Fourteen Day Program Ch. 07

Tom thought that this might be the best moment to close out his plan, and he stood, slowly, leaving the camera to film the action. It took a few moments before everyone noticed he was standing, and the action sputtered, and slowed, and then stopped. Liz was the last one to notice, not seeing him until the thrusting stopped.

"Easy, fellas, no trouble. I just need a word with her," he said quietly, and approached Liz tentatively, trying not to make any move that would appear sudden or threatening. He squatted down at her side and put a hand on her shoulder, and looked up at Randy and Big. "Go ahead, you don't have to stop on my account. Give her what she wants," he said in an even tone, and they each made a 'what the fuck' face, and resumed pumping their cocks in her mouth and pussy. He leaned into Liz's ear. She tried to turn her head, but he pushed her back towards the cock in her mouth.

"Don't talk, just listen," he whispered, so that only she could hear. "I know this is what you want, it's who you are," he began softly. "I've suspected for a while. You know I'm making a video of this," he continued, and she groaned around the cock in her mouth. Amazing, he thought, that excites her. "But understand something, whoever you are. You used to be Liz Raines, and I loved you. You told me that you did all this for me, but I stopped believing that a while ago, and then I stopped loving you. But let me tell you what's going to happen." He pulled in close to her ear, and continued, even as the two men switched ends again. He was monetarily distracted but the sight of a wet, slimy pussy-soaked cock shoving into her mouth, deeply, making her gag, and hearing her grunt as she took it eagerly, accepting it past her mouth, into her throat. He waited until she stopped gagging to continue.

"Keep sucking and fucking these boys, give them the ride of their life," he whispered, more harshly now. "Fuck them till their dicks fall off if you want, have fun. But soon I will get up and leave. I'm going home. You can find your own way home, hell, you can fuck your way home if you want, I don't care." His voice, still low, began taking on a harsher tone as bitterness crept in. "But three things will have happened when you get there. First. Your stuff will be on the lawn. Second, your key won't work, I'll have the locks changed. And third, I'm putting this video and all my other videos on the internet so the whole world can see what a filthy, vile, cock-hungry slut you are, and I'll add a description of the Organization to every one of them." His face was heated as he finished, and he felt his voice waver. Don't cry, he commanded himself, but old habit died hard, and talking to this woman like this, this imposter who so resembled his wife, stirred old memories and feelings he couldn't disown. He felt himself trembling, and took a few deep breaths to calm himself, and continued.

"Once I loved you. I thought you loved me. Now I have no idea. But I know that I never want to see you again." He sat back on his heels, and watched as she continued sucking, and had to turn his head as Big unloaded in her mouth, and she came, orgasming right there in front of him, swallowing another man's cum as after hearing he was leaving her.

He stood and returned to his seat, looking at his feet. When he looked up, she was straddling Randy, and Tall was back at her mouth, and Blonde, hard again, was shoving his finger into her ass, preparing her for his cock. He stared, but felt nothing. He was empty.

He took a few breaths, and then stood, but no one watched as he made his way to the bedroom and packed his stuff into his suitcase and overnight bag. He left her things. He left the toys. He saw the lube, picked it up, wondered if she needed it, and heard her cry out in pain and delight. He put it back down. When he came back out she was getting fucked in all her holes, screaming around the cock in her mouth, and cumming. Tom went to the door and let himself out.

He felt nothing as he made his way to the lobby, got the car, not forgetting to tip the valet. Having your life destroyed is no reason for bad manners, he thought as he slipped behind the wheel. But by the time he reached the road, his vision was blurry, and the tears came, stinging his eyes as he headed for the highway, alone in the dark.

Once begun they flowed at will, and he cried out loud as he drove, mourning the loss of his wife, his life, his happiness, but tears of sadness and self-pity soon became tears of disillusionment and anger, as his thoughts began to turn to the source of his dismay. And as his anger grew his tears subsided, and he was soon sniffling and fighting his sobs back, and stiffening his spine. No time for that, he told himself, the clock is ticking, and the Organization has the advantage over me. He knew that if he had any hope of resolving this, of getting them back for what they had done, he would need to be both quick and in control of his emotions.

