Deceit

Ah, money. Cash money.

It wasn't that Liz and I were suddenly rich, but, well, sort of. Having a lot of cash that we couldn't explain, or deposit, meant that small purchases, little excursions, lavish meals, and large tips were the order of the day. We clicked our Bloody Mary glasses, Liz whispered, "Skoal," and lay back on the lounger. After my exploratory sip -- it was more than passable -- I put my glass down, slid my Panama hat over my eyes, and lay back. And reflected.

After crushing Bull's balls, step 1 of my plan, I'd set about the rest. As is typical with such an injury, he had barfed and passed out. After making sure the vomit wasn't obstructing his windpipe, I got the keys from his pocket and cuffed his hands to his ankles crisscrossed behind him. Step 2.

After Liz removed the cage and we were reconnecting -- step 3 of the plan -- she asked, "Shouldn't we call 911?"

Yes, but that was at the end of my list. First we had to talk. What we were going to tell the cops would be easy to remember, as it was mostly true, but it didn't hurt to make sure we both saw what had happened in the same way. Exactly the same way. Especially that today Bull had lost control and our lives had been in danger. I acted purely in self defense.

Bull had displaced me in our bedroom, and, knowing what was ours, the search went quickly. Our fingerprints would naturally be there, but not on Bull's stuff. Thus the surgical gloves we'd donned before we started. I found what he'd hidden quickly. Liz's mystification evaporated after I showed her what was in Bull's duffle bag. The one he'd been so solicitous of when he'd first moved in.

After I'd hidden the stuff from the his bag behind the false back of the cupboard I'd created when I remodeled our bathroom two years prior, Liz filled the duffle with his dirty laundry. I put both pairs of our gloves in the hidey-hole -- they might provoke questions if found in the trash -- then quickly dressed as Liz checked on Bull.

Having taken Bull's stash, we needed to have another brief chat. I had no idea how much cash I'd stuffed behind the cupboard, but there'd been many handfuls of packets of bills held together with rubber bands. All hundreds. I suspected Bull would tell the cops about his cash, and they'd question us.

Liz agreed that we would just say we knew nothing about it. We'd use exactly the same words every time, and only those words, never embellishing to fill awkward silences. Eventually our blank looks and shrugs would win the day. They'd never find the money unless the cops started ripping up walls, and they wouldn't do that. After all, we were the victims, weren't we?

Once we'd conspired, I punched 911 into Liz's phone. Not much later than I might.

Detective Sergeant Ray Meyers was skeptical. About everything. However, the bruises on my face, and the videos of Bull beating me and his multiple threats to rape me that Liz had surreptitiously recorded on her phone convinced him that, as I swore, my life had been in danger and I was justified in defending myself.

Ray tried to trick us up repeatedly over several days, but we both just kept throwing up our hands in mystification every time he asked about a large amount of missing money. He eventually gave up.

Maybe.

It certainly helped when his partner proposed the alternative I was hoping I would not have to suggest. That Bull really had it squirreled away somewhere, maybe in a safety deposit box, and they should make revealing its whereabouts a part of his plea bargain.

Which was almost a certainty. In addition to videos of us -- Liz caging and sounding me were the highlights -- Bull had other clips on his phone and computer. The cops found the 9 other couples depicted suffering through what Liz and I had. Only worse. Though they were relieved that the extortion had stopped, they were as reluctant as we were to testify. A trial revealing such a sordid, sensational story would ensure rabid national press coverage.

Fortunately, all our testimonies became unnecessary when Meyers nabbed Bull's bros. After they saw the footage of them raping both the women and their husbands, they flipped on the big guy. The offered guilty pleas to misdemeanor sexual battery, with the prosecutor's promise to tell the judge that they'd cooperated, would mean sentences shorter than the 1 year maximum. Which looked damned good compared to 3rd degree felony sexual assault and rolling the dice with up to 15 years in prison possible.

Bull had had a sweet operation going. He'd fish for women on cheating sites, especially those where guys with big cocks advertised their wares, then come on easy, gently luring prospects in. Like with Liz, he would never have sex the first time they met, ensuring that the women felt certain that he was reliable, caring, considerate. Then he'd arrive at their assignations with roses, candy, other gifts, and basically charm the pants off them. Then fuck them like they'd never, ever been fucked. He'd deceived Liz just like the others.

