Free at Last

Introduction:
INTRODUCTION: I wrote this story for a BDSM site elsewhere on the web, but decided to post it here, also. I tell you up front it is not for everyone. The beginning describes some of the most disgusting, perverted, and vilest acts imaginable, but it also shows how Jonathan, who suffered through a living hell at the hands of his wife and her lover, receives a big piece of heaven from a most unexpected source.
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I was supposed to sleep, but who could possibly sleep after the beating I had endured? I was sure they had tried to kill me. I didn’t want to sleep; this was the night I had waited for—the night I had prayed for–after more than eighteen months in captivity.
It was still dark—dark as pitch– and very early. I leaned up from the floor to try to see the clock—3:27—perfect, or so I prayed. Rebecca and Mark were drunk after their celebration when they went to sleep last night—maybe passed out would be more accurate. They’d made a huge mistake. Hopefully it would prove fatal—their last in this lifetime. It was the first night in more than eighteen months that I hadn’t been locked to the bed frame or handcuffed behind my back, or in a cell in the basement. I struggled to my feet, the impact of last night’s lengthy whipping driving the pain through my body. It was all I could do to remain silent as I tiptoed out of the room, another big mistake–not locking the door–and down the hallway to what used to be my study. I was absolutely forbidden to enter this room, but what could they do to me? I knew they planned to kill me. What difference could a week or even a day possibly make? I felt my way in, afraid to use the light. I found my way to the shelves and ran my fingers along the top. It was still there, thank God!
The key slid in easily, the locked door opened, and I felt inside for my pistol. A minute later the 9 mm my wife didn’t know about was loaded. I had bought it only two days before my torment began, not mentioning it to my wife who I knew would be opposed. I’d only need four shells in the magazine if everything worked out the way I planned. I racked the slide as slowly and quietly as I could and slid the safety off. I knew my arms had atrophied over the last year and a half from constantly being in an arm binder or handcuffs, but I was sure I’d still be able to aim and pull the trigger.
Back in the bedroom I leaned over the bed, my left arm resting on the headboard, placing the barrel an inch from Mark’s head and pulled the trigger. BLAM!! The explosion reverberated as the smoke and odor of cordite spread throughout the room. His head shook violently as blood and brain spattered against the wall and when Rebecca responded by sitting up suddenly I rammed the pistol into her mouth, cocking the hammer so the least effort would send her on to oblivion. “I HATE YOU! YOU’RE A FUCKING BITCH. I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL. THE ONLY THING WRONG IS THAT YOU’RE NOT GOING TO SUFFER ONE THOUSANDTH OF ONE PERCENT OF WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH.” I fired again, BLAM!! She fell back to the pillow, the blood oozing from the hole in her skull. I placed the gun against her forehead and fired again. I repeated with Mark. Free at last, free at last; thank God almighty I was free at last!
Now all I had to do was find one of their cell phones. There were no phones in the house. I couldn’t ever contact the outside world for help in the unlikely event I ever had an opportunity. The doors were locked with built-in combination locks so I couldn’t open them and escape either. The windows were covered with thick bullet proof polycarbonate. The past eighteen months had been a nightmare of pain and anguish, but I was still alive—barely—and it was going to get better. It had to because I knew from experience that it couldn’t possibly get any worse.
I looked in Rebecca’s purse, but no phone. I dug through Mark’s clothes, but no luck there either. I checked under the bed—nothing. I found a locked cabinet in Rebecca’s closet, but repeated efforts with my weak arms got me nowhere. I had to find the key. I thought she’d keep it close and I was right—she had it under the mattress. Her phone and wallet were in the locked compartment along with her jewelry. I figured out how to turn it on and dialed 911. I spoke when the operator answered.
“I want to report a double homicide. My name is Jonathan Keller and I live at 731 Mayfaire. That’s where I am now. Tell the officers who respond that I cannot open the doors or the windows. They have special locks that I can’t open. No…it’s a very long story. I’ll explain to the officers when they come. I had to do it. They were going to kill me and there’s another life at stake, too. Please send some EMT’s. I have some severe injuries. No…there was no fight. I shot them while they were sleeping. I was tortured and whipped last night. I was whipped and tortured every night, but last night was the worst. They tried to kill me, but I got them first.
“Tell the officers that the gun is empty and on the coffee table. I’m sitting on the couch and that’s where I’ll be when they get here. Please remember to tell them that I can’t open the door. I mean them no harm. Yes, I’ll stay on the line….”
I could hear the sirens in the distance growing louder as they approached. Finally, they stopped and I could hear the policemen yell for me to come out with my hands in the air. I spoke to the 911 operator, “Didn’t you tell them that I can’t get the doors open? There’s going to be an incident here and if they kill me an innocent kid will also die. No, I’m not going to kill him. He’s in the dungeon without any food or water. They’ll never find it without my help. Please tell them I’m not a threat to them. They need to break down the door. Please.”
The “stand-off” continued for another fifteen minutes before I figured out what to do. “Operator, can I speak directly to the officers?”
“Hello, is this the man in the house?”
“Yes, sir, it is. I tried to explain that I can’t open the doors. Believe me I would if I could. I’ve been a prisoner here in my own house for the last year and a half. I need help. I was whipped—my back and legs, and chest—for hours last night. I’m losing blood and the pain is terrible. I’m in an extremely weakened condition. Please break down the door and help me.”
“What’s this about some kid?”
“They kidnapped him off the street last night. I was tied up in the van when they jumped him. Rebecca was driving and Mark grabbed the poor kid. You’ll need my help to find him. Please hurry. The gun is unloaded and broken down on the table. I’m on the couch. In the name of God…please.”
I heard some noise outside the door about ten minutes later. I was warned not to try anything and they broke down the door minutes later. I sat calmly on the couch in my housecoat, the only clothing I was permitted, indeed the only clothing I owned. “Thank God you’re finally here. The ones I killed are down the hall on the right at the very end—two shots to the head for each of them, may they rest in hell.”
A detective came and sat next to me. “Want to tell me what this is all about?”