His imagination took hold; ran wild, really, and he had visions of appearing at the Organization compound, pushing his way inside. But then what? In his mental image he brandished a weapon, killed everyone, but what then? Police? Arrest? Newspapers and a jury trial? Life in prison? No, anger would not serve him well now; this was the time for thoughtful action, careful steps, and striking them where they could not defend.

His first steps would be posting the videos, adding commentary about the Organization, describing what they do, how they accomplish it. That would attract their attention to him, he knew, but it would also distract them, forcing them to focus on getting the videos taken down. He hoped it would buy him some time, because in addition to their implied resources, he knew they had one distinct advantage over him.

They knew where to find him. So he had to level that field, and fast.

He was not a techno geek, so unusual tracking electronics were not for him, not in this short time he had. In all the books and movies the victim always has someone he knows and can trust in law enforcement. He had no such connections. No cops, no brother in the FBI, not even a family lawyer. Could he go to the police? And tell them what, he thought. Oh, officer, these men, they took my wife and they made her do all sorts of evil nasty sexual things. Against her will? Well, no, she went to them, actually. And they raped her? Well, actually, no, she did those things willingly. Actually, truth be told, she liked them, and later did them with me, too. Well, Mr. Raines, just because your wife is a slut ...

No. The police would be no help. He would have to find them on his own. And that meant tracking Liz, or following her to them. She would come home to get her stuff, he knew, but then she would go to them or to Darla first, that seductive conniving bitch who had led Liz to the Organization in the first place. She pretended to be our friend, that cunt, and now his marriage was in shreds because of her. Yes, Liz would go either to Darla or directly to them, and Tom would follow. Maybe he could visit one of those spy stores, he thought, where they sell surveillance equipment. He could find one on the internet, maybe get a tracking device, hide it in Liz's things, and use it to determine their location. Just in case they spotted him, or they did one of those car switches, like when Darla brought him there. That bitch, he thought, I'll get her, too.

It wasn't a full plan, not yet, plenty of details to work on, but once he knew where to find them, he could strike at the only weak spot he could see. Maybe they weren't as all-powerful and far-reaching as they claimed, but they did have vulnerability, and he could exploit that to his advantage. They were a secret, and they wanted, above all, to STAY a secret. And if he could find them, and expose them, then their privacy and anonymity would be destroyed.

He controlled his urges at elation, and spent the rest of the drive going through his steps, trying to see the holes in his plan, adjusting, compensating, then running it back through his head. He would have to move fast, no time for mess-ups and second chances. Maybe their implied threats were a bluff, he thought, maybe they couldn't touch me once they were exposed to the light of day. Risky, he thought, better to assume they were very powerful and act quickly, remove their advantage, before re-assessing their ability to strike back. And so he went through the plan again, making small adjustments, covering his tracks. He was still reviewing it to himself as he pulled into the driveway of his darkened house.

His house, now. No longer the happy home he had shared with his wife. He sat, staring at the structure, wondering how his life would change. What would he say at work? Dumb short lies would be best. Oh, we're going through a rough patch, so we separated, you know. Yeah, I think she's staying with friends. He smiled wanly. The best lies were mostly true. She WOULD stay with friends, no doubt; Darla and that fucking Organization.

But what about his family? What would he tell his parents about his storybook marriage to such a wonderful woman? And what about his kid sister, Jillian? Jill was going through a divorce now, a really bad one. She was only twenty-five, and she was devastated, taking it really hard. Liz had stepped in for her, took her under her wing like the older sister Jill never had, cried with her, supported her, listened to her. Her divorce would be final soon, couple of months, Tom reasoned. He could fill in. He'd call her, he promised himself, as soon as this other business was settled. He heaved a sigh and dragged himself out of the car. The trip and the mental and emotional warfare had exhausted him, he realized, but he dragged his bags into the house. He couldn't afford to rest. He re-ran the plan thought his head again as he trudged up the walk, and was still thinking of his revenge when he opened the door.

As quickly as he dropped the bags hands were on him, and there was a brief struggle before he felt his mouth and nose covered, and a strong smell filled his nose, and his lungs, and his vision began to close down from the outside. In the dim light, as he slipped from consciousness he saw Darla, she was speaking.

