Selma · Part 1

Selma · Part 1 (1/2)
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Part 1: The Trial

I held my breath as the eleven men and one woman entered the courtroom through the door which led down a hall to the jury room. My fingers on both hands were crossed, and, if my toes were looser in my conservative three-inch pumps, my toes would be crossed as well.

The jury foreman; an older white male with dark hair; greying on the sides above his ears, making him look quite distinguished; handed a slip of paper to the bailiff, which the bailiff promptly handed to the judge. The process seeming to take forever; though my lungs still held the air they had taken in when the door on the side of the courtroom first opened and the jurists returned. The judge unfolded the piece of paper, glanced at it, then set it on his bench.

“Mr. Fairchild, will you please stand while I read the charges and the jury foreman gives their verdict?” The man in the black robe behind the raised bench asked, while he looked at the defendant.

“Yes, your honor sir.” The defendant answered, his voice much more respectful than the voice I remember him using to me.

“I see the jury has reached its verdict in the case of The State v. Adam Fairchild III. Jury foreman, will you please read the jury’s verdicts of the charges as I read them to you?”

“Yes, your honor.” The foreman answered respectfully.

“How do you find on the charge of Aggravated Sexual Assault in the First Degree?” The judge asked.

“Not guilty, your honor.” The distinguished looking man replied in a strong voice, making sure it was loud enough for the whole courtroom to hear.

I gasped and finally took in a deep breath. The shock of the verdict sending a cold chill from my head to my toes, making me shiver, and tears began to fill my eyes.

“Did you find cause to lessen the charge to Aggravated Sexual Assault in the Second Degree?” Asked the judge.

“No your honor. We found the defendant innocent of any Sexual Assault charges.” The foreman replied.

“On the charge of Kidnapping in the First Degree, how do you find?” The judge asked, continuing down the list of charges.

“Not guilty, your honor.” Said the sole person standing in the jury box.

My heart dropped to my stomach when he stated their findings. I knew this pig was going to skate through the charges. He had a top-notch legal team sitting beside him. They had torn my complaint to pieces using a piece of evidence that I was compelled to provide. Evidence that they used against me in every question they posed while I was on the witness stand. My own diary.

“Did you find cause to lessen the charge to Kidnapping in the Second Degree?” His honor asked.

“The jury found no cause to find the defendant guilty of any degree of Kidnapping, your honor.” The jury foreman responded.

By this time, I was crying heavily. I looked over to the defense table and noticed Adam looking at me with a huge grin on his face. A grin which had ‘I told ya’ written all over it. It was true, he had told me that if I brought charges he would be able to walk from them. He told me this while I was still bound to his bed, my pussy and asshole extremely sore from his abuse over the three days he used me as he wished. That was just before he released me.

I went directly to the police department, without cleaning myself first. He had used a condom each time he raped me, so the rape-kit found only a few traces of his semen on me, but found none with the vaginal and anal swabs. They took pictures of the marks he left from the cane and the cats-o-nine, but, his lawyers used my own personal writings against me, and must have convinced the jury that my three days of rape, floggings, and torment were consensual.

“How do you find on the charge of False Imprisonment?” The judge continuing to have the jury foreman confirm orally what he had already read on the paper the foreman had passed to the him via his bailiff.

“Not guilty, your honor.” The man in the jury box stated as he stood in his navy-blue pinstriped suit.

That was it. The mother-fucker was going to walk out of the courtroom a free man.

My tears flowed from the anger and humiliation and frustration of the court system letting me down and letting him walk. Free to rape the next victim he can find and entrap using their own evidence for his defense. Possibly not in this city…but somewhere.

That was the day I started making my plans… My plans for my own justice… My plans for retribution… My plans for REVENGE!

Part 2: Planning

I started my game plan from the day he skated on the charges I had sworn against Mr. Fairchild (oh, how that name makes me cringe with disgust!) and planned them out, writing everything I needed to do, in the order I needed to accomplish them, in a password encrypted document file on my computer. I knew when I finished my final few steps, I would use a DoD level erase program to wipe my hard-drive of any trace of evidence.

