Letting Hyde Out

It really is true that you can't be too careful. Everyone learns that lesson sooner or later but usually not before they have badly misplaced their trust, especially in me. Who I am doesn't matter, I have several aliases. I'm not a hood, I offer services. It was in that capacity that I first met Denise. It was on one of those websites and chat rooms for wayward wives. Denise (her real name by the way) and I started chatting. When ladies tell me their tales of woe I become the most sympathetic set of ears on the planet. Denise was twenty two and had one kid, a mortgage, a van, and a much older husband who could not always get it up and didn't believe in Viagra. Our chats soon moved off line to telephone texts and conversations when hubby was asleep or at a deacon's meeting. My phone was an untraceable disposable and my phony accent was straight out of the Virginia foothills. .

Denise had married young to escape her religiously strict parents to a man selected by her church's pastor. He owned a fairly pedestrian personality, and was no great shakes in the looks department. Unfortunately, her marriage turned out to be nearly as confining as her childhood had been He selected her wardrobe, he controlled her socializing, she took the job he had selected for her. Denise loved her kid but was stifled on every other corner of her life. What she wanted more than anything was a good dicking by a man who wasn't her husband just to feel desired and alive again. Here's where it gets weird.

Denise was paranoid that if she were to have an affair, it would be found out and would ruin her life. For Denise to get away with any extracurricular activity, it had to appear as though she was taken against her will by some anonymous bruiser who had overpowered her and threatened her life. Anything less than that and her asshole husband and like minded church would have accused her of being a "slut" and a "fallen woman." Even if she were taken anonymously, many of those same folks would accuse of somehow having "lead him on" and "enticed" him. We are not dealing with progressive people here. In all honesty and far more sensitivity than a man of my sort is apt to feel I suggested she get in order, an attorney, a retraining order, a divorce, and a bus ticket out of town.

Denise cried. "My entire family is in that church. If I divorce Darnell, Mama and Daddy will never talk to me again. All of my friends are there and my church would use all of its money to hire lawyers and take Becky away from me." This was followed by a flow of tears and sobs. Ordinarily I would have ended things there, but Denise sent me her a head shot and eventually a description. Five foot three, stacked, alabaster skin, crimson hair, china doll face, way too pretty to have problems like this. I listened long enough for my sympathy to fade. None of her problems, even taken together, were insurmountable. Denise had allowed everyone around her to make decisions about her life to the point that now she was seeing boogie men that weren't there.

A decent human being, a gentleman, would have told her to call a woman's shelter. A truly sensitive man would have encouraged her to begin by stepping out in small ways, building her courage and independence. A friend would have helped her re-ignite the inner fire she had so long suppressed. Those are things a decent person would have done. It was Denise's misfortune to find instead a cad.

I t wasn't hard to imagine Denise naked, being compelled to do all manner of foul things. The kind of things a young Christian wife should never even know about, much less enjoy. Yes enjoy, I knew that, at heart, Denise was one twisted woman looking for an excuse to get her freak on, while still never having to remove the mask of concerned, loving, and oh so submissive, wife and mother. She DESERVED what I was going to do to her!

Our conversations became much more interesting when I volunteered to help her out with her "problem". While Denise was filling her mind with me spiriting her off to some deserted cabin for the weekend where I "forced" her to undress and service me, a tall dark stranger, before she stumbled off to the nearby town in tattered clothes and a convincing story that would inspire sympathy and a touch of admiration from her husband, family, and church. I was planning on giving her exactly what she asked for!

It helps, of course, that I am an excellent actor. In an earlier life I had even won some VERY minor parts in a handful of off-Broadway productions. I was convincing in thankless roles, somewhere in one of my scrapbooks is a one sentence mention of one of my appearances in a review by the "Post's" drama critic. I probably could have gone on to bigger and better things but I simply did not want to invest the amount of time it would have taken, nor did I like the prospect of the poverty I would have to endure before I made it to the top.

