****** Getting even with Mary Anne ******
                           Provided By: BDSM_Library
                              www.bdsmlibrary.com



Synopsis: Released after being jailed for 12 years for a crime he didn\'t
commit a chance encounter gives the opportunity for payback.
I don't know where I was the night Mary Anne McAlister cried rape. I
haven't a clue and that's the truth. I know Sheriff Parker found me
at six the next morning lying in a pool of my own vomit under the
Ultine Bridge, I can still feel the boot he used to wake me. Now, old
Parker was one of those good ol' boy's "born and raised in the county
like all the Parker's going way back."  He had no time for city folk
who fancied their chances at farming, even less if the miserable
bastards failed.  Right from the start he'd been down on my dad
explaining how they "did things around here."  Dad had been polite,
he'd even tried to fit in but it was no secret that Parker and the
rest of the locals had enjoyed watching dad's dream trickle down the
toilet.  Parker and me were like old friends by then which is why I
didn't take that boot too personally.  When they'd dragged me back to
the McAlister City lockup I figured that I he was going to do me on
some stupid vagrancy rap or drunk an' disorderly.

In fact the first I knew about Mary Anne or her accusations was while
they were fingerprinting me. Parker and his boy's did this whole
thing were they talk about you and what's likely to happen, right in
front of you, like you weren't even there. It was from this
"conversation" that I worked out the story, that some guy had
grabbed Mary Anne on the way back from a church social, that he'd
beat and raped her leaving her to walk home barefoot and half naked.
I also knew that she'd made a positive ID.  I mean she didn't say it was
some guy my height or weight, she'd said it was me, by name. I got to
confess I'd lost it then.  I mean I was too high to remember much at
all that night but I knew I didn't rape her, even drunk and out of my
head I wouldn't do that.

I mean I knew Mary Anne of course, everyone did, it's impossible to
be a McAlister in McAlister City and not be known. Mary Anne and I
had attended the same small high school until I'd dropped out that
summer. In fact she ruled that school in the same way that her father
ruled the rest of town, through fear and favor. For a time because
she and her friends thought big city life was cool, they'd let me
hang with them. I knew their wild side as well as anyone but I
couldn't for the life of me figure why she'd fingered me.


While I was trying to work it out old Parker decided to explain what
happened to guy's who rape in his county.  He then explained what
happened to guy's dumb enough to rape the first citizen's daughter,
and just to make sure I didn't forget he let two of his larger
deputy's write it on my face with their fists.

I was charged, my mugshot released to the press and a court hearing
all  worked out before they told my folks or even bothered to look
for a lawyer. Around here they call that country justice, I suppose I
was lucky they couldn't find a rope.

Somehow Momma managed to dry Dad out long enough to come and see me.
She looked even smaller and thinner than she had before, he sort of
staggered around trying not to be sick.  We didn't say much, she
promised to find a lawyer but I knew they couldn't afford one, they'd
spent every cent they'd had in the world trying to make the farm Dad
had dreamed about into reality. I'd thanked them but said that I
preferred the court attorney because he was more likely to know the
judges. She'd just smiled and said that we'd see, like she had when
I'd asked for something expensive for Christmas. As if the world's
most brilliant lawyer would stand a chance in McAlister City.

After they'd gone I heard the two deputy's discussing how best to
beat a confession out of me. Old Parker, he just waited for the
jitters and the withdrawal to set in.  He knew all you had to do with
a junkie was wait and let the addiction do it's work, soon he'd be
hurting so bad he'd admit anything to just make it stop.

And of course I did.

All in all the trial was as fair as you can get in a town that had
already been told I was guilty. By then I'd been Upstate long enough
to get myself straightened out, I'd withdrawn the confession straight
away, not that it would do any good, Mary Anne's testimony alone was
enough to bury me.  She sat in the witness box in this white summer
dress, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders, she looked
like a distressed angel, sobbing as she told of the frightening
ordeal.  God, I'm only sorry the Oscar committee hadn't been there to
reward her performance.  When she looked up at that jury and told
them how she'd pleaded with me to stop, hell at that moment even I
would have thought I was guilty.  I suppose it was then I realized I
was done for.  No amount of scientific evidence could win against
such a performance, not when the people of this town had been
believing whatever a McAlister  told them for over a century.  Of
course they may have been more skeptical if they knew her like I had.
If they'd hung out in the same bars in Ogden where she often danced
topless on the pool tables, or if they'd seen her so high on coke
that she couldn't even remember her own name.  And around here a name
like McAlister is a difficult one to forget.

I suppose I was lucky that the death penalty was not an option.
Twenty years seemed almost like a slap on the wrist compared to the
trial. I consoled myself that no matter how bad jail was it had to be
better than living and dying in McAlister.

Dad died that winter, it was unusually cold that year and he wasn't
really been cut out for trailer park living.  Somehow Momma managed
the seventy mile trek up to the state pen to see me.  She looked
fragile, like a strong gust of wind would just blow her over, but
I knew she'd be all right, she'd always been the strong one. I told
her to go stay with her sister in Phily, to get out of McAlister and
forget about me. I knew it couldn't be easy for her to live in a
place like that, what with the small minds and the sharp tongues. It
was probably as easy as being a convicted rapist in the state pen.
She promised she'd think about it, but I knew she'd never leave.
McAlister for all it's faults was closer to the pen than Phily. With
Dad gone I was all she had left.

In some ways I had to be grateful for what happened.  I could easily
have drowned in my own vomit that night or on one of the other
night's afterwards. After we'd lost the farm I'd hit rock bottom
started doing drugs and drinking too much. If I'd have carried on
that way there would have been an early grave in my future. Jail
changed all that. Oh, don't get me wrong jail is hell, the first few
months I got beaten up on a regular basis, but after the guards had
decided I'd had enough they stopped turning a blind eye. Strangely
old McAlister's political influence started working in my favor. The
case had made enough nationwide publicity to make my constant
"accidents" look bad on the prison authorities. I was moved to a
secure block and it was then my life started to turn around.  To
protect me from the other prisoners I spent most of the time locked
down.  Bored shitless I'd started reading, anything and everything
from crime novels to technical books.  After three years I got my
high school equivalence diploma, then started taking correspondence
courses in a variety of subjects.  Physically I was better too, the
jail ran a tough regime and I ended up stronger and healthier than I
think I'd ever been.

