Precision Solutions

Later, after the entire matter was completed, my PRISM friends told me that our photos had topped their requests and viewers' interest lists, and the customer service department was working hard to handle the demands for downloads and even large photos.

Action and Execution

Arabella flew me back to Louisiana, providing me with plenty of time to refine my plans. Once she landed back in Palm Beach, Arabella loaded the Little Bird onto a container hauler, and she and Mark set out for the drive back to Baton Rouge.

Meanwhile, I went by Heather's apartment to let her know that the plan was in motion. I'd already introduced her to the small but vital part she would have in getting Mason and his little two-boy posse to the reserved room behind Joey Pisco's restaurant.

I called Joey to ensure that the preparations were ready. Then Heather phoned Mason to ask him to join her at Pisco's Italian Marketplace at sevenon Saturday. She had him on speaker phone so I heard him make the expected smartass remarks about not understanding how she could have held off for so long. She asked him to bring his two friends along.

Mark and Arabella had arrived the day before and were parked at the abandoned warehouse to which I'd given them coordinates. I went out to check it and to ensure that the area still was abandoned as I'd planned. It was grim, lonely and ready for our project. Into the warehouse Mark backed his Kenworth and the conex container with the twin bogies attached to the underside of the frame.

We checked inside; there sat the black MH-6, its six rotors stowed in the trailing position. The helicopter was secured with Kevlar retaining straps. Mark and Arabella had raised its skids off the floor with four clamp-on ten-inch wheels to facilitate rolling it backward and down the ramp formed by the inside of the hinged door. An electric winch clamped to the front wall of the container fed out a cable attached to a snatch block with two hooks on a short cable, each attached to a ring on the front of the skids.

The following day Mark and Arabella would dismount the Little Bird outside, move the rotors to their correct positions and tighten them for flight. Then they would wait for my arrival in my Wrangler.

The next day Heather and I arrived at Joey's two hours early and spent them getting ready. With my Wrangler parked in the lot behind the restaurant, I dressed as a restaurant server and waited with a taser and a stun gun beneath a napkin on my tray.

A commotion in the hallway announced the approach of Heather's tormentors. Joey escorted them into the room and I stepped forward during their meeting with Heather as if I were taking their orders for drinks. Heather strove masterfully to be calm, but she was scared witless. The three beasts who fed on women gathered around her, fondling her breasts and pawing at her short skirt in hopes of grabbing her pussy.

That is my cue. I gripped the taser and triggered it into Mason's back, overloading his system with an electrical charge that dropped him to the floor. In the confusion his two sidekicks dropped to their knees to offer help. I pressed the barbs of the stun gun against each man's neck, momentarily disabling them.

I gave the tray to Heather and bent downward, slipping a small hypodermic into the neck of each one. That would ensure there'd be no sounds; I placed a strip of duct tape over each mouth, then zip-tied their hands and ankles. Now, time for their first move.

Heather had moved my Wrangler back-end to the door. I dragged each body to it, then with Joey's help loaded them into the carryall space like cordwood. With the pullover security cover in place so no one could see the bodies from outside, I let Heather out in front of her building and drove away.

When I pulled into the abandoned complex of rusting, caved-in structures, it was still empty of life. I drove around to the warehouse where I saw the MH-6 in its blackout beauty, rotors slowly turning with the turbine's definitive whine. Arabella, dressed in her flight suit, is in the cockpit ready to pull collective and get us out of there.

I put the Wrangler into the warehouse, joined Mark in removing the three savages from it and stowing them inside the helicopter, then he took the front passenger seat and I strapped myself onto a small jump seat behind him.

In the darkness Arabella lifted us just above the rooftops, then flew at treetop level southwest to our target. I'd checked the status of the huge sinkhole; for two days the earth beneath the monster had been collapsing first at a rapid rate, then slowing. But it had continued its collapse. That was the important thing for us.

The three men began to squirm as they came to and realized that they were immobile, speechless, and in the air. I watched, wondering if the growing fear I saw on their faces had also marked those of the pitiful women they'd murdered for the fun of it.