Prior to his kidnapping and raping me, the cock-sucker had broken into my apartment, found my self-bondage equipment and my diary. He must have read through my diary and found where I had written about the fantasies I would dream of, while tightly secured in my cuffs, chains, and other items. My fantasies of being mistreated and used by some unknown assailant while tightly restrained and unable to resist. There were also passages which went into detail of a couple of ex-boyfriends which had done just that.

During the trial, his defense attorney had subpoenaed my diary and used it as evidence against me, stating that everything he had done to me was consensual and I had only brought charges against his client when he refused to give me $25,000 to keep me from filing frivolous charges of rape against him. This, of course, was pure and total bullshit. Even my restraints had been subpoenaed as evidence that it was my own bondage items which had made the marks on my wrists, ankles, and face; which had been documented by the police with photographs when I went and reported the kidnapping and rape. A forensic specialist said there was absolutely no doubt that it was either my restraints or an identical set which had left the marks which had been documented. No shit, I could have, and did when I was on the witness stand, told them that he had used my restraints.

Well, actually he didn’t; I had. As my diary clearly showed, I bound myself nearly every night, usually in a tight hogtie or ball-tie. The night he had taken me and began my abuse was a Friday evening, and, he had, once again, broken into my apartment. However, this time he hid in the closet of my spare bedroom. This, of course, is a guess as I use my spare bedroom as a storage room and rarely go in there. He wasn’t anywhere else in the apartment when I returned home from work… thus… he must’ve been hiding in there. I never heard the front door open after I had gotten home, nor, after I decided to tie myself up for the night. He entered my bedroom only about fifteen-minutes after I was helplessly bound in a strict hogtie, my keys unavailable until five am.

He stuffed me into my own duffle-bag; one of the heavy-duty military duffle-bags with a lockable closure on the top and shoulder harnesses for carrying on the back. It was my fathers from his time in the Army that he had given to me when I moved away. He had placed a rag, which smelled of ether, in the bag with me and I was out for the duration. Most of my neighbors in the apartment complex are elderly, so it would not have been hard for him to sneak me out of my first floor flat and into an awaiting car.

When I awoke, I could not disseminate where I was as he had added a blindfold over my eyes. He had rebound me with my feet tied straight and wide above my head, folding me at my waist, which was bound to the bed using my waist-belt. My hands were tied straight and wide to the corners of the foot of the bed. The position, I knew, bared both my pussy and asshole for use at his will. My clover clamps were on my nipples, each tied to my thigh-cuffs and would pull on my nipples if I move my legs much at all.

He had also brought my portable fuck-machine, which he placed in one hole or the other anytime he was not actively fucking me. He left me alone regularly over the three days he kept me, adding to his alibi of his friends which he was out at the clubs with. My vagina and anus was much more sore than I had ever made them using the machine… however… I never used it for three days straight on myself either.

So, I figured, what worked for the gander should work for the goose.

I had only gotten a glimpse of him in my bedroom mirror before I was robbed of my sight, but, it was all I needed. His image was burned into my near photographic memory, and, I knew I had seen him at one of the club’s in the city. He was the manager of ‘The Beaver Shot’, a club I despised because of the name and the fact that the waitresses wore short mini-skirts and would give you what the name of the club implied anytime they bent over, which, they did regularly in front of the guys.

Anyway, he stopped me one evening when some of my friends; their boyfriends actually; insisted we go to the club. Adam claimed he had to take my ID to his office to authenticate it as he thought it was fake. He brought it back shortly and allowed me in. I was the only single person in the group of seven, I was with. Now… that is how I figure he had gotten my address… from taking my ID to his office and photocopying it.