"Sorry, Tom. You'll see. It's better this way." Her words floated to him, but he could no longer be sure she was really there, wasn't sure of anything; he felt unsteady on his feet and he fought for consciousness, but began slipping away, and his world receded into darkness. And as he slipped into the abyss her words followed him, echoing in his brain.

"It's better this way."

"It's better this way."

**

Light.

Hazy light, and shadows. Then shapes, out of focus, and then pain as he tried to focus. His head pounded, and his mouth tasted like dried roadkill. He took a breath, closed his eyes, and forced himself to breathe deeply, full, cleansing breaths, trying to calm the pounding. When he reopened his eyes, the pain was lessened, and his vision was clearer. He scrubbed them with the heel of his hands. Looked again.

He was lying on a bed, in a small room, empty but for the bed and a table with three chairs; on the table were a water pitcher and a plastic cup. There were two doors, at opposite ends, and a series of windows, high on one wall, the source of the muted light. Wood paneling halfway up the wall. A flatscreen mounted on one wall, and in the corner, a red light blinked from a box in a high corner. Not his room, but strangely familiar. He tried to remember falling asleep, and couldn't. Rolling to his side, he raised himself too quickly, and dizziness struck him, his vision clouding in from the edges. He moved more slowly, swung his legs carefully off the bed and sat up.

The far door opened, and a young man stepped in. He was casually dressed in khakis and a polo shirt that broadcast his fitness. He did not move past the doorway.

"Good, you're awake. Have some water, you're probably dehydrated."

"Where am I" he asked.

"That's not for me to say. I'll let them know you're up. That's the bathroom. There's a shower, and a change of clothes. When you're done, I'll bring some food, you need to eat."

And then it hit him, like a freight train, the paneling, the table and chairs, the closed doors. He was at the Organization. And then he remembered, driving home, his plans, a hand grabbing him, and Darla. That fucking bitch Darla. As he thought of her he felt a sharp pain in his temple, and winced. Fucking bitch, he thought, I'll kill her, and the pain intensified, and he rested his head in his hands, gasping, and calmed his breathing. Fighting the pain, he lifted his head, surveyed the room. The young man blocked the door, watching him. He glanced at the windows.

"Don't," the man said. "For starters, in your condition, you'd probably not make the windowsill. But even if you did, you wouldn't get a hundred feet before you collapsed. Drink the water, and take a shower. When you've eaten, you'll start to feel better." He stepped back, and Tom heard the door lock after it closed.

Those fucks, he thought, they were in my fucking house! He felt the pain begin again, and rubbed his temples, trying to dispel it, to no avail. How did they know? And then it came to him; Liz, of course, Liz had called them, told them his plans, the fucking slut, she ratted him out to her handlers, fuck ... and then the pain was so severe he thought he might vomit, and he held his head, and took deep breaths, calming himself again. God, he thought, that fucking hurts!

When he felt better, he struggled to his feet and made his way to the table, collapsing in the chair, weak, and poured water with a shaky hand. As he drank he assessed his situation.

Okay, he told himself, you wanted to find them, and here you are. Not the way he had planned, but here nonetheless. The water soothed his dry throat and he finished it, poured another, finished that, and then felt a sudden need to piss. He struggled to his feet and made his way to the other door, drained himself, and surveyed the room. Nothing to use as a weapon. He eyed the shower, and decided to play along, at least for now. He was powerfully hungry, he realized, and without getting his strength back he stood no chance of escape.

Standing under the hot shower, he tried to focus, but the thoughts swirled in his head, failing to coalesce. They had drugged him, he was sure, knocked him out, and kidnapped him. Now, he thought, he had something he could take to the police. All he had to do was play along and look for his chance to escape. He struggled to imagine forcing his way out the door, knocking down anyone who tried to stop him, but the headache returned, and he stood gasping for breath under the hot spray. Calm, he told himself, stay calm, stay cool, this is not the time for an angry response. Wait for it; take the chance when it presents itself.