“Sure…it all started almost two years ago. Rebecca was…still is…my wife. She was a surgeon. I was an attorney. She started to get a little kinky, you know—tying me up before sex and stuff like that. I didn’t mind right up until she handcuffed me downstairs and whipped me for more than an hour. I hung from the rafters for hours afterwards and that was when she introduced me to her boyfriend. That’s him in there, too. She gave me a shot to knock me out and when I woke up I looked like this.” Standing up I dropped the housecoat. He gasped—they all did—when they saw my breasts. “Yeah, she operated on me and gave me breasts. These are bigger than the initial ones, but imagine the shock on my face when I saw them.
“I was handcuffed into the bed, not that I could have done much after the surgery. I lay there helplessly while she locked this cock cage onto my genitals. It’s solid stainless steel and she used super glue on the threads. It hasn’t come off in all that time and then there’s my back.” I turned around so they could see.
“Dear God! What the…?” My back looked like a city road map, covered with scars and cuts and scabs in every direction from the whippings and beatings I had received. My skin tore every time I twisted or moved. I was bleeding badly and the surface of my back was raw. The EMT’s tried to put me on a gurney, but I stopped them.
“The kid—we have to find him.” I led them into the pantry explaining that I had never done this before. Mark was always in front of me and I couldn’t see what he did. I told them I thought the shelves moved or slid back out of the way. We tried everything for more than twenty minutes until one of the officers accidentally tripped the lever. The rear panel of shelves pushed back revealing a hidden walkway. It led us down below the ground. There were all kinds of torture devices there. I ought to know—they were all used on me. I walked past them to the cells—small rooms made of poured reinforced concrete with steel bars over the doorway; the only furniture was a basic bed with a thin mattress and no pillow or blanket. I’d spent many an uncomfortable night naked in one of these. The kid was in the last one, blindfolded, handcuffed, and ears stopped up with beeswax. I told the police that I didn’t know where the keys were or even what they looked like. They’d have to cut the steel to get in. Some firemen came in a half hour later with a heavy-duty saw. The startled young man was released half an hour after that. I was relieved.
I finally allowed myself to be lowered onto a gurney. I cringed when they laid me on my back. They apologized and helped me roll over, not that that was much better. A pillow under my head and chest was a big help. Minutes later I was in the hospital’s emergency room. My vital signs were a mess. My pulse was 42; my blood pressure was 74 over 40. I weighed 97 pounds, less than half my original weight.
“How long did you say you were a prisoner in your home?”
“A year and a half, I think, at least that’s what they told me.”
“I’m surprised you survived. What did they feed you? It obviously wasn’t very much.”
“Actually, they gave me plenty—all the piss I could drink and all the shit I could eat. I’m not kidding. I refused to eat it so they forced a big ring gag into my mouth. They poured their piss into a funnel. I almost drowned a few times. They ground up their shit and forced it down my throat. Somewhere in the house is a big jar of antibiotics they fed me every day so on top of everything else I went for months with diarrhea. You’re right—it’s a miracle I survived.”
They treated and bandaged my back before addressing the wounds to my tits. Now that I was free they were definitely going and as soon as possible. I was sent to a room where the IV was replaced. I was also given protein drinks and Gator Ade to help with my bodily fluids. I lay back to sleep, noticing the police officer standing outside my door. I called to him, “Would you like a chair? There’s no reason why you should be uncomfortable? Please take one of mine. Nobody will come to visit me.” I lay back on the pillow and was asleep seconds later.
Well, I was wrong—I had visitors and plenty of them. The first was an inspector from our local police. He read me my rights and I signed a form that stated he had. He asked if I wanted an attorney. “No, I’ll speak with you. I really have nothing to hide, plus I’m an experienced attorney.” Then he asked me to tell the whole story. “I was once a very happily married man. I thought things couldn’t get any better. I had a great career and a beautiful successful wife who loved me. We had great times together. About two years ago she wanted to do some kinky things as part of our sex life. First, she had me tie her to the bed and make love to her. Then we switched. It was pretty incredible. I had no idea at the time where she was getting these ideas, but I found out one night when she said she wanted to tie me up in the basement, tease me, and fuck my brains out. That’s what she promised me so I went along.
“She surprised me when she handcuffed me to a chain around the steel I-beam in our basement. I told her I didn’t want it any more and she just laughed, ‘Too late for that. You’re my prisoner now and that’s how you’re going to stay.’ I never imagined I would be her prisoner for more than a year and a half. She beat me for the first time that night—my back and chest with a cane. When I screamed she filled my mouth with a leather ball gag. The beating went on for more than an hour and when she was done she told me, and this is a quote, ‘I am so hot now…so ready to fuck. Unfortunately, it won’t be you I’ll be fucking.’ She turned away and opened a door to one of the store rooms. This big guy, even bigger than me, walked out with a huge smile on his face. He kissed Rebecca and she kissed him back. She stripped and fucked him right in front of me. When she was done she walked to me and lifted my head. ‘You know, Jonathan, I really enjoyed hurting you. That’s what Mark and I are going to do. We’re both sadists. I didn’t know that when I married you, but I know it now. We’re going to beat you every night and during the day you can rest and build up your strength right here in our lovely basement while Mark and I enjoy ourselves and your money. But first, I need to leave my mark on you.’ She swabbed my elbow and stuck me with a hypodermic. I fell asleep hanging from my shoulders.
“When I awoke I was still in the basement in a hospital bed, my wrists and ankles secured to the frame. ‘Lookie, lookie,’ she called to me. When I did I saw she had operated on me and given me breasts. They were only C-cups then, but she did it two more times, getting me all the way up to double-D. Don’t ask me why she did it; she never did tell me. I can only assume she wanted to humiliate me. I recall falling asleep again and when I woke up she put the chastity cage on me. I remember what she said to me then, too. ‘You’re going to give me tons of pleasure with your pain and suffering. You, however, will have none. This cannot be cut off without killing you and I’m sealing the threads with super glue. This is never coming off you.’ And then she laughed like a maniac. That was more frightening than anything else she’d done until then. I didn’t realize how sick she was. If I had I probably would have taken my life given the opportunity.
