Message-ID: <18245eli$9812240438@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: tmquin@ibm.net (Thomas M Quin) Subject: {ASS}SSK: Mary Anne -- Prologue Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.bondage Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <3680dfc2.348356127@news3.ibm.net> ***************************************************************** STANDARD DISCLAIMER =================== The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment and has been posted only to an appropriate group on the Internet. If it is found in any other place this is not the responsibility of the author. The author explicitly prohibits. 1) The posting of this story in an incomplete form. 2) The use of this story in a larger work without his express permission. 3) The use of this story on any CD, BBS or Website without the written permission of the author. This work is copyright TM Quin 1998. All characters in this story are fictitious, any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this story, some of which are dangerous or illegal. Quin 1998 tmquin@ibm.net ***************************************************************** Getting Even with Mary Anne by Quin ================================ Prologue: "Life and Death in McAlister County" ========================================== I don't know where I was the night Mary Anne McAlister cried rape. I haven't a clue, and that's God's honest truth. I know Sheriff Parker found me at six the next morning lying in a pool of my own puke under the Ultine Bridge -- hell, I can still feel the boot he used to wake me. Now, old Parker was one of those good ol' boys you see in movies like Deliverance, "born and raised in the county like all the Parkers going way back." He had zero time for city folk who thought they had a shot at farming and even less if the miserable bastards failed. Yeah, he'd been down on my dad right from the start, explaining how they "did things around here." Dad had been polite, he even tried to fit in with the rest of the Farmer Brown types in McAlister City. But that sort of stuff never really works, not with these people, and Parker and the rest of the locals sat back to watch Dad's dream of his own farm trickle straight down the john. Eventually we had to sell the place and move into this rathole trailer park on the edge of town. By that time I was pretty heavily into pot and some other stuff, so Parker and me were like old friends, which is why I didn't take that boot too personally. When they'd dragged me back to the McAlister City lockup I figured that he was going to do me on some stupid vagrancy rap or my old favorite, drunk and disorderly. In fact, the first I knew about Mary Anne or her accusations was while they were fingerprinting me. Parker and his boys did this whole thing where they talk about you and what's likely to happen, right in front of you, like you weren't even there. It was from this "conversation" that I worked out the story; some guy had grabbed Mary Anne on the way back from a church social, beat and raped her, and left her to walk home barefoot and half naked. It was also obvious that she'd made a positive ID -- me. She didn't say it was some guy my height or weight -- she'd said it was me, by name. When Parker and his buddies told me that, I lost it. I mean, I was too high to remember much about that night, but I knew I didn't rape her. Even drunk and stoned out of my head, I wouldn't do that. I mean, I *knew* Mary Anne. Everyone did -- it's impossible to be a McAlister in McAlister City and not be known. Mary Anne and I went to the same small high school until I'd dropped out that summer. In fact she ruled that school in the same way that her father ruled the rest of town, through fear and favor. Hell, when I first got there she and her friends even let me hang with them for awhile because they thought big city life was cool, until they realized that I didn't have a lot of money or access to a decent car. So, yeah, I knew how Mary Anne partied as well as anyone, but I still didn't understand why she'd fingered me. While I was trying to kick my brain into gear, old Parker decided to explain what happened to guys who rape in his county. That took about fifteen minutes and left me wheezing on the station floor, holding my screaming nuts in both hands. He then explained what happened to guys dumb enough to rape the first citizen's daughter and just to make sure I didn't forget he let two of his larger deputies tattoo it on my face with their fists. After they threw a bucket of water over me to wash off the blood, I was charged, my mug shot released to the press and a court hearing all worked out before they told my folks or even bothered to look for a lawyer. Around here they call that country justice. I suppose I was lucky they couldn't find a rope. Somehow Momma managed to dry Dad out long enough to come and see me. She looked even smaller and thinner than she had before, and he sort of staggered around trying not to be sick. Momma promised to find a lawyer but I knew they couldn't afford one; all of their savings were sunk into Dad's dream farm. I said I'd go with the court attorney because he was more likely to know the judges. She just smiled and said that we'd see, like she had when I asked for something pricey for Christmas. As if the world's most brilliant lawyer would stand a chance