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Over the next ten months, I gradually escalated my high-end cosmetic surgery practice, and tapered off on the pro bono work that had been my hallmark. Even without a fully-developed plan, I knew that whatever I ended up doing would cost some substantial bucks. One of the first things I did, was to establish a number of separate identities, under different names. At that time, it wasn’t as difficult as it is now.
As a hedge against someone tracking my shifting money, I did a great deal of highly visible entertaining, always paying with cash, never demanding a receipt. I could honestly say that I had no idea how much I spent that way, and since I didn’t try to use it as a tax deduction, I didn’t have to know, or prove it. I began to funnel a good deal of that money, all in small cash deposits, into bank accounts that I had established under my alternate identities.
When I wasn’t working, I was reading, looking for ideas that would help me in my quest to bring the criminals to justice. The only exception to that was the time I spent with Nadine. We had a kind of kinship, through our separate relationships with Lily, and our mutual trust and affection grew into genuine love.
Ever since the funeral, we had been having dinner together at least once a week, usually on Saturday evening. We talked, or rather she mostly talked, about the assaults at least some, almost every time. I think, for her, it was almost like a continuation of her therapy: one that allowed her to begin to normalize relations with the male half of our species. While she had mostly recovered, emotionally from the rape, she'd found it difficult to communicate intimately with men afterwards, so she had not accepted any dates since that night.
Although I desperately needed to know, in order to take any kind of action, I didn’t push her for the names of the perpetrators. I didn’t want her to get overly concerned about what I might do, once I found out. Over time, however, as she went over the events of that evening in more detail, she mentioned each of their names at least once. I made it a point to have a notepad and pen with me whenever I saw her, and I recorded those names when I could do so without her observing it.
My reasons for seeing Nadine were not all rooted in my need for vengeance. I had always liked her, and I think we both felt that sharing the knowledge of her rape gave us something intimate in common. That I was I was sympathetic, rather than judgmental about it, gave her a level of comfort with me that she couldn’t have with other men.
Gradually, our dinner meetings evolved into something like real dates, and we would frequently go dancing or to the theatre, or engage in some other entertaining activity, before or after. We even started spending many of our available daylight hours together, taking day trips to the seaside, or going to the zoo. Then one night, as I was delivering my usual, chaste, goodbye kiss, she opened her mouth and licked my lips.
Now, except for the occasional grudging interlude with Rosy Palm, I hadn’t had sex for nigh on to a year. My reaction to Nadine’s kiss was predictable and immediate. My lips yielded to her tongue, and I sucked on it, as I pulled her into closer embrace. I began to explore her mouth as well, while stroking her back, her belly, and her breasts.
We maintained the kiss for what seemed like hours, but it was really probably only minutes, until the need to breathe more deeply asserted itself. When we broke apart, in the dim light of the city night, her eyes fixed on my face with an almost predatory intensity.
“Do you think you might be able to find a cup of coffee for a sleepy girl?” she asked, breathily.
I took her hand, and we almost ran to the elevator lobby. My apartment was near the top, and neither of us could keep our hands off the other as we rode the elevator up eleven floors. I’m glad we were going up - it was that much less likely others would be stopping the elevator to get on.
When the elevator stopped, we got off and headed for my door, stopping every few feet to dive once again into a mind-blowing kiss. I fumbled with my keys, almost dropping them twice before I got the door open.
We stood there a moment, doing nothing but looking at each other. I was thinking furiously, trying to figure out what I should do next. I guess Nadine was doing the same thing. Nothing appropriate came to mind, so like an idiot, I picked her up and carried her through the door, kicking it closed behind me.
Moving to the sofa, I sat down with her in my lap and resumed kissing. I think she was a little startled at my behavior, but it didn’t take her long to resume cooperating. During an oxygen break, I remembered that she’d asked for coffee, and apologized for not having already prepared it.
“That’s okay,” she grinned, “I think I’m pretty wide awake now, and I like what we’re doing!” So we went back to doing it. After that, my mind was put out to pasture, and my body went on automatic.
As she sat on my lap, eagerly participating in our kisses, I resumed stroking her back and started caressing her legs, unconsciously going higher and higher with each stroke. She was wearing an LBD that fell only to mid-thigh, so it wasn’t long before my hand was bumping into the very wet gusset of her panties. When she didn’t object, I quit the pretense of accident and began overtly but softly stroking her mons, through those panties. The continued kisses and the rocking of her hips reassured me that I had the right to do that.