“After a few days my wounds had begun to heal, but I was terribly weak from lack of water and food. I begged for water and they laughed. They said something about recycling their precious water. I tried to refuse, but they’d use the ring gag and tie off the sides to the bed so I couldn’t move. Then they poured urine into my mouth. Later they fed me their shit. If I gagged or threw up they’d cover my mouth with a pink towel and I’d have to swallow my own vomit, too. After a week they forced my hands behind my body and cuffed them together. They pulled me from the bed and tied my cuffed wrists to the I-beam. My wrists were forced up until I thought my shoulders would separate. They beat me again and again with the crop and cane and even with an old belt I had. They left me in that position for days—maybe even weeks—I don’t really know.
That’s how it happened for months and months—the same thing over and over—beatings, feeding me piss and shit and antibiotics, diarrhea and vomiting, but mostly pain. I was beaten every night when they returned from work. I dreaded the weekends when it would last all day and all night. The worse the pain the more Rebecca wanted to fuck. I could never understand her perverse thoughts.
“She often teased me with her body—her breasts, her vagina, and her ass. Then she’d hit my testicles with the crop or her knee, or anything she had handy. She and Mark fucked in front of me on the same bed that I had used. Sometimes they did it four or five times a day, especially when they beat me almost to death.
Then one day I was released and tied again into the bed. She put me to sleep and when I awoke, my breasts were bigger. A week later they used the cane on them. I think they just wanted a bigger target.
“After, I don’t really know how long, but I would say almost a year they brought me upstairs. I used the shower for the first time since this all started. I think I smelled so bad that even they couldn’t stand it. There wasn’t any hot water for me, but I did get to use soap and shave my beard. They chained me to the bed frame forcing me to sleep on the floor and when they woke up in the night I was expected to take their piss and swallow it. Of course, if I missed a drop I’d get beaten, but I was beaten anyway so what did it matter? I’d say I spent almost six months sleeping on the floor. I was naked the entire time and I had no pillow or blanket. Sometimes I was restrained in an impossible position like a hogtie so I could barely walk in the morning. Other times I was so cold I was afraid I’d freeze to death.
“They were really excited the final day. I was bound tightly in rope and handcuffs and gagged before they moved me to the van. There I was tied into place and Rebecca drove away. I was terrified; I was sure they were going to kill me. Instead, they went hunting for my replacement. I think they snatched him from a parking lot. I know that Mark jumped the kid and dragged him into the van where he was handcuffed and gagged first and then blindfolded. I could see that they were ecstatic with the prospect of a new slave to hurt. I weighed 200 pounds when all this started and I knew that I had lost a lot of weight. It was only a matter of time before I was either dead in the basement or killed out in some woods and dumped.
“That night they celebrated and, for some reason, they wanted me to serve them drinks in the bedroom. I guess they thought I was so weak that I wouldn’t be able to resist them. I probably served them at least a dozen drinks each and I made them really strong toward the latter part of the night. Rebecca made me lie on the bed so she could piss in my mouth. Then she pushed me off. I expected her or Mark to secure me to the bed, but he had passed out and I guess Rebecca did, too. The rest you already know.” I excused myself to use the toilet. The medical staff was flushing out my system by feeding me gallons of fresh clean water every day and night. I was pissing almost every hour around the clock.
I was in the hospital for eight days when one of the doctors told me they had some ideas on how to get rid of the chastity cage. “We’ve spoken to the manufacturer. They were reluctant at first, but when the sheriff got involved they agreed to cooperate. We could drill out the two bolts. They’re not very long—less than a half inch each—so we think it could be done in about two hours. We’d have to use a special drill bit and a lot of oil to lubricate the drill. The other way would be to use the ‘jaws of life.’ That’s the tool that firemen use to pry open car doors. They’ll be here in about half an hour. If it works—great; it’ll be faster and easier than the drilling.”
I was half asleep when the firemen walked into my room. They had a ton of equipment including a portable engine, the hydraulic hoses, and the cutter/spreader device officially known as the “jaws of life.” There was about three-eighths of an inch between the retaining ring and the ring of the actual cage. One of the doctors pulled my scrotum aside to make room for the jaws. Normally the jaws are sharp, but these had been covered with adhesive tape to protect me.
They were able to get the jaws in about a half inch which the fireman thought would be plenty. Once the engine was started the nurses opened my window and closed the door to keep the noise to a minimum and vent the fumes. The machine was turned on and immediately the parts of the cage moved apart. Wedges were placed between the two rings to ensure that the parts wouldn’t snap back into place should the jaws slip. Wedges in place, the jaws were moved even farther into the space. The firemen held the machine steady while the doctors carefully moved my balls through the space and out the rear of the restraining ring. Lubricant was poured between my cock and the tube. I was relieved a minute later when it slid off my tortured organ. I wept in the joy I felt as I thanked the firemen and physicians. Once the firemen had gone I asked the doctor about having my artificial breasts surgically removed.
“We know that’s a priority, but we have to wait until you’re in better health. Your wife was crazy to expose you to a surgery in those conditions and your state of health.”
“Let’s face it, doctor, she WAS crazy. Why else would she do those things to me?”
“I wish I had an answer,” he replied, “but I don’t.” He patted my shoulder and left.
The next day a reporter from a local TV station found her way past the nurses to my room. “Mr. Keller, may I have a word? I’m Jessica Fillmore from WXFI News. There’s been a ton of speculation and the police aren’t very forthcoming. May I ask you some questions?”
“You can ask, but I reserve the right not to answer.”
“Just like a lawyer; I see you haven’t lost your touch. How long were you a prisoner?”
“Near as I can tell, it was a little over eighteen months.”
“How was it that you couldn’t escape?”
“During almost all that time I was handcuffed behind my back and chained to a post in the basement or my arms were in an arm binder. Do you know what that is?”
“Yes, I had to look it up online. Wasn’t that painful?”
“Not as painful as being beaten for hours every night with a whip or cane or riding crop, or any of the other things they used.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be insensitive. What other things did they use? It’s hard to imagine anything worse than a whip.”