I used my acting skills to play cons on the public. I earned far more money as a blind beggar, a deaf solicitor, and a shell shocked veteran than I ever did playing minor assassins on stage. It was easy money practically thrown at me. I moved from that to doing what I was born to do, sweet talking ladies into transferring their surplus wealth into my wallet. It helps that I'm handsome, but not in a distracting way, tall and well mannered. I became "projects" for grieving, yet quite wealthy young widows. Sometimes the women were older but just as trusting. I can dazzle when I want to. Not one of those ladies ever regretted the funds they entrusted to me. There was always some reason or another, all seemingly quite legitimate, that necessitated an end to our relationship. Oh, the tear-stained letters I have inspired! All of those women left a lasting impression on my soul (IF that is the word) and an even greater one on my bottom line. Stocks and bearer bonds make the ideal parting gift. So now, I freelance, moving from relationship to relationship whenever I find them interesting. The internet opened many, many doors for me. I am a careful cad however, juggling my aliases to obscure the real me. NOBODY meets him but me! The one thing I did lack in most of my relationships was the freedom to engage in my darker side. Oh, Upper West Side trust fund babes can get mighty kinky, but at the end of the day, they know it is me and I know it is me, I've always wanted to be, in reality, the fantasy role I slid on, to be a truly ruthless as I desired; to let Mr. Hyde gallivant around town at least once. Denise would allow me that privilege. .

Denise saw me as a night on white horse. She was so sure I was a 'blessing" and a "kind and loving" man. I did nothing to dissuade her of those notions as I spun a tale of a simple country boy who had always been unlucky in love. Denise's tears when I stammered through an account of how my fiancee had been killed by a drunk driver in his semi while on the way to our engagement party, made me feel like I had won a Tony Award. Some men play the bass, others the harpsichord, I play heartstrings. In no time Denise had sent me every detail of her life from her work schedule to the route she took home. I sent her a picture and told her it was me. Because she was curious I also sent the photo of a fit torso with nice abs and mischievous little tattoo and some cock I found on the internet. It wasn't ALL lies. I'm in pretty good shape, not cut like my doppelganger but not bad. I'm also well hung but not quite like the dick I sent Denise. The face looks nothing like me aside from the fact we are about the same age and share the same eye color, but Denise had constructed such a fantasy about me and our "fated" encounter that she never asked any of the questions a normal person would. You know, if I had a conscience, I'd actually feel guilty about what I do, but guilt is for suckers!

I do have a home base but, I can relocate as needed rather easily. Blending in wherever I am is no problem. I've always been outstanding at accents, Whether I enter a room full of Arkansas good ol' boys or Harvard aesthetes, I leave with all convinced that I'm one of them. I had a magician for a roommate once, I still remember his words "People WANT to be conned. They want to see only what you want them to to see. It doesn't matter if its three card Monte or their investments on Wall Street, a deluded person is a happy person." Vince doesn't know it but he gave me the guiding philosophy of my life. My legerdemain doesn't involve any mirrors or props aside from human nature, but over the years, I've made a lot more money and had more fun than he ever did, even with his Vegas shows.

Denise was expecting me the second week of June. I planned to strike a week early. I had been in her town for a fortnight already. Everything was prepared.. I performed an unobtrusive trail run. With the same vigor I once put into memorizing dialog and blocking I replayed my angle of attack and, if necessary, escape routes over and over again. No bad guy should ever have to rely on a GPS. Like a private eye I shadowed Denise for a few days. In person she was every bit as pretty as her picture. I had to stifle a laugh at her wardrobe. Long dark skirts and high collared, voluminous blouses that did nothing to accentuate her figure. The one frustration in this venture so far had been Denise's reticence to send me any pictures of her that were in any way revealing. Despite my most sincere entreaties all Denise would say is, "I have a spectacular body, that is why Darnell makes me hide it all the time. To tell you anymore would spoil the surprise."

On seeing her in person, I realized that her face was so cute that even if her clothing concealed a water buffalo, this venture would still be worth my time. However, I doubted that there was an ounce of fat under that attire. From what Denise had told me about her husband, he was the sort of man who feared his wife's beauty rather than, like a normal husband, reveled in it. I've met sad characters like Darnell before, so insecure that if a total stranger were to ogle his wife's ass as they strode by, Darnell would conclude that the stranger had a better cock and knew how to really use it. For the rest of the day, his mind would be assailed by images of the stranger doing all sorts of things with Denise right in front of him while they both laughed. Why is it that the limpest dicks always seem to end up with the hottest women?. For a lingering second, I envisioned fulfilling Denise's cabin escapade. That would, however, needlessly complicate things, I'd have to reveal too much about myself and when the guilt hit her she would confess all and throw herself on the mercy of her church and send the cops after me. No, my plan was simpler, and in the long run, better for all concerned.

