Monday either, again because of the extra work. She works the neonatal intensive care unit where four babies have been admitted since Friday. So, as she rides the elevator up to her work station this morning, she debates with herself on whether he has been deliberately avoiding her. She tells herself no with the thought that it is probably just work. After all, he works on the fifth floor and she works on the seventh. True too, she has been very busy the past couple of days, with four babies having been added to NICU. She tells herself that she is going to make a special effort to see him today. About nine o'clock there is a lull in the NICU so she goes to his department and asks him again if he's ready to set a date for their dinner. He is surprised to see her. He tells her to see him Wednesday that right now he has to go out to the University of New Orleans for a two day seminar on CPR. He will not be back at the hospital until Wednesday afternoon. He gives her an excuse that he just doesn't want to set a date without sitting down and discussing it with her. He leaves glad that he did not have to answer her and hoping she will just forget about it. George has no desire to run into Linda again. So when the seminar is over Wednesday afternoon, he does not check back at Ochsner; he goes straight to his home from UNO. But he is worried about returning to work Thursday. He is sure that Linda will hunt him down and corner him for a dinner date. He does not know what to do. He thinks of Donna; she would know what to do. Sitting at his kitchen table, he writes her a love letter. At seven o'clock he goes next door for his usual Wednesday game of chess with Robert Pierce. They are sitting at a table in the den playing their second game. Next to them on the table there are two glasses and two empty plates with the remains of cherry pie on them. The glass next to Robert is empty; the one next to George still has some milk in it. Robert's wife Darlene is in the kitchen. Their two daughters, Alexandria and Alisa, are in the living room watching television. "Bishop takes rook pawn, check. That's a sacrifice George. You're not going to be able to stop my attack. Your queen is out of position." "Yes, I see that," George answers him. "Looks like I've beaten you again. That's two in a row. What's wrong with you tonight? I don't think I've ever beaten you like this before in the two years we've been playing." "My mind's on something else Robert. I'm not concentrating." "No, I don't believe you are. Anything that I can help you with?" "No, it's just a slight headache. Look, I'm going to call it a night, Robert. I'll feel better next week. Then you won't be so daring with your sacrifices." "OK, George. Good night." "Good night. Tell Darlene I said thanks for the cherry pie." "I will." No, tonight isn't a night that George wants to play chess. Nor is it a night that he wants to eat that bitch's cherry pie. Tonight George has other, more important things on his mind. He has to get Linda out of his thoughts. He hates that woman. He hates all women, especially Darlene. "Women are only good for cleaning house and cooking and some of them aren't even good for that. Those kinds of bitches are only good for punishing for making his life so miserable." That's what George is thinking as he leaves Robert's house. That's why he has to go to the French Quarter and find himself another prostitute. Tonight he has to go out and find himself another whore to punish and to kill. "They didn't find the first one, the one I threw into the river last week," he says to himself as he walks across the lawn between their two houses. He wonders why no one ever found it. He thinks of his mother and questions whether or not she took it and hid it like she hid his toy dinosaurs when he was a boy. Then he remembers that she is dead and laughs. His ramblings continue, "But I won't make that mistake again. After I finish with this one I'm going to leave it on police Lieutenant Robert Pierce's front lawn. What will the bitch Darlene think about that? I wonder if she'll still want to bake a cherry pie once she seen the body? I hate that bitch." "Come here Georgie Boy, I have a surprise for you." "Please mother. Can't you see that I'm busy." "Why Robert puts up with her I'll never know. Maybe he likes fucking her. I'd fuck her. I'd fuck her with a cattle prod up her pussy. See if she likes that. I hate that woman; I hate all women. They ain't good for nothing except punishing. They ain't good for anything except killing." His thoughts are interrupted when he puts his hand into his pocket and realizes that he has left his keys on the table in his next door neighbor's house. He walks back across the lawn only to see Darlene coming out her front door with his keys in her hand. "You'll need these won't you George," she says with a warm smile. "Yeah, thanks Darlene," he smiles back. "Robert said you weren't feeling well. Can I get you something? An aspirin maybe?" "No thank you, all I need right now is some rest. I'll feel better in the morning. I'm going to bed early tonight," he lies. "OK, good night. Hope you feel better." "Good night," he answers, giving her another smile. He watches her go into her front door and then he heads for his side door around the corner and is glad he has gotten into the habit of using it instead of his front door. He has the corner house and using the side door prevents her and Robert from seeing him come and go. Two and a half years earlier Robert and Darlene Pierce moved into the house next door to George Hoover. For two of those years he has been playing chess every Wednesday evening with Robert while Darlene does whatever she does to make herself happy and their two children do their homework or watch television or something. He doesn't care what they do; he just enjoys beating Robert at chess. Robert is easy to beat. He's just a pawn pusher. But he hates that bitch. That bitch, that's how he has always referred to her in his thoughts. He hates the way she wiggles her ass when she walks, the way she talks, the way she combs her short cropped hair, the clothes she wears. He hates everything about that bitch. Her blonde hair reminds him of his mother's short cropped blonde hair, another bitch. Also, Darlene is taller than him by at least four inches, just like his mother. Why did his mother have to make him kill Donna? It was all his mother's fault. They were supposed to get married and raise a family. But she had to go and fuck everything up. She had to insist that they break up. She had to insist in having everything her way. "You're not going back to that school to fuck some whore who'll only give you some kind of disease," he hears his mother scream at him for the millionth time. "She's only a friend mother. We haven't had sex." "Don't you talk back to me, you little bastard." Oh Donna, Oh Donna. I had a girl Donna was her name. Since she left me I've never been the same, my mind is not the same. Why didn't his mother just leave them alone? Why did Donna turn out to be just another whore? "Someday," he laughingly says to himself, "I'm going to do that bitch Darlene just like I did those other whores. And my first one is still buried in her own precious flower bed along side the house." He shakes his head in disbelief, "Imagine that, my mother the bitch is buried right under Darlene's bedroom window and that bitch doesn't even know it." He gets into his car and drives toward the French Quarter so that he can get himself another whore to kill, so that he can forget about Darlene and his mother and Linda. On his way there he thinks about his mother. He wonders why no one ever questioned her disappearance. He does not care. Oh mother, Oh mother. I had a mother who I killed one day. Since I killed her I've never been the same. Cause I killed my mother. Mother where can you be? Where can you be? It is Thursday morning a few minutes before six. As he does every Thursday morning, George is putting out his garbage when he sees Robert come out his front door. The New Orleans police lieutenant seems to be in a rush. George ignores this and asks him why he is out so early. He knows that Robert rarely leaves his house before eight unless he is on a call. "Some kids found a body in the river in the back of Audubon Park. From what the attending officers tell me, it looks like she's been in the water for about a week. But that isn't the worst of it. He beat her and tortured her before he killed her. I've got to go. Talk to you later." "Yeah, I'll see you later Robert. Good luck." "Thanks I'll need it." "Is that my whore," George asks himself after the lieutenant has gone. "Is that the bitch I did last week? No, it can't be. I can't be that lucky that they've found my whore in such a short period. But then Robert said that she had been beaten before she was murdered. Oh, I hope it's my whore they found," he says ecstatically. "I'll have to ask Robert more about her when I see him again this evening." In his excitement George forgets all about the rest of his garbage and goes back inside. He goes to the punishment room where his newest victim is handcuffed by her wrists to the cable running across the ceiling. Her ankles are shackled to the ends of the three foot long wooden poll which is attached by a chain to the nearby baseboard. Theodora Haggard is naked and gagged; her torn clothing is lying in a heap in the corner. ************************************* When you get right down to it, Teddy, as all her friends call her, is really a victim of her father's hypocrisy. He is another right wing fundamentalist hypocrite who believes in American family values for everyone except himself. He is a deacon in his local church in Athens, Alabama. A little hole-in-the-wall town just west of Huntsville or Cuntsville as Teddy always calls it. She hates small town living; there is never anything to do. Her dislike of Athens increased when she was thirteen. Her father took the family to New Orleans for a vacation. They stayed on a luxurious hotel right on the river. She loved the French Quarter. Even its name is exotic, the Vieux Carre'. When the family got back off the vacation she started to read all about New Orleans and Mardi Gras on the Internet. She had never been to Mardi Gras; her father said it was debauchery and decadence at its extreme with all the fagots and drunks taking over the city. But she discovered that just as the City That Care Forgot proclaimed, it was the greatest free show on Earth. She discovered that Mardi Gras is for the young, the old, families, straights, gays, lesbians, singles; Mardi Gras is for everyone. She told herself that as soon as she got old enough to go on her own she was going to go to Mardi Gras. She couldn't wait to see the drag queen contests on Bourbon Street on Mardi Gras day. Teddy's father never beat her, her younger sister or her two brothers, one older and one younger. In fact, life at home was fairly easy. When she was in high school she didn't even have a curfew like all her friends, although her father frowned on her if she came in after midnight. The only reason she ever came in before midnight was because all her friends had curfews and she didn't like roaming around Athens or Cuntsville all by herself. Nor did her father preach his brand of politics to her other than to repeatedly warn her about not having sex outside of marriage and going with the wrong crowd. But he never did tell her what the 'wrong crowd' consisted of other than those kids who take drugs and smoke marijuana. In these two admonishments lay her father's hypocrisy. In the beginning of her senior year in high school she fell in love with Richard Chaney. They even talked of marriage after her graduation; he had graduated the year before. Although she hated Athens, she resigned herself to stay there with him and help him manage his father's local feed and hardware store. Richard's father, looking towards retirement, told Richard that he would give the store to his only child when he got married. His father was 62 but married to a woman 25 years his junior. Then just two weeks before her graduation Teddy's father was arrested for indecent exposure; a state policeman caught him having sex with a young man in the back of the family van. The two of them were parked along the side of Interstate 65. The policeman handcuffed them both, brought them to jail and had the van towed to the police station. A search of the van produced four bags of marijuana and some drug paraphernalia. The charge was increased to include possession with intent to distribute. A urine test proved positive for drugs. The local district attorney also wanted to charge him with driving while under the influence of a controlled substance but her father's lawyer got that charge thrown out since he wasn't driving at the time of his arrest. He also got the intent to distribute charge dropped. But that didn't help her father's reputation one bit. The Huntsville and the local newspapers had a field day with the story. Richard's father -- a strict conservative himself -- told his son that he would not allow the daughter of a 'godless queer,' as he called Teddy's father, to inherit his feed and hardware store; he even refused to allow her to come into his store. He told Richard that he had to choose between marrying Teddy and inheriting the store. Richard chose the store. It broke her heart. Her father broke her heart. The day after graduation she loaded her clothes and her few possessions in the back of her Jeep Cherokee and headed for New Orleans. After two months her savings ran out and she turned to prostitution in order to pay her bills. Although she got arrested once for prostitution and had to pay a fine, she was making money and doing pretty good. For three years she enjoyed Mardi Gras and the sights of New Orleans. She fell in love with Professor Longhair's song, Go To The Mardi Gras. Then she met George. ************************************* Teddy's feet are shackled to the ends of a three foot long wooden poll. The poll is attached to a chain that is bolted to an eyebolt in the baseboard in the near wall. She is handcuffed at the wrists. The cuffs are looped through a large D ring which is attached to a cable. The cable is run through an eyebolt in the ceiling above her head and then across the room through a second eyebolt. From there the cable runs down the wall and is attached to the baseboard near the closet door. Thus, just by loosing the chain attached to the wooden poll and then pulling on the cable, George can raise the woman he has chained up in the punishment room, or he can lower her and take the slack out of the chain, leaving her stretched across the floor and unable to move. Teddy has been lying naked on the floor stretched out since George brought her here the previous evening, powerless to do anything except struggle against the cable and shackles. When he enters the room she lets out a muffled scream. He ignores her. He loosens the chain, walks over to the closet and pulls on the cable that is running across the ceiling, forcing her to stand up. He continues to pull on the cable until only her toes are touching the wooden floor. He hooks the cable in place. He walks over to her and grabs her by the hair, staring blankly into her face. She looks back at him bewildered and imploringly. He punches her hard in the stomach several times. She squeezes her eyes shut, groans and gags, nearly vomiting. Then he goes to the other side of the room and picks up the new leather whip. He beats her with it. She grimaces in pain and tries to turn away from the blows. But the shackles and cable prevent her from escaping his torment. He hits her again and again until she surrenders and hangs motionless and crying. All the while he is beating her he curses his mother and Donna. He curses his mother for taking his precious Donna away from him and he curses Donna for being a whore. Oh Donna, Oh mother. I had a mother Donna wasn't her name. Since she left me my mind's not the same. Cause I love my mother. Mother where have you gone? Donna where have you gone? When he finally stops whipping Teddy, there are deep red welts all over her naked body, on her back, her buttocks, her legs, her arms, her breasts, her sides, her stomach and her vagina; several of them are bleeding. He throws the whip across the room and inspects the prostitute's wounds. Then he picks up the ten inch piece of broomstick that he left on the floor and rams hard it into her vagina. The pain brings a muffled cry from deep within her throat. He pulls it out until only the tip is still within her and then he rams it hard back into her again. He watches her squirm in pain. Again and again he rapes her with the wooden dildo, ignoring her muffled cries. He continues torturing and raping her until his arm is tired. Then he backs away from her, dropping the broomstick on the floor in front of her. He hears his mother calling him, "Come here you little bastard." He is suddenly filled with fear. He knows that his mother will 'cut it off' if she catches him with the naked prostitute. He calls to Donna to help him. "I'm here George. Don't worry; I won't let the Snake hurt you anymore." The prostitute moans weakly and George inspects her wounds again. "You'll live," he tells her. Then he leaves the room and goes into the kitchen to fix himself some breakfast. He wonders whether or not he should cook up a bowl of oatmeal for the whore. He decides against it. She won't be alive long enough to enjoy it. He fries himself some eggs and sausage. When he finishes he carefully puts the dirty dishes in the sink and goes to work. He is a physical therapist at Ochsner Hospital. It does not take him long to get to work; it is only about a fifteen or twenty minute drive from Airline Park where he lives. He enjoys helping people learn how to reuse their limbs after an accident. It gives him a sense of accomplishment to see them succeed, to see them walking again or writing again. George believes his job would be perfect if it were not for that bitch Linda. He hates that nurse. She's a few years younger than him. He's not sure but he believes she has only been employed about six weeks. But she is always putting her ugly nose into everybody's business, especially his business. Why she doesn't leave him alone he does not know. "If that bitch doesn't leave me alone and keep her nose out of my business, I'm going to kill her too," he says to himself as he pulls into the employee parking garage. About midmorning Linda goes to his department to ask him if he would like to join her for lunch. She wants to find out if he is avoiding a dinner date with her or is it her imagination. George asks her where she would like to go to eat. He is hoping that maybe she will forget about asking him over to her house for dinner if he goes to lunch with her. She tells him that anywhere is OK and he suggests that they go to a nearby fast food restaurant. She agrees and they have lunch together. At lunch she tells him that she has been divorced for about two years and is looking to fill a void in her life. She tells him that she hasn't dated since her divorce; George ignores the hint. Therapist Ch. 04 When the conversation turns to a dinner date with her, he tells her that he has something important, something personal, to do this evening but to see him Friday. He then apologizes to her for not setting a date for dinner with her. He lies to her, telling her that he wants to go to dinner with her but that he has a personal project that he has been working on and it takes up most of his free time. He does not know what else to say. He silently hopes his mother does not find out about the lie he just