[spunkjunk]

First thanks for helping a blind man.

A more than worthy sequel!
Not only that you hit the tone of the author.
I like the progression.
Chapeau LtBroccoli!
Your fan

[LtBroccoli]

Thanks Spunkjunk.  There's a few more chapters left in this tale, then what I'm considering the epilogues that take place years later.  Only what I get posted before the end of January will count for the contest, but the story deserves a completion.

Chapter 38 incoming.

[LtBroccoli]

Chapter 38



It didn’t take much convincing at all on Harrison’s part to get the six teens to think with their dicks and not with their brains.  A hot cheerleader covered in cum and moaning in the backseat of the car was enough to get two of the men horny enough that they didn’t care what she said, and those two convinced the the only girl in the group that she could finally do with a girl what she always wanted to do.  Harrison didn’t even know that one of them was a girl, but once she spoke he knew he had 5 teen boys and one teen girl.  He assumed they were all 18, but it’s not like he was asking for ID.

The boys talked over what, how, and where to do Diana when Harrison reminded them that her parents were on the way.  Instead of leaving, the leader of the group, a young man that looked like a Tony, took command.  Two of the guys pulled Diana out of the car and carried her into the half-completed house.  One of the other guys, a shorter chunky guy grabbed a blue tarp and rolled it out.  The girl of the group, Jane, grabbed a roll of duct tape lying around and bound Diana’s hands.  Harrison thought she looked like a Jane, like that skater goth chick from Breaking Bad.  Diana cried and screamed to be let go, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.  The leader, Tony, went first, dropping his skinny skater jeans down to his ankles and speared Diana with one strike.  Two of the other boys held Diana down as Tony fucked Diana.  As they talked about who got to fuck her in what order, the girl of the group stripped and climbed onto Diana’s face.

“Lick my clit you cunt.”  Jane said as she forced Diana’s mouth onto her cunt.  Harrison still had his camera and Diana’s phone on him, so of course he recorded this for posterity.  Diana cried and begged them not to do this, but her pleas fell on deaf ears as Tony busted a nut inside her and the next in line, a short chubby kid that looked like the girl’s brother, stepped up and almost certainly popped his cherry.

The next three boys played rock-paper-scissors to figure out who would fuck Diana next.  Meanwhile, the chubby kid wasn’t going to last long.  As Harrison figured, he was a virgin and had no staying power.  As that guy pulled out, Jane got Diana to suck on her clit, and a couple well-placed tweaks to Diana’s tits got her to comply with anything the goth chick wanted.  Jane moaned as she came, and Harrison made sure to get it all on camera.  Once Jane came, the two remaining guys convinced her to roll on her side so that they could both fuck Diana at the same time.  Harrison swore they could pass for brothers, possibly twins.  One, which he called Daryl, raped Diana’s ass as the other brother Daryl fucked her pussy.  Harrison got a couple more shots of the action before reminding the kids that her parents were on their way, so they might need to wrap it up soon.

That’s when they dragged Diana to what appeared to be the kitchen or washroom and taped Diana standing up to one of the doorways so they could have more fun with her.  At some point Jessica was rubbing Diana’s clit while Tony fucked her from behind, the pair forcing Diana to cum as Jane made Diana kiss her, then called her a dyke slut after slapping the taste out of her mouth.

Back outside, Tyrone had everything ready to go.  Diana’s purse was in the gray Chevy, on the driver’s seat, along with her four inch pumps.  He took her tattered clothes as they might have their fingerprints on them and stashed them with the blanket and license plate behind the passenger’s seat of Harrison’s Mercedes but only after wiping down the car and clothes.  The keys to the car were in the ignition, playing the radio which he reset back to the classical station.  He knew that leaving the car in aux mode would drain the battery in a few hours, but it would also grab Mommy and Daddy’s attention.  As he waited, he spotted a row of houses just within sight of this house that were mostly completed, but vacant.  From the outside, they looked ready to live in, but were still under construction.  Harrison’s Mercedes would fit in perfectly parked in one of those driveways.

Finally, Harrison exited the house, sending a couple more texts and pics to Mommy.  As soon as he pressed SEND on the final text, Tyrone gave him a scrap of Diana’s blouse to wipe down the phone, and he threw it into the car’s open window, landing next to Diana’s purse.

As Harrison started up the car, Tyrone told him his idea.

“Park down at one of those houses, then we can watch them show up.”  Tyrone said.

“Sounds a little risky.”  Harrison replied.

“And that little gang bang wasn’t?  Besides, once they show up, they’ll be freaking out so bad over her that they won’t notice us at all.  Shit, we could walk up to them and they’d never know it.”

Harrison saw the logic in his argument and agreed.  That, and he realized how sleep deprived he was getting for that to sound like a good idea.  He parked the car on Nield Court, the crossing street to Houston in one of the driveways with a direct line of sight to Diana’s House of Horrors.

As the two sat there, Harrison thought about leaving again but decided against it.  He thought back to the texts he sent, and how he should be out of their view when they arrive.  His rear license plate was obscured, facing a vacant house.  The front one worried him, but long ago he started putting a tinted cover on the front plate.  Nothing illegal about it, just a pain in the ass for anyone trying to read it.  Unless someone was actively looking for a white man dressed in a suit and a black man in a Mercedes, they were in the clear.  Still, this part of the game was completely out of his hands.  All he could do was sit back and wait.  And like Tom Petty said, waiting was the hardest part.  He had been up for so long, going so fast that he was ready to fall asleep now that there was the slightest lull in the action.  So was Tyrone, but they both knew that falling asleep now meant waking up in a jail cell.