Sometimes at night I would lay there and wonder what would have
happened if I had died that night. One thing seemed clear, it
would have pissed Mary Anne off to be cheated of such a perfect
scapegoat. For looking back I knew that this was not a genuine
error or a case of mistaken identity. I could see it in her eyes when
she pointed me out in the courtroom, that look of hate and power. I
had known then that she'd lied, though I still had no idea why.

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

In all my life I'd never expected Betty Ross to visit me. It's
true that when I'd been in with the clique I'd fucked her a few
times, but then the slut would fuck anything with a pulse. When I'd
been sent down she'd been Mary Anne's best friend and one of the Ra
Ra crowd that yelled abuse at me from the public gallery.
However, outside in the real world times had changed.  It was the end
of the eighties and the farming crisis had really started to hit
hard.  Even long established folk's like the Ross's were starting to
go under and Betty had woken up one day to discover that her
popularity had been directly linked to her pocket book.  Suddenly the
clique she'd been in since junior high had decided to freeze her out.
I could tell that she was livid, that she was here more for her own
revenge than in a sudden fit of conscience.  Not that it mattered,
what she did tell me was what had really happened that night.

Seems Mary Anne had gone to Ogden with the usual crowd intending to
get drunk and get wild.  Ogden is pretty much the same kind of
shit hole as McAlister the only advantage it had for the McAlister
kids was that it wasn't *their* shit hole.  Stuff they did in Ogden
was unlikely to make it back to Ma and Pa provided they didn't go too
far.  It seems that Mary Anne's chosen beau for the evening was
Bobbie Wright, nice kid, football player, strong but not that smart.

Part way through the evening, Mary Anne had decided to try a range of
recreational spices which included the new drug E and a lot of coke.
After that she lost it for a while and only really understood what
was happening when she felt Bobbie thrust into her.  Now Mary Anne's
Daddy was one of those old bores that ran the Moral Crusade for
America.  You know, the type that are always telling everyone else
that what was they are doing is wrong.  He'd cultivated a squeaky
clean image full of images of an America that probably never existed.
He preached moral leadership and the punishment of the wicked.  The
Crusade formed an important part of his political power base.  His
unstained reputation was used to batter the God fearing folk of
McAlister County into keeping him and his acolytes in power.  He was
the type who would sacrifice a wayward daughter to hang on to power.
I think Mary Anne understood this, realized that her excesses would
be overlooked as long as she wasn't a political embarrassment.  As a
result she made sure she left no evidence, the only drugs she used
left no tracks and she had kept her virginity intact by trading
blow jobs for pussy licks rather than doin' the dirty.  The watchword
had been plausible deniability, or it had been until Bobbie Wright
took it into his head to fuck her.

Now thanks to Bobbie she was no longer a virgin. She feared she was
pregnant, understood that her father wouldn't contemplate a back door
abortion, the liberal press were too good at digging up such scandals
and old McAlister had dreams that stretched beyond McAlister County.

Visions of bearing Bobbie's child, or worse  being forced to
marry him fluttered through her mind. Then the idea had come, a way
to explain her lost virginity and leave a politically acceptable
let out if the bitch needed an abortion. She'd been raped, now all she
needed was a rapist.

Sitting in the visitor's hall listening to the story all I could
think about was how cold and calculating the bitch had been. To go
from stoned to deliberately ruining someone's life in less than an
hour showed her to be a very nasty piece of work. Through my reading
I now knew what a sociopath was and I could see that now she'd gotten
away with it she was likely to get even more outrageous. I admit that
what Betty had first told me my first reaction had been relief, the
big problem with having a hole in your life is that you can never be
sure what happened. I'd always felt that I was innocent, but it was
more a gut reaction than one based on solid fact. I went back to my
cell feeling if anything relieved. I didn't even mind that Betty had
refused to swear out a statement, it was hard going against the
McAlisters. It was only later when I brooded about the injustice, all
the lost years, that the cold dark anger had started to grow. Even
then I had no plans to do anything about it, well not for another
fourteen years anyway.

Gradually the years slipped by. I got a job in the carpentry shop,
started studying a whole range of subjects from computers to
accounting.  When the jail got computers I started designing web
pages for local charities, building up good will and a good
reputation. One of the charity guy's put in a good word with the
ACLU who found me a lawyer but there was little evidence either
way outside of Mary Anne's identification. We found we didn't
have enough for an appeal. So I continued to work year after year and
gradually my anger grew.

Strangely it was O.J. Simpson who saved me. Remember the Simpson
trial?  Well, it was prime time viewing back in the pen.  I don't
think there were any of us that didn't wonder how we could have done
with a few million dollars worth of legal talent.  I started reading
up on the DNA fingerprint techniques used in the case and realized
that there might be a way out.  I knew old Parker had taken some
vaginal swabs from Mary Anne, back then they had been used only for
blood typing, but now there was this fingerprint technique.  All I
needed was some way to restart the inquiry.

Then, my mother died suddenly of a heart attack.  Somehow she had
managed to keep a small life insurance policy running.  At first I'd
ignored the money, I felt it was like I was picking over her bones if
I used it.  Eventually though a couple of my supporters persuaded me
to try.  I had just enough to get the swabs DNA tested, my lawyer
was hopeful and I waited nervously.  At first it was unclear if the
swabs, which had been in storage at the FBI crime lab for ten years,
would be in good enough condition for retesting.  There was an
anxious wait but eventually the results came back as I'd hoped.  For
a while I'd feared that old McAlister would use his political clout
to block an appeal but with the ACLU on my side he wasn't going
to risk it.  Not now that he was a national figure.  In fact he'd
been so vigorous in denouncing the Simpson jury for ignoring the DNA
evidence that he had trapped himself.

The retrial we really more of a hearing, Mary Anne probably realizing
that she might be liable for perjury charges didn't even show up,
standing by her original statement and claiming it was all too
traumatic. I'm told that worked in my favor, no emotional outburst to
cloud the scientific evidence and suddenly it was all over.

