My Dear Beth Ch. 05 - The End?

I knew that I was going to have to ask for an awful lot of forgiveness from God every day I was here.

As soon as she went limp, we put her on the couch and I put on an HR/O2Sat gauge that I'd brought (turns out, it was the same model that I'd found on the nightstand in her bedroom) and fitted the oxygen mask on from the small kit that the PI with him as he picked the lock. I didn't want her dying. The PI went out to his van and brought in a larger O2 bottle, painted the requisite green.

Now, we had time to take stock and try to find out what was going on with Beth and BlueEyes. I went through her purse and found the journal that he'd started but that she'd taken over. I decided that reading it to find out what was going on was the priority. She was sedated and we had plenty of time, so BlueEyes sat and read it with me while the PI monitored the HR/O2 gauge.

I was floored. BlueEyes was making noises like he, too, was shocked as we read Beth's part. I was just stunned at not only what she'd done, but that she'd laid out her plans and completely incriminated herself! He was embarrassed at what he'd let her do to him, but I assured him that he was completely at her mercy and wasn't responsible.

At the same time, I was very jealous of her description of his orgasms! I'd never been able to do that to him; then again, I hadn't ever drugged him. Hm... not yet? Please forgive me for more impure thoughts, Jesus!

Still, it wasn't murder or even close. She'd be out at some point, I was sure.

*****

So, we're all caught up. You'll notice that not all of my remarks are as they happened. Some of the early ones referenced the journal that I just remarked finding, after I'd found the journal and read it. I hadn't exactly had time to journal while Beth was in play.

Now that Beth was sorted, for the moment, I've written everything that's happened up to now. 'Now' is two hours after I'd drugged Beth. It took a while to remember everything and write it down.

Done for now. Bye!

*****

It's several days later and I'm going to spare you the tortuous details about putting my beautiful man to sleep again and how much I truly enjoyed that. I did have to use the drugs that Beth had conveniently stocked, plus no small amount of Ringer's, to do what I did and try to render her damage moot. However, I couldn't completely undo what she did.

I was thanking the Lord that she still had drugs and supplies on hand. The ones I'd brought covered only the basics that the shrink thought I'd need. They wouldn't have allowed me the kind of deep access to his subconscious that I ended up needing. The Lord truly moves in mysterious ways.

I was finally able to get deep enough access and was amazed at what Beth had wrought. But, first things first. I found the lockbox that Beth had created and broken the lock open so that he could remember how to put her to sleep. I also discovered all of the (Nifty? Should I even say that?) tools that she'd implanted in him. Very ingenious. Diabolically ingenious.

I was very, very, very disconcerted by the "Lover, slow, slow, slow" trigger. What the fuck? (please forgive me, Jesus!) If the PI hadn't gotten that rag in on the first try, we might've had a dead person on the floor. That would've been what doctors call a 'negative outcome.'

I worked on my boy for the most of that day and all of the next before understanding that I could not, in fact, remove any triggers; only Beth could. I had no idea how she accomplished that. I really hated keeping BlueEyes drugged the whole time, but it was necessary.

I tried another tack and found that I could change the access from Beth's voice to mine so that I was the only one that could use them. Beth was rendered harmless to him. Some of the triggers were very enticing and I briefly considered whether I should use them at some point. I'm not a good person because I didn't tell myself that I'd never do that.

I couldn't remove the trigger word, but I did manage to change 'Lover, slow, slow, slow' over to having him just feel a little bit better than he had in the proceeding moment. Muzzled that dog, just in case I was wrong and Beth could still get access.

We kept Beth sedated for several days. I put a Foley in that I'd brought just for this purpose. The PI protested, but I gave him five more thousand dollars to wipe her ass when she pooped. I sat and tried to decide what to do with her as BlueEyes was recovering from another heavy round of drugs. He was still drugged, but only enough to let him sleep for a while.

Monday rolled around and we moved to my hotel suite because I was worried that Beth's friends would start coming around now that BlueEyes would usually be leaving for home this morning. He said that Beth asked her friends not to call or come by when he was here. Getting Beth and BlueEyes into the hotel wasn't hard. I'd given them both a little Narcan to bring them around a bit, then told the guy in the lobby that I was taking care of a couple of friends that had partied too hard.