He didn’t have to wait long, as a White Ford Escalade blasted up the hill to the House of Horrors like a bat out of hell.

[LtBroccoli]

Chapter 39



It felt like a wild goose chase, but they had no choice but to take part.  Frank drove like a madman, but even holding on to the wheel with white knuckles couldn’t eliminate suburban traffic on a one-lane road on a Saturday afternoon.  The text that “Michael C. Johnson” sent his wife shortly after 2:30 gave them a general location. 

Veranda Hills. 

Neither Frank nor Shannon knew much about it past a few general pieces of information.  It was located on Whites Canyon Road, right near the fire station.  Well, technically both Whites Canyon and Plum Canyon Roads.  The street name changes at the light near there.  It is one of those new housing plans where every house might as well be a carbon copy of the rest.  They were quickly built, and had the long-term stability of Disco on the pop charts.  They looked like they were built to a budget and overpriced.  They went to an open house a year ago, just to look around.  They thought the model house was nice, but weren’t impressed.

Now, they were on their way there to rescue their baby girl from a rapist.  But first, a quick stop necessitated by a picture that monster just sent his wife.

Shannon was shaking with disgust, fear, guilt, and anger when Frank pulled the Escalade into their driveway.  He barely stopped to put the SUV in gear, let alone turn the engine off.  He didn’t see his neighbor, Mrs. Lomax approach.  He didn’t see the garage code or even see as he opened the door to the basement.  All he saw were those pictures.  Pictures of his little girl, his now 18-year-old daughter Diana, being gangraped by a bunch of teens.  He saw that one dyke bitch riding his girl’s face.  He saw those little skater fucks taking turns raping her.  He knew what he was grabbing when he reached the filing cabinet in his home office, and pulled the black plastic case out from the bottom drawer.

The ten and a half inch by nine inch by two and a half inch plastic case that says “Glock” on it. 

Frank only paused to get the key for the cable lock that kept the case secure and a folding knife.  He walked with a purpose out of the house and to the still-running Escalade.  Mrs. Lomax took a step closer, but the look on Frank’s face was one she’d never seen on him before.

“Not now, Delores.”  He had no time for her bullshit today, and before she could piece together a complaint, he was already in the SUV, pulling out of the driveway.  He was so focused on what he was doing that he didn’t even close the garage door.  Mrs. Lomax did the neighborly thing and closed it for them.

What Frank knew as soon as he saw where he was headed was that his house was on the way from the Apple Store at the mall to Veranda Hills.  It was a small detour of a couple minutes at most.  That gave him a chance to pick up something he might need and, after seeing his girl get gangraped by a bunch of little shitheads, was something he looked forward to using.

His gun.

Frank had no clue if this monster or his black associate were carrying, but he knew that it was better to have a gun and not need it than to need it and not have it.  He had to assume the worst, and only hoped his training at the Valencia Gun Club was enough to prepare him.  He hoped he didn’t need it.  But a big part of him wanted to use it.  If he saw those rapist pieces of shit…

Shannon was shaking like a leaf as she tried to open the case for her husband as he drove.  She wanted them to be ready as soon as he stopped the car.  She knew what he could get like when pushed, but she’s never seen him like this before.  At this point, the voice of reason was more focused on getting the story out to a sympathetic press in case Frank had to ‘bust a cap in a fool’s ass.’  It took her until they were less than a mile from Veranda Hills to get the lock unlocked.  Ten minutes to do what should take her ten seconds in an emergency.  It was only after unlocking the gun case that she noticed her phone vibrating.  She picked it up.  It was another text from that monster on Diana’s phone.  This one was a picture that nearly made her puke.  It was a picture of two boys fucking their daughter at the same time.  They looked very similar, like they could be brothers.  After that came another text.

“What the fuck does that mean?”  Shannon said, tears running down her cheeks.

“What?”  Frank said, seeing a sign for Veranda Hills come into view.

“‘Houston, we have a problem.’  Why is he quoting Tom Hanks?”  Shannon said, between sobs.

“I don’t know, but we’re close.  There’s the plan.”  Frank motioned with his head to the large fancy signage in front of Veranda Hills coming up on their right.  He cut the turn as quick as he could, getting a little tire squeal from the large SUV.  They were on Heller Circle.  Most of the houses here were finished and had people living in them.  Fancy cars, SUV’s, and pickups filled the driveways as they drove past the first two streets on the right, Edmonds and Edgehurst.  As they continued, they found that most of the houses below them as they went uphill were finished, but thinned out as they moved to the next side street, Lorita Lane.  There were signs pointing to ‘Phase 3’ and ‘Lots Available’ in this direction.  Frank turned right, slowing down as the houses became further apart and fewer were completed.  He drove the whole length of Lorita, passing the connecting streets Maitland and Sidani.  As he turned around in the cul-de-sac, he spoke.

“Why Apollo 13?  Those pics had her in a house, right?  Shannon, where was she?”  Frank was tense, and while he didn’t mean to snap at her, he did.

“Inside.  They were inside, but it was under construction.”  She responded.

“How far along?”

“Look for yourself.”  Shannon shoved the phone in Frank’s face, forcing him to stop in a hurry.  He saw the pics of his baby girl being raped, but noticed the background, too.  No drywall.  No flooring.