They released me after 12 years with a full pardon and a payout from
some justice fund. I sued the state and the City of McAlister Police
Department anyway. Now that I was proved to be an innocent man all my
allegations of police brutality were finally taken seriously. I hear
old Parker was forced to resign, my lawyer also said that I could sue
him individually. I decided to consider it. I spent the next few
months doing chat shows and TV specials, there was even a TV
Movie, all adding money to my already substantial coffers.  Of course
Mary Anne never changed her story, to admit now that there was
never a rape could put her in jail and kill her father's political
ambitions.  She announced on Oprah that she had been raped but
had made "a terrible mistake" in the identification.  Tearfully she
had begged me to forgive her in a performance almost as good as
the one she'd given in court.  I of course had smiled, kissed and
hugged her to the delight of the studio audience. Prison had taught
me patience, I could afford to wait. Incidentally,  I was told that
Bobbie Wright left town that same day, it probably hadn't escaped him
that the same test that had freed me could put him in jail.  After
all Mary Anne had already sent one innocent man to jail to save her
reputation, if I had been him I'd have run too.

That was over a year ago. Since then I've fought hard to
reestablish myself.  So far I've been lucky.  I don't know, there is
something that people find attractive about someone who's won out
against the odds.  After I got out there seemed a lot of people who
wanted to be associated with me and my success.  I was able to take
the little web work I'd done and build on it.  I now own a small
company in California specializing in corporate web design. These
day's I'm quite successful I have a house overlooking the ocean
about twenty miles from L.A.  and I'm able to work from home.  Up
until recently I 'd been too busy to think about all the loose ends
in my life, but now finally I've been able to think about getting
even.  She'd done well for herself, a political sciences degree
had led to a job as a political lobbyist in Washington.  I suspect
that daddy's increasing national influence helped there.  Still she'd
been having a good life while I rotted in jail, she had that nice
apartment in Washington, that fancy little Italian sports car, all
those rich and eligible men friends.  Yep, she was very comfortable
which made it just the right time to take it all away.

I suppose most people would have made a beeline straight for the
bitch and settled it then and there.  I suppose I could have, I'd
dreamed about it enough, but to be honest I was enjoying my freedom
too much to want to go back to jail right now.  Besides, it hadn't
escaped my attention that there was a far more fitting punishment I
could dish out, one that was all nice and legal.

That's why I hired a detective to find Bobbie Wright, I sort
of figured the guy owed me for not speaking out. I don't know why I
thought I could change his mind, testifying against the McAlister clan
was as dangerous now as it was then. No, that's not true I knew
exactly what would change his mind. The DNA profile of Mary Anne's
"attacker" was in an FBI data bank in Washington. Even someone as dumb
as old Bobbie must have realized that it was a sword hanging over his
head. I felt sure that I could convince him that the only way out was
a preemptive strike, to get his version out before he was an accused
rapist. Bobbie had really gone to ground,  it took my detective
several months to find him but he finally tracked Bobbie down to a
suburb of Las Vegas where he was working in a heath spa.  I figured
the guy might freak if I just showed up so I sent him a card asking
him to call.  The card sort of suggested I was looking up several old
friends.  I still didn't know if he knew that I knew, if you know
what I mean?

Anyway, I got no reply, so I decided to give him a few days before I
visited in person. I want to state right now that what subsequently
happened was not in the plan. My one aim in life at that point was to
get the bitch convicted of perjury and serving time in jail. I kind
of figured she wouldn't be in long, her daddy's political clout would
see to that.  Still it didn't matter, I wanted to see how her
wonderful career would go when she got out the pen with a criminal
record.

Yes, I had carefully laid my plans against her when fate moved it's
giant hand. Well, that part I'll tell you latter.


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

It had started innocently enough, I'd decided to go to Vegas in
person to look up my old friend Bobbie Wright. I figured once I
explained the situation to him it wouldn't be too long before he saw
things my way. Just to be sure I'd had my guy track down Betty Ross
in case I needed someone to collaborate things, I figured she'd
cooperate, life as a "dancer" on the L.A. strip is never easy even
when you don't have a three year old daughter to feed.

I'd sent Bobbie another card this time explicitly telling him why I
was going to call and pointing out the benefit's of getting his story
out first. I rang the airport to book a flight when I suddenly
realized the date, that Tuesday would have been Mom's birthday. For
some reason I felt a pang, the need to visit the humble little grave
in the corner of St. Paul's churchyard. I decided to let Bobbie stew,
to instead drive over to McAlister county and see mom. This was after
all my first holiday in fourteen years I wanted the sky, the sun, the
freedom of the open road. So I set off not realizing the events I'd
set in motion.

Even before I reached McAlister City I realized that they'd been hit
hard. The farming crisis had just started to hit when dad's place had
gone down. He'd just been the weakest, the one with the least capital
but he hadn't been the last. Of course I'd read about it in jail, I'd
read just about everything. I knew that old McAlister had used the
crisis as a springboard to build his national platform. Christ, his
family have lived of the backs of these folks for generations and
even when they had reached there lowest ebb they'd found a McAlister
profiting from it. I suppose I was guilty in some ways too. A Federal
judge had decided that beating a confession from me and tainting my
trial meant that the City of McAlister had infringed my civil rights.
After that a six figure settlement had come as no surprise. Of course
I figured I deserved the money after what they'd done but it
wasn't until I reached town and saw the closed schools and the
unpainted buildings that I understood where that money had come from.
I suppose I'd liked to imagine that old man McAlister had written out
a check and paid it himself but of course he hadn't, that type never
do.  It had been the ordinary folks that paid while life in the big
house on the hill had gone on as normal.

Still I was sure his loyal constituents probably wouldn't see it like
that. I kept my head down, cursing that the new Toyota looked so
obviously out of place.  Fortunately that early in the morning the
streets were deserted.  It wasn't too hard to park the car, turn the
collar of my leather jacket up and slip over the churchyard wall.
The place was overgrown, I suppose the city couldn't afford to tend
it, and it took me some time to find momma's grave.  The headstone
was small and unassuming, she'd apparently wanted the cheapest she
could find so I'd have money for my defense.  I admit I cried, all
those years in jail she'd probably only managed to visit two or three
times.  It had been easy to trick myself into thinking she was just
somewhere else.  Now I knew different.  Of course dad wasn't there,
Momma had him cremated and then had snuck up to the old farm and
scattered his ashes there.  She said she wanted him to have his
dream, then and forever in a way that meant than no one could take
it from him again.  I'd had another little cry.  I'd decided then and
there to move her, there was no way that she would end up here
surrounded by people that had despised and hated her in life.  I
figured I'd get the body shipped to California, perhaps to a spot
near my house.  Momma always loved the ocean, she'd never seen the
Pacific, perhaps I could find her a spot with a view?