in McAlister City. Shit, F. Lee Bailey couldn't get me off of this one. After they left, I heard the two deputies discussing the best way to beat a confession out of me. Old Parker, he was a smart old coon dog. He just waited for the jitters and the withdrawal to set in. He knew all you had to do with a junkie was wait and let the addiction do its work -- soon, he'd be hurting so bad he'd admit anything to just make it stop. And of course I did. All in all the trial was as fair as you can get in a town that had already been told I was guilty. By then I'd been Upstate long enough to get my head straightened out enough to withdraw the confession, not that it did me any good. Mary Anne's testimony alone was enough to bury me. She sat in the witness box in this white summer dress with eyelet lace, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders and just the tiniest bit of makeup (nothing that tears could ruin -- she was too smart for that) making her look like a distressed angel as she sobbed her heart out about her "frightening ordeal." God, I'm only sorry the Oscar committee couldn't have seen it. When she looked up at that jury and told them how she'd pleaded with me to stop, even I would have voted guilty. At that point, I realized I was screwed. No amount of scientific evidence could win against that kind of performance, not when the people of this town had been believing whatever a McAlister told them for over a century. Of course, they may have been more skeptical if they'd hung out in the same bars in Ogden where she liked to dance topless on the pool tables, or if they'd seen her so high on coke that she couldn't even remember her own name. And around here a name like McAlister is a difficult one to forget. Looking back, I suppose I was lucky that the death penalty was not an option. Twenty years seemed almost like a slap on the wrist compared to the trial. As they led me away to the prisoner transport bus, I told myself that no matter how bad jail was, it had to be better than living and dying in McAlister. Dad died later that winter. It was unusually cold that year and he wasn't really been cut out for trailer park living. Somehow Momma managed the seventy mile trek up to the state pen to see me. She looked fragile, like a strong gust of wind would just blow her over, but I knew she'd be all right -- she'd always been the strong one. I told her to go stay with her sister in Philly, get out of McAlister and forget about me. I knew it couldn't be easy for her to live in a place like that, what with the small minds and the sharp tongues. It was probably as easy as being a convicted rapist in the state pen. She promised she'd think about it, but I knew she'd never leave. McAlister for all its shitty problems was closer to the pen than Philly. With Dad gone, I was all she had left. In some ways I had to be grateful for what happened. I could easily have drowned in my own vomit that night or on one of the other nights afterwards. Like I said, after we lost the farm I started doing drugs, mixing it up with various flavors of booze. If I'd stuck with it, there would have been an early grave in my future, that's for damn sure. Jail changed all that. Oh, don't get me wrong, jail is hell; the first few months I got beaten up on a regular basis and a few of them tried a little more. Eventually, though, the guards figured I'd had enough and stopped turning a blind eye. Strangely, old McAlister's political influence started working in my favor. The case had made enough nationwide publicity to make my constant "accidents" look bad on the prison authorities. At the end of my first year I was moved to a secure block, and it was then that my life started to turn around. To protect me from the other prisoners I spent most of the time locked down in my cell. Bored shitless, I started reading anything and everything from crime novels to technical books. After three years I got my high school equivalency diploma, then started taking correspondence courses in a variety of subjects. Physically I was better, too. The jail ran a tough regime and I ended up stronger and healthier than I think I'd ever been. Sometimes at night I would lay there and wonder what would have happened if I had died that night. One thing seemed clear -- it would have pissed Mary Anne off to be cheated of such a perfect scapegoat. Shit, I knew that it wasn't a genuine error or a case of mistaken identity. I could see it in her eyes when she pointed me out in the courtroom, that look of McAlister hate and power. I knew then that she deliberately set me up. I just didn't know why. After I'd been Upstate for six years I got my answer. You could've knocked me over with a feather when Betty Ross came to visit me. Back when I was still in with the Mary Anne crowd I'd fucked Betty a few times, but then the slut would fuck anything with a pulse. When I was sent down she'd been Mary Anne's best friend and one of the ra-ra types that yelled abuse at me from the public gallery. However, outside in the real world times had changed. It was the end of the eighties and the farming crisis had really started to hit hard. Even long-established folks like the Rosses were starting to go under, and Betty had woken up one day to discover that her popularity had been directly linked to her pocket book. Suddenly the clique she'd been in since junior