After drying himself, and admitting that he DID feel a little better after a hot shower, he found the clothes left for him were hospital scrubs, and he put them on and stepped back into the room. A tray of food was on the table, some toast, cereal, and fruit, and despite his desired resistance, he sat and ate ravenously. As he finished, the door opened, and the young man re-entered, followed by two others. Tom looked up s the young man took the remains of his breakfast from the table, and closed the door. And then he recognized the other two men, Robert, the friendly pseudo-doctor manager, and Will, his lackey. He felt the rage build in him unbidden, and the headache returned, piercing his skull like someone was driving an ice pick into his temple. He groaned and willed himself to calm, to breathe normally. He didn't want these two see him weak and suffering. As he relaxed, the pain subsided, and he sensed the men taking a seat at the table with him.

"Well, Mr. Raines," Robert began, not waiting for Tom to lift his head. "I'm rather disappointed to see you here like this, so soon, although I am not completely surprised." Tom raised his head to look at him. Just as he remembered, Robert was good looking, confident and well groomed, and his expression was just short of an easy, welcoming smile. More confident than welcoming. Will, the first person he'd met when Darla had brought him to get Liz, sat and looked at him without expression.

"You fucks," Tom muttered, "what have you done to me?" He felt the anger begin to boil, and with it came the pain, and he dropped his head again, gasping.

"Ah, I see the treatment is working, good. You'll need to learn to control that anger, Mr. Raines."

"What ... have ... you .... done ...." Tom couldn't finish, the pain drilled into him, and his vision tunneled, and he forced himself to take deep, calming breaths, relaxing, letting the anger slip. "O-oohhh, fuck, that hurts," he managed, not caring that they heard.

"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" Robert said easily. "Take deep breaths, like you're doing, that's good. It'll pass as the anger passes, let it go. It'll do you no good anyway, and now, it will hurt you," he coached. He waited until Tom raised his head again, then seemed to scrutinize his face. "Not completely gone, yet, eh? Release the anger and hostility, you'll feel much better. The anger triggers the pain."

Tom felt beaten already, unable to react to these men, forced against his will to remain calm. "What did you do to me?" he whispered.

"Why, we drugged you, of course. We couldn't very well bring you here in the state you were in. Will went to your house with Darla after Liz called us, and knocked you out, and then they gave you something to sleep, and brought you, and your car, here."

Liz called them, he thought, of course. He'd suspected that, but not so soon. She'd betrayed him again. But he choked down the anger before allowing the pain to hit him, accepting that his once-wife had turned him in. And they had kidnapped him! Taken, drugged, held against his will. He thought again of the police. If he could get away, he could go to the cops, press charges. He had to delay, get his strength back. Play along, he told himself.

"What now?" he asked. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Why, we're going to help you." He turned to Will. "Isn't that right, Will?"

"You've made a real mess of things, Mr. Raines," Will chimed in flatly. "It's a good thing Liz called us when she did. Things could've gotten out of hand."

Tom looked at him, disbelief overwhelming him. "A mess? You fucking bastards," he yelled," you ruined my life!" He managed to get the sentence out before the pain took him, and he bent in his chair, lowering his head to his knees.

"Ruined your life?" Robert shot back, no warm, friendly tone, now. "No, Mr. Raines, YOU ruined your life. We treated your wife at her request, and helped her to give you the greatest gift anyone could give another person – complete devotion and obedience, a total devotion to fulfilling your wishes!" Tom looked up to see Robert leaning forward, yelling at him. Will tried unsuccessfully to pull him back to his seat, but Robert shrugged his hand away. "And what did you do? You wiped your ass with it!" He sat back then, the glare from his eyes dimming, but not disappearing. "You could have had the greatest life ever, but you couldn't control yourself!" He was gesturing as he spoke, something Tom had not witnessed before. "You let your libido run wild, and you let your petty jealousies and your dick control your actions, and you nearly ruined everything!"

"Easy, Robert, take it easy," Will said softly, and Robert sat back and turned his head, and stewed in silence. As the pain subsided, Tom sat back up in his chair. He and Will stared at each other uncomfortably, while Robert's words had time to sink in, and found traction in his brain, confirming an unacknowledged suspicion that suddenly made itself present, and undeniable. Christ, was he partially to blame? He flashed back on the things he'd done, the things he'd made Liz do, and he saw her transformation in a new light, a bitter and distasteful light. She had become what HE had made her!