Of course I could do nothing about dad but I decided that before I
left I would visit one last time. So I took an eccentric route up to
the farm. It was eccentric because I decided to stop next to the
Ultine Bridge and walk down to the last place I'd been free. So I
headed off flicking the radio though all the God stations and country
stations looking for one good solid rock station

And then in passing I heard my name. I tuned back lapping up details
of the news report with a feeling of shock. Apparently after
receiving my second card Bobbie Wright had sat down and written out a
complete confession. Naming names, telling it as it really was. He'd
left nothing out, the drugs, the sex, Mary Anne's little plan.

Everything I'd wanted.

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

Apparently the news had broke while I was on the road, frustrated
journalists were trying to find me,  there was talk of warrants for
Mary Anne's arrest, if they could find her because she'd dropped
completely out of sight. I breathed a sigh of relief, to get to the
farm the usual way would have meant passing the McAlister house, I
could only imagine what kind of media circus would be camped out
there.

Of course I felt vindicated, Bobbie's statement would go a long way
to burying Mary Anne, I admit though that even then I worried that
she could wiggle out of it, a live Bobbie made a much better witness
than a dead one.

I found I'd driven to the farm on autopilot. The road was overgrown,
the house shielded from the road by woods that hadn't been cleared in
a long time. I suppose it figured, the place had only ever been
marginal, that was why it had folded in the first place. With so many
larger and more modern places going for a song it seemed hardly
surprising that it was still empty. For a crazy second I even thought
of buying it back, you know as a gesture to dad, but then good sense
prevailed.

I suppose it was the farm's look of neglect that made the shiny new
Taurus parked outside look so out of place.  The old house obviously
had an occupant, though by the looks of things only a recent one. I'd
parked back near the woods not wanting to risk my tires on the road.

It was puzzling, I for one couldn't figure it out. Dad had once told
me that he'd seen people here on the day's he'd sneaked over to brood
on his failure. In fact it was the risk of these mysterious people
discovering him that had caused him to sneak around in the first
place. After we'd lost the place it had been too painful to come
up here myself and I'd thought it was the booze talking.  Still,
someone was here.  For a second I'd thought of going back, but then I
thought what the hey, a car like that wasn't likely to be from around
here.  The people probably didn't even know who I was.  I'd just go
over quiet and respectful and if they asked, well this was my dad's
grave site, I figured I had a reason.

As I got closer to the car I started to realize that it was just a
little too new. It stood out like my Camry did, all bright and
polished. There were these little paper mats on the floors, a pass to
a long term airport parking space. The Taurus was an airport rental.
It struck me that perhaps one of the press had come here to do some
feature on me. Well if you were in town anyway then stopping
off and getting pictures of the victims house made sense.  I started
to compose just what I'd say if someone asked about Miss Mary Anne
McAlister.

Then suddenly the screen door opened and Mary Anne just walked out
onto the porch.  We both froze, the wide eyed look of horror on her
face said it all.  For an instant we just looked at each other, she
was dressed in a white blouse, a lilac miniskirt and a pair of patent
high heeled knee boots.  For a second she rocked back on those heels
as if she'd been hit, then with a squeal, she turned and ran inside.

I have no idea what made me follow, like I said the thing I most
wanted was to see her rot in jail.  Yet all those dark lonely nights
planning my revenge just bubbled to the surface.  Before I knew it I
was inside.  For a second I stopped, confused, memory and reality
fighting for my perception.  Inside the place was nice, very nice far
better than when we had lived there.  The kitchen was modern, and
very well equipped, our battered old hand me down appliances replaced
with the latest and the best, the chipped tiles replaced with shiny
new ones.  My mind tried to make sense of it, a new kitchen in a
house with busted gutters and peeling paint?  My pause had given her
chance to take a lead and she hadn't wasted it.  She was already in
the living room screaming like a banshee and heading for the phone.
However the high heeled boots hampered her and I managed to get
between her and the phone.  Darting sideways she sold me a dummy,
then she suddenly switched back heading for one of the cabinets.

I spotted the gun as she tried desperately to pull it from the draw.
It got caught and she fought to free it. I have no doubt that her
panic saved my life. With the blood pounding through my head I swung
back my hand and hit her, hard. She folded like a broken doll.

I took the gun and for a second just stood there. I suppose it
dawned on me that I could just walk away at this point. She'd cried
wolf once already and I had a reasonable explanation for being here.
She'd seen me, freaked and pulled a gun, I slugged her in self
defense and then left. No one else was around, if they had been then
they'd be here what with all the noise she'd been making. No, at the
moment it was her word against mine and hers had been proved to be
tainted.

Then I got to thinking that I could possibly extend that principle,
that I had in my hands a way to get a little natural justice.
I started to search the kitchen. There was a door at the back that
led to a large root cellar, back when we lived here we'd just dumped
our junk inside. Opening the door I found that the new occupants did
likewise; a coil of rope, probably a clothes line, came to hand. A
search of the kitchen draws came up with a variety of towels and a
pair of pink rubber kitchen gloves. Well, beggars can't be choosers,
I pulled on the gloves then wiped down all the surfaces I was likely
to have touched.  Then, I walked back though to where she lay
unconscious on the floor and went to work.  I shoved a towel in her
lying little mouth and used the scarf she was wearing to tie it in
place.  The rope I cut into sections with a kitchen knife and used to
tie her wrists, upper arms and ankles.  I had just enough to manage a
hog-tie, then I picked her up and dumped her on the couch.  She was
still out of it so I decided to take a quick look around.

I didn't really figure out what was going on or what she was doing
here until I reached the master bedroom. The room was huge taking up
almost half of the second floor.  Back when we'd lived here this had
been two rooms but someone had obviously knocked them together.  I
figured it was necessary to accommodate the bed, a huge emperor sized
waterbed complete with canopy.  The sheet's and drapes were black silk
highlighted in silver with matching toss pillows and cushions.  I
looked under the canopy, yep there were mirrors on the ceiling.  The
wardrobe was filled with a selection of "interesting" outfits, most
of them for a woman, but the sizes varied quite a lot, which made me
think that this wasn't a woman's room.  Who am I kidding, this was
Hugh Heffner's fantasy playroom and I knew the moment I walked in who
had built it and why *she* was here.

This was daddy's secret little hideaway.