Once they trusted him and their minds were swirling in a constantly aroused, needy sexual fog, he'd begin the rest of his modus operandi. First, he'd convince the by-then pliable, gullible women to emasculate their husbands with drugs, then he'd move in and dominate them both.

Bull would eventually rape the men and invite his bros to share in his bounty. Everything, each individual humiliation, was immortalized on Bull's phone, then transferred to the secret computer that would publish everything if Bull didn't log into it every day. It was certainly worth a couple hundred a week to ensure those clips remained unseen. Off the internet. As Bull completed his coup with one couple, he'd start trolling for the next woman and it all would begin anew.

The potential humiliation was so mortifying that all the other cowed couples had capitulated, and he collected their bribes in hundred dollar bills weekly. When we learned of it, Liz and I considered returning the cash to reimburse the unfortunates. I'd taken it wanting to damage Bull any and every way possible, but there was no way to undo it. We'd already deceived Detective Meyers, and admitting to lying to the police was not an appealing prospect. We decided to let sleeping dogs snore on.

Bull had been smart enough to know that large cash bank deposits attracted law enforcement attention, so kept the cash in the duffle bag. I wondered why he hadn't used a safety deposit box, but when I remembered his insufferable arrogance, I realized that he felt invulnerable. Plus his cash cows would keep giving milk, and he was steadily expanding his herd.

Facing multiple charges of rape and first degree sexual assault, and given the prosecutor's determination to have all sentences served consecutively, Bull agreed to turn over the videos and confess to everything. When he refused to say where all the cash was stowed, however, the proffer was almost rescinded. He grabbed the golden ring when just 5 more years were added to his sentence.

I knew I'd have to be wary when he was released, as Bull was bound to be a tad annoyed and want his cash back when he got out of prison. In 30 years. A lot could happen in that amount of time, though. Especially given his condition.

I'd evidently made more solid contact with his left ball than his right, and I'd learned a new word. Orchiectomy. Interesting how doctors need fancy terms for things like castration. The slim-to-none chance that the severely damaged remaining testis would ever recover and function meant a lifelong lack of testosterone that would have severe impact on Bull's musculature.

So, too, would the court mandated medication regimen. It was fitting, almost too sweet, that as a convicted sexual predator, he was put on Cyproterone. That morning on the couch with Liz Bull had had his last erection. Plus he was headed for a nasty prison, where his developing breasts and other feminine traits would attract attention. Though he was damned big, 30 years was a damned long time.

**

That Night

God, he was big!

In every way, but especially his arms. I had a perfect view as they engulfed my wife, and couldn't help but notice how the giant's right hand left the small of her back -- where dance protocol dictated it belonged -- slid down, and began kneading Liz's ass as they swayed to the salsa beat.

Initially alarmed, my right hand had instinctively touched the steel cap of the rod inside the waistband of my cargo shorts. Reassurance. As the Goliath dancing with my wife became ever more fresh, I assessed the situation. The real situation.

Though Goliath did resemble Bull, mistaken identity had not been the cause of my alarm. I'd feared that he was one of Bull's bros, recently released from jail, or another buddy who I didn't know about. Or just some random hood. There was a rumor that Bull had put the word out that anyone who did us serious harm could have the cash we'd taken. After they'd had fun convincing us to tell them where it was. Ray, our detective "friend," had enjoyed telling us all about it. Asshole.

He'd never be convinced that we didn't have Bull's money, and we'd grown used to assuming our phones were tapped, our bank accounts monitored, our purchases checked, our lives observed. All because of my snap decision to rob Bull and deceive Ray.

The same Ray who I was pretty certain was deceiving us about the rumor. Sure, cops never lie, but... His partner, Alma, had told me in an aside that Ray was totally off-base. That he was obsessed with us, had been pulled from the case, and that Bull had never said anything to anyone about any cash. Which made sense. Bull was so greedy that he'd never give up the money, and would want to save the pleasure of injuring us for himself. So, I wasn't too concerned. Just very careful.

And some of the consequences of Ray's deceit had not been bad. It was a good idea in any case to have the alarm system installed, augmented by the cameras and motion detector-activated lights all around the perimeter of our townhouse.