told. Linda takes his excuse as a sign that he is interested in her. But he hates her. He wishes she would just leave him alone. When he gets home he immediately goes to the punishment room to see his newest victim. When he enters the room Teddy looks at him with hate in her eyes. The broomstick is on the floor in front of her. He picks it up and smacks her hard on her vagina with it. She pulls on the cable and tries to get loose, but the cable prevents much movement. He punches her in the face, splitting her lower lip open. Some of her blood is on his knuckles. "You whore," he yells at her. "You'll pay for that." Then he picks up the whip and shows it to her. She shakes her head in horror and muffles a scream. The first whack wraps around her back and engulfs her right breast. She lets out another muffled scream. He continues to beat her until she stops trying to escape the blows. She just hangs and grimaces each time he hits her with the whip. She is exhausted and breathing weakly. She is so weak that can barley raise her head. Her body is streaked with sweat and blood. He leaves the room and comes back with a butane candle lighter and a metal pie pan full of metal letters of the alphabet. He puts the pan on the floor in front of her and picks up a W with a pair of pliers and begins to heat it with the candle lighter. At first she does not understand what he is doing. But as the letter turns orange and then red, she realizes what he is going to do and she cries out in another muffled scream. He ignores her. She looks at him in horror and her eyes beg him for mercy. "You're a whore and I'm going to let the whole world know it, you bitch," he says to her. Then he presses the red hot W to her right breast just above her nipple. She screams as loud as the gag will allow her. Then she cries uncontrollably. He tells her to shut up but she will not stop crying. He punches her in the face, breaking her nose. She hangs her head down and watches her own blood drip onto the floor. He picks up an E with the pliers and brands her with it right above the left nipple. She has quit crying but screams a muffled scream when he brands her with another letter. She is too weak to do anything except hang from the shackles. She can only hang there and hope for mercy. Next he burns an O directly in the middle of her chest. She only grimaces from the pain. Then he evenly spaces an H and an R between the other letters, spelling the word WHORE across her chest. Again, she grimaces each time he brands her. When he is finished branding her, he takes off his clothes, sits on the floor in front of her and masturbates. She watches him mix his semen with her blood on the floor. He stirs the blood and the semen with his first finger, thinking of his mother. "You can't hurt me any more mom. I've branded you. Now the whole world will know that you nothing but a bitch. I hate you mom." "I ought to cut it off." "Please don't cut my penis off mommy. I won't do that dirty thing you told me not to do. I promise." "Your dick isn't big enough to fuck anyone." "Please don't take Donna from me mother. I'll be a good boy I promise." He looks up at the prostitute. Her eyes are closed. He stands up and lifts her chin. She momentarily opens her eyes. She is breathing weakly. He goes to the bathroom, washes his face and then goes to the kitchen to fix supper for himself. After he finishes eating, he dresses and goes next door to see if Darlene has any cherry pie left from last night. But his real reason for going next door is to see if he can get any more information about the body found in Audubon Park this morning. Darlene invites him inside. Alexandria is practicing her music lessons on the piano; Alisa appears to be doing homework on the computer in the den. While he is waiting, he asks Robert about the body. The Lieutenant tells him that they do not know much about the woman only that she was tortured before she was murdered. George asks him how he knew that and Robert tells him that there are marks around her wrists and ankles, indicating that she was bound, and that there are whipping scars and bruises all over her body. He also says that from the marks and bruises on her vagina he believes she was attacked sexually but he'll have to wait for the coroner's report before he can be more definitive. Then Robert tells George that the most identifying mark on the victim is that she is branded across the chest with the word WHORE. George closes his eyes and winces in mock horror at hearing this. But inwardly he is elated that they found his body, his prostitute. He can hardly wait to get back to his house and his new victim. Robert tells him that for evidence reasons he cannot tell him much. What he told him so far the news media already knows. George says that he understands. As soon as Darlene brings the pie he thanks her and leaves. George puts the pie on the kitchen table and immediately goes to the punishment room. He takes off his clothes and again begins to masturbate in front of the prostitute. As he masturbates he picks up the broom stick and plunges it into her anus. She moans quietly in agony. He continues raping her and masturbating until he has an orgasm, squirting his sperm onto her buttocks. He picks up her blouse from the corner and wipes his semen off her. He continues to rape her with the broom stick. When he is satisfied he removes the dildo from her; it is smeared with blood and feces. He drops it at her feet. He walks over to the closet and unhooks the cable and lowers her to the floor. He takes the slack out of the chain, leaving her lying on her back with her arms stretched toward the ceiling. He leaves the room with her crying softly and groaning in agony. After he washes his face in the kitchen sink, he eats his cherry pie with a glass of milk. He is still naked. He watches a rebroadcast of the evening news. But the newscaster barely mentions the whore, saying only that a nude young woman was found behind Audubon Park. George gets very angry that they did not devote much time to his prostitute. He goes naked to the punishment room and beats the prostitute with the whip until he is exhausted. While he beats her, he curses his mother for fucking up his life. Then he showers and goes to his bedroom to write a letter to Donna. When he finishes he goes to bed in the nude. Friday morning he comes into the room to check on his prostitute. She is lying on her back on the floor, not moving. George wonders if she is dead or alive. He walks over to her and kicks her in the side. She squeezes her eye lids tight and grimaces in pain. "Time to wake up to your morning punishment my little whore," he tells her. Then he walks across the room and picks up the whip and beats her with it. He hits her until he is exhausted. Her stomach, vagina, thighs and breasts are crimson with fresh welts and blood. She has endured her torment in silence. He throws the whip across the room and picks up the broomstick. He plunges it into her vagina and repeatedly rapes her with it. She grunts in agony with each thrust into her. When she faints from the pain he stops. He walks out of the room, leaving the dildo sticking out of her vagina. When he gets to the door he looks back at her and sneers. "Fucking whore, I'll finish you tonight," he says in disgust. Then he leaves for work. While driving to work he calls Donna on his cell phone. He asks her if she would like to come over to his house for dinner and a movie. After, they can go together for a yogurt. His "phone call" is interrupted by the driver behind him honking his horn at George for failing to move forward when the light turns green. As he pulls into the employee parking garage at the hospital, Linda welcomes him with a smile. He smiles back at her and politely asks her how her evening went. He is half hoping she will ask him how his evening went so that he can tell her about how he punished his whore. Then he could invite her into his house so that he could beat her too. She tells him that she spent the evening alone watching a boring movie. She mentions that it would not have been boring if she had someone to share it with. He ignores her subtle invitation. She also tells him that she is having pork roast and mashed potatoes for dinner tonight, his favorite. She asks him if he would like to join her. He tries to beg off as he has something he wants to do this evening. But she reminds him that he already begged off dinner before on his favorite meal and that she would hate to see the pork roast go to waste. George feels trapped. He doesn't want to go to her house for dinner. He wants to beat his prostitute. He hates Linda. Why she won't leave him alone he does not know? He reluctantly agrees to have dinner with her this evening. She gives him the address, telling him to come for about seven and to bring a bottle of wine. He spends the morning worrying about the dinner engagement. About eleven o'clock he goes home sick. He immediately goes to the punishment room but he is too sick to beat his prostitute. He goes to bed and sleeps until five. He gets up and showers, letting the water spray on him till it turns cold. He slowly gets dressed and leaves for Linda's. But first he drives around the city for over an hour, stopping only to pick up a bottle of rose'. When he arrives she greets him at the door wearing a beige satin tank top and matching bolero skirt. Her feet are bare and she is braless. George can just barely see her nipples through the thin material. The sight excites him and there is a stirring in his groin. He wonders if she has any panties on as he hands her a bottle of rose' wine; it is already cold. He tells her he purchased it cold. Linda gets some glasses and they each have a glass of wine before eating. She tells him that she just put the string beans on and it will take about five minutes before they are ready. The roast and potatoes are keeping warm in the oven. They are sitting on the sofa in her living room. George is very uncomfortable; this is the first date he has been on since Donna. But he does not let his emotions show. He tells her what a lovely apartment she has. She offers to show him the rest of it while the beans warm. He declines; he has no desire to see her bedroom. She tells him that he can see it after dinner. She then gets up to check on the beans. She returns and announces in a very sexy voice that dinner is ready. Dinner passes in small talk about the ups and downs of life in the hospital. George tells her that he has been working at Ochsner since he got out of college; it is the only job he has ever had. He also tells her that she is a good cook, that the pork roast is cooked just the way he likes it. Linda reminds him that he gave her the receipt. To be polite he tells her that she fixed it better than he does. She thanks him and smiles. He smiles back; he does not know what else to do. After dinner Linda suggests they relax on the sofa. She pours them each another glass of wine and then offers a toast to their future. He smiles at her and looks into her eyes. He suddenly notices that they are the same as Donna's. "To our future," he says. She moves closer to him and momentarily glances down at her breasts. Then she looks up into his eyes. She smiles and leans slightly forward, trying to give him a better view of her cleavage. She wants him to kiss her. She wants him to spend the night with her making love. He does not move. Before he can say anything she excuses herself and goes into her bedroom. George suspects that she is putting a spermatocide or some other type of contraceptive into her pussy. 'She's nothing but a whore,' he says to himself. He hates her. Donna was a whore. Why did she have to come between him and his mother? It was Donna's fault that he had to kill his mother. He wouldn't have murdered his mother if it weren't for Donna. Oh mother, Oh mother. I had mother Donna took her from me. Since I killed her my mind's not the same. Cause I loved my mother. Mother where can you be? Where can you be? When she returns he apologetically says, "Linda, I want us to go slow. I don't want to rush into anything, something we both might later regret. I like you and I don't want to hurt you. Before we go further, I want to make sure that we are right for each other." His lies hide his real reason for refusing her advances. He doesn't want to get involved with someone who will only later break his heart. He doesn't want to fall in love with somebody who will only turn out to be just another whore. He doesn't want another Donna. Linda says that she understands and she agrees with him. She tells him that she is just getting over a tough divorce and that she too doesn't want to get hurt in a romance. Although secretly she doesn't believe what he says. She speculates as to what his motives are for not dating anyone, for not wanting to have sex with her. She gave him enough hints. She wonders whether or not he is a closet homosexual. After about thirty minutes spent in small talk, George excuses himself and goes home; it is just after nine o'clock. He ignores Linda's hint and does not kiss her good night, which only increases her bewilderment towards him. When he arrives home he immediately goes to the punishment room. She is lying on her back and the broomstick is still sticking out of her vagina. He pulls it out and hits her stomach, groin and thighs several times with it, crying all the while for Donna to help him. He wipes the blood off the dildo onto her stomach before throwing it across the room. Then he picks up the whip and again beats her with it. She endures the torture in silence, only occasionally grimacing and whimpering. She is too weak to do anything else. Each time he hits the prostitute with the whip he curses his mother. When he is too exhausted to continue, he picks up one of her stockings and wraps it tightly around her neck. As soon as she chokes to death he unshackles her but leaves the gag on her mouth. Then he drags her by the stocking around her neck into his garage. He throws her lifeless body into the trunk of his car. Next he drives to the Lower Ninth Ward near the Industrial Canal and dumps her body in vacant lot where she can be easily found. He throws her clothing in a dumpster a few blocks away. Then he goes home and writes a love letter to Donna before going to bed in the nude. The body isn't found until early Sunday morning when it is noticed by a jogger. Mardi Gras is just around the corner. Therapist Ch. 05 It is early Sunday morning. The ringing phone wakes Lieutenant Pierce from a beautiful dream. A dream in which he was eating the most delicious peach cobbler topped with pure vanilla ice cream he has ever eaten. He looks at his bedside clock; it is a few minutes before six. He groans. Before he answers it he halfheartedly hopes that it is a wrong number, so that he can have whoever it is arrested for disturbing his peace at this ungodly hour. “Hello,” he mumbles into the receiver. A pause while he listens. “Where at?” he asks. Another pause. “OK, I’ll be there as soon as possible. I’m just getting out of bed now so it’ll take me a few minutes to get there. Meantime, don’t let anyone fuck with the scene.” He starts to hang up but brings the receiver back to his ear. He listens. “Yeah, call Olivia. Tell her I said to meet me there. She’s going to give you some flack about her vacation starting. But tell her I said her vacation doesn’t officially start till tomorrow morning and I want her there. I need her.” Then he hangs up the phone and falls back into the pillow with a sigh. He is lying on his back; his wife is on his right. “What is it?” Darlene asks although she knows the answer. She is leaning up on her left elbow. She touches his hair at his forehead and plays with a lock of it with her fingers. “They’ve found another victim; this one’s in the Lower Ninth Ward. She’s branded just like the one found in Audubon Park last week. I’ve got to get there. If Olivia calls tell her I said that I want her there because I need her. She’s good at protecting the evidence.” He throws the covers off himself, sits up and looks at his wife. He lifts her sheer pink neglige with his left hand and looks at her supple breasts, then down to her pubic mound. He cups her right breast and gently squeezes it. He flicks her nipple with his thumb. Then he leans over and pecks her on the mouth. He heads for the bathroom; he is naked. Darlene watches him walk across the room. She smiles and touches her right nipple. He is middle aged but still has a great physique, every inch of him. Darlene gathers the discarded sheet around herself, covering herself. She knows that he threw the covers off her just so that he could look at her, to see her pussy hair. She smiles at the thought. She is wearing only the top to a sheer neglige tied with a bow at the neck; the bottom having been removed by Robert the night before while they were making love. “Want me to fix you some breakfast first honey?” Darlene calls to him. “I haven’t got the time Babe. Tell you what though. Put a couple of chocolate chip Pop Tarts in the toaster for me and fill my mini-thermos with milk.” “That’s no kind of breakfast,” she complains. He returns to the bedroom. He is running his portable electric shaver over his chin as he opens his dresser drawer and pulls out a pair of jockeys. “Yeah, well I ain’t got time for anything else. So be a doll and fix it for me, will you?” Then he begins to get dressed. Within ten minutes he is out the front door, juggling his thermos and Pop Tarts in his right hand while he slips his left arm through his jacket. Lieutenant Pierce uses his police siren and he is at the scene in another fifteen minutes. He parks his car near the vacant lot and downs the last of the milk in his thermos. He gets out of his car and looks around. He sees that his African American partner Olivia Martinique has still not arrived. He doesn’t really expect her to show up; she’s supposed to be going on vacation to Florida with her family. He vainly hopes that she hasn’t left yet. As he approaches the scene he notices that there are already two television news teams and a reporter from the Times Picayune at the scene. There is also a small crowd of spectators standing across the street. Some are in the street, a little too close to the scene as far as he is concerned. A petite auburn haired girl, wearing a UNO sweatshirt and short jogging pants, is talking to a police officer. The officer is taking notes of what the young woman is saying. Lt. Pierce notes that she has great looking legs and a nice curve to her ass cheeks. He assumes that she is the person who found the victim. He will talk to her later. The petite blonde reporter from WDSU-TV, the one he thinks has sexy looking lips, recognizes him from last week’s victim. She approaches him and sticks a microphone into his face. “Can you tell us anything Lieutenant? Someone said that the victim was branded across the chest just like the one found in Audubon Park last week. Is that true?” she asks him. “I don’t know; I’ve just got here.” Then to a uniformed police officer standing nearby he says, “Could you keep those spectators back? We don’t want anyone mucking up the evidence.” Then he starts to walk toward the body but is again stopped by a reporter. It is the tall black female reporter from WWL-TV. “Was she tortured? Was she sexually assaulted?” she asks. “I’ve got no comment at this time,” he says as he continues to walk toward the crime scene. Then he stops and turns around to face the three reporters. “Look, I’ll make a statement later. Right now I need to inspect the scene, the body and everything. I know y’all have a job to do but so do I. Please don’t come any closer. I don’t want anyone screwing up the integrity of the evidence. So, if y’all will excuse me.” He turns back around and slips under the yellow tape surrounding the scene. “Looks like we do have a serial killer on our hands Lieutenant,” a white female officer says to Lt. Pierce as he approaches closer to the body. “What makes you say that?” he inquires. “She’s branded just like the one found last week in Audubon Park. The word WHORE is burned across her chest just like the other one.” “Let’s not jump to any wild conclusions,” he tells her. “This one might be a copycat. Let’s hope so anyway. Mardi Gras is just a few weeks away and New Orleans doesn’t need a serial killer on the loose at this time of year.” As he stands over the nude woman Robert does what he always does at a homicide scene. He says a silent prayer for the victim. Praying for the victim is something Robert has done ever since he became a homicide detective, ever since his first case. ****************************************** It was eleven years ago, a Monday morning and the day after Christmas. Robert had transferred into the department a few weeks prior, just after making sergeant. Everyone was on vacation except him and David, a Jewish detective who had just come back from spending Hanukah with some relatives in Pittsburg. Someone had to pull the shift and partner with David and Robert was low man on the totem pole. So he had to work. About midmorning a call came in to the department; a domestic dispute had turned sour . . . real sour. A man had beat his girlfriend with the butt of a 12 gauge shotgun and then shot her, once in the chest and once in the head. Then he turned the gun on himself. She was lying on the kitchen floor. Her chest was a mass of blood. Her face was completely obliterated. He was sitting on the sofa. He had obviously put the barrel of the gun in his mouth before pulling the trigger. The top of his head was missing; there was blood and brain tissue on the wall behind him. There was blood, overturned and broken furniture in both the kitchen and the living room. The small Christmas tree was knocked over with presents and wrapping paper thrown all around the living room. The queen size bed had been shoved up against the wall and the mattress was askew from the box spring. A bedside lamp was lying on the floor, broken. Even the bathroom mirror was broken with fresh blood on it. Robert had never seen such carnage in his whole life. It looked as though he must have chased his girlfriend around the small one bedroom apartment before he killed her. There was one long empty box lying on the floor next to the sofa. It was obvious that the shotgun had been in it Christmas morning. There was a card lying next to the box with a note, ‘for you baby when you go duck hunting.’ Robert was holding his own until he saw the note. But with the realization that she had given him the instrument of her own death for a Christmas present, Robert broke down. He was a veteran police officer, had seen hundreds of deaths by accident, murder, suicide, you name it. But none of them affected him the way this case did. He quietly excused himself, told David he would be right back and went to his car and just sat for about ten minutes. He didn’t cry; he just grieved. He grieved for her and for every victim he had ever encountered. Before he went back inside he said a silent prayer for her. He’s done the same for every case he has been on since then. Then he gets to work. ****************************************** He takes out his note pad writes that the victim is lying on her back with her head turned to her right. Her right arm is twisted and her right hand is under her, in the small of her back. Her left arm is across her stomach. Just as if she were sleeping. But her legs are splayed wide open almost as if the killer wanted everyone to see her vagina. He wonders if this was on purpose or if she just ended up that way when he dumped her here. The legs of last week’s victim were closed by the waves washing up against the body. He guesses that opening this one’s legs wide was a purposeful act. He looks for finger prints in the blood stains on her legs, ankles and feet. He doesn’t see any and makes a note to tell the coroner to check for some. He stoops down and studies the nude body. He particularly studies the word WHORE branded just above her breasts. The first thing Lt. Pierce looks at as he inspects the victim is the letter H. He is looking to see if it too has a slight bend in one of the legs, just like the first victim. He tells no one what he is looking for. It is a piece of evidence that only he, his partner Olivia and the coroner know about. The bend is there and Lt. Pierce comes to the same conclusion as the female officer. There is a serial killer on the loose in New Orleans. He shakes his head in disbelief. Then he examines her left wrist and her ankles. They too are scarred. There are welt marks and bruises all over her body, just like the one found last week. He does not want to turn the body over just yet. He assumes that her right wrist is also scared. He can see that she was punched in the face several times; her lower lip is split and her nose is broken. He left cheek is bruised. Robert writes in his pad that the assailant is probably right handed. He can also see that she has been sexually assaulted. There are several contusions on her vagina. He assumes that there are also bruises on her buttocks. He wonders if she too was ravished with a wooden object. Another piece of evidence that only he, Olivia and the coroner know about. The coroner said it was probably a broomstick but he couldn’t be sure. Her clothes are nowhere in sight. There is only a black stocking tied tightly around her neck and a gag on her mouth. He gets up from the body and starts to search the tall grass around the body for tire marks. He does not find any. He tells the police photographer to make sure she gets some close up photos of the word WHORE branded on the victim’s chest as well as some close ups of her wrists and ankles. He approaches the young female officer who spoke to him earlier; she is standing on the sidewalk. “Has anyone found her clothes,” he asks her. His depression over the vicious murder is evident, both in his voice and in his demeanor. “No sir.” She smiles at her superior officer in an attempt to somewhat brighten his gloomy mood. Robert guesses that she is in her late twenties or early thirties. She has a dimple on her right cheek that makes her smile look genuine. Robert also notices that she has a nice round ass. He looks back toward the victim ignoring his own thoughts. He knows that Darlene does not mind him looking at other women. She knows that he keeps his “wondering” to merely looking at them; he loves Darlene to too much to get involved with another woman. Then he looks back at the young officer. “OK, I want you to get a couple of officers and I want every dumpster and garbage can within a three block radius searched for her clothing. Who knows maybe we’ll get lucky.” “That’s a lot of dumpsters and cans. It’ll probably take us all day,” she answers him. “I don’t care if it takes you all day and half the night. I want those dumpsters searched. Now get some more officers and get on it,” he orders her. “Yes sir,” she replies. Her smile is gone. He looks back at the body again and then to another police officer standing nearby. “Who found her?” he asks him. “That college kid over there who was talking to O’Malley a few minutes ago,” he answers and points to the petite auburn haired girl. Lt. Pierce notices that she also has nice supple breasts, just like Darlene’s. “Thanks.” Then he walks over to the young coed. She is leaning against a police car across the street from the scene. “You found her?” “Yes sir. I was out jogging with my dog and noticed her.” The lieutenant looks from the student to the back of the lot where the dead woman is lying. “She’s lying in the tall grass way back there in the back of the lot and you saw her from the street? How’d you do that?” “I just saw her. What’s wrong with that?” “Look kid, I can’t see her from here in that tall grass and I’m a good four inches taller than you. Now tell me how you found her or I’m going to start thinking you got something to hide. I’m going to start thinking that maybe you did something to the body.” The young coed looks down at her feet and tugs on her dog’s leash. She frowns. “My dog got away from me and I had to chase him. Hey! It wasn’t my fault. I stopped him as soon as I could.” “Stopped him. What do you mean?” The lieutenant asks her. “He was licking her face. I’m sorry; it wasn’t my fault. I pulled him away as soon as I got there.” “That’s OK. Where on her face did the dog lick her?” “I don’t know, just her face that’s all.” “Don’t worry about it. Did you tell that to the policeman who took your statement?” “No,” she answers him. “Go give that information to him right now. Tell him I said to put that in his report. And don’t worry about it. The only thing you have to worry about is if you’re hiding something from me. You’re not are you?” “No sir.” Robert then gives the petite woman his card and tells her that if she happens to remember anything else to please give him a call. He tells her that she did the right thing. Next he calls the coroner to give him the bad news. He informs him that this latest victim has the bent leg in the letter H, just like the first victim. He also tells the coroner about the dog licking the victim’s face and about checking the blood stains on the victim’s ankles and feet for possible prints. They discuss the possibility of other victims who haven’t been found, in the Spillway, the bayous, the lake. He makes a note to call the surrounding parishes to see if they have any unsolved murders with similar Modus Operandi. He lists them in his note pad so that he won’t miss calling them, St. Bernard, Plaquemines, Jefferson, Lafourche, St. Charles, St. James, St. John, Ascension, Livingston, Tangipahoa and St. Tammany. Finally he calls his partner on her cell phone. Before she answers he pictures her thirty-seven-year-old perfectly shaped ass in his mind. He smiles. When she says hello he asks her why she has not reported to the crime scene; although by now he knows the answer. She tells him she cannot come. She’s in Orlando getting ready to order breakfast before going to Disney World with her family. He jokingly asks her if she would cut her vacation short and return to work tomorrow; he knows she can’t. She says that she would gladly do it but then her breakfast would get cold. He tells her that he understands and for her to enjoy her vacation. He will fill her in when she gets back next week. Before she hangs up, Olivia tells him to get Lt. Gerald Falwell to help him out. She reminds him that Lt. Falwell is a homosexual and has got a great looking ass. Lt. Pierce is amused at her witticism and tries to tell her that Lt. Falwell is not his type but she has already hung up. He smiles at the knowledge that she knows that he thinks she has a beautifully shaped ass, almost as beautiful as Darlene’s ass. He spends the rest of the morning gathering evidence from the scene and overseeing the preparation of the body for shipment to the coroner’s morgue. He makes sure that the victim’s hands and ankles are securely bagged for protection. He is pretty sure that there won’t be any skin under her fingernails but he figures it may be another long shot that might not prove fruitless. He gives the news reporters a statement that does not tell them anything they don’t already know. The cute reporter from WDSU again asks him if the word WHORE is burned into her chest. He reluctantly affirms it but tells her not to draw any conclusions as it may be just a copycat murder. A report from the white female officer later in the afternoon produces no clothing. He wonders how thoroughly a search she and the other officers actually performed. But he immediately dismisses his thoughts, as it was a long shot anyway. He didn’t expect her to find any clothing. By late Sunday afternoon he is exhausted. He meets with the coroner. The coroner’s preliminary report confirms his suspicions that the victim was sexually ravished with a wooden object. He also finds out that both this victim and the one from last week were prostitutes. He knows that he’ll have to visit the French Quarter and several other places that the local ladies of the night frequent; a task he does not relish. He’ll do that tonight after dinner and a hot bath at home. Just before Lt. Pierce pulls into his driveway he notices George is putting the finishing touches on washing and waxing his own car. Robert walks across their lawns and around to the side of George’s house. George looks up, “Hey Robert, what can I do for you?” “Nothing much. I’ve been gone all day.” “Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” George lies. “I didn’t see your car parked in front of your house but I thought it was in your garage.” He has been watching the lieutenant’s house all afternoon, ever since he heard about the latest murder victim’s discovery in the Lower Ninth Ward earlier this morning on the news. He even parked his car strategically before he started to wash it so that he could see anyone arriving or leaving Robert’s house. Lt. Pierce never leaves his house on Sunday morning except to go to church or unless it’s for official police work. Since he is one of the chief detectives in homicide, George can only assume that he has been at the scene of a murder. He hopes that it is his prostitute that Lt. Pierce has been investigating. “Just thought you’d like to know, there’s been another murder victim, another prostitute tortured, sexually assaulted, and branded. You seemed interested in the first one the other day. I thought I’d fill you in on the second one.” “Oh, I wasn’t interested,” he lies again. “I was just . . . you know, curious. But the other day you didn’t tell me she was a whore. How can you tell that just by looking at a corpse?” George is attempting to obtain as much information as possible without raising any suspicions. Lt. Pierce ignores the degrading remark. “You can’t. We got her prints and ran them. She was arrested once for prostitution, paid a fine and that was it. The coroner was finally able to lift some prints from the first victim the other day. We ran them too. She was arrested nine months ago for prostitution and possession of marijuana. That case was still pending when she was murdered.” Therapist Ch. 05 “Drugs and sex will get you to an evil end every time,” George laments, shaking his head. “I don’t understand people. Don’t they know any better?” He contemplates branding his next victim with the word DRUGS on her back or possibly on her ass. “Apparently not. Look George, I’d like to stay and talk some more, but I’ve got to get something to eat and a hot bath. I still have to interview countless prostitutes later this evening to find out if any of them have seen anything. I’ll see you Wednesday for chess. OK?” “Yeah, Wednesday. See you then.” George is ecstatic with joy that they have found his prostitute. He quickly puts away the hose and the car washing and waxing paraphernalia. He does not bother pulling the car into the garage; he is too excited. He immediately goes to the punishment room, removes all his clothes and masturbates, letting his sperm mingle with the dried blood on the floor. After, he curls up into the fetal position and falls asleep. When he awakes it is late at night. He sits for several minutes contemplating his next victim and what he will do to her, how he will make her pay for ruining her life . . . his life. He curses his mother for fucking up his life. He curses Donna for being a whore. He curses Linda for intruding in on his life. He hates them all. Then he gets up, showers and considers writing another letter to Donna. He decides against it; she is nothing but a whore. He goes to bed naked. When the lieutenant gets inside Darlene greets him with a hug and a kiss. She knows that he has had a hard day with the investigation and she knows just the thing to help him relax after a day of investigating a brutal murder. She puts her arms around his neck and presses her body up against his. She gives him a sexy, seductive smile. She is unaware that he has to go out again this evening to interview potential witnesses. “Alexandria is at the movies with some friends. She won’t be home until after ten and Alisa is at a friend’s house working on a science project. I don’t have to pick her up until after nine. That gives us several hours to fool around. So, how about you and me jumping in the shower together and then I can give you a nice sexy massage?” He kisses her again and squeezes her left buttocks with his hand. He knows that she has something on her mind besides the shower and massage. He rubs her ass and smacks it lightly. “Now I know why I married you. You know just how and when to turn me on.” He smiles at her. “That shower and massage sounds great. But I’ll have to take a rain check on them. I have to go out again.” “Oh why?” she asks pouting, keeping her arms around his neck. “The woman was a prostitute and I have to go out and see if I can find any prostitutes who may have seen something. I just came home long enough to get a quick shower and a change of clothes. Now be a doll and fix me a couple of ham sandwiches. OK?” “Can’t you get someone else to do it? I was looking forward to an intimate evening with just the two of us.” “No, I’m the lead detective. I’ve got to do it. It’s my job. Besides, we had sex last night and if I remember correctly you enjoyed it immensely.” “Last night just got me warmed up. I want some more of you. What time do you think you’ll be home?” She says to him in a seductive voice as she rubs his crotch. She is hoping that he will get home early enough so that they can fuck. “I have to interview prostitutes, Babe. They do most of their business late at night. I won’t be home until late, so don’t wait up for me.” “Ok, but you’re mine tomorrow night lover boy.” Then she pecks him on the lips. “Sure thing Babe,” he answers her. Then he smacks her on the ass again as she turns and heads for the kitchen. She seductively looks over her shoulder at him, smiles and rubs her cheek where he hit her. As he walks across the living room toward the hallway, the little Spanish reporter from WDSU-TV is on the television talking about the murder. She has already classified it as a serial killing and has called him simply “The Rapist.” It is a name that will stick like Jack the Ripper, the Son of Sam and the Boston Strangler. It is a name that Robert will soon grow to hate. Therapist Ch. 06 Monday morning George arrives to work early. He wants to avoid running into Linda. He figures that if he can avoid meeting her in the employee parking garage then maybe she won't ask him to dinner again. Maybe she won't try to have sex with him again. Besides, he does not want to have to answer any of her questions about their diner together Friday night. He is hoping that his telling her that he did not want to rush into anything is enough to make her keep her distance. But he has not figured in her resolve to get the man she wants. She decided Friday that she will just have to take it a little bit slower. When she arrives a few minutes after he does and discovers that he is already checked in, she goes to his department. She finds him straightening out some cushioned pads. "Hi George," she greets him with a smile, "I haven't got too much time. I have to check in upstairs and all. But I wanted to thank you again for Friday night. I had a wonderful time. Also, I totally agree with you. I don't want to rush into anything. I