Even when I'd lived in McAlister there had been rumors of the old
man's infidelity. It was widely known that his marriage had been to
secure a political alliance rather than for anything as ordinary as
"love." Most people seemed to accept that and were willing to turn a
blind eye as a result. The hypocrisy of it all, that this man could
preach to the nation on moral values yet have none of his own, was
lost on them. They continued to go on with their lives ignoring his
flirting with the same blind eye they turned to all the McAlister's
excesses.  Of course there were conventions, he didn't flaunt it in
front of their faces, he did it discretely in Ogden like everyone
else.

Or rather he had back then.

I could see how our farm could have looked attractive. It bordered
his property, across the fields and through the woods it was probably
only a couple of miles door to door.  For a fit man like him that was
hardly a problem.  In addition it was far enough from town to
discourage visitors.  I figure he'd bought the place discretely, had
the work done by out of state contractors, then continued to let the
outside become suitably decrepit to disguise that it was in use.

With a working kitchen and bathroom he could install a mistress up
here quite comfortably and have her on hand when he needed her.
By the look of some of the interesting little leather and rubber
outfits in the closet the old man had a few interesting little kinks
of his own.  I suppose it was better to keep everything discretely
out of the way rather than risk someone find them at his house.

And of course that was why *she* was here. Right now with the press
in a feeding frenzy she needed somewhere to hide out, somewhere where
daddy could use his influence to protect her. The main house was
probably ringed with reporters by now and as his wife was now dead I
suppose he no longer needed to keep this place secret from his
daughter.  I smiled seeing the joke.  All of those reporters
clamoring around McAlister's house and she was here, just a few
miles away, safe and sound.

Or so *he* thought.

It was then I realized that I was going to fuck her. Well, I'd
thought about it while I was tying her up, but then it had been, well
just an idea. Now I knew it for sure, I was going to fuck her here
on her daddy's bed. Yes, I'd calmed down, I knew what I was doing
and yes, I know I should have walked away, but I didn't.  I suppose I
justified it by thinking it was natural justice, shit I'd done the
time why shouldn't I do the crime?  I looked outside into the bright
sunshine of the late morning and considered things.  I figured we
wouldn't be disturbed for some time, there was hardly any point
keeping this place a secret then leading the press here.  I doubt
anyone from the main house would head this way until way after
sundown and that gave me all the time in the world.

I went downstairs to find her struggling on the couch. She looked up
and tried to say something. Course, the gag swallowed it whole, but
it didn't matter, that wild, hateful look said it all. Still, I
wanted to hear what she wanted to say of herself. Reaching behind her
head I untied the scarf and pulled the sodden towel free.

"You fuckin' bastard untie me now!"

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

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

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

She seethed, "You won't even get to jail you prick, if you think you
had it bad with the cops before you just wait until they get through
with you this time." She raged on, motor mouth, all that time in
Washington had taught the bitch some interesting new words. I tried
to keep a lid on my anger, I really did, but I could feel it
building. When she said something about my momma, the dam just burst.

I slapped her hard. She looked stunned, I don't think anyone had ever
hit her before in her life. She whimpered. I found I was shocked too,
prior to this morning I'd never hit a woman before in *my* life, deep
down I viewed it as cowardice. Just what was happening to me? Still,
if I was to control her I had to make her believe *I* was in control
of myself.

"Don't you *ever* mention my mom, understand? A lying, cheating
little slut like you isn't even worthy to mention her name."

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

She whimpered.

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

She just glared.

"Well, here we are all alone just like we were supposed to have been
back then. There's one thing I've always wanted to know babe. Why me?
Was it because I was an outsider, 'cos I was a stoner, why choose
me?"

She flashed me an inquisitive look.

"Oh yes, I know," I said, "your old friend Betty took great delight
in sharing it with me. I've spent the last seven years inside knowing
that it wasn't some innocent mistake. I've known that you've planned
it."

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

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

For a second I thought she wouldn't answer. Hell, if I'd have been
her I'd have said nothing, but she was flushed and angry too and
well, we both did things that day that we'd later regret.

"You want to know why you stupid fuck?" she sneered, " I'll tell you
why.  Because I could, ok, is that good enough for you?  I knew I'd
have to blame someone, so I looked for the person people cared least
about. You're family was a joke the moment you got here. We though
you were dumb city folk who knew fuck all about anything. You know,
never once did any member of your miserable family ever prove us
wrong. Hell, I was charitable, I let you hang with the coolest group
in school, shit I even offered you a date, I still can't believe I
did that, and you turned me down you stupid fuck. It was then I
realized you were just as stupid as the rest of your stupid family.
Oh, I could have said it was anyone, Bobbie, Lance, shit anyone, do
you really think any of them would have been believed over me?  But
you were so *easy* the whole town despised you, I didn't have to try
very hard at all.  Do you really think Sheriff Parker would have come
down that hard on Bobbie, when Parker dated Bobbie's momma in school,
played little league with his dad, I don't think so.  If I'd have
pointed at them someone in town would have shaken their heads and
said they didn't believe it. You, they believed, you'd lived down to
their expectations......"

She continued, but I'd stopped listening, I realized in that instant
that she was right, the whole damned town had enjoyed watching us
fail, seeing our family come apart. For some reason I thought of an
article I'd read in National Geographic about tar pits, how animals
just wondered in and struggled to death. Ironically the more they
struggled the deeper they'd sink. McAlister had been my families tar
pit and the good citizens had just setup camp around us and watched
while we went down. Suddenly, all those boarded up houses and
dilapidated schools no longer made me feel guilty. In a way I'd
already gotten even with them.

Now there was only Mary Anne.

I released the hogtie and rebound her ankles with a short length of
cord in between; I figured she'd be less trouble hobbled. She
struggled of course and continued to yap on. I let her, while her
attention was divided she was easier to handle.

I pushed her towards the stairs and suddenly all the bad mouthing
just dried up. Her eyes were full of fear as she looked back at me.

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

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

I gave her a twisted smile, "Hell, I'm not even going to make it out
the county remember? Seems to me I've got nothing to loose."

Her eye's were suddenly wild. "Look, let me go now and we'll call it
even. I won't press charges, I won't even tell anyone about this!"

"Honey, we are far from even. I plan on fixing that right now." I
paused, "You know I think I'll give you a choice you never gave me,
you can decide how it goes from here. You can either shut up and walk
up those stairs, or I take this gun and do your kneecaps so you'll
never walk anywhere again. Your choice." Of course I would never have
done that kneecap thing, but I needed something nasty and permanent
as an alternative. I watched as she trembled, then slowly walked up
the stairs.