“The house is under construction, no drywall.  Which means probably no paint or stucco yet.  It’s brand brand new.  And he said ‘Houston, we have a problem.’  That’s a clue, or a wild goose chase.”

“I hope it’s a clue.”  Shannon said.

“Same here, honey.  Let’s try Maitland, next.”  Frank nervously said as he turned right onto Maitland.  It was the same mix of houses being built and lived in, but nothing in the early phases of construction and no gray Chevy Cavaliers to be seen.  Taking Maitland all the way brought them back to Heller Circle, but there was another street to check.  Frank busted a U-ee and drove to Sidani Lane on his right.  This street was even more sparse, with a few empty lots between finished houses.  Still, no Cavalier.  They turned down Hulsey, a short little street which was a dead end, but they could see houses being built in the not-too-far-off distance.  They drove back to Sidani, making a left.  There was a stop sign for Lorita, but they’ve been down that road.  The worried parents continued on, going past a few houses under construction but no gray Cavalier.  Shannon saw a small Chevy, but it was a Cobalt, the successor to the Cavalier and much too new.  The next street, Roman Court, was again a short dead end, but they could see a few more houses in that early stage of construction.  They returned to Sidani, going left again.  As they approached the next street to their left, Shannon shrieked and pointed.

“There, there!”  She yelled.  Frank slammed on the brakes.  That’s when he saw it.

Houston Court.

“That’s why.”  Frank didn’t need to finish the thought.  They both knew it.  Michael C. Johnson, or whatever his name is, gave them that clue at the end to tell them what street Diana was on.

At least they hoped so.

They creeped up the hill, checking the row of houses on the street.  It looked like all of the houses before the stop sign were mostly finished or already sold to their owners.  But it was the ones past the stop sign, going up the hill, that were in various phases of construction.

“GRAY CHEVY!  GRAY CHEVY! UP THE HILL!”  Shannon freaked out, seeing an older, small gray Chevy up the hill, parked in front of a house under construction, without any paint or stucco on it. 

Frank floored it, putting all 8 cylinders to use, waking up the 400 ponies under the hood.  He blew past the stop sign at Nield Court, and almost slammed full speed into the gray Cavalier.  He stopped the Escalade, but kept the engine running.  He took a deep breath as Shannon opened the gun case for him.  He grabbed the key and turned the car off, then grabbed his gun, a Glock 19, and the full clip he kept with it.

“I’m going in, you check the car.  Whatever happens, I love you.”  Frank said.  Shannon leaned over and kissed him.

“I love you, too.  Now go get our baby.”  Shannon said through tears.  Frank exited the SUV first, then Shannon followed as she headed for the car.  Frank walked quietly towards the house, when he saw some movement to the side and from one of the open window holes.  It looked like a teen, around Diana’s age.  He heard some rustling, then someone yell “Fuck it, go, go!”  Frank ran to the side of the house to see a couple kids riding bikes, one of them buck ass naked.

Back at the gray car, Shannon found the car with the stereo playing.  She looked on the driver’s seat and found Diana’s purse with her phone.  She knew it was Diana’s purse because she bought it for her 17th birthday last year.  It wasn’t easy finding that specific Kate Spade tote.  Before she could grab her daughter’s stuff, she was shocked to find a young man standing in the doorway, a chubby little shit, naked as a jaybird.  Shannon screamed.  Frank ran back to the front, just in time to see the fat little shit run from them.

“GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE MOTHER FUCKER!”  Frank swore something fierce as he brandished his gun, taking aim in that young man’s general direction.  “STOP OR I WILL SHOOT!”  The chubby fuck ran down the steps and into the basement.  “WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER, YOU SICK LITTLE FUCK?!”  Frank ran past the kitchen without seeing something, someone tied up.  He stopped dead in his tracks halfway down the steps when he heard it. 

When he heard her.

“Dad?  DAD!  DADDY DADDY DAAAADD!”  Frank stopped and followed the screaming back to what should be the kitchen and pantry.  There, that’s where he found her.  Naked, bruised, a little bloodied, covered in marker, semen, and piss, taped up to the doorway to what should be the pantry.

“Sweetiepie, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s here.”  Frank put the gun in his waist as he cut the tape holding his daughter in place.  She collapsed into his arms and sobbed as he held her.  “Shannon, come here, I’ve got her!”  Frank’s voice cracked as she went inside, finding their daughter much worse for wear but alive.

It took them a couple minutes to get her into the backseat of the Escalade.  Diana had a hard time talking and sounded like she was high as a kite.  The only clothing she had on at this point were pumps, which Shannon ran back out to the car to retrieve.  She had little to know motor control, and her speech was still slurring.  Still, they worked as a team to get her in the car. 

As they finished up securing Diana into one of the seats, Shannon looked down the hill, back to Nield Court.  She counted the houses and noticed something off.  When she looked down there when she grabbed Diana’s shoes, she could’ve sworn that there was a Mercedes parked there just a moment ago.  Now, the driveway is empty.  If only she had her good glasses instead of her contacts, she could make out the plate from here.  Instead, she was just glad that her baby girl was alive and back with them.

Justice could wait until tomorrow, whenever that will come.


Author's note.  There is more to come in this story, at least 3 more chapters before I break into the Epilogues of years down the road.