For me, it wasn’t that easy. When he had finished with me, he had stuffed me back into the duffle bag and placed me in my own bed and returned all my toys he used on me. He even put the keys back on my timing mechanism and I was free in a few hours after he had left and removed any tracks or traces of himself being in my apartment. I had never seen where he lived, only knew that he had driven me for about twenty minutes and had made numerous turns. Using my uncanny memory, I had made a mental picture of each turn he made and counted between each one, giving me an approximate picture of where he took me.

It took me to disguise myself and follow him home. He had a very nice house, but, he had obviously taken a route from my apartment to his house that would throw me off. He lived about five minutes away and there were only a few turns… much fewer than he had made while I was bound in the trunk of his car.

About three months after the shithead walked out of the courtroom, I took my first step of my plan.

I broke into his house one night while he was at the club. I wore a black cat-suit, gloves, and balaclava. I disappeared in the shadows and was sure nobody had seen me enter or leave.

I hacked his computer; the fucking idiot used his house number for his four-digit code; and opened his email. I sent myself this email;

I will get even with you, you stupid bitch! You cost me $162,000 to defend myself at my trial. I figure I only got about $20,000 of fun from you the last time I fucked you. You owe me $142,000 worth of abusing your cunt and asshole. I know how and where to find you. I did it once, I can do it again! And, just like last time, you’ll lose in court because you’re a fucking slut!

I removed any trace of the email and my activities from his computer. I had installed a small piece of software code which would allow me to change the timestamp of an email and I had set the timestamp for a time I had known he was at home. Now, I had a piece of quasi-incriminating evidence, which, I promptly took to the police so it would be on the record later.

The police bought him in for questioning. He denied sending me an email, then or ever, and of course they released him pending further investigation into the matter.

Two weeks before I planned to exact my revenge, I broke into his house again, hacked his computer, installed my malware, and sent myself this email; Expect me to exact payment soon. It’s now up to $152,000 for going to the police with that last email. They’ll never believe you! I have too much influence in this town. Soon Bitch! Expect it very soon!

I didn’t take this one to the police. I didn’t need to get him arrested just yet. I had my own agenda and my own payment to exact upon him.

Part 3: Exacting Revenge

I planned Alan’s day of reckoning for a Friday, exactly six-months from the day he kidnapped and raped me. Through my diligent and careful reconnaissance of his routines, I learned that he had every fourth weekend off from the club. The sixth month would have him off for the weekend… a weekend I expected to put him through the same hell he put me through… and, would be a perfect time. Thinking as a person with a psychosis, I figured it would appear to be a Sixth-Month Anniversary and, from the outside looking in, would be considered long enough in the mind of a rapist, to have let the heat cool off from his last defense against charges; and, should it be the same person, it would appear as I was trumping up a new charge against him.

On the Friday which I executed my plan, I took all of my bondage gear I believed I would need, my sex-machine, and, something he had overlooked the first time; my electro-torture machine.

I hid in his house, the same as he had mine, for him to come home. He was quite drunk from his Friday off of work being spent at the club. Another helpful hint I had found during my time of trailing him over the last six months.

It wasn’t long before his drunken stupor had him snoring loudly on his bed, having collapsed on his back with his legs hanging off the foot of his bed after getting home. Obviously, the wooden footboard not being too much discomfort digging into the back of his knees.

I worked carefully, but diligently, at binding him so he could not put up much of a fight should he wake up during the time I needed for his preparation. I didn’t have to worry however; he was out for the count. He never twitched a single muscle as I worked to put him in the same position he had placed me in; putting his asshole in the perfect position for the fuck-machine to give him a good, long, hard pounding. Unlike him, I didn’t have to decide which hole to put it in… I could leave it in his ass all weekend long.

I had learned, again, through my carefully watching eyes and sharp ears, that Alan was an ardent homophobe, proudly boasting of his heterosexuality and how the thought of two men having sex made him sick to his stomach and was the ultimate in repulsiveness.

“So much the better for you to get it up your ass.” I thought to myself when I overheard his statements exclaimed loudly during a night of Tequila Shooters he enjoyed with his friends and patrons.

