Where Have All The Bad Men Gone?

"It wasn't what you'd expected was it?"

I said nothing.

"It never is. Mostly you bitches scream and shout a lot, figuring that's your role, hence the gag – gotta shut you up somehow – but the two I did time for... They never mad a sound. Didn't beg, didn't struggle, just went limp on me. It was really not that much fun. But you... you fantasizers... You really are a Disney ride. See, I couldn't do my wife like this... I'll tell you a secret. I'm as fucked up as you. When I'm with my wife, playing nice, I'll be thinking about you... you and all those other bitches... she doesn't know about any of this but I really couldn't get it up for her without one of you in my head. How fucked up is that?"

"Pretty fucked up." I finally found my voice. I could see him properly now too. Shaved head, slightly cruel smile, blue eyes. Yes, I thought, if we'd met socially, I'd definitely have fucked you.

"Hungry? I sure as hell am."

I nodded. "And thirsty." It was bizarre. We were having an almost normal conversation.

"So take your hands off your pussy and get cleaned up. We'll go get dinner."

I hadn't realized I'd been covering myself. Sort of a reflex I guess. I took my hands away from my crotch – Jeez! I was tender down there – and let him help me into the bathroom.

A hot shower helped a lot. He sat on the edge of the tub the whole time, watching me as I washed. After everything, it wasn't uncomfortable having him there. He talked while I washed, going silent only when I dealt with the semen in my ass – that he just watched avidly.

"The video. It's not for real is it?" I'd sort of worked out that the camera was just a prop to humiliate his victims that little bit more.

"Hell yes! Those guys pay two hundred bucks a piece for DVDs. I found them the same way Ma found you. They're a bunch of fantasists who don't have the balls to really take what they want but get off watching someone else do it. They're gonna pay for this year's vacation by jacking off watching you."

"I didn't sign up for that. All this was meant to be... private."

"So? You asked a rapist into your life. Don't expect me to be a nice person. You wanted the sex. The tape is the only really non-consentual bit of all this. Its insurance too."

"Insurance?" I was facing him now, carefully washing a sore patch where my pubes used to be.

"The rules of Rape Club apply to you too. If you mention this to anyone, that tape will find its way onto the internet and into the mailboxes of everyone who knows you, along with the recordings Ma made when you arranged this. But keep your mouth shut, don't cause me any trouble, and the only people who'll get to see you taking it up the ass will be total strangers you'll never have to look in the eye."

"I see." I wasn't happy about that, but it made sense. "Do I get a copy?"

"If you want. Sure. On the house. Are you done washing it? I'm hungry."

He left me to dry off. I heard him moving around in the bedroom, then feet on the stairs. I took a good look at myself in the mirror while I was towelling down. There were quarter sized bruises all over my titties where he'd grabbed them but those were the only obvious signs of force. The redness of my inner thighs, where he'd slapped me, had all but faded and the punch in the stomach had left no trace. I was tender like you wouldn't believe but not actually damaged. Estelle's boy had kept to the bargain.

When I came downstairs myself, he was sitting in the family room, at my computer with a soda and my address book.

"Just getting your contact list." He said without turning. He pulled a pen drive out of the USB port and pocketed it. "I've photographed your address book too."

"Insurance?" It made sense.

"I'm glad you understand. Where's good to eat around here?"

"Depends. Do you like Chilli?"

"Who doesn't?" He switched off the monitor and stood up, checking me out from top to toe. "Pretty."

"Thank you." I'd put on a frock because I didn't think I could wear jeans, or underwear, while I was so sore down there. It showed a fair bit of cleavage though so I'd had to use cover-up makeup to hide a few bruises. "There's a bar a couple of miles down the road. It does great chilli."

"C'mon then."

As we walked to his car - I'm guessing it was actually Estelle's – it occurred to me I didn't have a name for him. "What should I call you?" He actually held my door for me. It was a surprising courtesy from a – no other word for it – rapist.

"Call me Vin."

"And that's not your real name, is it?"

"You're learning. But I've been told I look a bit like that Vin Diesel guy from the movies."

"A bit, maybe." I could see a passing resemblance, now he mentioned it.

It was the weirdest date I've ever been on: even more weird than the blind date with Lizzie's hair dresser that I got talked into last year. A straight male hairdresser who dressed like a queer was nothing compared to making small talk with a man who's just broken into my house, raped me and filmed it for his friends. He talked quietly but at length about the two girls he'd raped in college, how he'd got into anal sex in prison and how he'd knocked some punk kid's teeth out:

"This kid was inside for statutory rape, meaning some bitch lied about her age, but he was too pretty for life in the joint. I punched his teeth out so we could fuck his mouth without getting bit. He lasted nearly half way through his stretch before they found him strung up in his cell." Vin didn't seem bothered that the kid had killed himself. I remembered that he was, almost by definition, not a nice person.

Over desert he asked about how I'd lost my cherry and what the fuck had happened to me to make me want to meet him. I told him everything, starting with losing my virginity on Prom night, Lizzie's rape and all the things I'd tried, just to scratch that itch.

"Still got an itch?"

"No. I guess you cured me of that." We were just leaving the parking lot.

"That's a pity." He unbuttoned his jeans with one hand and pulled out his dick. "Do you like the taste of cum?" He stroked his semi-hard-on as he drove. It helped that the car wasn't a stick shift.

"No." I never have and never will like that taste.

"And do you think you've got a choice?" His hand shot from his dick to my hair, grabbing a handful and dragging my head down into his lap.

No. I didn't think I had a choice.

I lied about being cured. After the soreness had gone, all I could think about for days was the intensity of that one orgasm. It had been worth any ten previous ones and I had several more just lying on my bed, still smelling of him, fingering myself and remembering. The DVD arrived a week later and it's my favourite bedtime viewing. I even find myself wondering who's watching it at the same time as me? Are they enjoying it as much as me? I hope so. And there's always the possibility that I'll meet Vin again. After all, he knows where I live.