[LtBroccoli]

Chapter 40



Harrison put the Mercedes in gear and pulled out slowly as soon as he and Tyrone saw that Diana was still alive.  They didn’t want to wait around in case Diana recognized his car.     Not that either of them thought she’d be in any shape to do anything but scream and cry.  Tyrone asked how much of the stuff he gave her, and Harrison replied “Enough.  Not enough to kill her, but enough that she might just now be coming to enough to stand on her own.”  That piqued Tyrone’s interest.  How much did he know about roofies?

As they drove out of the housing plan at a nice, leisurely pace, Tyrone began to ask Harrison some questions, like his name.

“Why do you care so much?”  Harrison asked curtly.

“I’m writing a fucking biography.  Look man, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired as fuck and it’s a long way back to the motel.  You’ve been up since we met, and that was like 12 hours ago, and we just pulled an all-nighter.  And we ain’t had no fucking coffee, either.  We need some caffeine and to not die while driving.  Know what helps best with that shit?  Talking.  So I’ll ax the questions, you answer, and then can ax back.  Deal?” 

“Deal.”  Harrison nodded, as they pulled onto the main road.

“So, piggy said your name was Robert Harrison.  Guessing Michael is your alias?”  Tyrone asked, getting straight to the point.

“Yeah.  Robert W. Harrison the third.  But I usually go by Harrison.  Too many Bob’s, Bobby’s, Rob’s, and Robert’s growing up, so the teachers called us by either our middle or last names.  And my middle name is William, so all the Will’s and Bill’s took that, which left just my last name, Harrison.  What’s your name?  Full name.”  Harrison asked, driving down Plum Canyon Road until it hit a small selection of shops.  He hated giving his name, but that cop ruined it for him, so he might as well get as much info as he could from Tyrone.

“Me?  Tyrone Isiah Thomas.  I know, parents were from Detroit and big Pistons fans.  Moved out here as a kid.  Grew up in some rough hoods, had a few run-ins with Johnny Law, but things always seemed to get fucked up, know what I mean?” 

“Guess so.  So, how’d you end up at the Vagabond?”  Harrison asked, his voice showing a little excitement as he saw the green and white sign he was looking for these long few minutes.

“Oh, you know, getting some ass.  Picked up this bitch from the bar, nothing special but good enough to break a dry spell.  She don’t want to go home and wake up her kids or old man, and I ain’t taking some skeez back to my crib.  So down to the Vagabond we go.  We done fucked and she left when her jitney picked her up, and I was chillin’, smokin’ a square when you come up and be all like ‘want to star in a porno?  I’ll pay you 15 large.”  Tyrone said, imitating Harrison’s voice to sound creepy and very white.

“I didn’t sound like that.”  Harrison said with a smirk as he turned on his left blinker, slowing the car down.

“Yes you did.  Sounded shady as fuck, but I wasn’t doin’ nuthin’ else that time.  See what’s up, and white boy tries some shit, I can take him.  Gotta say, seeing that bitch come out of the bathroom…DAMN!  And she was broken, too.”  Tyrone smiled, thinking back to seeing Diana for the first time.

Harrison turned the car into the Starbuck’s lot and headed to the drive-thru.  “How you take your coffee?”  Harrison asked as he lowered the window on his Mercedes.

“Cream and sugar.”  Tyrone said.

“Welcome to Starbucks, how may I help you?” The voice of a young woman came over the loudspeaker.

“Two Venti Iced Coffees, double shot in each, one black, one cream and sugar.”  Harrison said.  The woman repeated the order and gave him the total.  They pulled up and a minute later had their very large, cold coffees.  Tyrone thanked Harrison for his drink, and took a sip.

“Fuck, what is this?  Strong and good.”  Tyrone said.

“Large iced coffee with two shots of espresso.  Like having 4 cups of coffee at once, should keep us awake for the drive.”  Harrison took a few gulps before setting his cup down in the cup holder.  Tyrone held his and sipped a couple more times before asking another question.

“So, you were pretty good with that lawyer shit back there.” 

“Thanks.”  Harrison replied as he drove back to the rough part of town.

“So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“A lawyer.  Are you a lawyer?”  Tyrone asked.  Harrison drove, thinking of a good response before settling on the truth.

“I was one, and very good at it, too.  Made partner by the time I was 30 and by the time I was 39 I was pulling in 8 figures a year in revenue for the firm, bringing home a little over 3 million a year.  By 40, I was a convicted felon and disbarred.”  Harrison said, keeping his eyes on the road.

“What the fuck happened?”  Tyrone asked, sipping his coffee.

“Well, long story short I treated a cocktease at work the way she deserved, and I went too far and was caught.  Even with as good of an attorney as I am, I couldn’t get away with it or get past the mountain of evidence.  I plead guilty to some lesser charges and was out in a few years.  After getting out I had to go to a sex offender treatment center.  I did everything I had to so it looked like I took my treatment and rehabilitation seriously, but prison is more like a university for crime, and that center was like getting a PhD in sexual assault.”

“What you mean?”

“You ever do time, Tyrone?”  Harrison asked, and saw the black man shrug a little.

“A stint in Juvi for possession with intent and a few months a couple years back for assault.  I didn’t do it, but I was waiting for so long that I plead guilty to a misdemeanor for time served.  But nothing hard like a few years.”

“While in, you ever sit back and listen to the old timers talk about what they did and how they got away with other things?” 

Tyrone nodded.  “Yeah.  My old cellmate was an old time dope dealer, hooked me up with some of his boys.  I see what you’re sayin’ now.  You went in knowing a little, came out the fucking rape master, like some black belt of rape.”

