Chapter 7: Dealing With Trouble

Saturday, I hung out with Grace. She wanted to hang out with Julia. Talk about awkward. I wouldn’t say Julia was the love of my life, but in my first life, she was the closest I came to asking a girl to marry me. I showed up to her place one day and told her we should go for a walk because there was something we needed to talk about. She said, “What a coincidence. There is something big I need to talk to you about.” I told her that she should go first because my thing would likely put a dampener on what she wanted to talk about. Again, with the, “What a coincidence” bullshit.

She went first, and gave me the ‘let’s be friends’ speech followed with ‘I need some space.’ She was the first person to make me feel loved on any level. I could tell that she didn’t want to break up with me but was getting a lot of pressure from her friends and family. Her parents didn’t think I made enough money, even though they liked me more than any other guy she brought home. And, her friends never gave me a chance. I didn’t run in their social circle, and they wanted her to date one of their friends. They didn’t care that he was a known woman beater.

To get her back, all I needed to do was tell her what I came here to talk about. I couldn’t do it. Julia was willing to shatter my heart to appease her friends. There was no way I could give my heart to that.

It was the story of my life. I was only allowed to have enough enjoyment, so there could be a bigger tear in my heart the following days. I still loved her and didn’t blame her friends. They didn’t know me at all. I suppose they were partly to blame. I asked her to invite them to a few things, so they could get to know me. Their answer was always no. They were too young and dumb to realize they had just taken her from the most loving relationship she would ever find, to doom her to a life of abusive relationships and a husband that didn’t know how to be faithful.

I have been in this timeline for less than a month, and I have already been through many extremely emotional circumstances. I am getting sick of it.

Grace and I go over to Julia’s place. It’s hard to see her. It’s before she gets pregnant with her rape baby. That is two years from now. We started dating when her son was learning to crawl.

I am curled up on the couch with Grace, Julia’s best friend. As much as I want to hold Grace, I want to hold Julia even more. I remember the last time I saw Julia; her son was in university, and she was crying because she caught her husband cheating again.

I loved her son, like life itself. I spent so much time with him that his first word was an attempt to say my name. Boy was Julia pissed when she heard it. Unfortunately, by the time he learnt to talk, I was out of the picture, and he hardly knew who I was. When he graduated, he didn’t know me at all. I don’t know if his stepdad ever cared for him. Even if he did, there is no way he would have cared for him the way I did.

I am too late to save Julia from her first rape. This time around, I am going to make that kid pay, and while I am at it, I am going to deal with her baby daddy before he rapes her. On the way home, I steal two bowie knives for the straps on the sheath. I also steal a hockey ball and buy some rope. In bed waiting for everybody to go to sleep, I make the hockey ball into a ball gag, using the sheath straps. It is a bit large for a gag, but I wouldn’t mind breaking their teeth to stick it in their mouths.

Once everybody is asleep, I take a ski mask from a foster brother and a jacket from another. I place my supplies in the backpack of yet another. That night, the first stop is for Julia’s baby daddy. He is a year younger than me and rapes her when he is 15. She will be the first of his victims. He leaves a few rape babies around town. He destroyed a lot of girls before they get to be women. I don’t care how young he is; he knows better and is as responsible as any adult.

With all the snow on the ground, wearing a ski mask isn’t out of place, and it hides my age. With the frost around the eyes, there is no way to see my skin colour. I wear the thinnest gloves I can find. I don’t mind the cold and don’t want to lose the fine motor skills and sense of touch like would happen if I wore bigger gloves. This body is conditioned to the cold, so it doesn’t matter how small the gloves are.

I tap on his bedroom window. It is a ground floor bedroom, so his capture is easy. When he opens the window and sticks his head out, I pull him through the window. He is smaller and weaker than me. It is easy to force the ball gag into his mouth. He doesn’t make much noise. At least it isn’t enough to cause his parents to investigate. I hogtie him, then carry him to the back alley. Since it is night, it is close to -15 C, and he is in his pyjamas. I rip his pants down and carefully spread his nut sack on the ground. I hold it there with one hand and heel strike it with the other. One blow after another until I am sure his balls are liquified. A farmer can tell you that there are many ways to remove an animal’s nuts. Each method has a different effect on the animal’s psyche. After the surgery that he will receive to repair the damage I do, Baby Daddy Rapist will be pacified. He will never raise a hand to anybody again.