We got into my room and got squared away. I woke my BlueEyes up. I filled him in on everything. As soon as the shock was fading, he jumped up and wanted to cut her head off. Well, sort of, but not really. He wasn't a murderer.

Over the next few days, he developed an almost irrational fear that she would, one day, seek retribution and try to kill him and me. I told him that I'd already come to that conclusion.

He started decompensating enough that we got the shrink on the line, many times, to help him deal with what had happened. BlueEyes gradually recovered himself. I ended up having to dose him with Valium to get him to sleep for the first few nights in the hotel. If I'd thought that a possibility, I would've brought Valium tablets.

Beth's drug treatment of him was responsible in no small part for his fragile mental state. I told the shrink about all of the drugs that I'd found and he was surprised that my buddy was able to talk in complete sentences.

We spent more days trying to figure out what to do. Well, we knew what we had to do, but we didn't want to do that. Still, we tried. Of course, since we couldn't come up with an alternative, it kept coming back around.

The fact was that, as we saw it, she was eventually going to get out of prison and come after him and end up killing him and probably me. She wasn't happy when I'd started to drug her after we'd jumped her at the house. So very not happy. If looks could kill, even if there'd been legions of me, every one of me would have died a painful, but almost immediate, flaming death. She was going to be decidedly less happy when she realized that we'd kept her drugged for days.

If we let her go, she probably would've gone to the cops and been even less happy when the cops didn't believe her about us kidnapping her because there was no evidence, aside from an injection mark that could be explained by events in the journal. Then, she was going to be Tasmanian-Devil-unhappy as they carted her off to jail based on the journal provided to them by us and the drugs that they'd find in her house.

Of course, the fact that they couldn't find any evidence that a man had actually been at her house during the times she stated would lend some credence to the notion that she was, in fact, insane.

We thought about using her drugs on her - that had a certain synergy to it - and trying to wipe any memory of any of us and create a new reality for her. However, since all hypnosis is self-hypnosis, the chance of her staying in our control for any length of time after she went to jail seemed unlikely, so we were back to square one.

The PI agreed that if we let her live, we'd all be living in constant fear of Beth once she got out, assuming she went to prison at all. The PI said that he'd be glad to move here and watch her - for a boatload of money. Er... no.

The PI was starting to pick up on how hypnotism worked, the power that drugs could bring to it, and the nuances of what had taken place here. For a big, brutish, immoral thug, he made the case for the answer that I'd been hoping to avoid.

No, we weren't going to kill her.

I'm ending this part of the journal for now. We have lots to do and precious little time to do it.

I'm out for now; catch you later, Bill and Ted!

Yeah, I'd read what my guy wrote and it became a brain tick - just dug in and stayed there.

Bye for now.

*****

Two weeks later, we are on the way back home.

I'm not going to detail everything we did to Beth during that time. I'm not proud of it and I don't need you or anyone to read about it. I'm pretty sure that God won't ever forgive me for what I've done. I'm a bad person, but I did pray every day, just in case He would hear me and show Mercy. But, to save my man, I would gladly suffer an eternity of Damnation.

I can still hear her screaming through the rag in her mouth and the towel around her head.

*****

I sent the PI back home on a morning flight with a cash payment in the low 6 figures and a promise of retribution if he ratted us out. During those two weeks, he watched as I programmed Beth to come after him if she ever got out of jail and found that either of us was in prison or dead.

He was doubtful that she'd kill a stranger. Oh, yeah? Before he was about to leave for the airport, I had Beth go into the kitchen and get the knife that on the counter with a cup on top of the blade. She was to come out and attack anyone that was trying to hurt me. She went to the kitchen and, as she walked out, I yelled, "Beth, he hurt me!" and pointed to the PI. She leaped at him and started pounding the folded-up newspaper, that she believed to be a knife, into his very large chest. He looked at her and then at me. Suddenly, he was a very scared five-year-old who'd just wet his pants.

Lesson learned. He changed and said that he'd drop the wet ones by the side of the road on the way to the airport.