don't want us to do something we both might later regret." "I was only thinking of you Linda," he lies. "I want . . ." "Yes I know George," she interrupts him, "And I'm grateful for that. I think that it is better if we slow down. Take things a little slower. I know that I've been pushing you for a dinner date and maybe I should not be so assertive. I'm sorry; please forgive me?" "OK Linda. That's OK. Why don't we just see each other for lunch for the time being? I would enjoy having lunch with you." George figures that he is safe if the only thing they do is have an occasional lunch together. At least she won't be pressuring him to have sex if they're at lunch together. He has stopped worrying about the lies he constantly tells her. At first they bothered him. When he was a boy his mother taught him never to tell a lie. But now he excuses his lies to her because his mother told him the other night, just before he went to bed, that it is OK to lie to a whore. She told him that only virgins were worthy of the truth. Lunch with George is just want Linda has been hoping for. Now she can continue to see him and learn more about him without pressuring him for a date. She can ask him subtle questions aimed at discovering why he won't have sex with her and why he has never married. She is sure the two reasons have the same answer. "Well, I'll probably be busy today. I talked to one of the other nurses in the NICU on the phone yesterday and she told me that three more babies were admitted to intensive care this weekend. Why don't we meet and have lunch in the cafeteria tomorrow," she asks him. "I can't tomorrow. I'm scheduled to work late. I have to give a demonstration on CPR to some of the other employees in my department. I'll be coming in late and will have to take a late lunch." "OK then. Let's see how the rest of the week turns out. I have to go check in now. So, I'll talk to you later." "Yeah, I'll talk to you later." George watches her walk toward the elevators, glad that he doesn't have to put up with her for a couple of days. For her part, Linda believes that it is only a minor setback in her desire to learn more about the quiet little therapist in the physical therapy department. When he gets off work he does not go home. He goes to one of his favorite restaurants located on Clearview Parkway; the owner has a mural on the walls reminiscent of the French Quarter. Whenever George comes here he pretends that he is in the Vieux Carre. He comes here frequently. The owner sees him and recognizes him. They say hello. He asks the hostess if he can have a seat by one of the windows. When his waitress comes he orders a seafood platter. After dinner George drives around New Orleans. He loves to drive around the city, especially at the holidays, like Mardi Gras, Halloween and Christmas when a lot of people put up decorations on their houses. He never has any particular destination whenever he tours the city; it is always different. He just drives around looking at the sights of his favorite city. Driving gives him time to think and reminisce. He finds himself driving down Veterans Boulevard. He turns on Severn Avenue and drives past Lakeside Shopping center. From there he takes a right onto 17th Street. Next he goes up North Causeway Boulevard and over the I-10 Expressway. When he gets to West Napoleon he takes another right. He likes to drive down this street. It's very long with few intersections. There aren't as many stop lights and he can drive for blocks without having to stop or intersect with traffic, especially as he drives past Lafreniere Park. He likes to watch the joggers run along the path surrounding the charming little park. When he gets to David Drive George makes a U-turn and heads back toward Causeway. When he gets there he turns right and then left onto Metairie Road. He scoffs at the thought that most citizens of New Orleans don't know that the long, picturesque road borders what used to be a bayou. He loves studying about the history of La Nouvelle Orleans, a history in his opinion that far exceeds any of the thirteen original colonies. New Orleans was named in honor of Philip II, Duke of Orleans, who was regent and ruler of France when the city was founded. Never having been a British colony, Louisiana, particularly New Orleans, has a very different heritage from the other states. When many of the original colonies were still struggling to overcome their backwoods appearance, New Orleans was one of only two cities in the Americas to have a flourishing opera. At about the time of the American Revolution New Orleans was the third largest city in America. It amuses George that some people don't understand why New Orleans was built. It was founded in 1718 by Jean Baptiste de Bienville. He selected the site because it offered a rare bit of natural high ground along the flood prone banks of the Mississippi River. Also, the area offered ship portage between the Mississippi River and Lake Pontchartrain through Bayou St. John. New Orleans was a natural port for any shipping going up or down the river. It was also near Native American trade routes. George continues down Metairie Road to where it turns into City Park Avenue. He drives past Delgado University and turns left onto Marconi Drive. He then turns right into City Park, driving past the stadium. He drives around the New Orleans Museum of Art and then takes a left onto Wisner Boulevard. This takes him out to Robert E. Lee Boulevard. George reminisces over the several names that New Orleans has -- the City That Care Forgot, the Big Easy, the Vieux Carre, although that really applies to just the French Quarter. New Orleans is also called the Crescent City because the Mississippi River forms a crescent around the city. Prior to the Civil War it was the second to biggest port in the United States. During the Civil War the North made the capture of the city one of their highest priorities. It was the first major city of the Confederacy to fall into Union hands. While many historians believe that the battle of Gettysburg was the turning point in the Civil War, others believe that when New Orleans was captured in 1862 that signaled the turning point of the Civil War. After losing this strategic port from then on the South didn't have a chance of winning the war. George continues to drive down Robert E. Lee and then turns left onto Canal Boulevard. When he comes to the intersection of I-10, he decides that he is tired; he goes home. When he gets home he goes into his bedroom and writes another love letter to Donna, his precious Donna. Then he goes to bed. He does not see Linda either Tuesday or Wednesday, for which he is glad. When he knocks on Robert's door Wednesday evening for their usual game of chess, Darlene tells him that Robert is not at home. He is out looking for and interviewing potential witnesses to the two brutal murders of the past couple of weeks. George understands. As he is walking across their lawns, he curses the prostitutes for fucking up his life. Then he curses his mother and Donna. Finally he curses Linda. By Thursday afternoon Linda has yet to meet him for lunch. George is becoming suspicious. But of what he is not quite sure. He calls up to her department and asks for her. When she comes to the phone he does not know what to say to her. He asks her if she would like to meet him for lunch; it is just what she has been hoping for and in fact has been planning. She agrees and tells him that she will meet him at a nearby fast food restaurant. Suddenly George feels that he has been drawn into a trap. He silently curses himself for calling Linda up and for letting himself get further involved with her. After he hangs up he silently curses Linda. Lunch is uneventful. They spend it in small talk. But when nightfall comes, to relieve the pressure, George goes and gets himself another prostitute from the French Quarter. On Saturday afternoon, while he is whipping her, she relieves herself on the floor. George warns her that if she does it again he will kill her. Then he brands her across the chest as he did his other victims. He keeps her alive, torturing her until Sunday afternoon then he mercifully strangles her after she defecates on the floor for the second time. He dumps her naked corpse late Sunday night next to a pond on Friederichs Avenue in City Park, just down the street from the New Orleans Museum of Art. He makes sure that she is lying on her back with her legs spread wide open so that everyone can see that she is a whore. He deposits her clothing in a restaurant's dumpster off Metairie Road. The victim is found early Monday morning, again by a passing jogger. That evening the WDSU-TV news correspondent again reports that "The Rapist" has struck again for the third time. Listening to the news, George wonders whether or not he should go and ask Robert about this newest victim. After several minutes thinking about it he decides against it as he does not want to let Robert know that he is interested in the serial killings. Besides, he tells himself, any information the lieutenant gives him will be the same tonight as it will be Wednesday night when they play chess. He can just casually mention hearing about this victim while he defeats the lieutenant at chess. The next two days pass by without any more bothersome questions from Linda. George is glad of that. He guesses that she is playing hard to get and is only too happy to aid her in it. He does not want to get involved with any woman, especially Linda. George believes that she just wants to go to bed with him. He has no desire to have sex with some whore who will only give him some kind of sexually transmitted disease. He hates her; he hates all women. They are only good for housework and killing. Some of them aren't even good for housework. Then there are those whores in the French Quarter, giving his favorite city a bad name. He wishes that he could kill them all. There isn't any one of them worth anything. Wednesday evening George knocks at Robert's front door. Alexandria, their oldest daughter answers the door. "Come in Mr. Hoover. Dad's in the shower. He just got home." She leaves him standing in the doorway and returns to watching television. Darlene comes from the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel. "I'm sorry, George. Please forgive my very rude daughter." Then turning to her departing daughter: "Alexandria you know better than to treat Mr. Hoover like that." "Momma, he's practically family. He's over here all the time. He knows where the den is as well as I do." "That's OK Darlene. She's a child. I was a child once myself and . . ." "But that's no excuse for being rude and not inviting you in," Darlene stops him in mid-sentence. "Robert just got in. He's in the shower and will be right out. Why don't we go into the kitchen and wait for him there? He said something about interviewing a prostitute all day about the serial killings. I'm not sure but I think he has to go out again." As they head toward the kitchen George hopes that Darlene does not babble on about nothing while he is waiting for Robert. He can't stand listening to her yak. He never listens to her anyway. But just sitting in the same room with her totally disgusts him. She reminds him too much of his mother. He hopes that maybe she'll have some kind of pastry she cooked up. "I have some Dutch Chocolate cake. Would you like a piece?" "Thanks." She cuts him a large piece and George immediately begins to eat it. After about ten minutes Robert comes into the kitchen. "Hi George. Has Darlene been feeding you again? This woman loves to cook and she knows I love her cooking." He kisses her on the cheek and smacks her on her ass. "Stop that Robert!" she scolds him as she walks over to the kitchen counter to cut him a slice of cake. "Stop what? Smacking your ass. You know you love it. Come here so I can do it again." "But not in front of company," she says. "What will George think?" "Ah Babe, George ain't company. He's our neighbor and he knows I love the heck out of you. Don't you George?" George ignores Robert's question. "Darlene tells me that you won't be able to play chess again tonight. What's up?" "I've been talking to this prostitute all afternoon. She said that she knew the girl we found in City Park. Says her name is Candy. She thinks she saw the guy who picked her up last Thursday night. But all she could tell me was that he was white and driving a red car. She couldn't give me a description or anything like that." George tells himself that the prostitute must be the other woman who was with his latest victim. She wanted to know if he was interested in a threesome. George told her no. "After letting her look at mug shots of sex offenders for a couple of hours I let her go. She couldn't tell me nothing I don't already know. But as she is leaving, she tells me that they got a hooker locked up in St. Bernard for soliciting that she thinks was the room mate of one of the other victims. I got to go down there tonight and interview her." "So, I guess I'll spend tonight by myself with a book studying chess moves." He reminisces while silently cursing the whores for interfering with his chess games. "I wish I had the free time you do. Then you wouldn't beat me so often. That's the only thing that I don't like about my job. Sometimes I have odd hours. It keeps me away from my honey. Doesn't it Babe?" Robert puts his arm around Darlene who has returned to his side. He smacks her ass again as she hands him a slice of cake. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye and smiles seductively. "Yes, but you make up for it when we're home alone," she answers him and then she runs her tongue over her open lips. "Then I guess I'll be going," George says. He hates their love play. "Oh Robert, the news said that the victims were beaten with two different objects. What were they beaten with or is that classified information?" "It's not classified. We believe that they were beaten with a whip and with a broomstick of some kind." He takes a bite out of the cake. "Tell you what though. Forensics says that they found minute traces of semen on the buttocks of the victim found in the Ninth Ward. They believe he must have masturbated onto her and then wiped it off. They're running tests. They don't think there's enough semen there to get a DNA profile from it but I got my fingers crossed. That's not classified info but only a few people know about it. So don't go blabbing it to everyone you meet. OK?" "My lips are sealed Robert. Besides who do I know to tell something like that to?" "Well it's not like you're the killer. We're looking for some psychopath. Not a therapist." "Yeah, well I got to be going. I'll talk to y'all later." "George, would you like to take a piece of that Dutch Chocolate cake home with you?" Darlene asks him. "Yeah sure. Thanks Darlene. I have it with some butter pecan ice cream later on for a snack." George takes another piece of cake and goes home. He hates having to be so condescending to Darlene. Why she has to cook such delicious desserts he does not know. If he didn't like Dutch Chocolate cake so much he would throw it in the garbage. Then he thinks about what Robert told him, about the semen on his victim's ass. He makes a mental note not to ejaculate onto his whores any more. George sits in front of his television for the next two hours, blindly switching programs. He does not watch any channel for more than a minute or two before switching channels. He cannot get his mind off what Robert told him. How could he have allowed his semen, his life juices, to get on the ass of a whore? What was he thinking when he ejaculated onto her? Those whores are not good enough to receive his semen. He closes his eyes and tries to wipe the memory from his mind. Then he thinks of his mother and Donna and how they fucked up his life. He goes to the punishment room. The picture of his mother is still hanging on the wall. He stands and stares at it for over an hour; she stares back. His mind is a blank the whole time. Then he goes to the kitchen for some cake and ice cream. But George cannot get the semen off his mind. He blames the prostitute. Then he blames Donna and finally his mother. He goes to the French Quarter. He is lucky and finds a parking spot on St. Peter Street near Burgundy Street. He walks the two blocks to Bourbon Street. It is still early evening but the bars are open. The street is filled mostly with tourists, who are walking up and down Bourbon Street. George decides to walk by Pat O'Brien's. There is a man playing a saxophone in front of the famous night spot; he has a small pot in front of him. There are a few dollars and coins in it. George stops and listens to him play. He drops a five dollar bill into the man's pot and walks towards Jackson Square and the Café du Monde for some coffee and donuts. After finishing his beignets, he walks down Decatur Street to Bienville Street where he got his first victim, thinking maybe he will get lucky and find another one there. But the corner is void of pedestrians, so he walks up to Royal Street. It is not as noisy as Bourbon. He goes down it. As he walks down Royal he pauses at several corners, St. Louis Street, Toulouse Street, St. Ann Street. At Ursuline Avenue, he pauses again to look for a prostitute but the only person he meets is an elderly man who asks him if he has a spare dollar. George tells him no; he hates beggars. He is frustrated, having walked some 20 to 25 blocks and has not seen one whore. He decides to call it a night. He will come back tomorrow night and get himself a prostitute. He walks up Ursuline to Bourbon and then down Bourbon past St. Philip and Dumaine Streets. At the corner of Orleans Street a prostitute approaches him and asks him for a date. She is a few inches taller than him and dressed in four inch heels with an extremely short mini-skirt and tank top. She does not have a bra on. George wonders if she has on panties. He asks her how much and she tells him that it all depends on what he wants to do. He tells her that he would prefer to do it at his house where there is more privacy. When she asks him where he lives he ignores the question and tells her that his car is only a few blocks away. She agrees to follow him. When they get to his car George immediately puts some ether on a handkerchief and then holds it over her mouth until she is asleep. Once he gets her inside his house he tears off her clothes. She has on a pink thong. George rips that off, puts a gag on her and begins to chain her up. First he cuffs her wrists. Then while he is busy attaching the shackles to her ankles she wakes up and kicks him with her free leg. His mouth starts to bleed. He finishes chaining her up and then spits blood and saliva into her face. Therapist Ch. 06 "That's going to cost you, bitch," he hollers at her. Then he punches her in the face several times. Next he retrieves the letters from his bedroom and brands her with the word WHORE right above her breasts. She attempts a muffled scream each time he burns her with a letter. He ignores her. Then he beats her with the whip until he is completely exhausted. At first she tried to twist away from the blows. But after he hits her numerous times she succumbs to his torture and just hangs there. Afterward, he is standing in front of her panting and out of breath, watching her breathe. Her breaths are short and shallow. The pain she is in is evident on her face. Her eyes are closed and her head is hanging down. There are welts all over her body, most of them are bleeding. George decides to tend to his busted lip. He goes to his bathroom and looks in the mirror. His lip has stopped bleeding but it is