high decided to freeze her out. I could tell that she was majorly pissed, and here more for her own revenge than in a sudden fit of conscience. Like I cared. The important thing was that she told me what had really happened that night. Seems Mary Anne had gone to Ogden with the usual crowd intending to get drunk and wild. Ogden is pretty much the same kind of shit hole as McAlister -- the only advantage it had for the McAlister kids was that it wasn't *their* shit hole. Stuff they did in Ogden was unlikely to make it back to Ma and Pa, provided they didn't go too far. It seems that Mary Anne's chosen beau for the evening was Bobbie Wright, nice kid, football player, strong but not that smart. Part way through the evening, Mary Anne had decided to try a range of recreational spices which included the new drug E and a lot of coke. After that, she lost it for a while, and only really understood what was happening when she felt Bobbie's pecker thrusting into her. Now, Mary Anne's Daddy was one of those old bores that ran the Moral Crusade for America. You know the type; always telling everyone else that whatever they were doing was wrong. He'd cultivated a squeaky clean image full of images of an America that probably never existed and preached moral leadership and the punishment of the wicked. More importantly, the Crusade formed an important part of his political power base. His unstained reputation was used to batter the God fearing folk of McAlister County into keeping him and his acolytes in power. He was the type who would sacrifice a wayward daughter to hang on to power without a second thought. I think Mary Anne understood this, and realized that her excesses would be overlooked as long as she wasn't a political embarrassment. As a result she made sure she left no evidence, the only drugs she used left no tracks and she had kept her virginity intact by trading blow jobs for pussy licks rather than doin' the dirty. The watchword had been plausible deniability, or it had been until Bobbie Wright took it into his head to fuck her. Now thanks to Bobbie she was no longer a virgin. She was afraid she was pregnant, and Daddy definitely wouldn't stand for a back door abortion. The liberal press were too good at digging up such scandals and old McAlister had dreams that stretched beyond McAlister County. Visions of bearing Bobbie's child -- or worse being forced to marry him -- must have gone through her mind like 200 volts through a cattle prod. Then the idea had come, a way to explain her lost virginity and leave a politically acceptable way out if the bitch needed an abortion. She'd been raped. Now all she needed was a rapist. Sitting in the visitor's hall listening to Betty's story, all I could think about was how cold and calculating Mary Anne had been. To go from stoned to deliberately ruining someone's life in less than an hour painted her as a true bitch on wheels. Through my reading I now knew what a sociopath was, and I could see that now she'd gotten away with it she was likely to get even more outrageous. Now, I admit that when Betty had first told me the real story, my first reaction had been relief. The big problem with having a hole in your life is that you can never be sure what happened. I'd always felt that I was innocent, but it was more a gut reaction than based on solid fact. So I went back to my cell feeling if anything relieved. I didn't even mind that Betty had refused to swear out a statement, since I knew it was hard going against the McAlisters. It was only later when I brooded about the injustice, all the lost years, that the cold, dark anger had started to grow. Even then I had no plans to do anything about it -- well, not for another fourteen years anyway. The years slipped by, one after the other. I got a job in the carpentry shop, started studying a whole range of subjects from computers to accounting. When the jail got computers I started designing web pages for local charities, building up good will and a good reputation. One of the charity guys even put in a good word with the ACLU, who found me a lawyer, but there was little evidence either way outside of Mary Anne's identification. We found we didn't have enough for an appeal. So I continued to work year after year and gradually my anger grew. Strangely, it was O.J. Simpson who saved me. Remember the Simpson trial? Well, it was prime time viewing back in the pen. I don't think there were any of us that didn't wonder how we could have done with a few million dollars worth of legal talent. I started reading up on the DNA fingerprint techniques used in the case and realized that there might be a way out. I knew old Parker had a nurse take some vaginal swabs from Mary Anne. Back then they had been used only for blood typing, but now there was this fingerprint technique. All I needed was some way to restart the inquiry. Then, my mother died suddenly of a heart attack. Somehow she had managed to keep a small life insurance policy running. At first I'd ignored the money -- I felt it was like I was picking over her bones if I used it. Eventually though, a couple of my supporters persuaded me to try. I had just enough to get the swabs DNA tested, and for the first time my lawyer was hopeful. At first it was unclear if the swabs, which had been in storage at the FBI crime lab for ten years, would be in good enough condition