Plus, I was enjoying being far fitter than I'd ever been, and the lessons in Gracie jiu jitsu and Filipino Kali were fun. The latter, a traditional method of stick fighting, when updated by sensei Cruz, was amazing. Once I drew the combat baton from inside my waistband and snapped it to its full 16 inch length, I was prepared for almost anything. And just touching the tip was always reassuring.

The baton was as effective against an assailant with a knife -- my block would snap the radius or ulna, maybe both, and my followup thrusts to the solar plexus and throat would end the encounter -- as it was in a fistfight. I could close the 5-yard distance at which 85% of gun fights occur in less time than it would take my attacker to draw and aim his weapon, and if he were further away he'd have to hit a moving, dodging target. Which isn't easy. Except in the movies.

Liz and I had permits for our concealed pistols -- easy to get because we'd suffered a home invasion -- and she joined me to practice once a week with her Ruger LCP II. At the each of the session we'd compete, racing to see who could topple the 5th bowling pin, the one in the middle, after we each started on our side of the line. Fun, with a purpose.

Fun was what Liz seemed to be having on the dance floor. Her face was flushed, and, as the dance had progressed, Goliath -- who, though a gorilla, was a decent dancer -- had pulled her ever closer, until the massive hand on her butt clamped their pelvises together. She laughed at whatever he whispered as he nuzzled her ear and didn't resist when he took one of her hands and pushed it down between them. Onto his cock. She purposely turned and smiled at me. Her quirk was in full bloom.

As the band dove into its final chorus, Goliath spun Liz around and locked her rear to his front. Grinding. I couldn't help but notice how his hands on her hips kept edging down and in, homing in on her crotch. His contracting fingers drew the hem of her short skirt ever higher. As Liz ground her butt against his erection, she again turned to me. And winked.

When the band finally quit -- it had been a long, steamy song -- I again scanned the club, and, seeing no threat, watched my wife disengage herself from the big man's paws. With some difficulty, as he was reluctant to let go. Who could blame him? His fingers had almost reached her pussy and she'd acted quite the slut. As he tried to pull her to him again, Liz spun free and pushed off against his chest, said something, and pointed to me. Still playing her risqué game.

Goliath glared as he looked me up and down, scoffed, and said something to Liz. She smiled as she turned and sashayed over to me, hips swaying lasciviously. Goliath was hot on her heels, his eyes locked firmly on her ass -- who could blame him? -- at least until she slinked into my arms and kissed me.

He fixed me with his best intimidating stare and said, "Buddy, take a hike. I'm going let this babe experience what it feels like to be fucked by a real man, with a real cock. Unless, of course, you'd like to watch and clean her up after." The big man was proving persistent. And obnoxious.

Liz's game had taken a serious turn.

Ah, well. Gratified that we had a witness -- the bartender was paying keen attention to our little tête-à-tête -- I upped the ante. "Are you as dumb as you are big? Get lost."

Of coursed he shoved me, and as I stumbled back, arms flailing in an Oscar-worthy performance, I realized that I wouldn't even need the baton. Goliath was muscle-bound, slow and easy to read.

"Hey guys! Take it outside! Now!" The bartender had his phone in one hand, and an axe handle in the other.

I bowed slightly and indicated the door, then followed Goliath outside. He stopped in the parking lot, but I beelined for the patch of grass to my right. I'm that considerate.

It really wasn't fair. As sensei Cruz advised, I kept well outside of arm's-length as we circled. Trading blows is for chumps. Goliath was bouncing and juking, fists clenched, chin tucked tight to his chest. A big, tough-guy. To his hissed, "You can run, asshole, but you can't hide. C'mon, lets get it on!" I smiled and motioned with my fingers for him to come at me.

He did.

His charge was so telegraphed that, after my feint to the right I had no trouble sliding to the left and getting my body tight to his as I swept his legs. His "Oof!" as I drove him face down into the turf was his last utterance before my immediate Gracie choke hold cut off both oxygen and blood to his brain. He thrashed and jerked, fists futilely flailing, during the few seconds it took him to lose consciousness.

Liz's motion as she stepped closer drew my eye. I relished the aroused glint in her eyes, how she was biting her lower lip, and squeezing her thighs together. Pressing her engorged labia against her clit. She loved this game. Having men compete for her, even fight over her like she was the spoils of some primordial combat, pushed her buttons like little else could. And while most of her flirtations ended with the random guy walking off, grumbling in disgust, when they chose to amp it up, I always won.