After I finish liquefying his balls, I carry him to the back door. I undo the rope and the ball gag. He is only quietly moaning at this point. When I have my supplies back in my bag, I ring the doorbell and run. Once I am safely hidden in the back alley, I watch his parents come out to see their kid, crying in the fetal position. I don’t want to kill him. I only want to be sure he never has the chance to destroy all the women he was destined to rape.

The second rapist is older, bigger and stronger than me. Even in my first life, I could beat him in a fair fight. I had way more experience fighting. If he were finished with his indiscretions, I would leave him alone. He isn’t done raping Julia. He will do it a few more times. Unlike the first rapist, there are also a few other women in my life that he goes after. This bastard never stops. He keeps raping helpless women for as long as he is capable. His family are religious nut jobs that stand behind him, claiming he is a good person, even after he is thrown in jail as a rapist. Others had protected him and hid his crimes. It sickens me to know who they all are.

This kid is a couple years older than me and is going to be difficult. It starts the same way, me throwing him out his window. There is no way to get the ball in his mouth. I am forced to calf rope him before I could get it in. Unfortunately, he is making noise. I have no choice but to carry him out to the alley before gagging him. By the time I do, there are lights on in all the surrounding houses. Thankfully, his parents aren’t smart enough to check his bedroom.

I drag him down the alley to the next block before I crushed his balls. I don’t want to risk getting caught. I untied him in the alley and removed the gag, then drop him in the middle of the backyard and throw an ice ball into his Dad’s bedroom. I feel a lot better about de-nutting this kid. He is already a rapist and was going to be for the rest of his life.

The gloves are my only clothing with blood on them, so I burn them before I get home. There is no way to connect me to these crimes, and there is no need for me to feel stress over Julia anymore.

Sunday, Grace notices my mind is preoccupied. When I tell her that it is in the past and all I needed is to cuddle and be reminded that somebody cares, she is happy just to cuddle and pretend to watch TV. The next day at school, everybody is consoling Julia. She looks guilty, but people mistake it for depression. Her cousin is the second rapist I took care of. When I see her in the morning, I give her a hug and whisper in her ear. “There is no need to feel guilty for feeling glad. He deserves it and will never hurt another girl as long as he lives.”

She gives me a weak smile but looks confused. She has no way of knowing that she was the one that first told me about him. Seeing her with that weight off her shoulders made the violence worth it. I always taught my martial arts students, “The best-fought fight is the fight never fought.” Unfortunately, some people only understand violence, and so the second thing I teach is, “It is better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war.”

When I pull away from our embrace, Grace puts her arm around my shoulder. She asks, “What did you tell Julia?”

“Only what she needed to hear.”

Grace accepts that it is between Julia and me. I am antsy all day, as today is the first attempt at capturing Mr. Peachwood on tape. I am worried. I don’t know why. If the girls are discovered, nothing will happen to them. He will likely reduce the amount he abuses the girls in hopes of escaping another video attempt. If they succeed, it will only be a matter of time before he goes to jail. Either way, it is an improvement.

I get home, and Rachel is waiting for me. She sees me from the window and comes running out of the house without putting a jacket on. She picks me up and gives me a big hug, proclaiming, “WE DID IT.”

When she puts me down, I calm her down. We are not done yet, and we can’t let anybody interfere. We race downstairs, and she shows me that they have three videos. That is three of Mr. Peachwood’s four classes. In every class, there are multiple instances where girls are removing his hands from their chest or ass. After all the times the school district or the police have covered for him, he has become brazen. The videos are perfect. Rachel and I spend the entire evening making copies of the videos.