She seemed to be taking the threat very seriously because, though the
stairs were probably the best place for her to cause me trouble she
went up them like a lamb. At the top she needed no prompting heading
straight for the bedroom and her date with destiny.

She sat on the bed shivering while I went through daddy's closet.
There were skirts, shorts, and top in a variety of interesting
fabrics, even dresses made from leather and latex.  There
was underwear, some nice, some not so nice.  It looked as if about a
third of the stuff would fit Mary Anne, maybe as much as half
if she didn't have to be comfortable, which of course she didn't.
There was a draw containing various sex toys too.  Even some more
rope and two pairs of leather cuffs which I eagerly grabbed.  Seems
that bondage was only a fringe interest for the old man though, with
the exception of the cuffs I could find only a collar and a ball gag
made with a wiffleball.  Still, I lucked out when I found a whip
thing and more rope in a bag behind the door.

I walked over to her holding the heavy leather collar in my hands. At
first she tried to pull away, but then she seemed to realize it was
useless. She sat still while I buckled the collar around her neck
then locked it there with a small padlock.

Next I took a length of the rope and threaded it through a D ring at
the back of the collar. Doubling it over so that it was now two
strands with the D rind in the middle I tied it to one of the
supports of the canopy.  Now she was loosely tied to the bed I could
afford to free her hands and feet. Like I said, I'd worked out in
jail, there was no way she was my equal, deprived of her ability to
run she was a helpless as when she was tied.

I sat in the old wooden chair by the bedside.

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

Hesitantly at first she started. I don't know what I expected, I
suppose I wanted her to sob with humiliation, beg me to let her stop.
Instead she teased me, doing all those little things that
professional dancers do. She licked her lips, ran her hands along her
thighs, pouted. She removed each item real slow, letting it down some
way then snatching it back. Her bra she removed with her back to me,
looking over her shoulder and licking her lips suggestively. When she
did turn around her hands were covering her titties and as she drew
them away she rolled the nipples between thumb and finger.

Of course I was hard, I doubt any red blooded man wouldn't be at that
moment. I sat mesmerized like a cobra before a snake charmer, deadly
but impotent. When she let the skirt drop I almost creamed my pants,
as she edged her panties down two inches, then snatched them back one
I almost cried with frustration. Next she raised her hands up and
laced her fingers together behind her head, thrusting those titties
out grinding her crotch in my direction.  Somewhere inside my head
part of me saw the irony of the situation.  Back when I'd hung with
her I'd seen her dancing on table tops, I knew that the little whore
was an exhibitionist.  Yet despite that I'd tried to punish her by
making her strip?  What had I been thinking?  There was no
humiliation here, in fact if anything she was getting off on it, I
shook my head.  Only a fool would think he could humiliate a slut
like this.

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

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

Reaching inside the closet I grabbed a hanger and tossed it to her.
At first sight it appeared to be a rat's nest of leather straps.
Catching it she looked at it thoughtfully.

"Put it on!" I demanded. It was the kinkiest, most out and out weird
thing in the old man's collection. I wanted her to be wearing it when
we did it. Oh, I was fully aware that forensics would find enough
evidence linking me to the place even with the gloves.  I mean in the
run up to my appeal I'd read everything I could find on the subject.
However, I had no intention of denying I'd been here, just
what I'd been doing. I could imagine this little outfit being given a
forensic exam, being presented as evidence in court. Details of her
being found bound and gagged  in her daddy's private little brothel
being given to the scandal hungry press. I figured  if I played my
cards right I stood a reasonable chance she'd save herself the
embarrassment and wouldn't even press charges.  Hell, even if she did
with a track record like hers I'd be assured of some reasonable
doubt.

Finally she figured the strap thing out, I think she would have
argued but then I drew out the whip.  Trembling slightly she put the
costume on, it consisted of a waistbelt/garterbelt contraption made
from black leather, and a bra like harness that managed to hold up
her nice little titties without covering them.  Oh, there were straps
in between and lots and lots of D rings, but right now they had
little interest.

Once everything was on and buckled I tossed her the cuffs. I had her
put on the ankle set first buckling them over the knee boots. This
presented her behind at an interesting angle and I took a couple of
wide swipes at it with the whip just to keep her nervous. Next I had
her fasten the wrist cuffs and stand with her arms behind her back.

I came in close, pulling her in to me while I fumbled behind her for
the cuffs. The harness had done it's work well thrusting her nice
titties squarely into my chest. I could feel the hardness of her
nipples as they dug into my chest.  The cuffs locked together and I
looked down to see her giving me those big bedroom eyes.  I pulled
her a little closer enjoying the feel of her breasts squishing
against me.  Reaching over I cut the rope that bound the collar to
the bed.  She suddenly let out a sigh and throwing her head back she
puckered up and closed her eyes.  I adjusted my position so that I
could bend down and kiss her.  She opened her eyes and flashed me a
little twisted smile.

Then kneed me in the groin.

If she had been dead on I think I'd have had a new set of tonsils.
As it was my right thigh caught enough of it that, though I still
doubled over,  I wasn't in too bad a condition.  She sprinted for the
window cursing the heels.  That seemed to have been an unfortunate
dress choice for her 'cos this was the second time it had hampered
her escape.  She screamed, long and hard so that my ears rang.  I
think she then realized that this was the wrong side of the house.
That window faced the woods heading out of town and away from daddy's
property.  As quick as she could she turned and hobbled over to the
windows that faced the road.  I'd recovered by then and set off after
her.  Just as she reached them I reached her and clamping a hand over
her mouth dragged her back towards the bed.  She struggled of course
so I got in a little payback and gave a swift punch to the solar
plexus.  From then on she was no trouble.  Of course I'd left the gag
stuff down stairs and I didn't think the wiffle ball would cut it.
So I tore her discarded blouse into strips.  The majority of it I
forced into her mouth, packing it completely, then I took a sleeve
and tied a knot in the center.  I forced the knot into her mouth over
the packing and pulled hard on the trailing ends.  She whimpered, it
must have hurt like fuck, but I didn't care.  I tied it off then spun
her round to admire my handiwork.  The white cotton band dug deeply
into her cheeks before cleaving her lips apart and shoving the
packing home.  Her mouth was so well packed that nothing she said
even appeared to be speech, just a series of low moans and grunts.
Satisfied, I tied the collar to the bed again and did a quick walk
around the windows to see if she'd gotten a reaction.  The place
remained as quiet as the grave.  Turning I smiled at her and she
flashed me that hateful look.