“Exactly.  I learned a lot from those men, and a couple women, too.  I learned how to keep from getting caught, how to use drugs the correct way to get the desired effect, how to cover your tracks so you can’t be discovered, and how to avoid certain targets and locations.  For example, right now that little slut is so full of cum, that even if her parents go to the cops, they won’t be able to get a good sample for either of us.  They might have a chance with you, but that’s assuming that those boys didn’t each bust a nut in her, which they did.  So even if they get samples, it’s much more likely they’ll get those BMX punks instead of you.  Also, she has no clue where she was or anything besides your name and face, and even that is a stretch.  You noticed how she was fucked up most of the night?  Roofies, in just the right dose several times made her pliable but still aware of what was happening to her.  But her memory will be shot.”  Harrison paused to drink some of his coffee.

“How shot?  You recorded me fucking her, she sees that it might jog her memory.”  Tyrone sounded a little worried, but Harrison wasn’t.

“She might remember bits and pieces over time, but her recollection of last night will be shit.  Roofies fuck with short term memory, both before and after use.  It’s like being really drunk and high at the same time.”  Harrison said, driving further along the road.  “So, how do you know that driver?”

“Oh, that guy?  I work with him.  He works for the pizza joint my old cellmate set up to move product.  He delivers pizza, weed, smack, coke, x, you name it, that place has it.  Also has pretty good pizza, too.  I work as a cook on the books, but make most of my money hustling.  Ever hear those stories ‘bout people ordering crazy toppings and getting a bag of weed with their shit?  Well, we don’t do that no more cause one time someone ordered the weed combo and really meant it.  Awkward as fuck explaining that one away.  Now, the drivers do the heavy lifting, getting the shit to us on the street, and that guy is one crazy fuck.  White boy delivering to the ghetto, not gonna end well.  He was coming down here to drop off some shit for me to move.  By the way, you need anything, hit me up.  Could probably get you some more of that roofie shit if your dealer ever cuts you off or runs dry.”  Tyrone said, feeling a little more talkative as the coffee kicked in.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”  Harrison said.

“So what happened with that bitch?”  Tyrone asked. 

Harrison paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts.  He spent the next several minutes regaling the tale of the young law school intern, Kenna.  How this gorgeous blond intern from Columbia Law School came to work at the firm, and how her grades were very low on the list of the reasons for her hire.  Sure, she was smart, but the partners selected her to be eye candy.  He talked about her family’s connections to the state government, how sexy she looked in her short skirts and blouses, how much she always teased him and every other man in the office.  He talked about how he caught more than a couple glimpses down her blouse or up her skirt.  But that was all part of a ploy of hers to trap a partner into sexually harassing her and then her suing the firm for a nice payday.  What that little cunt didn’t anticipate was how far her teasing pushed him over the edge.

One Friday night he needed to work late when Kenna offered to stay with him.  She was more flirtatious than usual, and the blond vixen was dressed to the nines in a black pencil skirt, a button-down white blouse, and a pair of 3 inch black patent leather heels.  Over the night, she teased him, letting Harrison get a glimpse of her black lace panties, her stockings, and garter belt.  He could easily see her matching black bra under white shirt.  After ordering some Chinese and finishing work around 8PM, he claimed that she made one last brazen move to get him to hit on her, or make a pass at her. 

It worked, a little too well.

Harrison said he went in to kiss her, but she pulled back, then tried to act like he harassed her, and she threatened him, the firm, everyone.  Something inside of Harrison snapped, and he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into him.  She tried to fight, but that just turned him on more.  He slapped her a couple times, then slammed her down on his desk.  He ripped her blouse open, showing off her lacy bra.  She cried and begged him to stop, but he slapped her again and again, until he ripped the phone cord out of the wall and tied her hand together.  He pushed her skirt up, pushed her panties to the side, and raped her then and there on his desk. 

The next couple hours were burned into Harrison’s memory as the most erotic of his life, until tonight.  He raped Kenna’s pussy, her ass, and her mouth.  He must’ve fucked her a half a dozen times that night, and well into the morning. 

He lost track of time fucking Kenna.  So much so that when the cleaning crew did their nightly rounds at 3AM, they heard her whimpering in his office while he was in his private bathroom.  The janitor freed her and the two of them called building security, who called the police.

“I had two witnesses and that bitch against me.  On top of that, that cunt recorded the whole thing.  She was going to blackmail the firm.  Instead, she recorded her own rape.”  Harrison said, getting close to the Vagabond motel.

“Damn.  So that’s how you got caught.  She went Dragon Tattoo on your ass?”  Tyrone said.

“Yep.  I could even argue that the recording shouldn’t be admissible, but New York is a one party consent state.  Plus, the cops showed up and found her torn clothes in my office.  It was a shitshow.  I plead guilty, served a few years and registered as a sex offender in the state of New York, but to lesser charges.  With the way laws are set up in various states, I moved to Arkansas for a short while to establish residency before coming out here to California.  By doing that, I’m a free man with no history that I have to inform anyone of.”  Harrison said, stopping at the traffic light near the motel.

“Can you do that lawyer shit again?”  Tyrone asked.

“Practice law?  No, not anymore.  I lost my legal license, and if I tried to practice here, my past will come back and so will the rape charges.  But it’s okay, I have more than enough money to retire if I wanted to.  I’m one of the few people that made money going to prison.  My investments kept growing and I made a killing on a short in 2008 against the housing market.”  Harrison said, as the light turned green and he pulled forward, turn signal on.