When it is bedtime, our foster father comes downstairs to tell us to go to bed. Seeing the pile of videos lying around, he asks, “What is this? What have you two been up to all evening? You aren’t pirating movies, are you?”

I reply, “You know we are the two most trustworthy foster children you have. Please just let it go and trust us.”

Now he is intrigued and will not let it go. He stops the machines from recording and plays a video. It is apparent; the recording is of a gym class in the Sr. High School. Only a few minutes need to play before it clearly shows Mr. Peachwood sticking his hand where it doesn’t belong.

Our foster dad complains, “You shouldn’t have these. You should have told us right away, and we would have taken them to the police,”

Rachel appears to be overreacting as she blows up at him and starts crying. I try to intercede, “The police were already informed, and they refused to do anything about it. They can’t be trusted to do the right thing. We have a plan. We didn’t break any laws, and we aren’t going to. Our way will force the police and the school district to do the right thing. Please trust us.”

“You are in the foster system because you can’t be trusted to do the right thing.”

I’m aghast and say, “Wow, really, asshole. You are telling me that my parents being abusive and hers dying in an accident are our faults. One more crack like that and I will be taking you down too, you fucking prick.”

He swats me across the face, then takes all the videos off the floor and from the machines. It appears our plans are ruined as he heads up to call the police.

Two days later, the police have done nothing. I come home from school, and Rachel is crying on the couch downstairs. I sit down beside her, and she hugs me, burying her face in my shoulder, crying, “We failed”

I lift her chin with my finger and smile while looking into her eyes. “Oh, ye of little faith ... Look under the couch.” She scurries off me and kneels, placing her head on the ground, looking under the couch. Three VHS tapes are sitting there. Faster than she dove off my lap, she has jumped back on me and hugs me as tight as she can and kisses me on the cheek.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,”

I laugh for a minute. “As soon as you can, take them to a friend that’s not in the foster system and get them to record the tapes for us. Be careful. These are the last copies. Do you still have the cassette tape I gave you?”

“Yes, but I thought it was useless.”

“Did you rewind it to the beginning?”

“No, it isn’t the tape of your call to the police, is it?”

“No, it is a tape of a police officer questioning me without a guardian present trying to bully me into giving him the recording you just mentioned.”

Her eyes bug out, “Really, is there something that damming on the other recording?”

“No, it is just the police refusing to answer an assault and child abuse complaint. The police trying to strong-arm the recording from me implies their guilt in hiding things for the school district.”

Rachel’s mood drastically changed since I came downstairs. She is now giddy with excitement. She picks up the downstairs phone and calls a friend. Before she leaves, I tell her, “Keep a copy of everything hidden in case there is a problem. Be sure to get 16 copies of the VHS tapes and the cassette. I will go to Grace’s tonight, get 16 copies of the phone call tape and write a letter to go with the packages. Don’t forget the letter explaining everything. I want the packages mailed before the truck picks the mail up Friday morning. I want them out of town before the weekend. Then it is only a matter of time.”

Grace and I have the easy job. I skip supper and go to her place. She shares what little she has to eat. We copy our tape, and I write the letter. She is so excited when we are done. She doesn’t wait for us to get to her room or even on the couch. We are on the floor in front of the stove when her mom comes home. Grace is riding me, cowgirl. She doesn’t even slow down when she sees her mom. It is like this is an everyday experience for them. Grace simply says, “Hi mom,” then ignores her.

Her Mom takes off to change, then comes back and steps over us to get at the fridge, “Will you two be done soon. I wouldn’t mind using the stove to cook some supper.”

Grace gives her mom an evil smile, “Sorry, Mom. I have no clue what it takes to get Trent soft. I have made him cum multiple times without losing a single stroke. He has only given me one load today, so we will be a while.

I reach up and pull her down for a kiss. I hug her to me with my dick in her, and our lips locked. I roll over, and then stand up. Her legs are wrapped around my waist as we fuck, standing up. We continue to rut as I walk us over to the couch. She is giggling the entire time. I fall on the sofa, and we are back to her riding me cowgirl. Her mother is laughing at us, saying, “Looks like there is strength in this boy too. You are going to make your momma jealous.”