I crawled to them and spoke over the turbine whine above us. "You three are going to die tonight. You have murdered your last daughter, friend or acquaintance, and now there are no lawyers and money to save you. We know what you did. Your parents will have a hole in their hearts because they will never know. No one will ever know what happened to you."

Finally, Arabella flew low over the sinkhole and its now-wide and hungrily sucking maw. Mason was the first Mark and I slid to the door. On his face was an expression of total terror as he realized what lay ahead, the certainty that he was going to die. She dropped to fifteen feet above the dark, foul-smelling mess. The snarl of the circling greasy mass nearly overcame the turbine whine.

I shoved him out the door, watching as he hit the black gurgling whirlpool dead center and dropped from sight into the bowels of the earth. Mark shoved a second body to the door and I pushed it the rest of the way. The third followed suit. Once they were here...now they were gone.

The entire operation required ten minutes. No stealth helicopter is completely silent, but the sound is reduced so much that one can operate with very little risk of being discovered in a location such as that beneath us. No vehicles had passed on Louisiana Highway 70, and there were definitely no occupied houses anywhere nearby.

Arabella gave a thumbs-up sign then motioned me into the passenger seat as Mark sat where I'd been. She successfully returned to the warehouse without having been observed, so far as we could tell. I assisted them in prepping the bird for transport and watched as she winched the helo back into the conex trailer. They spent the night in the Kenworth's sleeper, not wanting to risk anyone spotting a truck moving at this time of night from a supposedly empty warehouse complex and on the same night that three men had vanished forever.

I sat in my Jeep, thinking over what I'd planned and we'd done. There was no joy, no high fives, and no sense of being a tough guy. The accomplishment of this project was due first of all to the evil of three people who saw others as prey to be devastated, abused, and trashed like so much garbage.

This is the business I perform because law enforcement can't or won't, the legal system is a joke with its two tiers, one for the elites and the other for the rest of contemptible humanity, and to end the fear and torment of good, ordinary people.

Just before dawn I left the empty place, to be followed by Mark and Arabella in the truck. Before departing the warehouse, Mark spray-painted over the logo on each side of the trailer. Now it was one of the nameless hoard of containerized shipping travelling worldwide.

I headed home for some sleep. Mark and Arabella were already well out onto Interstate 10 and headed for Palm Beach.

An Enjoyable Quietness

The feeling that sweeps over me after each of these times when I must stand for others who cannot stand for themselves is one of longing for solitude. My schedule is the same. I go home, shower, get something to eat, and then stand before my mirror to see if there is anything that even hints at my business of the night before.

Brushing out my hair always causes little snaps of static electricity. With my waves I'll never have to get any hairdresser's treatment. It felt heavy and soft, a warmth suffusing my body as I gazed at the way the auburn waves gathered around my eyes and cheeks.

I shaved the small amount of body hair that had grown, then applied a lotion all over. The smooth warmth of my skin always arouses me, and despite my tiredness, this is no exception. In a delightful enjoyment made possible by Pandora, I inserted into my body hole a smooth, nearly-round steel plug with a two inch shaft tipped by tipped by a ruby-colored ball. It felt delicious, so much so that I spent half an hour walking around the apartment just to feel its weight and pleasant inner expansion.

I rarely sleep with anything on, and tonight was no exception. My stem was as hard as it had been on the beach during out photo shoot the other day. That brought an idea; why not check my computer and go to theBeautifulPRISM.com to see if they'd mounted our pictures and if there was any message from Ashwynde or Sheila.

Parker had uploaded the pictures to the internet. They were far more sensuous than I'd expected despite having been there in person. Our positions, my body, the sexual intercourse...all were so crystal clear and perfectly hued that I became aroused looking at them. There was a note from Ashwynde and a promise to contact me immediately after her arrival back in Palm Beach.

Sheila had sent a completely erotic note with attached photos of her engaged in things that merited the term 'scorching.' She also wanted to come here, and I desired that just as much as she.