“Huh?”

“I bet that the housing market would collapse, and made what’s called a stock short.  When some investment banks went belly-up, I made $50 million.”

“$50 million?  On a bet?  You fucking kidding me?”
   
“No, for real.”  Harrison said, pulling into the Vagabond’s parking lot.  “A short is like betting against a team to cover the spread, or going against the points, like ‘The Lakers are 6 point favorites against the Clippers and should combine for 220.  I don’t think either will happen, let me bet on it.”  Harrison parked his Mercedes. 

Tyrone was flabbergasted.  This was by far the craziest night of his life, and he needed to get home, get some sleep, and see if this was real.

“Yo, here’s your check man.”  Tyrone said as he handed the $20,000 cashier’s check made out to HR3 over to Harrison.  Harrison accepted it, then opened the glove box.  Tyrone leaned back a little as Harrison reached in and pulled out a thick white envelope, then proceeded to count out all 20k in Benji’s.  There were two stacks of $10,000 each that he handed to Tyrone.  The black man was speechless.

“This is yours, but be smart with it, and it comes with some caveats.  Never tell anyone my name or what we did tonight.  You will give me your phone number and keep this number active.  And when this number calls…” Harrison held up a blank business card with a 212 phone number on the front, making sure that Tyrone’s attention was focused on it. “You drop everything and answer.  If you can’t, or if something happens to your phone, call this number.  “Harrison flipped it around, showing a 646 number.  “Understood?” 

“Yeah.  Don’t say shit ‘bout shit, answer the 212 number, call the 646 number.”  Tyrone responded, a little distracted by the extra $20,000 in cash in his hands.

“Good.  I look forward to working with you again one day.  I can’t promise the same kind of payouot, but the fun should be about the same.  And if you happen to see something that may pique my interest, call the 646 number.  Remember, I have particular standards.”  Harrison said.  Tyrone nodded, then Harrison extended his hand.  “It was a pleasure doing business with you Tyrone Isiah Thomas.”  The two men shook hands.

“And with you too, Harrison.  Drive safe, cuz.”  Tyrone said, still a little shocked at what happened.

“Thanks, you too.”  Harrison said as Tyrone opened the door, exited with the cash and license plate, and closed the door behind him.  As soon as Tyrone was clear, Harrison pulled out of the parking space and made his way home, while Tyrone hopped in his car and left the Vagabond, with enough caffeine in his system to keep him awake for a day, or maybe a month.

Tyrone passed out about 20 minutes after getting back to his crib.

[LtBroccoli]

Chapter 41



Frank Meadows was just glad to have Diana home and in bed.  The last 18 hours had been a living nightmare as his daughter went from going to an interview for her favorite college to being drugged and gangraped in a house under construction.  Then him almost killing that fat little fuck, only stopping when he heard his little girl cry for help.  Of course she was a full-grown woman, but she’ll always be his girl.  Cutting her loose from the doorframe, then getting her into the Escalade was a challenge.  Doing so without seeing her nakedness up front was impossible.  He knew what the crustiness was, and seeing all of the marks on her that weren’t present in the pics sent told him all he needed to know about what happened in that house.

The drive home was terrible.  Diana alternated between moaning in pain and screaming in panic.  Every time he thought she would calm down, here came another fit.  It lasted the entire trip home.  Moaning, screaming, crying, rinse and repeat.

Getting her into the house was complicated by all the junk in the garage.  Frank knew the neighbors would talk, especially Mrs. Lomax.  He was very curt with her earlier, and the panicked calls the night before definitely raised suspicions.  When he saw the old hag watching from her window as Frank ran into the garage to get a blanket to cover Diana with, he knew that the rumors would spread faster than the embers of a wildfire.  But that would be tomorrow’s problem.  He would deal with that tomorrow.

Diana was still under the influence of whatever that monster gave her when they tried to get her inside.  Trying to walk a high girl into a crowded garage wearing only 4-inch-heels and covered in an old blanket is not the easiest of tasks, even when she’s not actively reliving a vicious sexual assault.  Once they were inside, he closed the garage door behind them and turned on the basement lights ahead of them.  At least this cut down on the shocked screaming.

They made their way through the house, all the way up to the second floor and to Diana’s bathroom.  They got her into the bathroom, and this was the first time both he and his wife got a good look at Diana.  Her lip and face was bruised, her hair, chest, and crotch were covered in dried cum, bruises all across her body, and dozens of marks and slurs in Sharpie.  “SLUT” on her forehead, “CUM DUMPSTER” on her belly, “DYKE” on her tits, “FUCK MY ASS” across her back, and “CUM HERE” with an arrow to her pussy were written in permanent marker.  And that was just what he could make out or understand.

When he saw the terrified look on Diana’s face, Frank decided that it was time to leave the bathroom and give the women some privacy.  He used this time to get everything from the Escalade, like his gun and knife.  He shook as he unloaded it and put it away in it’s case.  That’s when he noticed that he was operating on pure adrenaline for so long that it wasn’t even funny.  Now, for the first time in almost a day, his body told him it was time to take care of himself for once.

Frank shook as he slammed the first beer and opened his second, grabbing a bag of chips and devouring it as Shannon eventually came downstairs.  He didn’t say anything as his wife took the salty snacks from him and proceeded to throw calorie counting out the window.  Diana was finally settling down and would probably be in the shower for quite a while before going to bed.