I don’t let Grace reply. I pull her down for a kiss. I like the feel of her cunt reverberating as she laughs. I tell her, “If you want to talk to your mother while we fuck, you should do something to keep me distracted, like turn around so that gorgeous ass of yours mesmerizes me.” That had the reaction I was hoping for as she can’t stop giggling. I am getting close, so I reach up and maul one of her tits with one hand and reach for her cunny to tease her clit with the other.

She is getting close, and I buck her off. She lands on my stomach, moaning in complaint. I throw Grace to the floor, with her ass in the air. Then I roll off the couch behind her. I ram my cock in hard and fast. I am bent over, pinching her nipple. I do not give her the hard pounding she desires. I leave her frustrated. I do push back a little to help her fuck herself on my cock. To excite her, I twist her nipple and slap the side of her ass, over and over. The harder I hit her, the more she begs for it.

I can tell when it hurts her, not just from her scream, but by how hard her cunt grips my cock. I see her hand is between her legs playing with her clit. I bite her ear, then demand, “Cum bitch.” That sets her over the edge. I cannot hold back with the onslaught of her cunt pulsing in orgasm over my cock. I do not just let it go. I lift myself up and grab her hips, so I can pound her as hard as she likes. I keep pounding through her orgasm, adding the odd smack. Her ass is looking a little angry, as red as it is.

I look over, and her mom’s eyes are glazed over watching us. She wants what her daughter is getting. Mom is biting her lip, has one hand up her skirt and the other between the buttons in her shirt. So much for making supper.

I was so in the zone; I didn’t notice how much and how loud Grace was screaming. Her orgasm starts to lose its intensity, so I reach down and pinch her clit, starting it up again. With her cunt milking my cock, I am getting close to cumming again.

I’m guessing the mom likes it as rough as her daughter. I wonder if she is into humiliation. I figure, I will not be around much longer, I might as well give it a try. “If you are going to play with yourself while watching me fuck your daughter, you will get your old ass over here and strip bitch.”

That sent a shiver down her spine. She slowly walks over but keeps her hand up her skirt the entire time. When she gets close, I spank her ass. “I said, strip bitch.” She looks at her daughter, nervously. “I didn’t ask, now strip or fuck off.” What gets me is that all her neighbours can hear what is going on.

Grace starts to come down from her orgasm again. Only this time, she complains, “Stop, I can’t take any more. It hurts, please stop.”

I ask her. “If you are done, does that mean I can face fuck mommy here to finish up?”

Grace screams out, “Yes, rape her, please.”

Who am I to deny a woman? I pull out of Grace’s cunt, and she falls over just as her mother finishes getting undressed.

I reach up and grab her mom’s tit. Twisting the nipple and pulling it down until she is on her knees. She may be screaming in pain, but she is also shaking in orgasm. She loves being controlled, humiliated and hurt. When she is on her knees, I stand up, and she attacks my dick with her mouth. I place my hands on the back of her head, pushing her down farther each stroke. Soon she is gagging, and I complain, “Do you mean to tell me your little daughter is a better cocksucker?”

Her mom pulls off me to answer, “I usually get her to do it.”

Now I am pissed. I’m not going to let Faith, Grace’s mom, get away with it. I reach down and stick two fingers in her cunt to lift her. I do not realize she has a cream pie until my fingers are inside her. Oh well, too late now. I lead her to the dinner table and lay her on top of it, face up. I am not gentle about it either.

Once she is on the table, I walk around to her head, then grab her tits and pull until her head hangs off the table. It opens up a perfect path to throat fuck her. That is just what I do. I shove my cock down her throat as hard and fast as I can. She has no choice but accept it. I only fuck her throat for a few seconds, then I stop and coach her as my dick is as deep in her throat as it can be. “OK, bitch, you can breathe with it in there. You need to breathe through your nose. Either learn to breathe or pass out the choice is yours.”