swollen. He stands in front of the mirror, looking at his lip for over an hour. He thinks about his dead mother, about Donna and about Linda. He blames them for his troubles, for having fucked up his life. He showers and then writes a love letter to Donna. After, he goes to bed in the nude. George goes into his mother's bedroom when he wakes up Thursday morning. He has never changed anything in it. It still looks the same way it did when he killed her; there is a heavy coat of dust on all the furniture. The bed is unmade and there is a coffee cup on the nightstand next to her bed. His bed pan is still sitting on the edge of his mother's bed where he left it years earlier. There is a small 15-inch screen television in the corner. The remote for it is on a pillow. Next to the pillow is her dildo. Although he had originally left the TV on, it has long since stopped showing a picture. But there is a small red light near the on-off button indicating that it is on. George attempts to examine his lip in her vanity mirror but the mirror is too dirty to see anything. He goes into the kitchen and returns with a towel and wipes the mirror. Besides being swollen, his lip is now black and blue. He goes to the punishment room. "Look what you did to my lip you filthy whore," he yells at her. "You're going to pay for that." She picks her head up and stares at him. She is weak from loss of blood. She is still breathing with short, shallow breaths. She watches him as he walks naked across the room and picks up the broomstick. When he rams it into her vagina she just lowers her head, closes her eyes and grimaces. George repeatedly rapes her with the dildo but the entire time she does not move. Every now and then she winces, which only gets George angrier. He pulls the stick out of her vagina and begins to beat her with it. He beats her all over her body. But she still just hangs there and does nothing. George becomes frustrated. "Bitch, I've got to go to work. When I get back this evening, I'm going to beat you again but with my whip. If you continue to just hang there, then I'm going to kill you. Do you understand me, whore?" She picks up her head and looks weakly at him. Then she lowers her head again and closes her eyes. George leaves for work. He tells everyone at the hospital that he ran into a door in the middle of the night unable to see in the darkness. Linda offers to bring him some special antiseptic to his house that she has home. George becomes frightened that she will come over and see his prostitute hanging in the punishment room. He tells her no but starts to shake, scaring Linda. She asks him what is wrong but he tells her that he just has a headache. He excuses himself and goes to the men's room. He stays in one of the stalls crying for several minutes. He does not leave until he hears Donna tell him that everything will be alright. But all day long he has but one thought on his mind, getting home and getting rid of the whore. All day long he is worried that either Linda, Donna or his mother will find her and then punish him. When he returns from work, he beats the prostitute with the whip. Again, she does not respond; she is too weak. Frustrated, George gets a length of rope from his garage, ties it around her neck and strangles her. He then unchains her and puts her body in the trunk of his car along with her clothes. Just before midnight Thursday he dumps her body just off Almonaster Avenue near the railroad tracks. He dumps her clothing several blocks away. When he gets home he writes a love letter to Donna before going to bed. A railroad employee finds the corpse the next afternoon while checking box cars. There is a girl Linda is her name. She bothers me and makes me go insane. Cause I hate that girl. Linda where can you be? Why do you bother me? Now that you're here I'm left all insane. All in my mind to do things I don't know. Cause I hate that girl Linda where can you be? Why do you bother me? Oh Linda, Oh Linda, Oh Linda Therapist Ch. 07 When he wakes up Friday morning the first thing George does is to look out his window to see if Robert's car is still there. It is and George figures that his latest victim has not been found. He wonders when it will be found. An hour later when he leaves for work Robert's car is still parked in front of his house. George becomes angry that his latest whore has not been found. While driving to work, he curses his mother and Donna for destroying his life. Then he curses his victim because she was not found. When he arrives at the hospital, George sees that the only decent parking space open is next to Linda's car. Other parking spaces are too far from the hospital entrance. He does not like to walk so he parks next to her car. He curses Linda and hopes that he can avoid running into her today. But as soon as he gets off the elevator on the fifth floor, she is standing there waiting to catch the next one to the seventh floor. She had come down to invite him to lunch with her and another nurse from the NICU. She figures that maybe she can get him to open up more if the two of them are not alone. But she does not tell him this. Instead, she just tells him that her neonatal nurse friend would like to know something about CPR and maybe he could give her some information. George does not feel pressured so he accepts the lunch date. They plan to go together to a nearby fast food restaurant. Linda's plan fails. While they are eating the only thing that is talked about is how to resuscitate heart patients. Linda is disappointed but is happy that she got to eat with George as she learns that he knows more about CPR than what can be learned at a two-day seminar. She realizes that George is very well educated, more so than can be gotten from a simple bachelor's degree. She assumes that he must spend a lot of time reading and studying. She figures that maybe that is why he has never married; he must spend all his spare time reading. She resolves to ask him about it the next time they go to lunch together. When he gets home from work, the first thing George does is to turn on his television in order to catch the news. He learned from a coworker about an hour before he left work that another victim had been found. He is ecstatic that his fourth victim has been found. The Spanish WDSU-TV reporter is announcing that 'The Rapist' has struck again. She adds that with the first Mardi Gras Day parade only a few days away it doesn't look good for the New Orleans tourist industry. George curses her. He hollers at the screen that he is doing a service for the tourists; he is getting rid of the whores. He then paces back and forth in front of the television. After several minutes of pacing he decides that he is going to show that bitch of a TV reporter a thing or two. He waits until eleven o'clock and then goes to the French Quarter and gets another prostitute. ****************************************** Davina Vitter never knew her father; he abandoned her, her younger brother Richard and her mother when Davina was only five. Her mother Wendy could not get a decent paying job. She did not have a high school education, having dropped out of school when she was pregnant with Davina. In order to support her family Wendy took up prostitution. She also occasionally sold marijuana and crack cocaine in order to supplement her income. When Davina was six, her mother moved to Houston and started living with her boyfriend Gerald; she can't remember where they lived before that. But that only lasted a few months. Gerald and a friend of his robbed a bank. Davina can remember there were little stacks of money all over the living room coffee table and sofa. They were in the process of dividing up the money but Gerald wanted a little extra since it was his car they used and his idea. But Ronald demanded that they split the money 50-50. There was a fight and Ronald shot Gerald, killing him. He then grabbed all the money and filled a pillow case with it. He would have taken it all but Wendy begged him to give her some. He handed her two stacks of one hundred dollar bills and left. During the whole time Gerald and Ronald were arguing, Davina was in the corner cowering with her four-year-old brother. Her eyes were wide open but she was holding her hands over his eyes. That night Wendy packed up their belongings, loaded up her Chevy Blazer and drove off, leaving her boyfriend's dead body in the living room. She left a note saying who killed him and why. She also noted that Ronald could probably be found living with his girlfriend in the suburb of Jacinto City, Texas on Mercury Dr., near where it meets I-10. She didn't say anything about him giving her ten thousand dollars. Two days later she heard on the news that Ronald was killed in a shoot out with the police. She was glad of that as then she was sure the police would not want her for questioning. They didn't; the case was closed. Wendy took Davina and Richard to Beaumont, Texas. There she got a job as a waitress in a local bar. She again supplemented her income through prostitution. Then for the next several years she migrated between Beaumont and Port Arthur, Texas, and Lake Charles and Lafayette, Louisiana. They never stayed in one place more than a few months and always lived with an abusive or alcoholic or out of work boyfriend. In fact, the best time of Davina's life was her fourth year of school. They actually stayed in one place, Lake Charles, long enough for her to complete one full year of school. Her mother's boyfriend at that time worked on the oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico. Then one day Wendy met a traveling auto mechanic and decided life with him was better. She moved her family back to Beaumont so that she could be with her new boyfriend. But that didn't last either. He was killed one night in a barroom fight over what auto manufacturer produced the better pickup truck, Ford or General Motors. Jack's last words: I'm built Ford tough. Then the other man shot him in the heart. Soon after Davina's fourteenth birthday Wendy broke her leg; she fell off a chair trying to change a light bulb. She was laid up for six weeks and couldn't work. She was working as a waitress. Her landlord was about to evict her for not paying her rent but then offered to let her, Davina and Richard live rent free for a month if he could have Davina for a weekend. Wendy countered his proposal and said he could have her for a week if he would make it two months. It was thus that Davina lost her virginity to a fat, slobbering chauvinist. After that Wendy frequently sold Davina's services whenever she needed extra money. But after about a year of doing that she was caught when she tried to sell Davina to an undercover vice agent. Wendy went to prison while Davina and Richard were put in a foster home. Her foster parents did not look after her and Richard. They only took them in because the state gave them seven hundred dollars a month towards child support for each child they helped raise; they had two other foster children, both in elementary school. When Davina turned sixteen she quit school and started turning tricks on her own. She didn't tell her foster parents; she just left the house every morning as though she was going to school. When she came home late she told them that she had been on a date with a boyfriend. When her foster parents found out about her prostitution they gave her an ultimatum, quit prostitution or get out. Davina has been on her own ever since. She tried to keep in touch with her brother but he got arrested and sent to juvenile detention for selling marijuana at school. She lost track of him after that. As did her mother, Davina moved from small town to small town, never staying on any one place too long. Then one day she and another prostitute got an idea that they could make it big on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. As soon as they got to the Big Easy they got an apartment together. That was two years ago. Although they didn't strike it rich, they were doing alright. Davina even saved up enough money to buy a used car. At the time she met George she was planning on visiting her mother, who was living back in Beaumont again. She was even contemplating trying to find her brother and maybe even having a small family reunion of sorts. But George threw a monkey wrench in her plans. ***************************************** After stripping off her clothes and hanging her from the contraption of cable and shackles he has fixed up, he gets a small tank of oxygen from the trunk of his car. He attaches a mask to it and holds it against her mouth. She wakes up and struggles against the shackles binding her. She tries to scream but the gag prevents her. George punches her in the stomach several times; she grimaces in pain and nearly vomits. Next he takes off his own clothes, sits on the floor in front of her and masturbates. After he finishes, he beats her with his whip. He beats her until she has welts and lash marks all over her body. Then he goes to his bedroom and writes another letter to Donna. After he finishes writing the love letter he gets a shower and goes to bed in the nude. For the next two days he beats her once in the morning, once in the afternoon and again just before he goes to bed in the evening. After he beats her Sunday morning he showers and gets ready to go to out for a drive. He enters the punishment room before he leaves to inspect her once more. She raises her head and looks imploringly at him. He ignores her silent plea and tells her that he will brand her when he returns. He has no particular place that he wants to go on this Sunday morning so George drives to St. Charles Avenue. That is his favorite street in the whole city. After driving down the street for several blocks he decides to take a street car ride. He parks his car and gets on the next car that comes by. He rides the street car all the way to Canal Street. Then he gets off and walks up Canal Street to the River. He continues to walk aimlessly about until he finally ends up at River Front Park. He sits on one of the benches and tries to figure out where he will dump his latest whore once he kills her. He does not know where to dump her body. His thoughts soon turn to Donna as he watches a cruise ship go by. His mind begins to drift and soon he is talking to her. He describes to her how much fun the two of them could have if they were on a cruise together. After several minutes he realizes that he is talking to himself. His heart aches for her and he begins to cry for his lost love. After sitting there until late in the afternoon he gets up and walks back down Canal Street. When he gets to the St. Charles Street car stop he waits for the next car. When it comes he gets on it and goes back to his car and then back home. As soon as he gets home he brands the prostitute, beats her with the whip and then strangles her. He waits until after the ten o'clock news is over. He wants to see if that bitch reporter is going to say anything else about the serial rapist. There is nothing new said about the killings. As soon as the evening news is over, George puts the corpse into the trunk of his car and starts to drive around the city. For a long while, he cannot find any place and he curses the dead woman in his trunk. Then he curses his mother for screwing up his life. Around midnight he finally gets on the interstate and goes to New Orleans East. He dumps the woman along side of Interstate 10 near to where it crosses over Little Irish Bayou, not having found a better place to dispose of her. As he did with all the others, he lays her on her back and spreads her legs wide apart so that everyone can see that she is a whore. He makes an illegal U-turn across the median of the interstate and heads back to his house. After driving for about ten minutes he stops and throws her clothes among a pile of garbage that is along Interstate 10. On his way back to his house he sees a couple of police cars heading in the opposite direction, flashing their lights and blaring their sirens. They are driving really fast. George wonders if they found the whore already. When he gets home he notices that Robert's car is not in front of his house. He wonders whether it is in his garage or if Robert is out inspecting his latest victim. He puts his television on to see if there is any news of her. There is nothing so he goes to the punishment room. He has to clean up the mess the prostitute made; she had defecated while he was strangling her. When he finishes he showers, writes another letter to Donna and then goes to bed in the nude. The Monday morning headlines are full of pictures and stories about the serial killings. One story chronicles the string of murders. Another story lists some details that all the murders have in common. Still another story discusses what the police have done thus far to locate the killer. But the biggest story is about the latest victim who was left on the side of Interstate 10 near where it crosses the Little Irish Bayou. A man who was picking up his crawfish nets in the Irish Bayou Lagoon claimed to have seen the man dump the body. He said at first he thought the man he saw was just dumping some garbage and he ignored him. After the man left the witness went over to inspect what he pulled out of his trunk. It was then that he discovered the nude body. He immediately called the police on his cell phone. When the police asked him to give them a description of the man he couldn't, saying that he was too far away to get a good look at him. But he described the man's car as a red Mazda. When George reads this, he laughs. He has a maroon Toyota. The next two days are uneventful between George and Linda. She does not bother him to eat lunch with her. He hopes it is because she has found someone else to eat with. He does not realize that she is just biding her time until she can figure out a way to get him to open up to her about why he does not want to have sex with her. She is determined to find out and has finally decided to space her lunch dates with him several days apart. That way she figures George won't suspect that she wants to get him to tell her all about himself. Meanwhile, George is anxious to get to Robert's in order to get the latest information on the two prostitutes who were found, one on Almonaster Avenue and one on I-10 in New Orleans East. The time between Monday and Wednesday, when he and Robert play chess together, seems to drag by. When Wednesday finally does arrive, George does not waste any time. He goes over to Robert's house and rings the bell. Darlene invites him in with a smile. He smiles back. While Robert is setting up the chessboard, George asks him if he is any closer to catching the rapist but the police lieutenant just shakes his head. George then notes that he saw him on television when that little reporter from WDSU-TV interviewed him. "Hey! I saw you on television the other day. Have there really been five victims?" he questions Robert. "I'm afraid so, George. But we got a big break in the one that he dumped on Almonaster. We were able to get a casting of his tire treads. He drove through some wet mud right next to where he left the body. When we catch him we'll be able to match his tires with the imprints we picked up." "That's great Robert," George lies. He makes a mental note to purchase four new tires later in the week. "But what about that guy who said he saw him take the latest victim out of his trunk? I read in the paper that he said he didn't get a good look at him." George is attempting to find out just how good of a description he was able to give to the police. "That jerk. He gave us a description all right but not a very good