After everything that happened, he knew that the hardest parts were still to come.  There would be therapy sessions, a trip to the hospital in the next day or so, plus returning to school.  Plus who knew what backlash from her peers.  Frank assumed that Diana still had that crazy post on her Facebook wall, so as soon as she was able, they had to get her to delete it and change her password.  The only thing that he could hope for on that front was that the monster kept his word and didn’t release that video.

That’s when the thoughts of revenge came to Frank.  One way or another, he would find out what he could about Michael C. Johnson.  This he swore to his God and the beer in his hand.

[LtBroccoli]

Chapter 42



Robert W. Harrison III sat in his Eames Lounge Chair from Herman Miller, staring at the fireplace as it roared on this early evening in late May in Santa Monica, California.  Vivaldi played on the speakers in his luxury condo as he sipped a glass of merlot from a small vineyard upstate.  He was still dressed in expensive suit pants and a button-down shirt, but had finally removed the tie upon arriving at home.  Everything about the room Harrison called home screamed luxury, except the one thing that he allowed himself to indulge in this evening.  A pepperoni pizza from Joe’s just a few blocks away.

Harrison forced himself to stay awake when he arrived at home, though he did take a shower and change into another pair of pants and a clean shirt and undershirt.  While most men would gladly change into a pair of gym shorts and a comfy tee, Harrison was most comfortable in a tailored suit and $2,000 shoes.  He wore appropriate clothes for working out or fitting in with regular people, but that wasn’t where he felt that he was in his element.  He knew that it was only through discipline that he could stay a step ahead of his victims and the law.  He knew that his tastes were not accepted by most of the common folk, but he didn’t care what they thought.

He looked at his Rolex.  9:05PM.  By his count, he had slept maybe 45 minutes in the last 30.  Normally he would start his sleep regimen in a couple hours, but he would allow himself some treats tonight, for he was a ‘good boy.’  He deserved a treat from home with a New York style pizza and his favorite wine, even if they didn’t match perfectly. 

Harrison deserved this and more, because he successfully pulled off the rape and brutalization of Miss Diana Meadows.  In just a few days, he went from not knowing her name to luring her into a trap, then closing the trap and having his way with her.  He couldn’t have been luckier if he had a leprechaun up smoking a 4-leafed-clover joint shoved up his ass.  He marveled at his unbelievable luck and basked in it, as though it were sunshine, or the glow from the fireplace roaring in front of him.  Had Diana not been interested in Georgetown, or her father not bought his spiel, then this escapade dies in the Starbucks.  He could’ve been kicked out of the office lobby, or some righteous parking valet or server could’ve called the cops when they saw him carry an obviously intoxicated woman out of this fancy restaurant.  He wondered for a moment how often they saw that happen, and how many times they turned a blind eye.  If this were an Applebee’s, some do-gooder would’ve called the cops instantly, but a fine dining establishment like this in LA probably assumed that this was yet another casting call.  And after getting to the Vagabond, everything worked out perfectly.  It was amazing how everything lined up.  The only bumps in the road were the cop and the BMX teens, and those turned into amazing opportunities.  Unfortunately Tyrone knows his real name, but if… no WHEN he does this again, he has a built-in patsy, a face that can get caught while he moves on to safety.  If Tyrone were to befall an accident, then what a shame that would be.

As he sipped the merlot, he looked at the fire as it burned.  He watched the gas fireplace consume the blanket and clothes he threw in the fire, destroying nearly all of the evidence of his attack on the gorgeous brunette cheerleader.  He watched as her blouse and slacks went up in smoke.  The pearls from her buttons were already stolen by a beach bum when he dropped them in their collection cup, and the panties… Well, Harrison kept the panties.  He pulled them out of his pocket and sniffed them, remembering how her pussy smelled and tasted, before he deflowered her against her will.  He sipped his wine, remembering the look on her face as he popped her cherry, knowing that from now on, whenever she thinks about or is asked about her first time with a man, she won’t picture the face of a lover, but his visage, grinning down at her, reveling in her pain.  He relished in the knowledge that her first, well, everything, was him.

For a moment he wondered what she was up to, whether she remembered any of her attack.  He was confident that she would, but not enough to go to the authorities.  And if she tried, he still had all of the videos and pictures he took.  He perused them throughout the afternoon, patting himself on the back with how well he had done.  They served as both a reminder and a weapon.  A reminder of the most fun he’s had in years, and a weapon in case Diana or any of her family get out of line.

As he sipped his merlot again, he looked at the laptop sitting in front of him, the one he used last night.  The browser tab showed that he was logged out of her Facebook account.  He knew this would happen.  Most likely as soon as she was coherent enough, she logged in, deleted the cryptic post that Harrison made as her, and changed her password so that he couldn’t log back in as her.  He confirmed this when he checked her account with his dummy account.  While he was logged in as her, he sent a friend request to a fake account that he uses to infiltrate social media profiles of potential or former targets.  ‘These kids are more sophisticated than their parents’, he thought to himself.  Part of his process, something he learned about from his time at the sexual assault rehabilitation classes, was using scam Facebook profiles to get close to girls.  The idea is a simple one.  Set up an account that looks like it belongs to someone that the intended target would friend, like a classmate or a crush, or a celebrity if they’re real dense.  Populate the profile with just enough things to make it look real, then send a friend request to them or someone they know.  A teen is more likely to friend someone they don’t know personally if others are friends with them.  He already had this in motion with Diana before he scheduled the Friday meeting.  Thanks to his fake profile of Emma Wilson and a few requests to her friends, he could see a little of what Diana was doing, if he wanted to.  Now, when he friended himself from Diana’s account, he had nearly unfettered access and she would be none the wiser.  Emma Wilson would look like just another girl from the area that Brian and others were also friends with.  Through the fake Emma Wilson, he would monitor the real Diana Meadows.