To distract her, I start pinching all over her tits. I’m sure to get the sensitive underside. It is almost a full minute before she learns to time her swallowing the buildup of spit and breath. I pull out for a few seconds so that she can regain her breath. It is only 10 or 15 seconds before I am throat fucking her again and yelling at her to breathe. She is starting to turn pale before she figures it out. I only continue for a good 30 seconds after she learnt to breathe before I pull out and let her catch her breath. I do that one more time.

This time when I pull out, I grab her hair and drag her over to the door. I force her to her knees with her back to the door, explaining, “The table is cheating. It opens your throat, making it easier for you to deep throat. It gave you practice, and I taught you to breathe. It is time for the hard part. You forced your daughter to learn how to deep throat, now you will do it to me. Fail, and I brutally fuck your face for a minute, then I will give you 20 seconds to prove you can do it. If not, you get another minute of face fucking, and so on. Now get to work.”

She seriously tries, but stops, with my head at the back of her throat, gagging her. After 20 seconds, I push her head against the door and lean forward. I continue to push my hips forward until my pelvic bone is resting against her head. She is crying, but when I pull out, she doesn’t complain. This time, when she starts to struggle, I slap her across the face and tell her, “When you struggle, swallow hard. It will open you up and suck my cock into your throat. Once it is in, it is just a matter of remembering how to breathe.”

I don’t wait for her to get ready; I start fucking her face again. We go through all this three more times before Grace is standing next to me. She guides my head to give me a passionate kiss. When Grace lets me go, she has the evilest smile I have ever seen. She tells me, “Punish the bitch. She makes me do anything she will not do.”

I laugh, “Well, she is learning to deep throat. You will have to teach her technique, though. Given the cream coming out of that old wrinkly cunt of hers, she is too dirty for a good fucking. You will have to make the bitch buy some condoms. I’m double bagging it when we train her ass.”

This thrills Grace to no end. “I love you.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t know she loves domination, pain and humiliation. At first, I thought she just liked it rough, like you. By the time I leave town, you will own her, and your troubles will be over. It will be my going away present for you.”

It took some doing, but by the time I left that night, she knew how to deep throat like the best of them. Grace didn’t know how to breathe while deep throating. She was like most people and was under the mistaken belief that you couldn’t breathe around a cock. Even she learnt something that night. I fucked her youthful cunt one last time before I left for home.

Tuesday at school, I feel a lot better than usual. It is nice to know the world is going to hear about all the bullshit that happens here. The thing that surprises me is when I see Abi talking with a bunch of the so-called losers. I don’t mean to stare, but she catches me watching and smiles my way.

Lunch is the first time I am able to sit down and talk to Grace about what we did with her mother. She figures out I want to talk to her in private when I take her down a hall to one of the more secluded classrooms at lunch.

We sit down and start our usual conversation about nothing. Then I do something typical of me. I blurt out what is on my mind, “I was hoping you weren’t freaked out by what I did to your mother.”

She laughed a little harder than I felt was appropriate, “Are you kidding me. The bitch deserved it. I love my Mom. When it comes to sex or her boyfriends, she is a real asshole.”

“I gathered that when she told me, she makes you do everything she doesn’t care for.”

“When did she say that?”

“You were still passed out in front of the couch. It pissed me off to hear her say that. I already knew she liked it rough, and until then, I was trying to give her what she wanted. After she said that, I didn’t care about what she wanted anymore, and she seemed to like it even more.”

“Ya, she can get a bit wild. The only guys that push her as hard as she likes end up taking what they want from me too.”

“I figured that. I admire how you have not let it affect your daily life. If it were me, I would have killed her by now.”

“She is my Mom, and I love her. I could never hurt her like that. I may have hated it the first few times, but you learn to like it.”

“So, you didn’t always like it rough?”

“Hell no. Growing up, I had the typical princess fantasy most girls have.”

“What changed?”

“Mom had a series of short-term boyfriends. One night, Mom brings her latest home from the bar. She passed out before he could have his fun. You know what our place is like. I could hear everything. He ended up in my room and forced himself on me. That was the last we ever saw of him. Mom found me crying in my bed the next morning and starts screaming at me, calling me a whore and a cheap slut. She accused me of stealing her boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I was a naive little girl. Since then, I have had a lot of fun. Besides, you reap the benefits every time we fool around.”