It was time for us to complete our business.

########

Mary Anne moaned and tugged at the ropes. After I'd done a better
check outside to confirm that we wouldn't be disturbed I'd retied her
spread eagle on the bed. It hadn't come as an enormous surprise to
find purpose made anchor points on the bed frame, still it had made
life easier, which was good since she'd fought me at every turn.

Now she was completely spread and helpless, arms and legs stretched
tightly towards the bedposts and two more ropes tied at her knees
forcing her legs open and back. A quick check of the bedside cabinet
found a number of items I'd previously overlooked like a pair of
handcuffs and some kind of padded leather blindfold.  For now I put
them to one side and pulled out a large box or Trojans.  Hell, it
pays to be careful these days especially when you're fucking a whore
as easy as this one.

My pecker had recovered from Mary Anne's little assault and the sight
of her all bound open and helpless was enough to encourage him to
harden. I jacked off for a while until everything was nice and firm
then rolled on the rubber and dived right in.

Needless to say she was dry, she squealed like a pig when I first
thrust in. Seeing I was getting nowhere I used some of the lube I'd
found in the draw. For a popular girl she seemed awfully tight, I
wondered if she was still trading, hell for most guys a girl who
likes giving blow jobs would seem like heaven. I continued to trust
gradually building speed.

I don't know at what point I realized something was wrong. Perhaps it
was the little grunts of encouragement that came from behind the gag
or the way she thrust against me and clamped down as I withdrew. In
any case I soon realized that she was fucking me as hard as the bonds
would allow. Puzzled I looked into her eyes, saw that little look of
triumph and hate and understood. The bitch was deliberately
consenting.

Now that may seem strange until you realize just what rape is. I
confess that like a lot of people I just thought the rapist wanted to
get his rocks off, but while in prison I'd been forced to attend
these group therapy sessions with some of the other sex offenders and
I finally realized the truth.

Rape is nothing to do with sex it is to do with power, your ability
to force someone to do something against their will. Raping a woman
is an attack at a deep emotional level, it cheapens her, attacks her
concept of self worth, violates her identity. This was exactly why a
lot of guy's in that room did what they did. As they confessed their
crimes, told details and motivations it became clear that I'd been
forced to join a club for misogynists. Still I'd learnt a few things
about how women react, some cry, some beg, some fight, some
surrender, most react with fear, some just switch off and attempt to
deny what's happening.

Mary Anne did none of those things, Mary Anne fucked back, not from
lust or as an act of surrender but out of hate. She wasn't giving me
the satisfaction of control, she turned the situation around took
control  back, making the act hollow, robbing me of my victory.

What a bitch.

I realized then that she'd won. Oh, the guy's in that room back at
the pen may have hit her or killed her or whatever but I couldn't do
that. The funny thing was that back before they'd locked me up I
wouldn't have done this at all no matter what the provocation it
wasn't who I was. Or rather it wasn't who I'd been. I realized that I
wasn't even doing this for the power, this was plain and simple
revenge in the old testament tradition of an eye for an eye a tooth
for a tooth.

Because of that I couldn't escalate and she knew it, thrusting her
little pelvis up with that look of victory in her eye.  Like I said
she's a sociopath, there was nothing I could do to injure her supreme
self confidence.

Unless.........

Withdrawing I grabbed the padded blindfold and strapped it over her
eyes. She seemed confused but didn't resist, why should she even
bound and helpless she had the situation under control?

I started at her neck finding the join between collar and skin and
following it with my tongue. She tasted of salt and faintly of
perfume. A small gurgling moan emerged from her throat which I took
to be encouragement. Next I removed her right boot replacing the cuff
on her bare ankle. She'd tried to resist of course but with her knee
still tied she wasn't able to stop me. Slowly I ran my tongue over
the sole of her foot feeling relieved that she'd showered that
morning. The gargle had become a muffled scream by the time I started
sucking on her big toe. She moaned, thrust her little mound in the
air and wiggled, begging, pleading for release but I pressed on
taking the power from her, the only power she cared about at that
moment, the power to make her cum. I removed the other boot but it
was a faint and instead I licked the backs of her knees and the
inside of her thighs.  There was a point, about six inches bellow her
crotch where the thigh seemed especially sensitive, a lick there was
almost guaranteed a scream, so I picked at it in between working her
feet and those oh so sensitive nipples.  By the time I reached her
pussy the lips were already parted, a quick flick of my tongue inside
was like an electric shock passing through her as she reared up and
screamed into the gag.  I moved elsewhere, then surprised her by
lapping the entire length of her pussy from just above the anus to
just below the clit.  She sobbed and moaned with frustration, muscles
tense as they fought the bonds.  Gently I blew on her engorged clit
listening to her going wild, again she thrust her pussy towards me
and again I denied her.

Reaching up I removed the blindfold and was surprised to find her
eyes wet with tears.  This time she begged, really begged, probably
the first time in her life that she'd had to lower herself to this.
I felt the warm glow of satisfaction of a job well done.  You can't
humiliate a slut, you can't humble a sociopath, but you can tease a
woman until she begs you to fuck her.

If I'd been really nasty I suppose I could have left her there
impossibly horny but denied. I admit to considering it and for a
second I wondered if women get blue ovaries?

In the end of course I fucked her, and again she cooperated, though
this time it was with a strange almost puppy dog enthusiasm.  She came
about thirty second before me, her pussy spasms feeling wonderful as
I shot my load into the rubber.

We were both exhausted but I realized I didn't have time to linger. I
wanted to be a good distance away before they found her and I still
had some cleaning up to do.

She was too exhausted to fight, it proved easy to free her from the
bed then tie her hands behind her. I tied some rope to the collar and
led her to the en suite bathroom. First I started filling a bath
during which I let her pee, enjoying the fact that it made her
uncomfortable for me to watch.  Then I removed her gag and gave her a
drink.  She started to croak something but I put a finger to her
lips. She looked up, her harsh hating looks gone for the moment, then
she looked down submissively. She knew better than to fight me when I
put the gag back.

By now the bath was ready so removing the harness I helped her into
it. I bathed her, slow and sensual, letting my gloved hand slide
freely over her naked body. She cooed a little, even more so when I
gently cleaned between the folds of her pussy. I slipped a finger
inside, cleaning and probing feeling the heat building there again.

