Chapter 29: The Lottery

Michael Fairbanks was a fifty-year-old black man, and until a few months ago, he’d been living on meager incomes. That is, until one day the Mega Millions hit for him, and suddenly he had more cash than he knew what to do with. Cash. Investing it, living off a portion of what it earned in interest, Michael had a pretty good life for himself. Or so you would think.

Mike was also a pedophile, twice convicted of sexual assault in the second degree with a minor. Both times he’d gotten six years, and both times he’d been paroled in one year. Because he didn’t have any outstanding warrants, he was able to keep his winnings, unless he violated probation. So the Parole Department kept in close contact with Mike.

However, Mike also had no wife. No girlfriend either, because of his convictions. Now, free on parole and cash to spend, he’d bought a new home in the country. A new, expensive GMC pick-up truck. With all kinds of new electronics, he found himself soon enough back on the internet, searching through porn sites. He never went looking for dating sites. Those sluts? No way. Now he had the means to pursue his real dream. Fucking a girl under eighteen again.

In day-to-day life, he was well known at the local bank, where he often did business throughout the year. He’d often spoken with the branch manager, a woman who could make transfers and other services for him, like when he leased that new BMW. One day he noticed a picture on her desk. She said it was her daughter, Melissa. Melissa was 14 now, and a real handful. Mike could see why. She was young, white and sexy as hell, at least to him she was. Long, slender legs.

At home, with his new internet and computer system, he quickly found her on one of several media pages online. Some photos were from a recent pool party, pictures her mother took. Holy crap, yes! This would be his prize. If he could figure out a way to do it. The goal is to fuck that little girl without her ever knowing who. He had the money, but was he smart enough? He loved a challenge.

Mike, sitting at home alone as usual with his coffee, looked online. With his premium subscription, he was able to get highly detailed aerial photos of the bank managers’ back yard and the houses next door. A stroke of luck- their house backed to an open field, with a business of some sort on the other side. Several ways in and out. He studied them closely. He bought a black hoodie, black sweat pants, black sneakers. He approached silently at night on two occasions, checking for dogs, either in the home or the neighbors. All seemed quiet. He came back two nights later. No alarms that he could see. He tried a back door. Nothing happened. He left though. Just checking.

He stocked up on legal weed and Viagra. He’d read somewhere online that with three Viagras at once, and some Red Bull, a guy could stay hard for over two hours. Until then, he just waited. He did his usual online searches for leads on other young girls in the area.

One day, at the bank, the woman manager had mentioned a banking conference next Friday night. He thought about it; checked the media sites. Sure enough, at the Downtown Hilton, 6-9 pm. That would be the night. He assumed the woman wouldn’t be home until 9:30. He had no interest in her. She was older, heavier, not his type. The fourteen-year-old, that was a different story. He’d jerked off to her picture many times. His court conviction had been for a fourteen-year-old girl and a sixteen-year-old. The truth was, he’d raped at least five young girls between the ages of eleven and fifteen. The two he’d been caught with were the older ones.

As he left, he pretended to kneel and tie his shoe behind her car. He slipped a magnetic tracker under the rear bumper. Back at home, he worked out a time-frame, the lady manager still clueless as to his intentions. The bank closed at 5:00 pm. Home, quick dinner then on to the conference he guessed. His tracker would show her location all of the time. The bank manager would probably leave her daughter Melissa home alone during that time; it was only 3 ½ hours. If he allowed himself two hours, he could probably molest her enough. He often masturbated to that one picture of her by the pool, especially after he photoshopped it.

This time of year, it got dark out around 5pm. At 5:30, he was behind the house, across the field with binoculars and his gear. The bank manager should be home in another 15 minutes it looked like. He had his large hunting knife to scare the girl with. He had a roll of duct tape, but only if there was someone else there. He’d make young Melissa do what he wanted, of that, he was sure. He smoked the weed, put down three Viagra’s and drank his Red Bull as he thought of the different things he would do. He like kissing girls. Make them experience what a long, deep French kiss was like for the first time. Feel up her young, mostly pubescent body as he did. He liked squeezing and rubbing little girl’s asses, too. Soft, warm, right there where all the good things were. He’d use his tongue on her pussy after he kissed her maybe; get her good and wet down there. He’d be ready by then. Little girls. They’d get all scared; stop moving altogether, just breathing really fast. Then they’d get a burst of energy and fight against him. Their fights were always so pitiful compared to his size and strength. When he moved down to her slit, she’d probably move a lot again, like the others. Then he’d get to fucking her quick and get the hell out. Her cunt for sure. Her ass, too if he had time. At least one blow job he hoped. He kept thinking of her tits in that picture. Her ass. He might have to go after those first. Melissa was only 14, but she had some nice tits for a girl that young, or so it seemed. He’d find out soon enough. His dick was already getting hard as he thought about.

Soon, the mom came home, went inside. In less than ten minutes she dashed back out and left. He put on his ski mask, pulled his hoodie up and crept up close to the house. He peeked inside. No alarm system, for it was an older home. He tried the kitchen sliding glass door. It slowly, quietly slid open. He slipped inside. So far, so good. He heard the TV in the family room. He moved forward slowly. She was in a recliner, facing away from him, watching TV and eating chips. He got close behind her, maybe two feet. He stood up, stepped closer. Melissa suddenly looked up, saw him and her eyes went wide. She leapt from the chair crying out, but he was already on her, grabbing her arm. Mike yanked her back, then slammed his fist into her stomach. She groaned, bent over, grabbing herself, chips flying everywhere. He paused, then punched her once again, in the side of her head, still holding her arm. He hit her hard. That would totally disorient her.

She grunted, went down to her knees, one arm on the ground. He moved very quick. Mike shoved her over onto her back, then quickly straddled her mid-section. He took his knife from the holder on his side, showed it to her, moved it slowly to her face, putting the edge against her cheek.

“You do what ah says, maybe I won’t cut you up, bitch. I tells you to do somethin’, you does it, you hear me, little girl?!”

Melissa was terrified, her eyes still wide, all teary now. Her stomach hurt, she was struggling, but when he put the blade against her face, she stopped. She slowly nodded. He told her again to do what he said, then he’d leave and it would all seem like just a dream. He seemed like an older man. Sounded like a black man. Right now, she thought it was a nightmare. This man was on top of her, in her own living room, holding this huge knife to her face. Melissa didn’t know what was happening, why it was happening, or what was going to happen next.

Melissa watched the black man grab her top, pull it up some, then he put that big knife to it and cut it like it was tissue. Right up the front, all the way. She pushed her head over to one side to keep from getting cut too. He somehow cut her sleeves without cutting her shoulders, then he yanked the shirt from her. She had on her white bra, the new one. She tried to cover her breasts with her hands, but he just grabbed her bra, cutting it with the knife too. He yanked at it, cut it again, then pulled it from her. She kept her hands away from that flailing blade. Everything was happening so fast! OK, he wanted to see her naked. Maybe even, no, no he couldn’t. The man slid down onto her knees. He grabbed her shorts, roughly undid them and then pulled them, along with her panties, down and right off her legs, even as she kicked trying to stop it. The man got back on top of her, leaned in close, putting the knife to her neck. He was breathing heavily, smelled like pot and cigars. He growled at her with some sick sense of humor, “You gonna get an education, darlin’.”