Adam Fairchild had learned a lot about my fucking-machine over the weekend he used it on me… believe me, I found out just how much he learned during the hours he would leave it pounding away at my pussy or ass while he was off doing who-knows-what. But… I still know more.

He didn’t know about the little ‘extra’s’ it has and is capable of. Such as the old-fashioned telephone generator that is hooked up to the drive motor, nor the bi-polar dildo which can be hooked up to this generator. All I know is, damn, that generator hurts; and I only had the rheostat set to five of ten. He thought it was broken when he tried to turn it up on me, but he didn’t have the attachments for the electrical torture part of it… I do.

Once I had his arms securely bound behind him. I undid his pants, removed his shoes and socks, then finished taking off his pants and underwear. The sight of the cock that he used on me that long weekend almost made me sick. When I finished stripping his lower half, I bound his ankles until I could get his shirt off.

I unbuttoned his shirt, rolled him over onto his stomach and waited for a few minutes to ensure my jostling him did not bring him out of his drunken sleep. It had not, so I untied his hands and removed his shirt, then, retied his hands. I had thought of cutting off his clothing, but that would not allow the scene to look right when I was finished.

I set up the ropes for his feet on the headboard. Once I had finished, I rolled him over on his back, untied his feet and locked my leather ankle-cuffs on each one. Slowly, I bent both legs up, attaching the first rope to one cuff, then the other to the other cuff. So far so good.

With his ass and lower back up in the air, I put my leather waist-belt around his waist, thankful that it was a one-size-fits-all and not specifically made for women or myself. I took two more ropes and tied them off at each side of the wooden footboard. I untied his wrists and locked my wrist-cuffs on each wrist. I looped the ropes through the D-rings of the wrist cuffs and tied both ends of the rope to the foot-board, well out of reach of his hands.

I pulled my harness gag and blindfold out of my duffle and locked them on his head. He stirred a little when I shoved the large black ball between his lips and past his teeth, but settled back into his alcohol induced slumber shortly thereafter. I locked the harness and blindfold in place. I also took the time to place the microphone collar around his throat and locked it on with another small padlock, making sure to run the long wire-cord well out of reach of his hands.

I tied more rope to the D-rings on the sides of the belt I had put around his waist and run them under the bed. I pulled the rope tight, pulling his lower back and ass closer to the bed, allowing me to get a good alignment of the machine to the rosette of his puckered anus. I aligned the machine between his splayed, but secured, arms and pushed it forward until the electricity conductive phallus was just touching his asshole. I tied the machine off to the waist belt so it, nor he, could push it away from entering him. I waited to tighten it with an inch or two in his ass until I was ready to power it up.

I had purchased two sets of bi-polar cock rings and a seven-inch bi-polar urethral sound using a pre-paid debit card and had a friend order them for me. It wasn’t like my sexual proclivities were not already know to the whole town, so, she never questioned why I wanted them. Now, I put one of the rings around his balls, two of them on his cock, and lubricated and sent the urethral sound to the place it was designed to go. He stirred a little at the invasion of the part of a man’s body where nothing should ever be. He lolled his head around lethargically. A couple pieces of tape over the head of his disgusting prick held the sound firmly in place.

Adam became much more awake when I clamped my strongest set of nipple-clamps onto his nipples. He started thrashing more, unable to move much. I attached the nipple-clamps chain to a stick, bent his legs at the knees a little and placed the stick against the back of his knees. Now, when he tried to straighten his legs at all, the nipple-clamps would pull wickedly against his nipples.

I attached all the connectors to the electro-box and plugged it in. I switched it on and pressed the instant-shock button on the remote. What little he was still asleep when I pushed the button had broken away in a trice.