Of course, I didn't tell him that the hypnosis would probably lose its hold after some days, weeks or months.

After Beth had stabbed him to death, but before he left, I got on the phone to the 'gentleman' that had hired him for me and handed the phone to the PI. The 'gentleman' explained to him that if he ratted us out, he'd be killed after a long period of some rather unique unpleasantness, as would his mother, wife and son. When he finally left to get in his van to go to SeaTac, he was very shaken and told us that he didn't remember this trip, didn't know who the fuck (Dear Jesus, I didn't say that, he did!) we were and that he wanted it to stay that way.

*****

Hours later, I'd finally done as much as I could to Beth. It was time to go.

I was still worried, but I also was very happy because I thought that my much-adored man and I had bonded. It seems that when a couple goes through a very traumatic situation together, it can bond them like nothing else. Her journal was right about that. Plus, we didn't have any other options. We had to bond.

*****

We rented a van and drove back home. I reasoned that we were so worried about getting caught at the airport that security would pick up on our nervousness and pull us aside for more intense questioning. We simply couldn't have that as they'd question us separately and I was sure that our stories wouldn't sync and we'd be detained. Those TSA people are just paranoid, you know?

So... road trip! It was a great drive. We enjoyed the drive and the company and the music and the snacks! Snacks! As we drove, my worry lifted. The chocolate helped. A lot of chocolate.

We planned to make some changes to our living situations when we got home. I'd move in with him the very day that we arrived. We'd get married sometime within the next 12 or 18 months (unless we eloped sooner.)

The changes to our situations and our lifestyles would require some thinking, but we had days, if not weeks, to work everything through. I was determined that one of us would need to stay home and that it should be me. I had enough money to retire on, so it wasn't like I was leeching on him. We decided that we'd also need a live-in housekeeper-cum-caretaker at a new, larger house so that we could be away for weeks at a time.

How we found this person posed a problem, but we were certain that we could find just the right person if we were to look at retirees. A discreet elderly person who'd recently run out of money seemed to be the ticket. Very discreet and loyal.

*****

Things worked out perfectly and no-one was going to try to pay us a visit in the night. Beth was no John Wick.

Beth, while a loon, had been such a great gift to us in one way. Well, in more than one way, but I'll get to that.

Her main gift? Her drug stash and equipment. I'd mailed all that back to my house before we left. When we got back, my shrink friend supplied me with any meds that I wanted after we ran out of hers. He never said why he did that, but I think he was afraid that I'd turn him in if he didn't.

If he'd asked, outright, I would've told him that I'd never turn him in. So, if that was what was motivating him, that's on him.

As I see it, drugs aren't the problem, drug abuse is.

*****

Epilogue

*****

My husband and I are still living a life that few ever achieve. Oh, I don't mean this nice house and our house on a remote island or the trips we take. No. I mean the deep and abiding love that we have for each other. Now and again, we may have a slight difference, but it never escalates as one of us will give in on which restaurant to go to or which movie to watch.

No, in case you're wondering, I don't ask the Lord to forgive me anymore. I'm going to Hell, so I might as well really enjoy my time here. Fuck Jesus for being such a self-righteous prick. Not to mention the fact that Jesus worships God. Isn't Jesus actually God? Talk about the ultimate case of narcissism.

Our bed has a wonderful restraint system and we have a great swing over in the corner of our very large bedroom. We also have a massage table in another corner.

While we never abuse or degrade each other, on any given night (or day or week) he might be controlling things or I might be. We have constantly worked to find a way to thrill the other person in new or ever-so-slightly modified ways. After all these years, we're still coming up with things. It never gets old, but it does seem to become somewhat more 'extreme,' year over year.

*****

Did I mention how much he loves a great prostate massage? It's particularly more intense if I surprise him and put him to sleep with a snap of my fingers, strip him, put him into bed and restrain him before waking him up. He enjoys it, quite a bit, that I can do that.

I'd blindfold him and put sensory deprivation mittens on his hands. Then, I'd put on headphones that are hooked to our sound system so that I could play just about anything - music, white noise, etc. - or turn the sound off completely so that he couldn't hear shit. Of course, I have a wireless mike that I'd hang around my neck, so even when he is completely cut off from the world, he can still hear me.

