February. 7 Months Later. Rewrite

February, Seven Months Later. Rewrite

I made far too many basic mistakes. If you are a grammar fetishist please do us both a favour and just do one now, I cant be arsed with your opinion!

I'm dyslexic. I learned to read and write in the Army at the age of 16. grammar wasn't considered essential to read an army technical manual, personally I think its just as irrelevant in a wank story

I do this purely for my own enjoyment

My attempt at an epilogue to George Anderson's ( https://literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=2336575 ) February Sucks. ( https://literotica.com/s/february-sucks ) My Personal thoughts are it is the most thought provoking story on Literotica. I wish I could write as well as you Mr Anderson.

*

It wasn't February it was September. It wasn't at the Madison, Marc LaValliere had repeated his little game there once too often. The hotel next door had to refund one furious, soon to be divorced, husband too many. It was becoming impossible to keep the adverse publicity quiet. The last of the long line of cuckolds was very well connected; his connections had put considerable pressure on the club and hotel owners.

LaValliere had simply taken his game to another club. "The Four Winds". They had no such tie in with any hotel and just to make sure of his hunting ground LaValliere simply bought the place.

Some nights a lot of team members would show up. Whenever it was open, there were a couple of the guys in there. Even on the evenings of a game, a star on the injured reserve or some sort of fan eye-candy would be there. In this town, that ensured the club was always the place to be and had a full house. If you wanted to be there you needed to book well in advance.

Martha was intrigued with LaValliere; she had studded him, knew his likes, his dislikes, loves and hates. She knew his favourite colour, his favourite scent on a woman. She knew all about the darker side of him as well.

She had to admit, Linda, her room mate from collage, was right about him. He was beautiful. He looked as though Michelangelo had carved him from a massive piece of marble. As he entered the club all eyes were on him. As he prowled around his hunting ground you could almost hear the women in the club thinking, pick me, pick me.

He stopped at their table. Looked at Martha, simply nodded at her and said "I hope you enjoy your evening at my club." The four women almost turned green with envy. Martha looked a little embarrassed, then took her partner Cameron's hand.

Seconds later the waiter who served the last round of drink on that table placed another tray on the table with a repeat of the last order. Compliments of Mr Marc LaValliere he announced loudly.

Cameron led Martha onto the dance-floor as the band struck up their first song of the evening, an old Duke Ellington swing number.

That was the one and only dance Cameron had with Martha. Martha looked over toward LaValliere's table, he raised his glass in a toast to her. LaValliere stood, made an obvious signal to the band leader as he strode purposefully over to the group Martha and Cameron were involved with.

I'd like to show your wife how a real dancer controls his partner to that number. He wasn't asking, he was telling Cameron. Cameron stood angrily. Hands and voices from their party held him back. It's only a dance Cameron, let her have a little fun, with the best will in the world your not the best at tripping the light fantastic; let her have a dance without you stomping all over her toes.

It wasn't just one dance though. The band leader went straight into Honeydripper and then a slow number. That was just too much for Cameron he tore himself away from the hands of the women of the group and made his way to the dancing couple.

He didn't get halfway there. Two very large guys from LaValliere party intercepted him, there was a minor scuffle before security collared Cameron and dragged him from the club to eject him onto the street.

LaValliere gently led a crying Martha who just kept repeating "why didn't he let me have just one night" LaValliere led his latest conquest to the fire escape door at the rear of the club. I'll take you home, I think the police will probably be out front to arrest your husband for causing a nuisance, I cannot leave you alone here.

He led her away from the party. The other girls in the group were chatting excitedly, the men looking embarrassed for their new friend but none would risk the wrath of LaValliere's team mates for a man they had only recently met.

Out in front of the club the police had indeed been called. Cameron however had controlled his anger to what appeared to the police as a blazing inner fury. That fucking bitch, I'll get even with her. The police who all had their Christmas bonus from LaValliere to consider, asked him if he was making threats against LaValliere.

Hell no! He's a man after a bit of tail. I'll get even with that bitch though I'll be knocking at my lawyer's door tomorrow, you see if I'm not. At that point LaValliere's Bugatti Chiron sped from behind the club and disappeared into the night.

The police had seen this all too meany times before. Guys in Cameron's situation, they had arrived at The Four Winds with their loving partner. Only to leave the cub alone with their dreams in tatters.

If the police had been a little more on the ball they may have noticed him walk over to an SUV with the engine running and maybe even taken a number. They didn't, this scene had played out many times before. This guy caved in a lot quicker than most.

Who wants aggravation when there is a doughnut and coffee waiting at the all night cafe and a game to discuss. LaValliere may be an asshole but the 8 and 0 run the local team were currently enjoying was in a large part down to him.

The Fuss died away, LaValliere had left, dancing continued. Of the rest of the party group Cameron and Martha had arrived with; all the women were all in total agreement. What a lucky bitch Martha was; and then decrying Cameron for attempting to deny her her night with a sex god and spoiling the mood for the night for the rest of them.