“Next time you’re in Home Depot buy one of those driveway reflectors, the kind that are mounted on a piece of vinyl covered steel wire. Then imagine being hit with that on every part of your body for a couple of hours, stopping only when they couldn’t swing it any longer. After that you’ll welcome the whip, believe me.”
The interview went on for almost a half hour, covering virtually every topic, including my tits, my diet, and did I really think they would have killed me. It ended when a nurse walked in and threatened to call security.
About a month after my escape I had another visitor I had been expecting for some time—one of my law partners. He was very cordial, but I knew immediately what was on his mind—he didn’t want me to return to work. I had paid more than $200,000 in partner’s equity so I had every right to go back. I might understand if I had broken the law, but I was pretty sure this would come out as justifiable homicide. Eventually, he got to the point. “The firm is concerned about negative publicity. We will accept your letter of resignation effective immediately.” I almost leapt out of the bed to strangle this asshole.
“First of all, a lot of people out there think of me as some kind of hero. That would be good publicity, wouldn’t it? And then there’s the matter of my equity in the firm. After all I’ve been through do you think I can be intimidated by a dickweed like you?”
“I’m reasonably confident some accommodation can be made in regard to your equity—like about fifty percent back.”
“You know something, Albert? You’re an even bigger asshole than I ever imagined. Take your fifty percent and shove it. Come back when you’re authorized to spend more than a million. Otherwise, expect me back in the same office I left as soon as I am ready. Now get your sorry ass out of here.” He was red-faced and furious when he stomped out the door. He almost knocked over the police inspector who was on his way in.
“I think I have some good news for you. Did you know your wife kept a diary? She detailed every single episode in the goriest detail. I wanted to puke when I read some of it. Also we learned that Mark was actually Dr. Mark Stephens, a psychiatrist. We got a warrant to search his office and home. It seems you were an experiment in the beginning, but things got out of hand and there was no way they could let you go. DNA tests prove that they handled all the weapons and we found plenty of your DNA and blood on the business ends. The DA wants you to appear before the grand jury. Any idea when you can do it?”
“Any time would be fine, although I could use some clothes. I don’t have any other than this gown I’m in.”
“Oh, yeah…the guys found this letter in your wife’s desk. It’s addressed to you.”
“Me? But why? It doesn’t make any sense.” I took the letter and read it, “Dear Jonathan, It’s unlikely that you’ll ever read this, but I’m writing it anyway to get some things off my chest. I enjoyed being your wife, but not as much as I enjoyed hurting you and sex with Mark has been much better than it ever was with you. There is nothing like having that power over another person—the power of life and death. I know that I have been cruel to you, incredibly cruel. I’m sorry to tell you that I loved every minute, although there have been times I wished it was somebody else. Unfortunately for you, Mark feels that it had to be you in order for me and us to have the ultimate master/slave experience.
“Soon we will find a replacement for you. We can see that you are breaking down. To be honest I never thought you’d last this long. As a physician I know all the problems associated with ingesting feces. The antibiotics alone should have been enough to kill you long ago. When you go we’ll drive you out into the country and dump your wasted body.
“Incidentally, I reported you missing when we took control of your life. You’ll be legally dead in another six years, but if your body is found I’ll be the grieving widow. Don’t you think I look great in black?
“I look forward to having another body to destroy, but it won’t be the same as destroying you. Maybe we’ll see each other on the other side, but I doubt it. If there really was a God there wouldn’t be people like me or Mark. Rebecca (You notice I didn’t sign it ‘Love’ because I don’t any more. I only love destroying you.)
In spite of everything there was a tear in my eye when I handed him the letter. “You keep it,” I told him. I want nothing to do with her—alive or dead.” He nodded and left.
Testifying before the grand jury was nothing like what I had imagined. As a lawyer I was familiar with the process which is to obtain an indictment against a defendant like me. It has been said that a good district attorney could get an indictment against anyone at any time and for any reason. There is no defense attorney permitted so it’s strictly the DA’s show.
I was asked first of all about the shooting and why. I explained how I had been tortured on a daily basis, how I had been given breasts, and so forth. I was surprised—shocked actually—when the DA asked me to remove my shirt. Several members of the Grand Jury gasped when they saw my breasts. “I’m planning to have them removed as soon as I’m able,” I explained.
“What’s keeping you?”
“My body is a mess from what they forced me to eat and drink—their feces and urine. The doctors also want me to gain some weight so I’ll be stronger. If I had it now there’s a good chance it would kill me.”
“May we please see your back?”
I turned around, expecting a strong reaction and I wasn’t disappointed. Several women actually fainted. The DA thanked me for my testimony and I was taken back to the hospital. I learned a week later that the grand jury declined to indict. I was a free man. I took advantage of my freedom by telephoning my friend Martin Klein.
Marty and I had graduated from the same law school and accepted positions in the same firm. Truthfully, Marty was a much better lawyer than I was at the time, but I was elected as a partner and he wasn’t. He sued and won a discrimination suit based on religious discrimination and it turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to him. He opened his own practice and had been a successful litigator ever since. We met in my hospital room and I told him what I had in mind. On my behalf he sued my deceased wife for malpractice—surgery without consent three times, unnecessary surgery, etc., etc. etc. I sued Dr. Mark Stephens for malpractice and his estate for compensatory and punitive damages. I also sued my former law firm for discrimination, breach of contract and a bunch of other charges, following the concept that if you throw enough shit against the wall some of it will stick.
It took a while—almost a year– but eventually they all settled: my former law partners for 1.5 million; Rebecca’s insurance company for seven million, Stephens’ insurance firm for five million, and his estate for one million. After all was said and done I had roughly 9.5 million dollars and Marty had almost half that. I could retire if I wished, but I chose to join Marty as a junior partner. I could afford to pick and choose my clients, something few attorneys can do.