But just because Diana deleted the post doesn’t mean she’s out of the woods. Far from it.  Now, she’ll have to deal with more than a few questions about what happened, and Harrison jotted down everyone who liked or commented on the post, including a few boys in her class.  He was sure they would be more than interested in seeing the virgin cheerleader get fucked like a whore by a black man.

Harrison took a quick inventory of everything he would have to do tomorrow.  He would do a post-mortem on Diana’s rape, going through everything from top to bottom.  He would have to rotate out the office lease and phone number, now that he used those in an attack.  He would also have to change the name of the company that the space is leased out to and who runs the website.  It would cost a good chunk of time and money, but it was worth it.

He smelled her panties one more time and smiled.  “It’s worth it.”


Author's note.  This is my submission for the contest.  Anything after this doesn't count, but continues the story.  I still have a few sections I want to tackle, including Diana's future and what Harrison and Tyrone get up to, but this concludes the main portion of my attempt to bring this story to a satisfying conclusion.

Thanks for reading.

[rexmundi]

Thank you for writing this. This story has long deserved a proper ending and you have more than ably stepped into the huge shoes of Riverrat..

Let me first express how much better this is than that storm front fantasy dreck where the bikers humble Tyrone, who somehow was six inches shorter than he was in the OG Diana story. That crap has been consigned to the dustbin of history.

You've done a fabulous job of capturing the tone and tenor of the original, especially in the characterization of Harrison. He is so thorough and meticulous in his planning and execution of his rape conquest and is quick witted enough to adapt on the fly. He's no ordinary rapist and I'm sure he'd tell you that verbatim. Nothing screams Harrison more than winding down after a shower in pants and shirt and undershirt instead of relaxing and "letting it all air out" with some gym shorts. At least he didn't put on another tie.lol

Harrison is very meticulous in covering his tracks but he has no idea that Diana's parents have seen some of his soon to be changed company name and other things. Could complicate matters.

Loved the teen boys losing their virginities to the no longer virginal Diana and the girl giving her a taste of how the other half lives. Guess that fat kid got away. That Brian guy, who was a lovesick "toy", would be so envious of that little fat kid. Maybe Harrison will send him that vid for putting up with Diana's bullshit.

I never even realized that Riverrat never gave Diana a surname. Good choice. I like how able her father is and he and is wife are on his tail a little bit.

Suffice to say you have my vote in the contest and I shall be re-reading it again. This is now canon to me and you truly are killing it so far.

Have a good evening.

[LtBroccoli]

Thank you Rex.  And a big shout out to you for saving the back half of this story.  The "ending" you told me about never sat well with the story that came before it.  There was too much of a leap in logic, and like you said the whole thing just reeked of some 3%er, white supremacist bullshit.

For Harrison's character, I thought back to Patrick Bateman and American Psycho.  If he were into rape, that is how Harrison would act.  He sees himself as better than everyone, and his being caught raping the intern as bad circumstances, not bad behavior.  He KNOWS that he could do it ten more times and get away each time.  He is a narcissistic sociopath with delusional behavior that has been shown to come true.

The one critique I had from the original plot was that Harrison had already contacted the parents and set the ransom in motion.  That, and putting them within driving distance shortened the amount of time Harrison had to work with her.  Otherwise he could have the entire weekend with her.  If that were the case, Harrison would've messaged Brian the jock and told him to come to the motel, and bring some friends.  All day Saturday would've been a gangbang on the prudish cheerleader by the football team.  What better way to further humiliate her.  Then, the parents would arrive back in town and then things would pick up from there, pretty much the same way.

If you notice her last name, Meadows, it's shown up before.  Not only did I use it in Purity before changing it, but there's a little easter egg going back to Lake Hiawatha.  Remember one of the last segments, where Stacy was being sued by Jen's parents?  The lawyer in that case was none other than Miss Diana Meadows.  The dates are a little off since I thought this story took place sooner, but nothing that a little retcon can't fix.  George was getting really drunk and messed up some dates.

The remaining sections will focus more on Diana, but there will be an invisible hand feeling, following her along, twisting things from a distance.  Plus, this story showed how incredibly lucky Harrison was.  What happens when his luck runs out?  What happens when the 18-year-old girl is a full grown woman looking for justice?  What happens when someone parties a little too hard?  We'll find out in the future.

[vile8r]

Rexmundi's critique pretty well mirrors what I wanted to say too! You really killed it with the continuation of this epic story. I have seen so many stories where someone other than the original author attempts to write a sequel or a continuation and just wrecks it all! But you did an excellent job on this one!

I am assuming there is more coming, though. Sounds like maybe some future attempts at revenge from Diana and her parents.

 

[LtBroccoli]

Thanks Vile8r.  This means a lot.  I have a few sections lined up for now, and have some dialog figured out for later scenes.  Right now it's about figuring out how Diana's summer will go, and the "fun" in store for her.   

[Seeker]

You have done a masterful job of continuing the tone, tempo and theme of the original. Thank you and I really am fascinated with what you do next, either with Harrison's further exploits (which I would love to read) or Diana's future - I can see victimhood and/or vengeance and you have set either or both up perfectly