one. He'd be a better witness for the defense. All he could say was that it was a white man with a red car. He's no good as a witness. He'd been drinking beer and catching crawfish all day and was half drunk. He couldn't even tell us in what direction the murderer fled." "That's not what the newspaper said. It said that he described a red Mazda." "George, it was the middle of the night and the lighting out there on that section of the interstate is terrible. I don't put much credence in his description. His description is poor, that and the fact that the man reeked of alcohol when I interviewed him. Hey, the killer could have been driving a green pickup truck and I don't think he could have been able to describe it any better than he did." "Knight to knight five, check. You left your bishop exposed there Robert. Now I'm going to get it. After you moved your rook, your king was the only thing that was protecting it and now I'm attacking it with my knight and my queen." George notes to himself that he will have to be more careful about where he dumps his next victim. He'll have to make sure that no one is around to witness it. "I see that. Tell me George, are you asking me questions about the killings just to distract me from the game?" "No, actually I'm thinking of becoming a lawyer and defending him in court after you catch him. I'm trying to learn all that I can about the crime so that I can get him acquitted. Are you going to concede now so we can play another game or are you going to force me to capture your queen in about three moves?" "You think your smart don't you? Set the board up again and I'll go see what kind of dessert Darlene has fixed for us. It's my turn to have white." They play two more games. Robert wins the second game and George wins the third. During the time they play Robert reveals very little that George does not already know. For the most part, he reveals only what someone with a little forethought can figure out, mainly because he is closed mouthed about the evidence but also because George's questions to him seem superficial. George gives Robert the impression that his questions are only for the sake of keeping the conversation friendly. He gives Robert the impression that he is not trying to obtain undisclosed information, that he is only interested in the killings because they are in the news. Although he does tell George some things that are classified, he does not tell him the most important information. What Robert reveals is information that most any reasonable, intelligent person following the case can surmise. He gives this confidential information to George because he trusts that George is not going to reveal anything he tells him to the news media. What Robert does not realize is that everything he divulges, George is using to his own advantage. George asks him about the branding of the victims that was reported in the news. Robert tells him that there is not much to it. That it is just the killer's way of marking his victims. He tells George that many serial killers do the same thing. They have a certain way of tying their knots, of mutilating their victims, killing their victims and things of this nature. He tells George that some serial killers keep trophies of their victims, earrings, bracelets, scarves and other such mementoes. George asks him if he believes the rapist is keeping any mementoes. Robert concedes that he does not know. All the victims have been completely naked; they have not found any of their clothing yet. He does not tell George that the killer displays his victims, laying them on their backs with their legs spread wide open. This information is not classified but for some reason the news media has not mentioned it. Inwardly George smiles at the information Robert gives him. Prior to this he had been disposing of his victim's clothing several blocks away after dumping their bodies. Now he intends to throw their clothing miles away from the bodies. Robert tells him that this particular serial killer brands his victims with the word WHORE across the upper part of their chests, right above their breasts. Therapist Ch. 07 When George asks him what the killer branded the women with Robert tells him that he does not know. He says that his partner is looking into that, that it is probably some metal letters that he just heats up on his stove or something and then brands the women with them once the letters are hot. George also asks him if there have been any bodies found in the other parishes. Robert tells him no. But that they have formed a multi-parish task force of Orleans Parish and the seven surrounding parishes: Jefferson, St. Bernard, Plaquemines, St. Tammany, Tangipahoa, St. John, and St. Charles. They are all on alert in case he dumps one of his victim's bodies in these other parishes. He does not tell George that St. James, Lafourche, Ascension and Livingston parishes, although not among the multi-parish task force, are on the lookout for crimes with similar Modus Operandi. Robert further tells George that all the victims were prostitutes who were tied up and beaten with a whip, raped – probably with a broomstick or mop stick of some kind, maybe even a toilet plunger stick – and then were strangled and dumped nude in an isolated spot, all information that is known by the news media. Robert discloses that they know that he raped his victims probably with a wooden stick because forensics was able to find some splinters of wood inside the vaginas and anuses of the victims. But he does not tell George that forensics was also able to match splinters of paint from the pieces of wood; all the victims were raped by the same broom stick. Nor does Robert tell George of the bent leg on the letter H. These latter two pieces of information are not known by anyone except the coroner, his partner Olivia, himself and now the district attorney. Finally, Robert reveals that the murderer punched one of the victims in the face so hard that he knocked a tooth loose. It fell out when the coroner was attempting to take X-rays of her teeth to help identify her. This is classified information but Robert gives it to George believing that anyone with a half an ounce of sense can figure that if a man is beating a woman in the face, then he can in all likelihood knock out a tooth or two. Robert comments that the killer must be one really bad dude. He believes that to hit a woman in the face and knock out a tooth, especially someone who cannot defend herself, must take one vicious monster. He tells George that he can hardly wait to catch the lousy bastard. Robert calling him a lousy bastard gets George angry and he promises himself to punch his victims in the face more often. As he is leaving Robert's house, Darlene gives George an extra slice of peach cobbler that she made earlier that day. She knows that her neighbor loves her cooking and she is always happy to share whatever pastry she has fixed. George does like Darlene's cooking but he cannot stand being indebted to her. He hates having to accept anything from her; she reminds him too much of his mother. But most of all, she reminds him of a life that he did not have, a loving mate and children, a happy family, a wonderful future. Her generosity toward him only increases his hate for her and for all women. He silently curses her as he walks across the lawn between the two houses. When he gets inside, he puts the cobbler on his kitchen table. He stares at it for several minutes, contemplating what he should do. He wants to get himself another whore in order to bash her face in and knock out all her teeth. He wants to show Robert that he's not a monster, that these are filthy whores that he is taking off the streets. But the peach cobble beckons to him. It has made him hungry. He is torn between eating the cobbler and going to get another prostitute. He does not know what to do. He cannot decide between satisfying his hunger and satisfying his hate. He curses Darlene for confusing him, for making him choose. Oh Darlene, Oh Darlene I have a neighbor Darlene is her name. She cooks for me but I'm quite insane. Cause I hate that girl. Darlene why do you cook for me? Why do you cook for me? After staring at Darlene's peach cobbler for about twenty minutes, he finally decides to eat it tonight. He puts two scoops of butter pecan ice cream on top of the cobbler. He tells himself that he will get himself another prostitute tomorrow night. When he finishes eating the peach cobbler and ice cream George goes to the punishment room and stands in the doorway just looking at the picture of his mother on the wall. After a few minutes he wonders why he never took it down. He goes to the other side of the room and grabs it. He looks up at her. She is staring down at him. He tries but he cannot take it down; something inside of him will not let him. It will not let him remove her from his life. He curses her for fucking up his life. Then he curses her for taking Donna away from him. His precious Donna is gone, gone forever and it is all her fault. Oh Donna, Oh Donna. Where can you be? Then he breaks down and begins to cry. He falls to the floor, and sitting there below the picture of his torment, he begs her to release him, to let him be a normal man. He curls up into the fetal position, thinking about what she did to him on his birthday when he was only four years old. He cries himself to sleep. When he wakes up, it is just after two in the morning. He has peed on himself. He showers and goes to bed in the nude. When he arrives in the Ochsner Hospital employee parking garage Thursday morning, Linda is there to greet him. She is carrying a large King Cake. "Good morning George," she says. "I got a Mardi Gras King Cake. Why don't you come upstairs later on and have a piece? If you get the baby hidden inside the slice of cake you get, don't say anything to anybody else and I'll buy the next cake for you. That way there's no danger of you getting stuck with having to buy the next King Cake." She knows that many people won't eat King Cake because they don't want to get the little plastic baby hidden inside. They don't want to have to buy the next King Cake. So, she makes the offer to buy the cake for George in order to induce him into coming up to her department where she can talk to him without any distractions. "I don't know Linda," George answers her. "That doesn't seem fair to the others or to you." They get on the elevator together. George silently curses Linda. He hopes that she does not get off on his floor and that she stays on the elevator when he gets off. "Oh, don't worry about that. I love getting them; I love buying them. I get my cakes from this little bakery on Veterans Boulevard. It's got apple and cream filling. Come on we can have a little King Cake party during lunch with the other nurses. Eating King Cakes is one of the Mardi Gras traditions I like." "Yeah, I like eating King Cakes for Mardi Gras too. It's one of the Mardi Gras traditions I too look forward to each year. So, I guess you hooked me. I'll see you for lunch." George steps off the elevator and smiles at her. He waves and she waves back. He breathes a sigh of relief when the elevator door closes. He won't have to put up with her for another couple of hours. Then he suddenly realizes that he has given her a glimpse into one of his weaknesses. His two loves are chocolate and pastries. Darlene is always making brownies or fudge or some other kind of pastry dessert for him which he cannot refuse. Whatever she offers him he reluctantly accepts, although he does not let her know this. Now he will have Linda giving him desserts too. He curses himself for slipping up and allowing her into his world. Then he curses Linda for intruding in his life. But Linda is all smiles the rest of the day. Another nurse in the intensive care ward gets the baby hidden inside the King Cake. When George comes upstairs to get his piece of cake Linda manages to get him to promise to come for a piece of cake whenever there is another King Cake. Again, she tells him that she will buy the cake from her favorite Veterans Boulevard bakery if he gets the baby. George agrees to come to the office King Cake parties. But he tells Linda that if he gets the baby hidden inside the King Cake he will buy the next cake. He feels safe meeting her amongst all the other employees but he silently curses himself for his own weakness and allowing her to see it. He knows that she will eventually use it against him and coax him into having dinner with her. George promises himself that he will get even with her later this evening by kidnapping another prostitute. For her part, Linda is ecstatic that she has finally found a way to get George to eat lunch with her. Maybe by offering him slices of cake and pie and other desserts he will open up to her. Therapist Ch. 08 George doesn't kidnap another prostitute Thursday night as he promised himself he would. Nor does he get one Friday night or Saturday night. The main reason is because Linda hasn't pressured him for a lunch date. However, on both Thursday and Friday morning she does remind him that there is a piece of King Cake waiting for him upstairs. After he eats his lunch, he walks up the two flights of stairs and dutifully eats his piece of cake. He is glad when he does not get the little plastic baby hidden inside the cake. Another reason he does not kidnap another prostitute on Thursday, Friday or Saturday night is because he gets involved in his personal studies. He frequently spends Thursday and Friday after work and Saturday morning at the Jefferson Parish Library main branch on West Napoleon Avenue researching and checking out books on the Louisiana Purchase and the history of New Orleans and Louisiana. He loves to go to the second floor Louisiana room and read the books there on Louisiana, for he loves studying about his favorite city New Orleans. He spends Saturday afternoon reading the books he checks out. But by Sunday he wants a break. So he decides to indulge himself and gets himself a yogurt. By a sheer coincidence he meets Linda at the yogurt shop. They sit and talk for over an hour. George is uncomfortable the entire time. Linda uses the opportunity to ask him about his personal life which only increases George's discomfort. She tries to be subtle but George is able to evade most of her intrusive questions. He does however tell her that his mother died when he was in college and that he had her cremated. When she asks him why he has never been married he tells her that he just hasn't found the right girl. He feels the pressure from her questions. He hates her for intruding into his life and he silently curses his misfortune at meeting her here. He wants her to leave him alone but he does not know how to tell her this; his mother never taught him how to politely say no to a lady. He is frustrated. When night falls he goes to the French Quarter and kidnaps another prostitute. As soon as he gets her chained up he brands her. He beats her and tortures her for three days before strangling her. But he is careful not to rape her with the broom stick. He throws that away and instead rapes and beats her with a piece of led pipe he picks up at a construction site. He does however hit her in the mouth with the pipe, breaking three of her front teeth and her nose. After removing the rope from around her neck, he dumps her naked body under the Interstate 10 Bridge near the Louisiana Superdome, displaying her as he did the others. He throws her clothing in a dumpster on Washington Avenue near Xavier University. Her displayed body is found Thursday morning by a homeless man searching for empty aluminum cans. Mardi Gras comes and goes. George does not kidnap any more prostitutes. He loves Mardi Gras. Every year he dresses up as a mime and goes to the French Quarter to watch and to join in the festivities. He spends every Ash Wednesday writing a letter to Donna telling her about what he did on Mardi Gras Day. But after he finishes his letter on this particular Ash Wednesday he goes to the French Quarter and kidnaps another prostitute. He beats her and tortures her until Saturday night at which time he brands her with the word WHORE across her chest as he did the others. Then he strangles her and dumps her nude body at the end of Tchoupitoulas Street, where it runs into Audubon Park. Her displayed body is found Sunday afternoon by a young married couple horseback riding through the park. For the next six months Linda is constantly bringing desserts to George. She brings him chocolate and pastries of all kinds. Mostly they are treats she picks up at a bakery but occasionally she bakes something herself. George begins to watch for her coming and tries to look busy so that he does not have to talk to her. He is very circumspect in accepting her gifts. He tries to evade her as much a possible while at the same time trying not to let it look like he is avoiding her. But this only increases the pressure he is under. When she cannot find him in the physical therapy department, she just leaves the treat on his desk. She frequently leaves a note asking that he meet her for lunch in the hospital cafeteria or at a fast food restaurant or some place. Either way, George is under tremendous pressure to acquiesce to her. In the evenings he tries to relieve himself by masturbating but this only exacerbates the problem. He is still plagued by his mother's warnings that masturbating will cause him to go blind. He tells himself that it is a myth but still the thought plagues him. He is also plagued by his mother's warning that she will 'cut it off' if she catches him. When he masturbates in the shower he makes sure the door is closed and locked so his mother will not be able to come in on him as she used to do when he was in high school. He tries to retreat further into his studies, writing love letters to Donna or driving around the city in order to find relief. Frequently this helps him but it also just as often fails him and he ends up kidnapping and killing another prostitute each time it does fail him. The failures usually come after he loses at chess to Robert. Where he used to lose maybe one game in the three games they play on Wednesday evenings, now he loses two and sometimes all three games. Robert believes that it is because he has finally learned George's style. George does not realize that he is losing the chess games because he is preoccupied with trying to avoid Linda. He silently blames his mother and then goes and gets another victim. Each Wednesday evening while they are playing chess, George subtly queries Robert for information about the rapist plaguing New Orleans. Although Robert is careful in divulging classified information, George is able to use what information he receives to his own advantage. Olivia believes that the rapist is closely following the news reports and is altering his style based upon what he hears in the news media. She suggests that they become more closed lipped with information that is given to the press. Robert agrees. She is unaware that Robert plays chess every Wednesday evening and talks about the serial killings with George. Obtaining information about the serial killings from Robert becomes George's new competition with the detective. He begins to pride himself in the fact that he can outwit the New Orleans police lieutenant in his own game. He has become a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He is evil incarnate when torturing his victims but the embodiment of grace at work at the hospital or when talking with the lieutenant. From Robert he learns how to dispose of the body while leaving as little evidence as possible. But he still displays them with their legs