My breasts were surgically removed after I had been in the hospital for a month. My body had mostly recovered and I had gained thirty pounds. The hardest part of the recovery had to do with my digestive system. After eating nothing but feces for so long I had trouble adjusting to real food. I was given an exercise regimen along with a high protein diet to help me restore my muscles. I left the hospital after being there for sixty days. Marty picked me up and drove me home. He had taken the initiative to remove all the sheetrock and floors of the bedroom and replace them. All the bedroom furniture was replaced, too. He paid for everything knowing that I would repay the debt once I had returned to work or when my lawsuits had been settled. In spite of all he had done I found I couldn’t stay there. There were too many memories and they were all bad. I put the house up for sale and moved into a small apartment.
I was forty years old and all alone. Many of my former friends shunned me as though I was at fault for what had happened to me. Maybe they weren’t sure what to say to me or how to act in my presence. Surprisingly, I wasn’t resentful—I was relieved. I didn’t want to be reminded of my wife or of my experiences under her foot. I deliberately moved to another part of the city where I was mostly unknown. As I gained weight my appearance changed so few recognized me as the scrawny scarecrow in my hospital photos. I joined a new gym, but I was always careful to keep my shirt on. I had a special shirt to wear in the pool and if I had to change I did it in a stall in the bathroom.
I was there on a Wednesday evening and was about to change when an attractive young woman approached me. “Excuse me; I don’t mean to be rude, but are you…?”
“I don’t know. Who do you think I am?”
“Are you…that torture guy?”
“You’re very perceptive. Few people recognize me now that I’m a bit heavier. It’s what happens when you eat real food.”
“Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to bring back those memories.”
“Don’t worry–those memories will always be with me. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to change into my swimming shirt. If I do it at the pool…well, it won’t be pleasant.”
“I read about that. Does it still bother you?”
“Only twenty-four hours a day. I have a lotion to put on it, but there are plenty of spots I can’t reach. It generally hurts like hell.”
“I’ll do it for you…if you like.”
“That’s a kind offer, but it’ll probably make you sick. When I testified before the grand jury two women fainted when they saw it. You seem to be a nice woman; I wouldn’t want to upset you.”
“Ha…don’t worry about me. I’m a social worker; I’ve seen plenty of ugliness.”
“I’m sure you have, but it’s not the same. Your people look normal, but they’re fucked up inside. My body is fucked up, period. There’s no hiding it.”
“Well…all the same, I’d like to help you.”
“Tell you what, I need to swim. If you’re still around when I’m done how about joining me for a cup of coffee and a piece of pie at the diner around the corner?”
“Okay…you’re on. I’ll be here on one of the bikes.” I nodded and smiled for the first time in…I realized it would be almost two years. My swim was great. It was part of a physical therapy program for my back and my skin. My muscles needed the exercise and my skin needed to stretch, otherwise the scars would shrink and my mobility will be threatened. I returned to the gym and looked around. I wasn’t sure if I could even recognize the woman. Then I heard a noise behind me. I turned and there she was.
She spoke first, “I’m glad I didn’t scare you away. I tend to be a bit forward at times. I’m almost ready. Do you want to shower?”
“Um…I can’t here. I’ll just change in the men’s room and be back out in ten, okay?”
“Sounds good; wait for me here?” I nodded and rushed to clean up. It’s kind of funny taking a shower while you’re wearing a shirt and bathing suit, so that’s why I showered at home. I toweled myself dry in the men’s room stall, dressed hurriedly, and walked out to find her waiting for me. We walked out and turned to the right; we were in the diner two minutes later. I ordered a cherry pie and coffee; she ordered blueberry and a cup of tea. Then there was silence.
“I’m sorry. My name is Jonathan.”
“I know. I’m the one who should apologize. I should have introduced myself back in the gym. Kerry Johanson.”
“Well, Kerry Johanson, social worker, what do you do when you’re not picking up lonesome torture victims?” She laughed and reached out to touch my hand. The ice was broken. We talked for more than an hour about everything and nothing. Finally, I paid the bill and we left.
“I was serious about the lotion, Jonathan. I’ll do your back. No…don’t turn away. You have to face it someday. Why not tonight? C’mon, I’ll follow you.”
“Don’t you have to go to work tomorrow?”
“Sure, but I get plenty of sleep.” She took my chin in her hand and looked into my eyes. She could see the tears forming as she reached up and kissed my cheek. A minute later I had agreed and we walked to our cars. I drove slowly, but it wasn’t necessary; I only lived a few blocks away. We took the elevator up and I opened the door.
“It’s not too late…you really don’t have to….” She put her fingers to my lips then kissed me gently. She led me into my own apartment.
“Geez, Jonathan, don’t you have any furniture?”
“Yeah, I have a bedroom set and a TV. That’s all I’ve needed.”
“I think you need a couch and maybe a chair…a table, even. How do you eat?”
“I usually go out. I eat at the diner a lot. I plan to go back to work soon, although ‘back’ probably isn’t the right term to use. I’m suing my former law firm and going to work with a friend who has his own practice. I think I’ll need some clothes, too. I haven’t worn any for….” I broke down and cried as the memories came flooding back. She held me close, carefully avoiding putting her hands on my back, for several minutes. I stopped long enough to tell her, “I’m sorry.”
“For what…being human? Believe me, Jonathan you have nothing to be sorry for. You are a survivor. You should be proud of yourself.”
“Is that what they teach you in social worker school?”
“No, Jonathan that’s what I learned in human being school.” I felt so ashamed. I had repaid her kindness with cutting sarcasm. I tried to apologize, but she wouldn’t listen. She sat me on the bed and unbuttoned my shirt. “Where’s the lotion?”
“In the bathroom, on the toilet.” She rose and walked out, returning a minute or so later.
“Okay, go in and take your shower I’ll wait here for you.” I walked back ten minutes later wearing only a pair of gym shorts. I sat on the bed while she read the instructions on the label. “Turn around and roll over; it’s time we both face your demon.” I did and she gasped, “Well, it’s a shock, that’s for sure. Damn, the surface is rough. Is that from the scar tissue?”
“Yeah, I have scars on top of my scars and scars on top of them. I’m thinking about plastic surgery.” She began to rub the lotion in. “That feels good, thanks. Do you feel like throwing up in the bathroom? You must be revolted.”
“No, I don’t and I’m not. What’s this stuff supposed to do?”
“It’s supposed to soften the scars and flatten them.”