Her breasts, compressed against my chest, reminded me that she had many other admirable attributes. Because she had spent so much time with Lily and I, I’d often seen her in swimsuits, as well as in wispy undergarments and sleepwear that had left little to the imagination, but I’d never seen her unencumbered nipples, much less tasted them, and I wanted to do that, right now!
With my other hand, which had been stroking her back, I gently lowered the dress’ zipper, and unset the hook that kept the back closed. She didn’t seem to notice that the front of the dress practically fell off her body, leaving her bosom protected only by a lacy black bra.
I withdrew my hand from her panties, which prompted a small whine; but when I cupped one of her breasts and began to play with the nipple, her rocking resumed. It seemed she got nearly as much pleasure from my fondling her breast as she got from my petting her vagina.
With the hand on her back, I found and released the clasp of her bra, and it, too, abandoned ship, unfettering the most perfect female chest I’ve ever seen. I wasn’t being disloyal to Lily… she was small-breasted, and we both knew it. Her breasts were perfect for her, and I loved them. Nadine, however, is a somewhat more voluptuous woman, with a proportionately larger bosom. In my experience, it is unusual for such women to have perfect, teardrop breasts, with sweet, puffy nipples that point right at your face. Nadine had them.
They drew my lips like a magnet draws steel, like a flame draws moths. They were irresistible. I closed my lips and sucked on each one, running my tongue around and over them, biting at them softly with my lips. My free hand gently squeezed, rubbed and rolled the breast that wasn’t occupied with my mouth, and I kept up these ministrations until I heard her groan, and felt her body shudder. She had an orgasm, just from having her breasts sucked. This I liked!
I liked it, but I knew it was getting out of hand. Before tonight we’d been close friends, and we were getting closer. Now things were moving so fast, our relationship could end up as a train-wreck, if I weren‘t careful. Even if I couldn’t have her as a lover, I didn’t want to lose her as a friend, and I was afraid that’s where we were headed.
I pulled away then, and looked her in the eyes.
“Nadine, how far do you want this to go?” I asked quietly, trying to keep my hands still.
She took a deep breath and released it, then asked, “Do you love me?”
You’d think that I would need some time to consider the answer to such a question, but I didn’t. It was a given.
“Yes, I do. I think I always have.”
“Then can I stay the night?”
I didn’t dignify that one with an answer. I simply picked her up again, and carried her into my bedroom.
I lay her gently on my bed, and began to undress her, kissing every square inch of skin that I exposed, and going back to her lips frequently for more of what we’d already shared. I took time to touch, stroke, kiss and lick her everywhere, as well as to stop frequently and simply enjoy her visually. This woman is an unimaginable treat!
When she was finally naked, I lost no time getting out of my own clothes. I lay down next to her and returned my lips to hers. I pulled her to me with one arm, and let the other journey down to her lightly-furred mons. She opened her legs to allow further exploration. Touching her vaginal lips, I found her wet, but not quite ready for me, so I used my fingers to start her on the path to another orgasm.
When she seemed to have had her fill of my hand, I moved my body between her legs and felt her stiffen. I knew she must be remembering that other time, so I tried to slow down even more. I kissed her again, until she again relaxed, then I started kissing lower, moving to her neck, her upper chest, her bosom, her belly, and eventually, her vagina. When I arrived there, I licked and kissed my way all the way around her vaginal lips, stopping occasionally to torture her clitoris with my tongue.
I could hear and feel her breathing faster and deeper. I could tell that it wouldn’t be long before she had a good one! When the time was right, I fastened my lips around her erect clit, and strummed it with my tongue. She went ballistic! Her hips came straight up, nearly throwing me off the bed, and I really believed that her orgasmic scream would have the neighbors, if not the police, beating at my door, in short order.
She didn’t pass out, but she got very quiet, and I kept caressing her body with my hands and lips: not trying for another orgasm, just letting her know that I was still there. Presently, I heard a sniffle. Was she crying? Yes… not bawling really, just shedding a few silent tears.
I pushed myself up and crawled up to her face. I kissed her again, and took her into my arms.
“What’s wrong honey? I thought you enjoyed that…”
“I did,” she sobbed, “I was just thinking, this is the way my first time should have been!”
“There, there,” I comforted her, “In the only way that’s important now, this is your first time.”
She pushed away and looked at me quizzically. “What do you mean?”