When Goliath's sudden stillness marked his loss of consciousness, I relaxed the choke and confirmed that his pulse was strong and regular. He'd wake up in a few minutes, and probably not remember much of what had happened. Except he'd been easily handled.

Liz took my hand -- she was eager -- and pulled me back into the club. As she dragged me down a hallway, I waved at the bartender and enjoyed his smirk.

The door marked "Private" wasn't locked -- Did she know? Had she planned this? -- and Liz quickly opened it and pulled me inside. The shelves were crammed with towels, boxes, and cleaning supplies, and Liz giggled when she stumbled against the bucket on the floor. I ignored the smell of disinfectant and reached out to steady her, but she was already in my arms. I kicked the door shut as the temperature of our kiss soared.

Delaying gratification always enhances the end result, so I pulled back and stoked the furnace. "That was an interesting display on the dance floor."

"When you left to pee, he asked me to dance, and, as he'd been eyeing us for quite a while, I figured I'd better check him out. In case he was trouble. He just wanted to get laid. Nothing to worry about."

"How did those big, puffy lips feel nuzzling your neck?"

"Ever fed a horse? Kind of exciting, though, like toying with brutish animal."

"What did he say?"

"He had a limited vocabulary, but expressed what he wanted. Quite graphically."

"And how did that big, strong hand feel digging into your ass?"

"That was rude! But I have to admit, rather titillating."

"It was pretty clear that he discovered you're not wearing panties."

"I thought it cute how his cock jumped when he first found out."

"And did you enjoy how he rubbed that big, hard erection against you?"

"His cock did seem to like me and it was rather stimulating."

So was how her hand had slipped between us and was caressing the length of my penis. "And did you enjoy touching it, when he put your hand on it?"

"Of course, but not as much as how he winced every time I squeezed it."

"That was naughty of you, Liz, leading him on like that."

I jerked when she squeezed my erection. "Yes, I am a naughty girl. I saw you watching us, and wanted to give you a good show."

"How did his cock feel as you rubbed your butt against it?"

"Delightful. It was very exciting how I could make it throb. If the song had gone on for another minute I'm sure I could have made him come. That would have been fun."

"You did get him very hot and bothered. Weren't you concerned that he'd make trouble?"

"You know how I love it when guys compete for me. It's so hot."

"But he was very big..."

"Silly boy! I knew you'd have no trouble. Now, quit talking."

I crushed Liz to me and felt her heart pounding in her chest. As she pasted herself to me, her breasts flattened against my chest, their erect points poking me through her thin blouse. Her belly rubbing against my very hard and throbbing cock sent sparks shooting through me. Our feverish bodies undulated to the rhythm of the pounding salsa bass and bass drum, and, when she began to grind her pelvis into me, I matched her thrust for thrust.

As our kiss deepened, her hand captured mine and guided it down, under the hem of her tight short skirt. Then up. I'd known she'd worn no panties, and the thought that Goliath had also discovered her dishabille, and almost got his fingers into her pussy, filled me with jealous consternation, then soaring arousal, and, when she drove my fingers into her vulva, my passion kindled into into pure, unadulterated lust.

Content that I knew what she wanted, Liz's fingers left mine and made quick work of my button and zipper. She deftly freed my erection as my cargo shorts fell open and down. My dick was so hard it actually hurt, and throbbed each time she rubbed her thumb across the tip. After a half growl, half cry escaped her throat, her mouth opened wider, and our tongues' dueling intensified. She wrapped her leg around my hip and her hand guided my cock into her sticky, oozing pussy.

So tight. So hot. Heaven.

I drifted, lost in the trance induced by Liz's hot breath on my neck, her unhurried, lazily undulating hips sliding her tight hot vagina on my penis, her sultry lascivious moans, the silky feel of her ass in my hands, and her fingernails leaving fiery tracks in my rear.

Wanting to hold back, to delay and prolong the ecstasy, I set my mind free. It soared. Up and away, away from her clingy heat, off the delectable softness of her buttocks, far from how Liz was sinuously writhing against me. Back to the most pivotal, transformative moment of our lives.