“Hmmm, how often have you done this?”
“Tonight’s the first time. My arms don’t work right yet. I can barely reach my back.”
“It says here “Apply morning and evening. How are you going to do it tomorrow morning?”
“I…I don’t know. I guess I’m not.”
“I’m almost done. Stay like this for a while. I’ll be right back. Leave the door unlocked so I can come back in.” She got up and left. I stayed on my stomach for almost a half hour. Her hands had been like magic on my rough broken skin. I was about to get up when I heard the door. Kerry walked in with a pile of clothes. “Don’t get up. At least you have some bedroom furniture. I’ll put my stuff in these drawers.”
“What are you doing?”
“Every man’s dream—I’m spending the night. You need to have this medicine and you have nobody to do it. We’re not having sex. I insist on at least one date before that, but I will hold you and…we’ll see.” She leaned over and kissed the back of my head. I couldn’t help myself. It had been so long since I had felt the affection of a woman and I thought I never would again. I cried like a baby. She rolled me onto my side and held me, caressing my face and head. I wrapped my arms around her and raised my head. We looked into each other’s eyes for almost a minute then, by silent agreement, moved forward for a long searing kiss. It was wonderful—no–it was incredible. Her lips were so plump and soft, her tongue insistent and demanding.
She broke it after a minute. “I need a shower. Are there towels in the bathroom?”
“In the closet; help yourself.” She jumped up and left; I found a T-shirt, put it on and got into bed, turning on the TV while I waited. She returned a few minutes later wearing what appeared to be a long Angry Birds T-shirt. I had to laugh. “You weren’t kidding when you said no sex, were you?”
“I don’t know, this is one of my sexiest outfits.” We both had a good laugh at that. She snuggled up close to me and I handed her the remote.
“If you continue to rub against me like that I’m going to have an extremely embarrassing reaction.” I could already feel my cock harden—so could she.
“How long has it been?”
“Not since before I was taken prisoner.” I paused before continuing, “Just over twenty-one months, I think.”
“That’s terrible. Haven’t you masturbated since you were released from that device?”
“No, I’ve tried, but my arms are still pretty useless and every time I try I remember everything and lose my erection. You should just go home—I’m such a loser.”
“I think I get to decide that on my own,” she said as she got up from the bed. She opened her purse and removed a condom. “I always have to be prepared. You’d be amazed at how many of these things I’ve given away.” She sat by my side and reached into my shorts for my cock. Her touch was amazing—gentle, but demanding. She stroked me to hardness in nothing flat. Pulling my cock out the leg of my shorts, she continued to stroke me, but stopped for a second or two to run the condom down my shaft. “You’re going to cum buckets, I think. It’s late and I don’t think we’ll want to change the whole bed.” Now she kneeled, her legs apart as she stroked me harder and faster. ‘Jonathan, give me your hand.” I did and she placed it on her pussy.
My fingers touched her; she was wet and her labia were swollen. I explored her pussy—outside and in. Her hand was like a vise that ravaged my organ. She stroked furiously until my body became rigid and I exploded over and over into the condom. I had never cum like that and I doubted I ever would again. I lost track of how many times I blew hot slick semen into that condom; it went on and on and on. Only her tight grip prevented it from leaking out onto my abdomen and the bed. She held me as she removed my fingers from between her legs. My fingers were brought to my mouth. I opened obediently and sucked them clean. I had never felt so much at peace. My eyes closed as she removed the condom from my cock. I felt a warm washcloth on my organ, then nothing.
I woke disoriented in the middle of the night, feeling her body against mine. I panicked for a second until she spoke calmly, “Relax Jonathan, it’s only me—Kerry.” She rubbed my cheek and kissed it several times. “Go back to sleep. That’s it. I’ll see you in the morning.” She kissed me again and brought her body into closer proximity to mine.
We woke to the alarm clock in the morning. She showered while I shaved and then I showered. There was no reason for my modesty—she had already seen my ruined back and my cock and balls, too. She led me back to the bedroom where she applied the lotion again. I was lying there enjoying the sensation of her hands on my back when I asked her, “Kerry…why?”
“You mean why am I here, why am I doing your back, why did I jerk you off last night? I’ll tell you. I recognized you the very first night you came to the gym and I’ve seen you quite a few times since then. Jonathan, I have never seen someone who looked so sad or so lonely in my life. Believe me when I tell you that I see sadness and ruined lives every day. But I had never seen anyone in as bad condition as you were. I like to help people and I find that I like you. Good enough?”
“I guess, but what’s going to happen now?”
“What do you want to happen? Want me to come back tonight? Want to take me out to dinner, maybe to a movie or a club after? Want me to stay again tonight? What do you want?”
“All of those things?” She laughed and I joined her. She leaned down to kiss my cheek.
She finished my back and stepped off the bed. “Can I get some privacy to dress? Please?”
“I grinned, “I don’t know. What’s in it for me?”
“A knee in the balls if you don’t get out of here.”
“Ouch! What happened to that sweet helpful woman who was just here?”
“I’m her evil twin. Now, please Jonathan.”
“Of course. I can make some coffee or tea, if you prefer.”
“Coffee will be great. Do you have any milk?”
“Yeah, I actually do have some food and drink here. I just don’t like to cook for only me. That’s why I go out a lot.” I walked out and closed the door behind me. My back felt a lot better…and so did I. I made the coffee and poured the milk into a small pitcher. She was impressed with my culinary skills; I even made toast with jam. “Where would you like to go for dinner?”
“I don’t know. You’re not working so can you afford it?”
“As a matter of fact, I can. Rebecca had a life insurance policy and I guess she forgot to change the beneficiary. Once I was cleared by the police the insurance company had to pay off. I have more than enough. I also expect the malpractice insurance companies to settle pretty quickly. If they don’t we’ll use the media to crucify them. We know that and so do they. We have nothing to lose; they have everything. Imagine what public opinion would be if they were seen to be picking on the torture victim. I could put on my forlorn face and you could testify as to what a loser I am.” She reached out to “punch” my arm.
“Any suggestions as to dinner, then?”