spread wide open. He learns to use a different kind of knot when strangling his victims and to wear gloves when punching them, which he does more often. He makes sure to knock out some teeth and break the nose of each victim while punching them. He learns that the police examined two of his victims under an ultraviolet light, looking for possible fingerprints or other identifying marks. They didn't find any but the information causes George to handle his victims more carefully. After this, George only handles the dead bodies with latex gloves on. He makes sure to dispose of their clothes as soon as he rips them from their bodies. George further learns that the police believe that there is only one whip involved, so he buys a second whip and alternates their use on the prostitutes. He makes sure to pay cash for the whip. He also begins to beat his victims with a plastic ball bat that he found in his front yard one day. But he still rapes them with the same led pipe. He also continues to brand them with the same letters. He is unaware that the leg of the H is slightly bent. Robert comments to George after several victims have been found about how the bodies are positioned, telling him that the women seem to be positioned so that everyone can see their vaginas and so everyone can see the word WHORE branded across their chest. George is elated to hear this. He promises himself that his future whores will be even more acutely displayed. He wants to degrade the women as much as possible, so he then begins to spread their legs even wider apart so that everyone can see their sex. After positioning one of his victims he sees a broom stick handle nearby and rams it into her vagina. He props it up with a rock so that it is sticking up in the air. This prostitute is found as soon as daylight dawns the next morning. He is more careful when he dumps the victims always picking his spot a day before he murders them. He tries to place his victims where he will not be seen when dropping their bodies but where the corpse can be easily found. The areas he picks are not necessarily secluded. He dumps one victim on Franklin Avenue where it crosses the railroad tracks near I-10. Another victim is dumped in City Park in the grass along the side of Robert E. Lee Boulevard near Marconi Drive and a third is dropped off along the side of Zachary Taylor Drive near where Golf Drive goes under the interstate. He displays a fourth prostitute next to some bushes near the Fair Grounds Race Track. He also places another victim in Audubon Park behind some bushes across the street from Loyola and Tulane Universities. George gets really bold with one of the victims and places her corpse in the cemeteries at the end of Canal Street. She is found before dawn the next morning by some men who came to open a crypt. He also gets bold in placing a victim in Palmer Park on Carrollton Avenue, just down the street from Notre Dame Seminary. He sits one of his victims on a park bench along Lakeshore Drive looking out toward Lake Pontchartrain, her legs spread wide open and her arms draped over the back of the bench. He is particularly joyous over this victim as the Times Picayune mentions that he must be getting brave in placing his victims. He tries to dump a body near the Xavier University Campus but is unsuccessful; he sees a young black couple standing nearby. He chooses instead a vacant lot on Orleans Avenue near Louis Armstrong Park. He displays one victim under the Pontchartrain Expressway along side the railroad tracks across from the New Orleans Arena. He contemplates dumping a victim under the Huey P. Long Bridge on the river side of the levee but after talking with Robert and discovering that he would not be the lead investigator for any bodies found in other parishes he rejects that idea. George wants Robert to be the only one investigating the murders so he does not dump his victims in any other parish. He does not place any bodies in the Vieux Carre. He believes that the neighborhood is of historic importance to his beloved city and he does not wish to desecrate it. Nor does he dump any bodies in Algiers because he does not wish to cross the Crescent City Connection over the Mississippi River with a body in his trunk. He is afraid that someone might want to search his trunk at the toll booth. Other neighborhoods such as Carrollton, Midcity, Lakeview, the Garden District and the Central Business District are not so lucky. Each of these neighborhoods receives at least one victim. Gentilly, the Irish Channel, Faubourg Marigny and the Lower Ninth Ward receive the most bodies. In the months since The Rapist has started he has killed 21 prostitutes so far. All but the first one was found within a day or two of his disposing of them and all except the first one was strangled. The police are baffled in their pursuit of him. Crime Stoppers has offered a twenty-five thousand dollar reward for his arrest and capture, most of the reward coming from pledges of local businessmen. The police are unaware that he captures his victims by placing a rag soaked in ether over their mouths. They believe that he just picks them up from the streets and then takes them somewhere to torture and kill them. Vice squads are constantly warning the ladies of the night to be very careful when picking up tricks from strangers. They further advise the women to stay with their regular customers. In an attempt to save them the mayor demands a crack down on prostitution. Arrests of women on prostitution charges are up. The mayor also wants to put a two a.m. curfew in place in the French Quarter but the tourist industry and the business establishments in the area all balk at this. The mayor rescinds his idea. A local conservative minister praises him for ridding the city of prostitutes; he is immediately denounced by the rest of the Christian, Jewish, and Islamic community. The police tell the news media that they believe that they are closing in on The Rapist but cannot tell them why as it is classified information. Robert tells George that it is only public relations that they are no closer to finding him now than they were when the killings started. George tells him that is what the WDSU-TV reporter surmised and reported when the district attorney's office originally made the announcement. He then checks Robert's king with his knight, forking his queen. Robert concedes and they call it a night. It is the first game George has won in two weeks. As he gets ready to leave, Darlene gives George a large piece of fudge brownie that she baked earlier. George thanks her, takes it home and eats it before writing another love letter to Donna. After he finishes the letter he gets a shower and then goes to bed in the nude. ****************************************** Roberta Livingston does not know where she is going to get the money to pay her rent. It is due in two days and she is flat broke; she barely has enough cash to buy a hamburger and a drink. As a salesclerk in Lakeside Shopping Center she isn't paid much, just barely enough to pay her share of the expenses. She knows what happened to her money. That snake of a boss she works for stole it from her purse. He pays her in cash every week. This week half an hour after he pays her, the money is gone. She wonders if that is why he always paid her in cash. He told her that a customer must have stolen it and that she shouldn't leave her purse where it can be gotten to easily. But customers are not allowed in the storeroom and he is the only other person who knew where she kept her purse. True, there is only a curtain separating the sales floor from the storeroom but she has never seen a customer enter the storeroom in the eight months she's been working at the gift shop. She is positive that he stole her money soon after she put it in her purse. As Bobby sits on the edge of her bed in the small apartment she shares in Fat City with Juliet Quinn she knows that she'll have to start looking for another job. She cannot work for someone she cannot trust. She contemplates on whether to hock her wide screen television or to follow the advice of her roommate and turn again to prostitution. She knows better than to ask her roommate for the money. She knows exactly what Juliet will say. 'Bobby honey, why don't you do as I do? Turn a couple of tricks. I don't need to tell you that if you're good at it you can earn enough money in one weekend to pay your bills for a whole month.' It's not that she has anything against prostitution; she did it for several years in her late teens and early twenties. It wasn't a bad profession and it saved her from having to sell drugs to earn a living. It saved her from starving to death too. She also has to consider the fact that Juliet makes enough money to pay her share of the bills plus pay her college expenses at the University of New Orleans and only works a couple of nights a week. But her days as a prostitute are also a part of her life Bobby wishes she could forget. At sixteen she ran away from home to get away from her stepfather. Soon after she turned fourteen her mother had taken a second, part-time job to help out with the bills. It only required her to be away from home for a couple of hours on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday evenings. But that was all it took. She had been working for about two months when he first approached her. At first he only wanted her to sit with him while he watched a movie. After a while he started to watch pornographic movies. Then he started to masturbate while the movies were on. Eventually he demanded that she have sex with him. It wasn't just sexual intercourse either; it was all kinds of sex that he demanded of her. He raped her from every different angle and position he could think of. He told her that she shouldn't complain and that she ought to look at his sexual advances towards her as butterfly kisses. He also told her that if she ever said anything to anyone, he would kill both her and her mother. She took it for two years then she ran away after he tied her up one night and beat her before raping her. She waited until the next night and then got him drunk. While he was asleep, she stole 175 dollars from his wallet and headed for the bus depot. But not before she left her mother a note explaining why she was running away and giving her mother a full description of the wart just above his pubic hair to prove her story. She's been on her own ever since. Growing up in Jackson, Mississippi she had heard stories about Bourbon Street and how the prostitutes earn money turning tricks. So she came to New Orleans in hopes of making enough money to live on. It didn't take her long to learn just how to please a man; her stepfather trained her well. In a couple of months she earned enough to get herself a small efficiency apartment just off Oak Street in Carrollton. She told the landlady that she was a college student at Tulane University studying marine biology. The apartment wasn't much but it was a thousand times better than the flophouses she had been living in since she arrived in New Orleans. Tall and mature for her age, she demanded that her johns always use a condom. She did not want to get pregnant or catch some kind of sexually transmitted disease, so she always kept a couple stuffed into her brazier. She told the men who objected that she had gonorrhea. She told them that although she had gone to a clinic to have the disease taken care of, she was only looking out for their interest. If they questioned her concern for their health, she told them that she was trying to build up a clientele. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't. Whenever it didn't she'd just let the john go and found herself another trick who was more understanding. She had been working for about six months when she met a guy who helped her obtain a fake identification. Bobby paid the man 100 dollars and instantly she added two years and four months to her age. Then instead of being sixteen and ten months she was nineteen and two months. There's a lot that a nineteen-year-old can do that a minor at sixteen can't. She was able to put her money in a bank savings account and when she had enough saved she bought a used Mustang. The air conditioner didn't work too well and it needed a muffler. But it only cost 1800 dollars and it got her where she needed to go. She celebrated her seventeenth birthday driving around the city of New Orleans looking at the sights, glad that she had a place to live, food in the refrigerator and a set of wheels to get from place to place. Her life was finally looking up. She thought about going back to night school and finishing her education but somehow just never found the time to register. Also, she never seemed to have enough money to juggle work and school. But she promised herself that if she ever came into a lot of money, then the first thing she would do is register for adult education and get her high school diploma. Therapist Ch. 08 Bobby worked as a prostitute for four years, all the while keeping her eye focused on getting a job that didn't require her to go to bed with someone. Then one day one of her clients told her about a job opening at a gift shop in Lakeside Shopping Center that did not require a lot of references. She and Juliet had just moved into an apartment in Fat City and it was within walking distance from her new home. The owner sold gifts from South and Central America and needed another salesclerk, one salesclerk having quit on him without giving him any notice. The owner needed someone who could start immediately. He also wanted someone who would not open the packages that were delivered nor question him about what was delivered. He was there only during the weekly deliveries they received and he frequently took some of the boxes away with him. All the secretiveness caused Bobby to wonder if the store gifts were the only thing he imported. What did she care what he imported. The job paid higher than normal for a salesclerk, although she did not earn as much as she did when she was turning tricks. But it was easy work and she usually worked alone; the other two salesclerks worked overlapping hours with her, one worked at night. Best of all, she did not have to provide sex with anyone to earn her money. But now with the theft of her money Bobby has no future. Juliet is due to come in the front door any minute and ask for her portion of the rent and she hasn't got it. They've been good friends ever since they met on the streets four years ago. They looked out for each other, helped each other in times of need. But the one thing that kept them together is that they didn't share money. Sure they lent each other ten or twenty dollars every now and then. Once she even lent Juliet 50 dollars so she could pay a cell phone bill. But that is a far cry from 287.50, her portion of the rent. She has about 230 dollars in a savings account but that's no good. She can't get to it until Monday morning. She gets angry with herself for keeping her extra money in a savings account instead of a checking account. Suddenly Juliet is at the door. "Hey Bobby, what's up?" Bobby doesn't answer her. She's sitting on her bed and holding her savings account book in her hand. She stares at her roommate and frowns, shaking her head. "Don't tell me. Let me guess. You haven't got the rent." "What am I going to do Juliet? Don't tell me to start turning tricks again because I'm through with that." "Hey you," Juliet says as she sits on the bed next to her friend, "I'm always the one with money problems, not you. Don't worry about it. We'll make it somehow. We always have in the past. So, tell me what happened to your pay?" "You know how my boss always pays me in cash?" "Yeah." "Well today I found out why. He paid me and I put my money in my purse like I always do. Then thirty minutes later, I check my purse and the money is gone, all $450 of it. I'm sure he took it but he claimed that it must have been a customer. Anyway, I'm not going to work there any more. But I don't know where I can go to get that kind of money." "Oh! You'll find something. You always do. Remember I'm the one with the money problems all the time." "But Juliet what are we going to do for the rent? I've only got about 230 dollars in my savings account and I can't even get to it until Monday." "Will you quit worrying? We'll make it." "No we're not. That miser of a landlord isn't . . . OK, what's that grin on your face for?" "I turned a trick last night and netted 1200 dollars! Ahhhhhhh!" Juliet screams in joy, pulling a handful of 100 dollar bills out of her bra and flashing it at Bobby. "No!" Bobby yells back at Juliet and hits her with a pillow. "How'd you do that? You didn't steal it did you?" "No, some guy from Houston, Texas wanted me to spend the night with him. We go up to his hotel room where Canal Street meets the river. He snorts some coke and then spends the rest of the night banging me. Bobby, this guy never stopped. He fucked me in every hole I got. Then around seven this morning, he gives me the twelve hundred and tells me to get my ass out of there." "Juliet, you're something else," Bobby says shaking her head. "So, I'll get the rent this month; you get it next month . . . on one condition." "Sure, what do you need?" Bobby asks her friend. "Give me a lift to the Quarter. It's Sunday and I got to meet Sam. He's a regular customer." "Sure. Come on. I'll drop you off and then get myself some coffee and beignets at the Café du Monde." "Mind if I join you?" Juliet inquires. "No of course not. But you'll have to pay for your own this time. I only got enough money to pay for mine." "Keep your money. I'm the rich one today," she says flashing the wad of bills in the air again. "I'll pay for it." "You're a doll, Juliet. I love you," Bobby says as she throws her arms around her friend and gives her a hug. "I love you too, Bobby." Therapist Ch. 09 George decides to take a break in his studies. This past Thursday and Friday after work he went to the Jefferson Parish Library main branch on West Napoleon Avenue. At present he is studying the British Captain James Cook. Although his main love is studying about the history of New Orleans and America -- he just returned some books on the Louisiana Purchase -- right now he is indulging his other history love and studying about the adventures of the famous sea captain. He also loves to study philosophy, the history of life on earth -- particularly the evolution of the dinosaurs -- and art but he has not studied these subjects for about six weeks. He has spent the last several days reading the books he has checked out. Today it's a beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon; he decides to take a break. At first he just drives along Lakeshore Drive but then decides to go to the Café du Monde in the French Quarter for some coffee and beignets. George finds an excellent parking place in front of an old battered Mustang on Ursuline Avenue near the corner of Decatur Street. He walks the three blocks to the beignet shop and waits in line for a table. He does not mind waiting. This is one of his favorite haunts; the wait is worth it. He gets a seat in the open-air restaurant near the street. Then while enjoying his beignets and coffee two prostitutes sit at the table next to him, although the taller one is dressed more conservatively than normal for a prostitute. He is immediately disgusted. He tries as much as possible to ignore them but fails. Their conversation intrudes into his thoughts. He curses them for ruining his afternoon. "Whores should not be allowed to visit this historic restaurant," he says to himself as he finally gets up to leave. "The city council