for retesting. There was an anxious wait but eventually the results came back as I'd hoped. For a while I was afraid that old McAlister would use his political clout to block an appeal, but with the ACLU on my side he wasn't going to risk it, now that he was a national figure. In fact, he'd been so vigorous in denouncing the Simpson jury for ignoring the DNA evidence that he had trapped himself. The retrial was really more of a hearing. Mary Anne, probably realizing that she might be liable for perjury charges, didn't even show up, standing by her original statement and claiming it was all too traumatic. I'm told that worked in my favor, no emotional outburst to cloud the scientific evidence. And suddenly, it was all over. They released me after 12 years with a full pardon and a payout from some justice fund. I sued the state and the City of McAlister Police Department anyway. Now that I was proved to be an innocent man all my allegations of police brutality were finally taken seriously. I hear old Parker was forced to resign, and my lawyer also said that I could sue him individually. I decided to put it on the back burner -- possible, but not right now. I spent the next few months doing chat shows and TV specials, and there was even a TV Movie, which all added money to my already substantial bank account. Of course Mary Anne never changed her story; to admit now that there was never a rape could put her in jail and kill her father's political ambitions. She announced on Oprah that she had been raped but had made "a terrible mistake" in the identification. Tearfully she had begged me to forgive her in a performance almost as good as the one she'd given in court. I of course had smiled, kissed and hugged her to the delight of the studio audience. Prison had taught me patience. I could afford to wait. Incidentally, I was told that Bobbie Wright left town that same day. It probably hadn't escaped him that the same test that had freed me could put him in jail. After all, Mary Anne had already sent one innocent man to jail to save her reputation. If I had been him, I'd have run too. That was over a year ago. Since then I've fought hard to reestablish myself, and so far I've been lucky. I don't know why, but there's something that people find attractive about someone who's won out against the odds. After I got out there seemed a lot of people who wanted to be associated with me and my success. I was able to take the little web work I'd done and build on it. I now own a small company in California specializing in corporate web design. These days I'm quite successful -- I have a house overlooking the ocean about twenty miles from L.A., and I'm able to work from home. Up until recently I 'd been too busy to think about all the loose ends in my life, but now finally I've been able to think about getting even. So I did some checking. Mary Anne had done well for herself; a political sciences degree had led to a job as a political lobbyist in Washington. I suspect that daddy's increasing national influence helped there. While I rotted in jail, she'd been having a good life with that nice apartment in Washington, that fancy little Italian sports car, and all those rich and eligible men friends. Yep, she was very comfortable, which made it just the right time to take it all away. I suppose most people would have made a beeline straight for the bitch and settled it then and there. I suppose I could have, I'd dreamed about it enough, but to be honest I was enjoying my freedom too much to want to go back to jail right now. Besides, it hadn't escaped my attention that there was a far more fitting punishment I could dish out, one that was all nice and legal. That's why I hired a detective to find Bobbie Wright, I sort of figured the guy owed me for not speaking out. I don't know why I thought I could change his mind, testifying against the McAlister clan was as dangerous now as it was then. No, that's not true -- I knew exactly what would change his mind. The DNA profile of Mary Anne's "attacker" was in an FBI data bank in Washington. Even someone as dumb as old Bobbie must have realized that it was a sword hanging over his head. I felt sure that I could convince him that the only way out was a preemptive strike, to get his version out before he was an accused rapist. Bobbie had really gone to ground. It took my detective several months to find him but he finally tracked Bobbie down to a suburb of Las Vegas where he was working in a health spa. I figured the guy might freak if I just showed up so I sent him a card asking him to call. The card sort of suggested I was looking up several old friends. I still didn't know if he knew that I knew, if you know what I mean? Anyway, I got no reply, so I decided to give him a few days before I visited in person. I want to state right now that what subsequently happened was not in the plan. My one aim in life at that point was to get the bitch convicted of perjury and serving time in jail. I kind of figured she wouldn't be in long, since her daddy's political clout would see to that. Still it didn't matter -- I wanted to see how her wonderful career would go when she got out the pen with a criminal record. Yes, I had carefully laid my plans against her when fate made its own move. Well, that part I'll tell you latter. 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