“No, why don’t you pick someplace? I don’t know many restaurants in this part of the city. Could you make the reservation?”
“You ARE taking me to dinner, aren’t you?”
“Yes, of course; I just thought it might be easier this way.”
“Not to worry; I was just teasing you. It’s so good to see that you still have a sense of humor. Seven okay with you?”
“Sure, that sounds great.” She kissed my cheek and off to work she went. I checked in with Marty and agreed to work the following Wednesday. I needed a few suits and other clothes and now I was sure I could get Kerry to help me. I was amazed at what difference a day could make.
She returned to my apartment just after five. I was wearing my best slacks and a golf shirt. She asked about my back; I told her it hadn’t felt this good in ages. She changed her clothes and I drove away. She directed me out of the city to a steak house in a neighboring suburb. It was crowded. I was glad we had a reservation. We were placed at a nice table near the rear of the building where we looked out over a dimly lit meadow. It was supposed to be romantic and I supposed it was. I noticed a few people looking at us as we walked to the table, but I assumed they were looking at Kerry who was much younger and a hell of a lot better looking than I was.
My first surprise came when a bottle of wine was delivered to our table. “I didn’t order any wine,” I told the waiter.
“Yes, sir, it is a gift from one of the patrons.” Kerry smiled, but I was confused.
“Just take it, Jonathan. Not everyone in this world is cruel. There are more who are kind and considerate.” I shrugged my shoulders and nodded my acceptance. I could hear a buzz from the other diners as we drank and ate—the best meal I’d had in almost two years. Once we had finished I asked the waiter for the check.
“It has been taken care of, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
“One of the other patrons has paid for your meal. He said it was a privilege, and, if I may, I agree. It has been a pleasure to serve you.” When I tried to leave a tip it was refused. I held the chair for Kerry and she led me out. I couldn’t believe my eyes when people stood and applauded. I took Kerry’s hand. I could hardly see for the tears in my eyes. I spoke to her once we were in the parking lot.
“What was that all about? Do you know?”
“I had nothing to do with it, Jonathan. I suspect you were recognized. That was why I put the reservation in my name. I hope you weren’t embarrassed.”
“Not embarrassed…a little overwhelmed, though. Can we go back to the apartment? My back is really killing me.” She agreed and fifteen minutes later I was disrobing in my bedroom. I lay across the bed clad only in my boxers. I looked up surprised to find Kerry wearing only a matching black bra and bikini panties. I hadn’t realized what an amazing body she had. Obviously, I knew that she worked out, but lots of overweight fat slobs also worked out. Kerry was toned. Her abs were amazing and her breasts were incredible.
“I’ll be happy to work on your back anytime your eyes go back into your head,” she joked as she spanked my butt. I grunted in pain. “Oh, Jonathan, did I hurt you?”
“Only a little; my butt was their second favorite target.”
“Let me see.” I gave her an incredulous look. She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms. “Jonathan, I’ve seen your penis. I’ve seen your testicles. What else is there? Drop ‘em so I can see.” I pushed up weakly and sat at the bed’s edge. She motioned me up, stuck her thumbs in the waistband and pulled them down. “Okay, on your stomach. I’ll deal with this thing later.” She kissed me, on the lips this time, and pushed me down.
“Damn, Jonathan, is there any part of your body that isn’t scarred?”
“Yeah, my penis…thank God it was locked up or it would probably be gone by now.”
“Yes, she could have actually done you a favor. You’ll find out how big in a little while.”
“Do you always talk in code?”
“No, never—I’m planning to fuck you in about a half hour so shut up and let me do your back and ass.” I made a motion to zip my lips and rolled quickly onto my stomach. I felt Kerry’s wonderful hands go to work. Using both hands she massaged my back, soothing both my skin and my muscles. Then she moved down to my butt. I relaxed as her hands did their magic. She lay beside me once she was done. “Are you going to be able to lie on your back for a while?”
“I think so. Are we really going to…?”
“Sure, I told you…at least one formal date and you barely qualify after dinner tonight even though I picked the restaurant, made the reservation, and you didn’t have to pay. On the positive side…you did drive both ways and you would have paid if you hadn’t been treated. Let me feel your back. Okay, it’s dry so…I want to wash my hands. Why don’t you turn down the lights? I still have some condoms in my purse.” She went out to the bathroom; I did as instructed and turned down the lights. I rolled onto my back totally naked and waited.
Kerry walked back in five minutes later. Maybe slinked would have been more accurate. She moved like a cat. I felt like the mouse. She leaned over me, moved her hand behind her bra and unclasped it. It fell forward onto the bed baring her beautiful symmetrical breasts with the small dark areolas and nipples. I moved up to suckle, but she teased me. “Patience,” she whispered. Her thumbs hooked into her waistband and in seconds they were on the floor. I couldn’t take my eyes off her neatly trimmed pussy. Her labia were swollen. I pulled her down onto my body and reached up, my mouth meeting hers. Our tongues wrapped around each other as we writhed together, rolling over the bed. I reached between her legs—she was moist and eager. My finger entered her; she groaned in response and her tongue pushed into my mouth, her lips crushed mine. I felt her hand wrap around my cock—it was my turn to moan. She moved down to rub her clit up and down my shaft. I was ready…oh God, was I ready! She lifted her hips to roll the condom down my shaft. When she dropped them my cock disappeared into her body. We moved together like two well acquainted lovers even though we were tyros—newcomers to each other. It was yet another miracle that I could even remember how to do it.
Kerry held my shoulders as her breasts moved in rhythm with her body, swaying with each thrust. My hands found her flared hips as I pulled myself even deeper into her. Had we done this last night I would have lasted fewer than five seconds, but now I felt I could keep pace with her for several minutes, at least.
She spoke first, “You feel wonderful, Jonathan. I’m tingling all over. I’m going to have the most delicious orgasm…very soon.” I smiled in return. “Funny,” I thought, “before we met I never thought I’d smile again.” Her pace changed—faster, harder. I joined her every thrust. She threw her head back. Her mouth formed a perfect “O” as it hit. I continued pumping her for several seconds until I could feel the sweet delirium of my orgasm as I jetted several long thick ropes of semen into the condom. I was exhausted and so was she; she collapsed onto my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, moved my lips to hers and we kissed. It was the kiss of satisfied lovers—slow and unhurried as though we had all night. My flaccid penis fell from her tunnel, the condom hanging loosely, half-filled with my seed. We fell asleep quickly.