I leaned back in my chair, enjoying the sensation of having the plug in me with the round tip completely comfortable. With my ankles crossed and my legs stretched out together, my cock stands proudly without me holding it erect; my balls are tight in their pouch and trapped above my legs. The beautiful creation is hot and thick, its head smooth, velvety and firm. The gold ring in its mouth is firm in its position as I gently touch its underside.

Touching the ring in the mouth of my penis provides a delicious sensation. There is some friction always because the gold decoration is not loose. Its appearance arouses me as I recall Pandora's touch and fondling of it during her insertion, the little electric sparks it causes when it contacts my clothing, and the sexual excitement in having others see it. Its thickness nearly fills the mouth of my cock...but not quite.

When I pee, it does affect the stream to some extent, but that keeps me aware of it. When I have an orgasm, because my cream happens to be thick and stringy, it gathers in a sticky mass on my crown at first, then its weight causes it to fall and lengthen into ropes of buttermilk-colored goo. One of my intimate delights is to think of all this during varying times when I'm out. The result might be simply a pleasant hardening; or it could result in actually enjoying an only partly-suppressed orgasm.

My favorite white thongs are best for managing these since when I step into one I must gently bend my shaft while it is still soft and fit it into the bulge of the pouch; when I come, the stickiness gathers within my thong and surrounds my curved shaft, bathing it in a delicious warmth without letting anyone else know what has happened. For me it is a very enjoyable mess when I remove the thong.

When I began this account, I explained that I'd reveal intimate details. This is one of them. I believe Heather will receive ongoing delight as she reads this.

Little effort is necessary to bring my arousal. I caress it just a few times before I have the delicious burning sensation throughout my body. Now, as I sit here in the night's silence I watch, holding myself erect in order to have my cream cover my hand and flesh. A gout of cream erupts upward from it and flows over its crown, down over my hand and into my anal cleft. There is a tiny interval, then a second spurt of ropy goo, then a third stream of less sticky cum.

I slide my hand gently over my shaft, relishing its slippery length and tenderly massaging the cream into my gold ring and full length. There is easily enough to cover my balls. The sensation is warm, intimate, deliciously messy, a gift from my body.

Finally, I went to my bathroom and washed myself. Then I fell into bed, enjoying the touch of sheets on my flesh. I felt behind me to move the anal plug and draw it out somewhat, then fully reinsert it. Finally sleep overcame all of my intimate pleasures.

Conclusions

The following day I spent time assessing the previous weeks' project. I received quite a bit of help in this from my friends at PRISM Designs. In a video conference Mark and Parker wanted my agreement to shift Precision Solutions in order that we would formally become a part of the company. As difficult as it was to believe, I'd sacrifice very little and gain almost all of what I'd desired with the addition of that company's deep well of support assets.

Parker commented further about my photo shoot that had brought in a huge amount of downloads, requests for interviews, and so many lusty expressions of desires for personal meetings with me that they weren't quite sure how to handle it all. One very desirable request from my standpoint was that of Ashwynde who introduced me via beautiful and intensely erotic pictures to one of her youngest lovers.

This barely-past-eighteen year old young man really was quite desirable and certainly hauntingly attractive. Grayson Kent was just short of six feet tall and was obviously strong. He had an amazing cloud of brown hair that would have been quite long if someone pulled it out straight; in the pictures it formed a great shiny mass of rippling miniature waves behind his torso. He was flat-chested with prominent ring-pierced nipples. His skin was smooth, and he had a beautiful, very long and fat cock. Ashwynde, of course, had discovered him and had immediately taken over his induction into the Ashwynde Richardson Hall of Fame.

Mark's observation was direct. "Jonathan, I know your inclinations aren't necessarily regular in this direction. But you set something of a pattern with Hayden and me in that sensuous production. I do not think you are going to be able to avoid meeting Grayson. He insists on meeting you, and Ashwynde and he will travel to you at your convenience. Ashwynde has locked onto you beyond all hope, anyhow!"

Mark didn't have to grin in such a shark-like fashion, but his doing so told me that my cause was already DOA. I decided to start making plans for Ashe and Grayson. So much for clandestinely planning ahead.

Pandora's submission of my pictures in the PRISM contest garnered for me a first-place win as the company's amateur contest for most eligible sensuous male this next year. Not sure I needed that at all.

