Chris Rawlins was a thirty-one year old gynecologist. He was also a blackmailer and a rapist, but really that was just a technicality. After all, he'd never been arrested, much less convicted. He knew precisely what he'd done, but until and unless someone ever managed to prove it, he was as innocent as fresh fallen snow. Guilty was for those who got themselves caught.
Chris was a sociopath. He knew that, he accepted it. He enjoyed it. He lived a life without the restrictions of morals and remorse. He saw it as an advantage. There was nothing he couldn't do, no line he couldn't cross in order to survive. In order to ensure the best possible outcome for himself, in any situation. Care and respect for his fellow man? HA! He only got one life, and with all the pleasures and luxuries the world possessed, he wasn't going to waste one second of it worrying about the feelings of others. He was going to suck the world dry of every ounce of enjoyment that he could, while he could. Chris wasn't worried about an afterlife. He didn't believe in hell. But he figured if there was a hell, that was where he wanted to go anyways. He was sure it held far more interesting people. The idea of sitting around heaven all day stagnating in some sort of peaceful bliss with angels and the religious goody two-shoes was enough to make him gag.
But he wasn't stupid, not like most of the pychos cluttering prisons. He was never impulsive, and he had no intentions of being caught. After all, he intended for his life to go on for quite awhile longer yet. And he wouldn't be able to enjoy that life nearly as much in prison. That wasn't to say that he didn't do things that society considered repulsive, horrifying, and most definitely illegal. He was just very careful about it, and did an excellent job of covering his tracks.
For a monster, which Chris had no problems in seeing himself as, he'd been born extremely lucky. Not only had he grown to be very attractive, but extremely smart as well, along with a couple other fortunate attributes. By the time he was fifteen, he was already in college, and fucking cute coeds in their late teens and early twenties. He'd aimed to be a doctor from the start. Not out of any desire to help or heal people, but for the money. He'd known even then that he had no intentions of living his life as a poor man, and being able to throw those all important initials in front of your name seemed the best way to guarantee a comfortable life. Oh, he could've tried to become a corporate executive, or the next big inventor or entrepreneur, and he had enough intelligence to stand a chance at making it, but there were no guarantees there. Genius and a business degree didn't guarantee you a fortune, there was still a lot of luck involved in business. And as for trying to start an invention or business from scratch, there was even more luck involved there. Plenty of brilliant people had devoted their entire lives to trying and still failed. It all depended on the changing markets, what investors you were able to find, what connections you were lucky enough to meet and form. For every success story that made millions if not billions, there were far far more failures. No, Chris had decided to go the route that offered the best guarantee of success, even if the potential earnings weren't quite as high. And that was becoming a doctor. He hadn't decided on taking up gynecology as his specialty until much later, after he'd already entered his internship.
By the time Chris turned eighteen he'd already started to become sexually jaded. He was all the way there before he was even very far into his early twenties. He had only himself to blame though. When you were very attractive, very confident, and very very good at manipulation, it wasn't that hard to convince girls to do pretty much whatever you wanted them to. You broke down their taboos, painted over their morals, stared down at that giant line society had drawn in the dirt and stepped over it, dragging the girl after you into greater and greater depths of depravity. The more kinky and twisted the pleasures he enjoyed, the more twisted he wanted them to be, and the more utterly boring plain ordinary sex became. Chris never latched onto any particular perversion or fetish, he enjoyed them all. There were few kinks that he couldn't find himself getting into. He reveled in them all. Until he finally reached the point where it was the pure perversity that he enjoyed, the raw wickedness that turned him on. He could still have sex with random girls if he chose, could still get a hard-on and screw their brains out, and could achieve orgasm doing so, but it didn't really do anything for him. It might be pleasurable, but it was boring, a way to relieve himself and nothing more, nothing worth enjoying or remembering. It wasn't exciting, it didn't invigorate him, and rarely could he motivate himself to do it except when the pressure from lack of sex built up. No, he'd quickly discovered that as jaded as he'd become, he needed more. He needed the thrill of the forbidden and the obscene, the intoxicating pleasure of doing something the world at large considered unbelievably immoral, things that most people considered vile and sinful. It was better than any drink or drug. The sort of thing that was worth remembering, and reliving over and over again in his mind.
The problem was, rarely did you get the chance to enjoy the truly perverse pleasures. At least, to enjoy them without drawing the cops down on you. When he'd finally chosen gynecology as his specialty, he'd already had vague notions of what he wanted that position for. Of what he could do with it, if he set it up right. He already knew that he couldn't do it with any patient connected to him directly, that would just be flat out stupid. But with the proper expertise, if he passed himself off as someone else, in a different place, the sky was the limit. And oh had he been right. Over the past half a dozen years, he'd taken a few trips like the one he was on right now, enjoying anywhere from a couple to more than half a dozen women on each one, and he hadn't been caught yet. He still occasionally enjoyed perversities of other natures, but this had become his comfort zone. He'd turned it into an artform of sorts and mastered it. And while the women he'd been with normally had almost all faded from his memory, he could remember almost every woman he'd been with this way in near crystal clear detail.
He liked to choose married women, or at least those in committed relationships, it enhanced the pleasure for him. He didn't outright rape them, he hadn't committed direct forcible rape in a long time. It was too easy and also far too dangerous, much too likely to get him caught. Instead, he'd come up with a way to fuck them without them ever truly realizing it, at least the first time. A special few he brought back for more, and eventually made them completely his before leaving.
The thought brought a smile to his face as he stood in the office of another gynecologist in Indiana. Chris's own practice was in Los Angeles. For his pleasure trips though he liked to choose smaller, more out of the way places. It all started with getting dirt on the targets he'd need to blackmail. First he selected a number of likely targets across the continental US. Then he made use of a very good and very discreet group of detectives, who couldn't even be said to be an agency because they worked strictly under the table and didn't always use the most legal of methods in their investigative practices. He'd never given them his name, and they'd never asked. He had a client number, and that was all. He paid them in cash, and they were quite expensive, but they provided excellent service, and they'd never let him down yet. They dug into his targets, did all the necessary research, and if there were any skeletons in the closet, they found them. That was what he needed, other gynecologists who had something they needed kept hidden, something they couldn't afford to have released to the public, with at least one nurse who could be similarly blackmailed. At that point, targets selected, he would create a fake identity, complete with ID and degree, and then move on to the next step.
Having taken a vacation from his actual practice, he would head out to wherever his targets resided, proof of their darkest secrets in hand, and confront them. He gave them a very simple choice. Either they would go along with what he wanted, or he would reveal whatever they wanted kept hidden to the world. Not once yet had he ever been refused, but then given the kind of dirt he made sure he had before approaching his targets to begin with, there was no surprise there.
The office Chris currently stood in belonged to a Dr. Harold Crosby. Crosby had no idea who Chris truly was, he knew only the fake identity Chris had assumed for now, and that was the way Chris wanted it. More than one doctor had gone down for what Chris had done in a given place well after Chris had already departed, which is why Chris never stayed on a trip for longer than two or three weeks. Most of Chris's ... Special patients never got up the nerve to speak up, but every so often there'd be one who'd find the courage to go to the cops with a complaint months down the road after it had happened. Of course, by the time it was investigated, Chris was already long gone, with nothing whatsoever to lead back to him, not even the doctor and nurse who'd been used in his scheme.
.... There is more of this story ...