I kissed her on the nose and said, “This is the first time you’ve ever actually chosen to have sex with a man, isn’t it? And you expect me to make love to you, don’t you? As opposed to just fucking…”
“Yes, it is! And yes, I do! I guess… it is my first time in that way…”
“For the moment then, leave the past alone and live in the now. I want to make love to you without those ghosts haunting us.” And I rolled back over her, to begin rebuilding the mood.
Not long after, she was squirming underneath me, trying to move things along a little faster, so I stopped.
“Please!” she whimpered.
“Please what? What do you want?”
“I want you inside me! Please, give me your… penis? That sounds odd. What should I call it?”
“You can call it my cock, if that sounds better.”
“Okay, give me your cock! I want it now!”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“Yes, a little,” she whined, “but I want it so bad… Please give it to me… just be gentle, will you?”
I was gentle, but even without her hymen, she still had some discomfort. There hadn’t been anything or anyone in her vagina since the night of her brutal rape, so she was still as tight as a virgin. Only persistence and copious amounts of natural lubrication made it possible for me to gain entry, but ultimately, I did.
Once fully seated, I paused for a long moment, allowing her to become accustomed to the invasion. When she began to move on her own, I knew she was ready to rock, so I started a slow sweet motion, in then out. She was still pretty tight, so I didn’t try too hard for more friction with her labia, clit, and vaginal walls. She was going to be sore in the morning anyway… no need to make that worse.
It was surprising to me, but I managed to stay with her while she had two more semi- fantastic orgasms, before I felt compelled to unload.
“Honey, I’m going to come… what do you want me to do?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m about to jettison a huge load of baby-makers, that I’ve been saving up for awhile. If I don’t pull out, they could make a baby in you…”
“I might like that, but no, they won’t,” she said breathily, “I went on the pill after that night… just in case… you can come in me… please, come in me… let me feel you come!” Her voice went up at least an octave as she spoke, and that was all I needed. I exploded.
Eventually, I got my breath back, and found myself holding a shivering armful of beautiful woman. I kissed and hugged and cuddled her for all I was worth, whispering my love for her, until she calmed down.
After a while, I remembered what she said about the pill. Pulling back a bit, I looked at her and said, “Just in case?”
She winced, and said shakily, “Yeah. If I was raped once, it might happen again. The next time, I might not be as lucky…”
“Oh…” I pulled her back to me, and we both drifted off to sleep.
After that night, Nadine and I began dating openly, and on any weekend that she wasn’t required to be at the University, she spent Friday evening through Sunday afternoon, with me. I, in turn, made it a point to take time to see her, during the week, and often took a hotel room for the evening, just so we could stay together, yet be near the University.
We were a good match. Neither of us would ever forget Lily, but our relationship was plenty deep. I couldn’t have done that with anyone else; and she had nothing to hide from me, which is something she couldn’t necessarily have with another man.
She was only a few months away from finishing her dissertation, when I presented her with an engagement ring, and asked her to become my wife. She was thrilled about being asked, and I was just as thrilled when she accepted. We spent even more time together, talking about our hopes, dreams, and expectations, concerning marriage and family, and easily came to mutually satisfactory compromises, where needed.
Her family was not wealthy, and she didn’t feel the need for the “huge church wedding,” anyway, so we decided to have a “destination wedding.” We negotiated a wedding date and I agreed to pick up the tab for travel expenses, so that we, along with her parents and mine, could be there.
“There” was to be Hawaii.
Meanwhile, I had not forgotten my mission of retribution.
I had spent substantial sums of money under my alternate identity, tracking down and building dossiers on the men who had been involved in the rapes. It turned out that they had, as a group, repeated that crime with different women, throughout their college years. My “researchers” came up with a list of no fewer than two dozen women who’d been victimized by these slime bags.
A couple of the men had gone pro, following college, and although they’d not been really big names, they did okay. All but one of the others eventually went into more traditional business management jobs, trading on their college basketball successes to get preferential treatment from older alumni. All of the men I located were married, and had been successful in their careers.
It had been difficult to locate the last man on the list. He hadn't been that good an athlete, and after his scholarship ran out, he joined the Army. He had a tour of duty in SE Asia, near the end of the Viet Nam debacle, and was mustered out on arrival in Los Angeles at the end of his tour. The trail ended there, for a long time.
After much more research, it turned out that he was dead, and apparently no one who had been close to him knew it. He had gone to sea on a commercial freighter, and eventually ended his days dying from syphilis in a remote country with inadequate medical care. Too much justice. His demise, and the fact that he'd just dropped out of sight, however, made it easier for the plan to work.