We went out to breakfast the following morning—Saturday. I bought two suits knowing that they would likely last for two months at the most. I was putting back the weight I had lost quickly. I needed the gym to make sure it was muscle, not fat. Kerry came with me every evening, often joining me in the pool. I enjoyed having her accompany me on my laps—swimming can be so solitary.
Kerry stayed with me as the days became weeks, the weeks months. I had returned to work and was into my first trial, the matter of a young Hispanic woman who had been tricked into working for a wealthy family for nothing, making her a virtual slave. Like me she had been held captive for well more than a year when the pool man at a neighbor’s home saw her waving frantically, holding a sign, “HELP.” He called the police after seeing the woman beaten by the homeowner. Enter me—super-lawyer and expert on being held captive. I walked confidently into the courtroom.
“It’s a pleasure to see you back in court, Mr. Keller.”
“Thank you, your honor. It’s a pleasure to be here, I assure you.” Then I went to war. I held nothing back, coming close to misconduct several times. I couldn’t keep my personal emotions out of the case. I returned to my seat, but stopped halfway. I saw Kerry in the gallery. She smiled, waved, and blushed from self-consciousness. I returned to work. We were in our third day when opposing counsel asked for a chat. I was beating him senseless and they were on their way to a huge loss. He offered my client $50,000; I looked at him as if he was crazy. “Listen carefully and take this back to your client. I’m beating the pants off of you and I’m going to get punitive damages in addition to compensatory. As you know, there’s no limit to punitive damages. Your client is up against it. I’m seeing at least a million, if not more. Now, if we were offered a million I’d ask my client to consider, but 50K? Forget it.” They folded the following morning; my client would get $650,000; I’d get $350,000. Not too shabby for three weeks work. My agreement with Marty called for him to get twenty percent, but I was still more than satisfied. Success built my first career; success would build this one.
Kerry and I had never really discussed her moving in. It just happened. We closed out her apartment one weekend and moved everything of value into mine. We were together four months and were really getting serious when she came home from work one evening, head down, tears in her eyes. “Jonathan, I…I have to…tell…tell you something.” It was time. I had known she was carrying a dark secret for months; I was only waiting for her to tell me about it.
“Okay, come over here and sit next to me.” I patted the couch, encouraging her to sit.
“No…you’re going to hate me.”
“I don’t think so. In fact, I’ll probably love you even more.” She looked at me and bawled. She cried so hard she was shaking.
“I …I…I lied to you…about when we met.”
“I know, Kerry. I’ve always known. You’re Mark Stephens’ sister.”
“But…how?”
I got up and walked to my new desk. I pulled out Rebecca’s diary. “The police returned this to me once the case was closed. It’s Rebecca’s diary. You should read it. A publisher wants to make a book out of it. There’s a photo inside—Rebecca, Mark, and you. There’s a caption on the other side and, see the date? She was supposed to be in Salt Lake City at a conference. This hotel is in Hawaii. Kerry, I’ve always known. I recognized you in the gym several weeks before you approached me.”
“(Sob) That’s not all. You’ll really hate me now.” She got up and went into the closet, opening a box of her belongings. “Know what this is?”
“Yeah, I do—water.”
“No, it’s poison; I was going to poison you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“When we first met I wanted to kill you. I was sure you had murdered Mark. I couldn’t believe that he’d done all those things to you. I was sure you were lying. Then I saw your body and I had some doubts. Then I got to know you and I realized you’d never lie about that. I didn’t know what to do.”
I put my arm around her and pulled her to me. “I knew who you were and one day while you were out shopping I was looking for something in the closet. That’s when I found the bottle. It’s marked ‘Poison’ so I had a pretty good idea why it was here. I emptied it down the sink, rinsed the bottle, and refilled it with water. If I were in your position I probably would have done the same thing, except I wouldn’t use poison. I’d use something more violent. You had it, but you never used it so, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a non-issue. I don’t hate you. In fact, I’m in love with you. I have been for a while. You’re the best person I’ve ever met.”
“I guess I haven’t hidden my feelings for you, have I? I was prepared to hate you, but I can’t. Oh, Jonathan, I hate myself for what I wanted to do.”
“Don’t…you’re only human. You didn’t know me then. You had a right to be concerned. So, here’s what I think we should do. Tomorrow morning we should get a marriage license. Then we could go up into the mountains for a week and get married at some little Justice of the Peace. Then we can fuck ourselves silly and maybe make a little Kerry.”
“Or a Jonathan?” I cringed. “I’ll accept on one condition.” I really cringed at her demand, but the following evening we went to the gym. I changed into my swim trunks and a sweat shirt in the locker room for the first time before walking to the pool. Kerry squeezed my hand to reassure me. I steeled myself as I removed my shirt and stood at the pool’s edge for a minute waiting for the reaction. Kerry removed her shirt and shorts, joining me in her bikini. We held hands and jumped into the pool. My back was exposed in public for the first time. Nobody reacted; there were no screams and nobody fainted. I was finally free. We set off together down the pool.
Kerry did read the diary. I sat with her to console and support her as she cried at every page. Learning what a monster her brother had become was really tough on her, but I needed her input. I wouldn’t allow the book to be published without her knowledge and permission. I knew it would destroy what little reputation her brother had remaining. In the end it was Kerry, not me, who made the decision. We wrote the post-torture epilog together. When we signed the contract we agreed to donate the proceeds to a shelter for battered women. I felt good knowing that something worthwhile would come from all the pain and misery I had endured.
About two weeks later we drove up into the mountains for a week’s vacation. Marriage license in hand we walked into the Justice’s parlor. His wife and clerk were our witnesses. Five minutes later we were man and wife. I’d gone through hell and survived; now I was looking forward to a little bit of heaven. I was pretty sure I’d find it with Kerry.

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