Next I dried her down, even powdering her body and applying perfume.
I think she thought I was doing it for her benefit because she closed
her eyes, arched her back and cooed into the gag.  I smiled, I
doubted that anyone could find any forensic evidence on her now.

I decided to tie her to a chair rather than the bed. I was still
toying with the idea of taking the sheets with me when I left. Still
The chair proved more than adequate and though the fire had started to
reappear in her eyes it wasn't to difficult to tie her down.

"I'm leaving," I told her, "my guess is that your daddy will be
here sometime this evening and he'll free you then."

She nodded, weakly.

"Good," I said letting my voice harden, "I'm going to tell you what
will happen now. That is if you and daddy have any sense."

She glared at me much to my satisfaction.

"You could report this to the police, though 'course you'd be
arrested 'cos of all the warrant's out on you. I'll cut you some
slack and tell you exactly what I'm going to say. First up I won't
deny I was here, my momma spread dad's ashes outside, I came to visit
the old homestead and found you here. I'll tell them that you panicked
and pulled a gun, that I hit you in self defense, brought you up here
and put you on the bed. When you came 'round we fought and I left and
that's it. Just to let you know, there is no evidence on your body,
you can't say I attacked you anywhere but here. Your word ain't
worth shit at the moment and the only evidence that *anything*
happened is in this house. Now if you want to explain your daddy's
private little brothel go ahead." I held up the harness. "You can
start by explaining how you came to be wearing this."

I smiled. "I think your daddy will see the benefits of keeping this
between ourselves don't you?"

She sighed, then nodded.

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

I collected up a pile of things I would have to burn like the
bed sheet and the rubber and left her tied to the chair.


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

You know it might have ended there if old man McAlister hadn't
opened his stupid mouth.

I returned to my car dumped the bag of evidence in the boot and
started to get ready to leave. Absent mindedly I turned on the radio
while I pulled some cans from the cooler and started plotting a route
back home. It was then I heard him, old man McAlister, giving a
statement to journalists. I admit to only half listening. The guy's a
windbag, always has been and loves the sound of his own voice far too
much. Finally though someone asked a question and his answer shook
me.

Apparently some judge had decided that Bobbie's suicide note was not
admissible evidence. I didn't understand why, still don't, I'd always
assumed that a confession in a suicide note was evidence enough but
there was some bizarre legal precedent that said otherwise. I smelt
the stench of McAlister's political influence and so did some of the
journalists. As the questions became more hostile McAlister excused
himself. The news anchor said that it wasn't over, Bobbie's note had
named all of those involved, some prosecutor had smelt blood and
was "pursuing other leads." Still, it said enough, with daddy's
influence she was probably not going to jail.

She looked up in surprise when I reentered the room, she'd struggled
and managed to knock the chair over but hadn't got no further.  Using
the knife I cut her free, using the spare rope to tie her more
securely.  Then threw her over my shoulder and took her downstairs to
where my car was waiting with the trunk open.  Sometimes if a man
wants justice he has to do it himself.  Dumping her inside I hogtied
wrists to ankles, then closed the trunk.  I felt some urgency, I
figured daddy may ring his pumpkin to pass on the good news, maybe
come over himself.  I needed a few things from the house and quick.

I took all her baggage, checked the Taurus in case there was any
more.  Fortunately she had been living from a bag so there was
nothing to pack.  About the only thing of hers I left was the mobile
phone, everything else joined her in the trunk.  I unloaded the
larder and refrigerator into a box which I dumped in the back seat, ran
upstairs to recover her boots.  While I was there it struck me that
it was a waste for all of daddy's kinky stuff to be left behind.
Anything that might remotely fit her joined her in the trunk.

Now for the final act. The farm was too far from town to get any
public utilities, a diesel generator provided power, cooking gas was
fed from a tank outside. It took me a few minutes to figure the timer
on the oven, setting it to come on in about 2 hours, then I turned
all the burners on full and started to fill the house with gas.

I was in the next state when the house exploded, fortunately all the
press nearby ensured that the report came quickly. Old man McAlister
was frantic, the local police and the fire people where there like a
rash. I settled back and enjoyed the spectacle as relayed by radio.
It was only then that I wondered how to get her back to California.

In the end I left her tied up in the hayloft of an old barn while I
picked up some camping gear in the next town.  I don't know which of
us was more relieved when I came back and found she was still there.
The story of how we got back is almost an epic in it's own right,
perhaps one we can tell some other time.

So what happened? Well, McAlister admitted hiding a fugitive, claimed
his daughter must have died in the explosion. Of course the FBI
determined there was no human remains and that the explosion was
deliberate. The current theory is that Mary Anne faked her own death
to avoid prosecution. Most people suspect that daddy is still hiding
her somewhere, he'll find out what the grand jury believes next
week.  Now that McAlister's power base was broken all sorts of people
started coming out of the woodwork.  I hear that Betty has agreed to
testify if she's granted immunity.  As injured party I've received
some good publicity too.  Just last week Barbara Walters was sitting
in my den doing a "60 Minutes" interview.  At the end she asked where
I thought Mary Anne was, I'd just shrugged and said I figured she was
out of the country by now.  I had to suppress a smile of course, what
with Mary Anne being bound and gagged less than twenty feet from
where Barbara was sitting.

And Mary Anne?  At the moment she spends most days strapped into the
padded box I built under the stairs.  That old box is working wonders
with Mary Anne's attitude, the girl's so happy to be out of it that
she'll do anything for you, anything at all.


At night I take her out and we play, like I said she's much more
amenable these days. It's interesting how people's expectations
contract to meet their environment. When I was in jail I used to
think it was a good day if I avoided being beaten up. I think Mary
Anne's finding the same thing. Back in Washington I suspect you'd
have to buy her a meal, take her to a show or buy her something nice
just to get to first base. These days she'll fuck you for a square
meal.

I like the box, it puts her conveniently at hand if I need her but it
has it's disadvantages, like I have to keep her gagged all day in
case I have any unexpected visitors.  So I have a contractor working
on converting my basement.  I pay well and he doesn't ask questions, 
like what the little room at the back is for. He's obviously an
honest man otherwise he'd have realized that it's the same dimensions
as a standard jail cell.  In fact exactly like the cell I spent most
of the past twelve years in.  I don't think I need tell you what
that's for, the nice thing about DIY justice is that you can make the
penalty fit the crime, I'm sure that twelve years will be long enough
for her to ponder her mistake.

Of course I haven't told her about that yet.

The End








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