When I began working out my plan for revenge, I had no plans to remarry. Nadine changed all that, and it complicated things somewhat. I had intention of abandoning my self-imposed mission, though, so the wedding became a part of the plan.
I knew that when the shit hit the fan, my name would be on the short list of people the police would want to meet, so I needed an airtight alibi. I began building that alibi, by scheduling myself to attend a week-long conference of plastic and cosmetic surgeons, to be held in June, in Chicago. The wedding date I negotiated with Nadine and her family was Wednesday of the week after the conference.
When I made my travel arrangements, I booked all the flights for everyone who was to be involved in the wedding. I arranged for Nadine to visit her parents, in Philadelphia, during the week I was to be in Chicago. I set up the flights, so that Nadine, her parents, and mine, had a stopover in Los Angeles, where I would hook up with them. We were all on the same flight to Honolulu, where the parents would stay all week, and Nadine and I would stay, until the day of the wedding.
The wedding itself was to be held on Molokai, and as honeymooners, we would spend the rest of the week alone, in a shore side cottage, before returning home.
Coincidently, one Rabbi Josef Silverman booked a round-trip flight from Indianapolis to the Orlando. The trip was to take place starting Tuesday evening of the week of my conference.
Using the dead athlete’s identity, I reserved two adjoining suites in the college town’s best hotel, guaranteeing the room charges on a credit card that I had acquired using that name. Funny, the dead man and the Rabbi had the same address!
Having inside information about my targets’ habits, I knew that the week of the conference would find them all available to participate in my plans. I sent each of them an invitation to a reunion, under the dead man’s name. Those invitations contained the words “Remember what happened several times, in the women’s dorm, during my last year at college? Come help me celebrate and talk about it. Bring your ladies, too.”
I hoped that the targets would recognize the implied threat. They all had reputations to protect. It worked, and the confirmations began flowing in. There were no holdouts.
While all this was going on, I had decided the form that my vengeance would take, and began accumulating the necessary materials and equipment, as well as studying the technical aspects of what I intended to do.
Everything was ready, and the time was ripe. On Sunday, before the conference was to begin, Nadine and I went to the airport, and I put her on her flight and went to wait for mine. In the gate area, I made it a point to introduced myself and talk to the airline personnel, as well as several other passengers on my flight.
Call me a cad, but I much prefer to talk to pretty young women. I met a couple of girls traveling together, and chatted them up, letting them think I was hitting on them. I even gave them my business card, and wrote their names and phone numbers down in my diary, as potential future customers.
I lucked out on the plane, and my seat-mate was a rather attractive older woman, who was eager to pass the flight time in conversation. In short order she had most of my life’s story, and was just thrilled to hear of my wedding plans.
“Oh! I wish my John had been that romantic,” she gushed, then she went on to tell me all about her courtship and wedding, her three children, two of whom were underclassmen at my old school, and her husband’s plan for retirement. By the time we landed, she had a half- dozen of my business cards to pass out to “friends” who she felt might benefit from my services, and I, of course, had another contact name, address, and phone number. The first stage of my alibi was completed, and I had solid witnesses to the fact that I had taken my flight to Chicago.
On arrival at O’Hare, I went directly to the rental car counter to pick up my keys. While I was there, I got into a lengthy discussion with the clerk (much to the disgust of the waiting crowd) about potential things to do and see around Chicago. Having been there before, I had already seen most of them, but that wasn’t the point. Finishing that, I picked up my luggage and drove to the conference hotel. I chose valet parking and tipped well, insuring that the men doing the parking would remember my arrival.
I checked into the hotel, spending enough time at it to insure that the young woman behind the counter would easily remember me.
I spent that evening, and the next, as well as all day Tuesday, doing all of the things that people normally do at conferences: I went to all the mixers, glad-handed people I knew, who had somehow become important in my profession, and generally made my presence known. None of the people I met were close friends, so while the time I spent with them ensured that they would remember my presence at the conference, I wasn’t important enough to them for my absence to be noticed, when the time came for me to temporarily leave.
Throughout the preceding year or so, I had occasionally stopped in at costume shops scattered across my home city, buying odds and ends that I thought might help me in my quest. I had brought many of these items with me, in a separate suitcase. Just after the Tuesday afternoon plenary started, I slipped out unnoticed and went to my room. Twenty minutes later, a fellow, who appeared to be an aging hippie, sauntered casually out the front door of the hotel with suitcase in hand, and walked down the street to a nearby car rental office.