“I don’t have much to compare to, but you sure do seem to know what you are doing.”

“Like every skill, it comes with practice.”

“So that is how you lost it. How and when did your Mom start using you to service her boyfriends?”

“A couple months later she starts getting serious with this guy. One day he comes over while she was at work and demanded I take care of him. A week later, Mom comes home early and catches him fucking me while I’m bent over the couch. She just stood there and watched. When he was finished, Mom grabbed me by the hair and sat down on a chair at the dining table. She forced me across her lap and gave me the spanking of a lifetime. When she was finished, she told me if I was going to fuck her men, then I was going to do all the things for them that she didn’t like. She then forced me to clean his cock and balls with my mouth. He got hard while I was doing it, so they insisted I give my first blowjob.”

“That couldn’t have been enjoyable.”

“My life was a living hell until I decided to learn to like it.”

“I assume she has gotten you to do some fucked up shit.”

“About all she hasn’t gotten me to do is multiple guys.”

“You do know it is only a matter of time? One day her boyfriend will have friends over, and you will be passed around.”

“I know.”

“Come with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“To Victoria.”

“And just how am I supposed to do that?”

“It is one of the good things about living in a province with fucked-up child protection laws. If you come by your own free will, there is nothing anybody can do to force you to come back.”

“Can’t Mom just report that I am a runaway?”

“If you are a runaway living on the street, you will be brought home. From the age of 14, if you are living in a safe environment and desire to remain where you are, there is nothing your Mom can do about it.”

I don’t know if you remember me saying how, in my first life, my sister was a child prostitute. The police refused to take my sister out of the brothel because my parents couldn’t prove that it was a brothel, and she desired to live there. My parents’ lawyer even told them to forget about her because there was nothing that could be done. Right up until she died, the stupid whore kept trying to convince everybody that she was only the babysitter for the other whores. Then again, whenever asked, she would not deny that she had sex there. I think she was just so dumb she whored herself out, and somebody else kept the money without her knowing.

In Grace’s situation, these same laws could protect her.

Grace says, “What about Mom? I’m all she has left?”

“A Mother’s job is to protect the child. What your Mother has done is pimped you out. She isn’t a fit Mother. I hate to break it to you, but just because you love her doesn’t mean she loves you.”

“That is a mean thing to say.”

“Look around. Any other mother would rather die than let the things happen that she forced on you.”

That wasn’t the right thing to say. Grace blew up at me, and we had our first fight. She refused to talk to me until Monday. It sure did hurt. It was the first time anybody ever cared about me, and she was punishing me away because I wanted to look out for her.

Before Monday, I try to speak with her a few times, but she just gives me the silent treatment. By Monday, I am mad at her.

That morning, before school, she finds me wandering around the halls. She stops in front of me, blocking my way and says, “I hate being mad at you. Can we forget what happened?”

I understand she is just a little girl, and I shouldn’t expect much, but I tell her how I feel anyway, “There was no reason to get mad at me. I get she is your Mom, and you don’t want me to talk shit about her. All you had to do was tell me that. We would have agreed to disagree and ended it there. Everything would have been cool. What you did was punish me because I care about you. We both know I have problems with abandonment, and by treating me like that, you really hurt me. You made things worse. Right now, half of me wants to slap you across the face and leave your tormenting behind. The other half wants to forget it and hold you, so I can get in whatever love I can before we are split up forever.”

Sure, there is a lot of groping and what not in our relationship, but it isn’t all about sex. We really do care for each other. We could talk about nothing all day long. In doing so, we get to know each other exceptionally well. She knew just what to say, “Compromise, slap me with your left hand and hug me with your right.”

It broke the scowl on my face, and I almost laughed. Being a smart-ass, I corrected her, “You realize logic dictates you need a smack so I would slap you with the right and hug with the left? Doing things your way would just confuse me.”