It helped that we'd spent quite a bit of money tearing out the walls and ceiling and rebuilding them with lots of sound deadening material. The walls had a material that looked like a regular wall, but when all of the doors were closed, we were in an anechoic chamber. Very quiet.

With the headset on and with a very low frequency (below human threshold) sound, you couldn't even hear your own heartbeat. Reading about the experiences of other people who'd been in such chambers meant that we never went past ten minutes. While the CIA might do this to prisoners, people of conscience certainly never would.

When it was my turn, the adrenaline rush that surged through my body when Imade him do whatever I wanted was amazing! Too, the rush of love that I felt for the man who was allowing me to have absolute dominion over him was really something. Well,'allowing' isn't really what he was doing. He waswanting me to have absolute dominion over him! As I write this, I realize that I could use those exact words for myself.

The living and breathing proof of his love for me and his trust in me never failed to increase my love for him.

Whew! I think that I need a time out! I'll be back as soon as I go offer myself up for submission.

*****

All done! I can write again as my hands have quit sweating!

So, back to me torturing him! A 'normal' session would go something like this:

He's restrained on our most lovely Super King poster bed! Blindfolded, mittens on and the headphones on. The next thing that I'd do was put an I.V. line in. However, usually, he already had a butterfly infusion lead taped to his hand. We used a lot of Heparin flushes.

If the controlling person decided that this was going to be an extended playtime, then the other person got a catheter. We didn't discuss this in advance, so when he'd start the put a cath in, I knew that I was going to be here a while. I usually put a cath in him, whether or not I intended to play long enough for him to need it. He would be pretty frustrated if I revealed that we wouldn't play that long, but that was the whole point, right?

The fact that the line was in didn't mean that I was, for sure, going to give him anything. Whenever we put one in, it was a very sexual thing for both of us! I'd sometimes cum when I'd get a kickback into the infusion lead. For instance, Monday of last week. (Oh, dear me! I'm... never mind. Oh!) Watching his face when he was putting one in me, as he got the kickback, would almost make me cum.

I would cum, sometimes, if I shot him up with a speedball (Fentanyl and meth) and watched his face as it hit him. The feeling of total control is something! We'd play until I was really tired, but the meth kept him ramped up. So, I get some Fentanyl and knock him out. I'd inject it slowly and cum sometimes as I watched his eyes start to close and his face started to go slack. He was at my mercy. There was a lot of cumming ever since we started to play with the drugs. A lot.

Part of this game is that, as he starts to feel that blackness coming on, he will beg, "Karen, please don't kill me! I love you! Please don't kill me!" and so on. Of course, I do the same when it was my turn.

All he got for his begging was silence. I never said a word. I projected total indifference to his plight and my silence drove him up the wall. Good times!

Sometimes, I'd do the total sensory deprivation thing and then slow-walk him to unconsciousness. If I waited too long (per his timeframe) to black him out, he'd start to get rather vocal in fear of what I was up to. Sometimes, he had good reason to fear me.

Once the Butterfly Infusion lead was inserted and taped down, or if he already had a line in, he couldn't tell if I was injecting him with drugs.

Sometimes, I'd put some faint music into the headphones, put in a light load of Valium, and go shopping and then black him out when I got back. That drove him up the wall. Such fun! If I hadn't done that in some months, he'd beg me to do it again.

When he'd wake up the following morning, he'd be very, very grateful that I let him live and we'd have a wonderful time celebrating that in so many different ways! It was a game of ultimate control.

*****

This is a scene that would come up every few years. This is a description of the first time.

I said the trigger that caused him to put a line into me if there wasn't already a disconnected Butterfly on my hand. The Ringer's was put on a rolling metal stand so that I could go anywhere in the house. I could even carry it downstairs while I was still attached.

I put some Ecstasy up my ass so I'd have that kicking in later. I injected myself with some LSD and then a small dose of Fentanyl to take the edge off the acid. I took a separate syringe with Special K in it and took that via IM in the thigh. I couldn't inject such a large dose via the I.V. while walking around, thus the IM shot. I did all of this right in front of him, so he knew that I'd taken these drugs.