The men, all of them relieved LaValliere hadn't walked out of the club with their woman. None of them knew Cameron well, and now he was gone not one of the group called him a friend, Non could seemingly remember him doing anything to prevent LaValliere from laying claim to his woman. All privately ashamed they didn't at least try to help him out.

Every man of the group now calling him a wimp and what a pussy for not putting up some meaningful resistance. They all agreed if he had shown any real resistance they would not have hesitated in jumping in to help him. The truth was they all had a brown stain in their pants.

Eventually the group split up to pick up their cabs and return home. All the girls agreeing to meet tomorrow at Starbucks to get the skinny from Martha on LaValliere, the sex God's performance.

The guys agreeing without exchanging a single word, the next time they would take their women to "The Four Winds" was the day after hell froze over.

Somewhere, across town in the back of a nondescript SUV Cameron's phone beeped. It was a simple two word message. "Target Acquired". Cameron and the driver sat for a further four hours until the phone beeped again. Another two word message, Target nullified. The driver started the engine and drove the half mile to pick Martha up.

When Margarita LaValliere's Mexican cleaner let herself into his mansion she found the usual trail of his clothes leading up to what he called his playroom but, usually no female clothes. She assumed as sometimes happened the drug in the drink LaValliere bought for his victim had worn off early and she had fled, gathering her clothes, while LaValliere slept.

She hated this it usually meant the bastard would rape her arse. As an illegal she could not go to the police, she could not complain. It wasn't just her, it was her husband and two children who would suffer.

Perhaps if LaValliere had gone to his bedroom after his victim escaped she could clean and disappear for the day. As she climbed the last few steps of the winding staircase she found the playroom door opened. Laying on the bed, totally naked was LaValliere, Margarita screamed.

The sheets she laundered after the playroom was used were never going to be the brilliant white he demanded. They were soaked in his blood. He mumbled over and over again, "she took them, she took them."

He had an electrician's cable tie around his scrotum. His scrotum was hanging, opened and empty his balls were gone. There was another cable tie around his shaft. His assailant had used it as a second tourniquet to prevent him bleeding to death after the removal of his glands. That was also missing.

Around the room, stuck to the walls were photographic portraits of 37 women who represented the notches in the post of the bed he was secured to. On his forehead his assailant had tattooed the chemical formula for the two drug cocktail he had their drinks spiked with.

Going back to when LaValliere brought Martha back to his place, he opened the door, set the correct alarm code, and turned to his victim. The drugs he was so sure of to ensure her compliance were along with the drink that carried them; drying into the carpet under the chair Martha had occupied in The Four Winds.

Thoughts of another notch on the playroom bedpost were blasted from his mind as the charge from the prongs of the taser in Martha's hand turned him to an uncoordinated twitching mess of limbs.

Before he knew where he was, Martha had him stripped naked, his wrists held behind his back with two cable ties, and his ankles held by two more.

He was babbling incoherently. Later, when the police conducted door to door interviews neighbours reported hearing strange noises, they put it down to animals mating. LaValliere had spent a lot of money having his room soundproofed to prevent screams summoning help; I wonder if he now thinks that was a good investment.

Margarita snapped a couple of photos of LaValliere on her phone, after calling 911 giving the address and asking for an ambulance, she ran. She got to her car, and she was trying to leave.

Cameron stopped her. They left her car. Cameron took her cheap phone, and when she climbed into a second SUV and found her family waiting for her, she stopped panicking. To her immense disappointment, Cameron killed her phone and took it with him.

The guys on the ambulance were horrified that someone could do this to the town's greatest ever sporting god. The police who followed them into the building were hiding smiling faces. Two of the faces on the wall were the former wives of colleagues. Both were unable to tolerate the whispers and sniggers, had left. You can't anger a policeman more than sabotaging a pension. It was pretty much agreed that the whispers and sniggers had been in their heads only.

One of the girls pictured had committed suicide. Martha knew how many of these poor women are now divorced. A bottle of each cocktail the waiter slipped into the drinks was discovered in LaValliere's club.

On their way out of town, Cameron and Martha, both striped in the back of the SUV, they changed into fresh clothes, removed tinted contact lenses. Martha removed her blond wig and everything went into a black bin liner, along with the false licence plates form the SUV. Cameron would, just a little while later wash the temporary colour from his hair.

The waiter disappeared, never to be seen again. I do so hope that he wasn't still unconscious as they dropped him and a hundred pounds of old chain into the lake. He sold people's lives for a few football tickets. He cannot have suffered enough.

Finally, a few years later, when the story was not even yesterday's news; in today's fast-moving world, it wasn't news at all. LaValliere, weighed a good 150 pounds more, he was an alcoholic, and living on handouts from people who are now embarrassed to have ever been associated with him. Shot himself in the head. He must have been very unhappy indeed; he did it three times.

Jim and I go way back, we served together. I was his best man at his and Linda's wedding. I am godfather to his daughter, Martha is godmother to his boy. Jim has forgiven Linda; he forgave her before we found out about the drugs. The drugs answered the question all of us still had, "Why?"

I Just hope Linda can eventually forgive herself.

Now stay safe, y'all.

Cameron.