“Do you know who I am you fucking raping scoundrel? Of course you do. You heard my voice for several days during your trial.” As I said this I started tightening the ropes holding the fucking-machine inline and up against his ass. Unlike himself, however, I obligingly greased his asshole with gel… electrode gel. As I tightened the ropes, the dildo pushed tightly against his lubricated asshole. He fought its entrance. A five-second press of the button on the remote forced his body to tense. He relaxed when I let go of the button. He had obviously forgot about the object trying to be forced in his rectum from the shock he just got, and I gave the box a good shove, the phallus entering him quite easily. I tightened the ropes so the fuck-bot could not be pushed out of, or, away from him.

I heard him scream and curse me from behind the large ball holding his mouth agape and making his words indecipherable.

“Oh… that’s right. You remember my little friend, don’t you?” I said mockingly to him. “Just now, the shoe’s on the other foot…or…better yet… should I say the shafts in the other hole.” I laughed meanly with sweet contempt.

“A Nice weekend off for us to play. Isn’t that what the fuck you said to me you mother-fucking piece of shit!?!” My anger was working up at the memory of what he had said and what he had done to me those few months ago. I couldn’t help myself, I pushed the button on the remote in my hand and held it for a good half-minute. His body wrought with pain as the electricity surged through his nipples, balls, and, both, inside and outside of his cock. I could see the muscles in his jaw clenching tightly against the ball in his mouth, like a gunfighter biting against a strop when the old-west doc was trying to dig the bullet out.

“Yeah… a nice long weekend.” I said this, and extended the word ‘long’ to emphasize that his turmoil would not be short lived and be drug out for as long as I possibly could. Only myself knowing I would have to cut it a little short to put my end-game into motion.

“Oh… and wait until I show you what else my little automated fucker can do. It has a couple of functions you, thankfully, never found. Does that dildo sticking in your ass feel good?” Adam shook his head violently from side to side in an over-mocked gesture of no.

“I could remove it and just turn on the little device that had given you those shocks.” I pressed the button for a few seconds just to refresh his memory. “Is that what you would prefer?” I asked, once again in the most mocking and belittling tone I have.

Again, the violent shaking of his head.

“So then, you want my machine to fuck that tight little asshole of yours.” Head shaking again, signaling no to that as well.

“Look, you stupid-shit, this ain’t fucking Burger King… you get it MY way… not yours! One or the other, which one would you prefer…” I scolded, then finished with, “…first.”

Even behind the blindfold I could see the frustration and humiliation pouring across his face, unsure of which he thought would be worse; the shocks or his ass reamed. I made up his mind for him when I turned the generator built into the machine to off, for now, and started the machine sliding in and out of his ass at two strokes per minute. Far less than the three-hundred-fifty it is capable of. I watched his body tense at the invading phallus slide smoothly along the six-inch stroke I had it set for. The machine tried to lift itself a little during the end of its full-in stroke, obviously bottoming out on the deepest part of his rectum.

I slapped him on his ass with my hand, not wanting to leave marks on him as he did on me… and, as I will be putting on myself over the next few days… as marks on him would not bode well with my later plans. It elicited the response I had hoped, a muffled yell, and the machine popped up from two strokes per minute to four. I had it set to the double multiplier; it is capable of a multiplier of eight. Thus, if I had it set to ten strokes per minute, it would immediately shoot up to eighty for the amount of time I had set it to stay on the multiplier for each sound the user makes. Currently, I had it set to remain on the multiplier for one minute. However, Adam had learned all about this feature and used it quite expertly on me, having me experience the full three-hundred-fifty strokes per minute several times.

When the machine fell off the multiplier and returned to its slow two thrusts per minute, I turned it up to ten. I could see the pain in his face and his hands clenching at the sheets during each stroke the machine thrust into him.

“Awe… but you know about that function, don’t you? I promised I would show you the functions you didn’t know about it.” I clicked the generator on to its lowest setting. The machine used a simple resistor which lowered the power output by the specified amount of Ohm’s against the power in from the generator. Since the generator’s power output was specified by its revolutions per minute, when the machine sped up, the electricity increased.

Selma · Part 1 (1/2)
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