It was about a three-hour drive to Indianapolis, and I only made one stop on the way down. No one at the Big Boy restaurant seemed to notice that the hippie who went into the restroom with a suitcase, never came out; or that the Rabbi who exited was carrying the same suitcase.
I made it to the airport barely in time to catch my flight - that is the Rabbi’s flight - to Orlando, leaving the car in short-term parking. The flight was noteworthy only because of the boredom it engendered. Eventually, we arrived, and I went to yet another car rental counter. While there, I got the clerk to give me a map showing directions to the hotel where my dead persona had rooms reserved. Before leaving the airport, the Rabbi went back into hibernation, and the hippie resurfaced.
I drove to a part of Orlando that I was familiar with from my undergraduate days, and contacted a fellow I had heard about and seen before, but with whom I’d never done business. He was a pimp.
There were several of his ladies present, and I chose a very pretty black girl, ostensibly for a Rabbi who didn‘t want to be seen in these parts. For five hundred dollars, half payable up front, the pimp agreed to send her to my hotel at the prescribed time, for the entire next evening. In a different town it would have been more - she was that good- looking - but there was simply too much free pussy available to support higher prices here.
Still in my hippie persona, I drove to the hotel, about an hour down the road, and checked in, using the dead guy’s name. Once checked in, I went for a walk around campus. I spent my time there talking to young, white male students, paying particular attention to those who seemed to be somewhat athletic.
I eventually go around to working on my purpose, and I suggested that I could get them all the clean, married pussy they could handle for one evening, if they followed my directions exactly. I also told them that if I didn't make good on the pussy, I would give them each $100 for their time. Needless to say, my conversations yielded a number of willing bodies to help me do my thing.
I spent the rest of the day preparing the suites for my purposes.
My guests began arriving starting at noon the next day and all had arrived by six pm. Each of them asked at the desk about the host for the event, and was told that he had arrived, but was away for the afternoon, and that they would be contacted very soon with instructions for the meeting. Shortly after six, I had messages delivered to each of their rooms, asking that they meet in my adjoining suite at seven that evening.
When the hooker discreetly arrived at my door, I asked again about her fee, and like any good business person would do, she tried to run it up an extra hundred for the drive over. I laughed and told her that I was not going to use her sexually, but that I needed a hostess for the evening activities, and would give her $1000 if she did exactly as I said. I told her a sob story about a dead classmate, and a last wish that I was trying to fulfill. She agreed, with the proviso that if things got kinky, I would have to pay even more. We spent the next little while coaching her in her role.
My guests and their wives showed up at the suite on time, and were greeted by the hooker. She introduced herself as the wife of their host, and dutifully told them that he had been called away briefly on an urgent mission, but that he would return momentarily. Per my instructions, she made sure that each person was given a prepared drink, and she led them in a toast to the host.
Following that, she informed the ladies that all of the women were invited to go to a musical production by the university arts department, while the men talked about boring old times. That idea was met with some enthusiasm by the women, and relief by the men.
As a result of my preparations, the room was wired for sound. I heard the toast and the invitation and when it wasn't followed up by coaxing from the hooker for the guests to finish their cocktails, I called her on the room phone with further instructions
When she broke the connection, she turned to the guests and told them to that the host had had an automobile breakdown and she had to go retrieve him. They were told to help themselves to the bar and the hors devours. After telling them to enjoy themselves, she left them to their own devices and returned to the Rabbi's room. He paid her the agreed-upon fee, including the promised $1000, gave her an extra $500, as well, and told her to take the night off. She left feeling pleased.
After she left, I changed back into the Rabbi, and he went back to the monitors to listen in on my guests. After a few minutes of hearing nothing, I decided that the drugs I’d placed in the drinks had done their work. The men and their wives would be unconscious by now. The drug acted rapidly enough that they wouldn't have been able to leave the room, but slowly enough to allow them to find comfortable positions without injuring themselves... I hoped.
I slowly opened the door between the suites, listening for any noise indicating movement. Hearing none, I quietly entered and looked around, finding that everything had gone according to plan. All of my guests were unconscious, and in no danger of injury at the moment.
I brought in my bag of tricks, and used its contents to securely bind and gag each person in the room, and then I bolted the hall door and moved all of the inert bodies to one of the bedrooms, using a wheelchair I had copped from housekeeping. The guys were big, and it was hard work, but I managed it.
I arranged the men on one of the king-sized beds, and the women, facing them, on the other, and fastened their bindings to parts of the furniture so that they couldn't roll off the beds, then I administered some smelling salts to rouse my captive audience.