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Corky waved goodbye in the parking lot and Frank and I drove home. He said not a word about what had transpired, apparently cowed by the praise I'd received. Instead, he recounted the grisly details of Bruce's mugging. The perpetrators had crushed three fingers on his right hand...the thumb and first two fingers. Those were the fingers that he'd used to plunder my rectum during my rape! I flashed, horrified. Bruce's muggers had also smashed his groin, which had resulted in one testicle having to be removed, with the other being hopelessly damaged. For good measure, the rest of his body had been badly beaten. By this time, my Percodan high had worn off and left me only with wanting more, as I fully realized that my lover, Jack, had exacted extreme revenge for my rape...in a frighteningly immediate, expeditious, and efficient way. I shuddered at the depth of pent-up rage that could result in such clinically precise violence, and was thankful Bruce's tongue hadn't been cut out.
At home I popped another pill immediately, as Frank went upstairs and packed two bags, one for suits and the other for underwear and furnishings. "Let that be a lesson, Dee," he yelled from the bedroom, though not really convincingly. "There'll be more, you slimy bitch!" he warned. "Right now I'm gonna' take off for a coupla' days...maybe more. I'll call an' tell you when I'm comin' home. Gotta' get my head straight," he said, very subdued. He descended the stairs and I just waved my fingers at him soundlessly as he apparently waited for a tearful goodbye. Then, he left.
I gathered up the pictures of Jack and me that still littered the kitchen floor, hiding them. I called Jack and told him Frank and I had gone out. I thought that maybe I'd explain the details when I saw him in the morning. On the other hand, I was very fearful that Jack would hurt Frank...perhaps maiming him horribly for what had transpired with Zack and Ramon. Before I gargled, brushed my teeth, and showered to clean the evening's trash from my body, I emptied the bag given me at the adult bookstore. In it was a CD of our gloryhole performances, which apparently Frank had forgotten about, and two dildos, one of flexible plastic and encircled with deep ribs, the other a harder plastic thing that I'd have to show to Mandy. She'd know what it was for, I thought, unaware that it was a large butt plug.
I noted, with irony, that Frank had left behind the CD that he'd requested be recorded of the gloryhole show. I would play it tomorrow and then decide whether to tell Jack about the evening. After all, if Frank and Corky were on the disk, I'd have proof of his philandering, giving me a trump card should he try to blackmail me with my folks.
I was relieved to have slept alone that night, since I took to bed one of my new gifts, the deeply ribbed dildo that – after hammering myself to a shattering orgasm on clean sheets – I laughingly nicknamed after Billy's dog, Thor.
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