I stopped by Joey's to discuss the wisdom of his forgetting that we'd been there several nights before. He stopped me in my tracks when he grinned broadly and remarked, "Why, Jonathan, I don't know what you mean. We haven't seen you here since you introduced us to that dark beauty...ah, Heather...that's it, and she destroyed my staff for the evening by using that white leather micro-skirt of hers as a nuclear weapon in here. Mama mia! What a woman!

"Jon, how do you control yourself with that gorgeous black lady? You are, OF COURSE, going to get a ring on her finger...AREN'T YOU, Jonathan?"

I certainly have a host of friends willing to help me. And it's just not wise to make a promise to my favorite Sicilian restauranteur without keeping it.

The bodies of Mason Carpenter, Kent Lawson and Gary Kleinfeld were never found. Regardless of the efforts of law enforcement, nothing produced anything faintly resembling a trail. Eventually the case became one more in somebody's 'shit-pile' stack on the corner of a desk. As the years sped by, that particular item was conversationally referred to as not worth the effort and finally busy men and women forgot it, altogether.

Ralston and Stella Carpenter never really recovered from the sudden disappearance of their only son. After they spent an untold amount of money trying to penetrate the wall of silence, they turned on each other and became parts of that vast cloud of the divorced who vanish into the shadows of time.

Take it from me and my experience, if you want to send a message and create maximum impact in dealing with the threat of a predator, make the threat vanish without a word. No warning. No threats. No message. No 'gotcha' anonymous note afterward for police and the FBI to analyze. Just the silence of the dead. Nothing more.

Now about Heather. I called her to report and she asked me to come to her suite as soon as I could. I agreed, and I overheard her instructing her office manager to clear her schedule for the rest of the day, then to go home herself.

After a quick trip back to my apartment to re-dress and straighten up [you always get ready for someone as special as Heather] I headed downstairs to her home and office suite.

"I'm so thankful you are safe, Jonathan. I feared for you, whatever you had to do."

"I can assure you, Heather, that any reason for your fears no longer exists. You are safe."

"I'll not ask for details because I know you can never give them. I don't even want them. I want you, Jonathan Stone. I will willingly share you with others in that incredible group of yours. I know I'm safe with you, and beyond that, I'm content."

Heather let me watch her put on a thin white sleeveless sweater that revealed everything she owned and a yellow skirt that was so short it revealed a generous portion of her glorious, smooth bottom and much of her well-sculptured, grass-covered pussy complete with diamond clit chain. Her milky chocolate breasts literally fought to get free as she strode to me, placed her hands softly on my cheeks, and kissed me.

We went to Joey's again that night as he'd hoped, and Heather willingly put on a casual, dinner-long display of her...ah, assets for the staff. There was nothing openly cheap about it all. As we dined and talked quietly, she moved normally, revealing every delicious part of herself.

The staff faded away silently as we finished and departed. I signaled to Joey that I'd settle up later. His other customers experienced a delicious and unforgettable shock as they watched us quietly leave.

That night we slept together and she introduced to me some of the most memorable delights I've known. The next day we went shopping for a ring. Typically, she chose wisely...a simple white gold band with a two-carat diamond the jeweler had nicknamed "Sunburst" because of its brilliant fire.

She called Joey with a date, then we went to video to let the PRISM gang know. They cheered, then cryptically warned Heather with broad smiles, "Just you wait, Heather. You're one of us now. Just you wait, you gorgeous lady!"

The pit continues to expand in defiance of all efforts, local, state, owners of the salt domes involved and the federal government to get a grip on the problem. Nearby Louisiana Highway 70 is in danger of collapse in the future, all residents of Bayou Corne have been evacuated and the properties show the unmistakable signs of creation retaking what it once owned.

Assumption Parish's monster is in some ways similar to a volcano but without the fiery temperatures. Its origin lies deep underground; no one knows really how far around it the ground is highly unstable; its eruptions go down into the stygian darkness of the earth rather than upward; it constantly vomits foul, deadly gases; it rumbles and shakes deep underground; and to be near it is to court a hideous death.