needs to pass an ordinance to prohibit whores from eating in my favorite restaurant." Putting the two women behind him, he walks though Jackson Square. He pauses in front of the statue of the famous general. He looks around at the buildings to admire the balconies of the Pontalba, the architecture of the Presbytere and Calbido and St. Louis Cathedral. How anyone can condemn New Orleans is beyond him. He loves studying the history of New Orleans. "Don't people realize that by studying the history of New Orleans one can learn a large portion of the history of the United States?" George reminisces to himself. "Thomas Jefferson thought that nothing but ignorant, barbarians lived here. He hated New Orleans and called the city a 'natural and habitual enemy,' of the fledging nation." George pauses to momentarily watch one of the artist that surround Jackson Square. He continues talking to himself, "What Jefferson did not fully realize was that back in 1803, there were only two cities in all the United States where one could hear the opera and one of those was New Orleans, one of the largest cities on North American continent at that time. Barbarians do not listen to the opera." After watching the artist for several minutes he continues through the Place d'Armes, as he knows Jackson Square was at one time called. He continues talking to himself, "But Jefferson was smart enough to realize the economic importance of the Isle of Orleans to United States. Without the port of New Orleans, those who lived on the frontier of the new nation could not get their products to the east coast of America and Europe." George stops to watch another of the artists there draw a picture. After several minutes, he decides to go home so he walks up Pirates Alley next to St. Louis Cathedral. He reminds himself of the legend that the Privateer Jean Lafitte sold his booty in this alley. He turns right on Royal Street and begins to slowly meander down the street back to his car. He is fantasizing of touring the French Quarter with Donna. "Mister, Mister," Bobby calls to George as she is trying to catch up with him. At the sound of a strange voice George turns around to see who is calling him. It's one of the prostitutes who were sitting at the table next to him at the beignet shop. He is disgusted all over again. "What does she want," he says to himself. "If she wants me to fuck her, then I'll brand her and then fuck her with my whip." "You forgot this at your table," she says to him as she hands him a book about the Adventures of Captain Cook. "I saw you walking through Jackson Square and thought I would return it to you. I almost missed you. I had to ask one of the artists that gather around the square if he had seen anybody with a purple shirt on and he said that you watched him draw for a few minutes and then saw you walk up Pirates Alley." George is dumfounded. He does not know how to respond to such generosity from a prostitute. He has always considered them to be the maggots of society. He mumbles a quiet 'thank you.' "Sure, hope you have a nice day Sir," Bobby answers him with a smile on her face. "Yeah, you to," he manages to mutter. Then he turns around and continues toward his car parked on Ursuline Avenue. Bobby watches him walk away for a minute, thinking about the strange response she got from him. Then she shrugs her shoulders and begins to walk down Royal Street herself toward her Mustang which is also parked on Ursuline Avenue. As George walks toward his car he becomes angry with himself for forgetting his library book on the restaurant table. He becomes even angrier when he thinks that he is now in debt to a whore for saving it for him. Suddenly he stops and listens to the footsteps on the pavement behind him. He turns slightly and looks over his shoulder. It's the whore and she's following him! She's about a half a block behind him, walking slowly. She is admiring the architecture of the old houses along the street. George turns back around and continues toward his car. "What does that bitch want . . . a reward?" he says to himself and continues on, slightly picking up his pace. When he gets to Ursuline Avenue he turns right. He looks again over his shoulder for the young woman. She is still walking slowly almost a full block behind him. He gets to his car, unlocks the door and stands next to the open door. He watches for her to appear at the corner. When she does, she also turns right, walks one block and jaywalks across the street, heading straight toward him. George begins to believe that she wants a date with him. "Why is she after me?" George asks himself. "None of those other prostitutes approached me this way; none of them followed after me." The bottle of ether is on his console along with a handkerchief. He decides to teach this whore a lesson. No whore is going to accost him and get away with it. He reaches inside of the car and hurriedly pours some ether on the rag. When she gets abreast of his car, she is again smiling. "Nice car you have there mister. Better than my old beat up Mustang there behind yours," she says to him. But George does not hear her. He is too incensed with his thoughts that she wants a date with him. He grabs her at the back of the neck and holds the ether soaked rag to her face. He calls her a filthy whore and tells her that he is going to brand her and kill her like he did the other prostitutes. She struggles with him but within seconds she is asleep. He lays her down in the back seat of his car. He immediately heads for Orleans Avenue and gets on Interstate 10 just past Louis Armstrong Park. As he drives past the Superdome on his left, his thoughts turn to his victim once he gets her chained up inside the punishment room. For her insolence he intends to spoon feed her oatmeal so that he can keep her alive longer and beat her more. "Yes," he says to himself. "I'll give her oatmeal just like that bitch mother of mine used to give me when she would chain me up. That ought to teach her not to approach me for a date. I'll even make her use the chamber pot." Driving down the Interstate, George continues to visualize on how he is going to really torture his victim for intruding in on his life; how he is going to beat her and brand her. He wants this one to suffer as he did as a child. But he didn't hold the ether filled rag on her face long enough. On the way back to Metairie, she wakes up just as they are approaching the Causeway Boulevard exit of Interstate 10. She is groggy but she knows something is wrong. Something is very wrong. She is lying down in the back seat of a strange car and the man whose book she returned is driving. She remembers telling him something about how nice his car was and then him holding a foul-smelling rag to her face. Then nothing. "Well," she says to herself. "I'm not going to wait around and find out what he's up to." She slowly takes off one of her shoes. George is lost in his own thoughts and does not notice what she is doing. Bobby hits him on the side of his head with the heal of her shoe. George is caught totally off guard. He loses control of the car. It flips upside down, landing in the neutral ground of the expressway. George is killed instantly. George finally has the peace for which he sought since he was a child of four. His mother forced him into a wooden box and nailed it shut, telling him that she was going to bury him alive for soiling his pants. Although she let him out after a few hours of darkness, he never again soiled his pants. After that day he never again knew peace until now. Bobby is shaken up but not hurt. She crawls out the shattered rear window and stands next to the auto. Almost immediately several cars pull up near the upturned vehicle. One man approaches Bobby. Another man begins to direct traffic. "Are you all right," he has his arm around her. "Do you need an ambulance? Sit over here on the grass until help arrives." He dials 911 on his cell phone. "I'm OK. That man tried to kidnap me," she answers him pointing toward the upturned auto. She is still groggy from the ether. "What?" the man asks incredulously as he guides her to a spot on the grass away from the Toyota. "I was going to my car in the French Quarter and he put something on my face and the next thing I know I'm here." After a few minutes a police car arrives. "Excuse me sir," a young white woman in a police uniform says to the man helping Bobby. She stoops down next to Bobby; her male partner is checking on George. "I'm a police officer with the Jefferson Parish Sheriff's office. Can you tell me what happened here Ma'am?" The siren of an ambulance can be heard approaching. "Yeah like I told that other guy, I was going to my car in the French Quarter and suddenly this guy puts this foul smelling rag on my face. I heard him say something about branding and killing prostitutes. Then I blacked out. When I wake up, I'm lying in the back seat of his car. So I hit him with my shoe. Then the car flipped." "He put a rag laced in ether on your face. I can smell it." "He called me a whore and said he was going to brand me and kill me. Where's my shoe? It must still be in the car. Could you get my shoe for me officer?" "You just sit here for now Ma'am," the female police officer answers her. "An ambulance is on its way. When it gets here have them give you some oxygen." Then she goes over to the upturned Toyota. "How's he?" she asks her partner. "He didn't make it. Here, I got his driver's license." "Yeah, well according to the woman, he tried to kidnap her. Called her a prostitute and said he was going to brand her and kill her. I'm wondering if he's The Rapist or not, only she ain't dressed like any prostitute I've ever seen. "Hey! My aunt Olivia is working that case," her partner exclaims. She's a New Orleans detective. Want me to give her a call?" "Why not? Maybe she can help sort this mess out." ****************************************** Robert and Darlene are lying in bed; she is to his right. They are both naked having just finished making love, a Sunday afternoon delight Darlene calls it. He is lying on his back. She is leaning on her left elbow looking down on him and running her hand up and down his chest. He is caressing her right nipple with his left hand. "That was right smart of you to pack the girls off to your mother's for the afternoon," he says to her. "Yeah well I figured you needed a break from all those prostitutes you been hanging around lately. Tell me, am I better than they are?" She gives him a mischievous smile. "Well, I don't know Babe. I ain't never been to bed with a prostitute." He sits up and smacks her on her right ass cheek. "Will you leave my ass alone?" "Never." They fall back onto the mattress. He kisses her between the breasts and then on the neck. "You like smacking me on my ass don't you?" "I wouldn't do it to you if you didn't like it so much," he answers her. Then he kisses her openmouthed on the lips. Their tongues tango together. In the middle of the kiss the doorbell rings. Darlene breaks the kiss. "Ignore it," she says. "It's probably George wanting a piece of cake or something. I want another piece of you." She kisses him again and runs her hand through his pubic hair, clutching his member. The doorbell rings a second time. They both ignore it. Darlene crawls on top of Robert, straddling his hips. She presses her sex into his. By now Robert is again erect. He grabs her left nipple with his right thumb and index finger, pinching it. He pulls her toward himself as he sucks her right nipple. Darlene moans. The doorbell rings a third time. This time it's accompanied with a loud pounding on the door. "That's not George. One of us better go answer it," Robert says in frustration. "I'll do it. You stay right there." She delicately grabs his erect penis, gives him a very seductive look and then kisses the head of his cock. She licks some pre-cum from its opening. "I'll be right back just as soon as I tell whoever it is that they interrupted a great fuck." Darlene wraps a robe around her and goes to the front door. When she opens it, she is surprised to see Lt. Martinique. "Oh hi Olivia. Come on in. What can I do for you?" "I've been trying to get y'all on the phone for an hour now. But I keep getting a busy signal and Robert's cell keeps sending me to voice mail." "Sorry. Robert and I were sort of busy. He took the phone off the hook and put his cell on vibrate." Darlene bites her lower lip and gives Lt. Martinique a mischievous smile. "Was that sex fiend of a husband of yours coming on to you again darling?" "Actually it was more like me coming on to him this time." "Well sorry to bother you but I got to see him right away. I think we may have gotten the serial killer." "What?" Darlene asks incredulously. "Let me go get him. Sit down. I'll be right back." A few minutes later Robert enters the living room. Darlene is following behind him. "Hey Olivia," Robert says to his partner as he enters into the living room tying the cords of his robe around his waist. "Darlene tells me you caught our serial killer." "You know sex isn't the only thing in life," she says to him in a sarcastic but playful tone. "You should be taking your wife to see some of the sites of the city, like the Audubon Zoo, the Aquarium of the Americas, the New Orleans Museum of Art or just to ride the Carousel in City Park. It's one of only a couple left in the whole country you know. Instead of bothering your poor wife and all, y'all should be out enjoying the sunshine on a beautiful day like today." "Yeah well he likes my ass," Darlene interjects. Then she smacks her husband on his ass. "Can I get you some coffee or anything?" "No thank you darling. I'm not going to tell you what he thinks about mine." "I can only imagine." Darlene puts her arm around Dave's waist, hugging him. "Olivia, you didn't come here to tell me how to spend my afternoons or to talk about my wife's ass. What's up?" "No, I came to talk to you about your neighbor, George Hoover. How much do you know about him?" "Not much. We play chess whenever we can. He keeps to himself mostly. What's he got to do with the serial killer?" "He was killed this afternoon in an auto accident on the I-10, near the Causeway." "What? George? What happened? "He had a young woman with him in the car," Olivia answers him. "Was she hurt?" Darlene interrupts. "No, she's all right. She says that he threatened to brand her and kill her, called her a prostitute. He apparently kidnapped her after putting an ether soaked rag to her face and knocking her out. I believe that he was taking her back to his house to torture her and kill her at the time of the accident." "I don't believe this. Olivia are you trying to tell me that my next door neighbor, timid and mild-mannered George Hoover, is a serial killer? I play chess with the man whenever I'm free on Wednesday evenings for crying out loud." "It takes all kinds Robert. Anyway, I got a couple of Jefferson Parish policemen outside. We're waiting on a warrant to search his house now." "Yeah well if he is our rapist and he was taking her to his house to torture her, then there'll be a ton of evidence in there to prove it." "And we'll have solved the case," Olivia adds. During the search of George's house hundreds of open, un-mailed love letters are found. They are all addressed to Miss Donna Fairchild with a Louisiana State University Baton Rouge post office box number. In the very first letter George asks Donna to forgive him for not introducing her to his mother. He confesses to his precious Donna that he killed his mother and buried her in the yard. A search of George's back and side yards produces the skeletal remains of a middle-aged woman buried beneath a meticulously cared for garden. Her skull is crushed. There was a small plastic crucifix sticking in the ground at the head of the grave. Further investigation discovers that Donna was a student at Dominican High School of New Orleans. Then after graduating from there she went on to LSU. But she disappeared about the same time that George was a freshman there also. At the time, there was no investigation into her disappearance as her roommate believed that she ran off with an unknown boyfriend. Upon questioning George's co-workers in order to obtain more information about him it is discovered that the serial killings began soon after Linda McBride started to work for Ochsner Hospital. Linda confesses that she had amours feelings toward George and attempted to get him to take her out. But she quickly adds that George never took her out. An investigation into her background exonerates her of all suspicion. Because he lived right next door to The Rapist, there's in inquiry, fueled mainly by the media, as to why Lt. Robert Pierce was unable to catch him. Robert counters the media's questions with a statement that George lived two lives. He was apparently a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Robert tells the media that even those who worked with George did not know that he was a serial killer and they saw him everyday all day, whereas Robert only saw him for a couple of hours on Wednesday evenings. Robert also tells the media that George was so clever at deceiving everyone that he and his wife occasionally let him baby sit for their two daughters. Further, both the mayor and the chief of police defend Robert, telling the media that Lt. Pierce is an excellent officer with and impeccable record. They also point out the George apparently live two entirely different lives. ************************************* Three weeks later. "Hey Robert, here's the forensic report on the evidence gotten from George's house. You're not going to believe this." Olivia says as she drops a large manila envelope on his desk. Therapist Ch. 09 "Don't tell me George isn't The Rapist." "No, he's our man alright. But you remember that old whip with the brass handle, the one that was falling apart." "What about it?" Robert asks. "The blood on it was George's and an examination of the crushed skull of the skeleton that we dug up in the side yard matches the description George gives to Donna about his killing his mother. That confirms the confession George made in his letters to Donna. He killed his mother after she beat him just like it says in the letters." "I guess that's where the scars on his back and buttocks came from. Her abuse must have caused him to go berserk." "You're right Robert. Her abuse pushed him over the edge. But that's no excuse to kill prostitutes. He knew that what he was doing was wrong. Why else would he kidnap them and torture them in secret?" "But what happened to Donna. Who is she?" Robert knows that his partner is correct, that George knew that killing someone is against the law and subject to prosecution. "I don't know. Maybe he killed her after she rejected him or something," Olivia answers Robert. "But why write love letters to her if he killed her?" Robert speculates an answer. But before Olivia can respond, the phone rings on Robert's desk. "Homicide, Pierce," he answers it. A pause, he winks at Olivia and says into the receiver, "Hi Babe, how's your ass?" Oh Donna, Oh Donna, Oh Donna, Oh Donna I had a girl Donna was her name. If my mom hadn't beat me I'd never gone insane. Cause I love my girl. Donna we're as one now. We're as one now. Now that you're here I'm not all alone. Not by myself to wonder and know. Cause I love my girl. Donna we're as one now. We're as one now. Well Darling now that you're here I know just what I'll do. All the time and all my love for you. I had a girl Donna was her name. Now we're together I'm no longer insane. Cause I love my girl. Donna we're as one now. We're as one now. Oh Donna, Oh Donna, Oh Donna, Oh Donna, Oh Donna, Oh Donna