Tiny people should never drive big honking vans. I struck as she was leaving work. Because of the nature of the parking spaces in front of her office, Denise has to approach her vehicle from the passenger side and is for a few seconds completely out of view of anyone in her office building. Those few seconds would be all I would need. I was dressed as a security guard. That made me as invisible as the mailman, the cable guy, and the UPS man. Everybody saw me but nobody noticed me. As Denise rounded the front of her van she encountered me clutching a clipboard. I saw her eyes open wide and questioning, her key fob in her right hand. The needle concealed by the clipboard was in her neck before she even had a moment to react. As her legs collapsed under her I scooped her up, claimed her keys and opened the door to her van. In another few seconds, as she slumbered in the passenger seat I was directing the van on its normal route home. Who notices how many security guards there are at work? Who studies their faces? Who is aware when one disappears? Even if Denise saw more than my uniform, she would have little more than the vaguest impression of what I looked liked. Since no one had really seen me arrive, no one would see me leave. As far as anyone observing knew, Denise got in her van and headed home, which was true, in a way.

Denise's town was one of those small southern places that had not quite entirely replaced the old textile mills and affiliated businesses. This left a few abandoned factories that had not been razed as yet. Behind one of them I parked Denise's van. I obeyed all speed and traffic laws as I drove to the edge of town. In this Andy Griffith of Mayberry world, no one invested in security cameras or did more than put up a fence to discourage trespassers. Completely unnoticed, I was through the gate and behind the factory where my own vehicle waited. It was from here that I had hiked to Denise's office. The five mile hike was not difficult. Of course I had not been wearing the security guard outfit while on that hike. Wearing overalls and a hat, the locals simply assumed I was one of them. I exchanged waves and nods with those who thought I was Jim-Bob, or Kenny, or whomever. Prestidigitation is not really all that difficult.

Now, for the first time, I took a long, appreciative look at my prize. Women this beautiful are as rare as hen's teeth. Another guy would have felt sympathy for Denise and the bad hand life had dealt her. I don't let emotion get in the way. Besides, Denise was a big girl, if she hadn't learned not to talk to strangers at her age, that really wasn't my fault now was it?

I cuffed her wrists and ankles together and slid a bondage hood over her head, I admired my touch of forming her gorgeous hair into a ponytail and having it spill out of a hole in the back of the mask. She looked vaguely like a superhero, especially Bat girl from the 60's TV show. I'd always had a thing for Yvonne Craig. I added a ball gag to complete her ensemble and then toted her very light form to my own car. A blanket in the back seat hid her from view. My next destination is where I would have all of my fun, a storage facility two towns over.

My storage area was on the end. The unit next to mine was occupied by the furniture of a marine deployed overseas. No one would interrupt or overhear us. I drove right into my unit turned on the lights and dropped the door behind me. Everything was prepared for Denise's arrival. I turned on the cameras and made sure they were in the proper position..The first thing I did was remove her somewhat stylish shoes. The injection I had given her began to wear off just as I was finishing the task of restraining her on my human sized frame. True beauty is found in the details. I reveled in my master stroke, a full length mirror positioned so that the first thing Denise's eyes would take in was herself, hooded, strung up, and helpless. I donned a baklava with two small horns attached and waited for the fun to begin.

Her luminous green eyes flew open in panic. For at least a half a minute her eyes stared at her reflection without comprehension. And then the inner lights went on. She emitted muffled screams through her gag and fruitlessly flailed in her bonds. It was then that I stepped into view wielding a pair of surgical cut down shears that paramedics use. The look of horror in her eyes was priceless. I began speaking with a thick northern New Jersey accent,

"Ah, your awake bitch welcome to my world!"

Gently, I pressed the cold metal of the shears against her cheek, a tremor coursed through her body from neck to toes. I laughed evilly..

"Exposure time, Red!" I exclaimed with gusto and gathered up the hem of her skirt. With a determined slowness, I began slicing the fabric concealing her right leg. Any lingering doubt that Denise concealed a troll beneath her dowdy clothes vanished as her fantastic lower limb cam into view. I've always been a huge leg man and Denise's were just the sort to get my inner fires blazing. I smiled contentedly as my hands progressed towards her hip. Every time the metal came in contact with Denise's alabaster skin she trembled. I could hear her muffled cries behind the ball gag and her eyes issued a veritable Niagara of tears. As I snipped through the broad belt at her narrow waist, I took delight in her predicament. Underneath the slate gray skirt some really sexy and lacy red panties. Her husband Darnell was, after all, not a complete fool.

I paused from my labors and gathered up some tissues to take care of Denise's now running nose and to mop away her tears.

"A woman with eyes as beautiful as yours should not mar them crying." I stated with a tenderness I did not feel. Before giving Mr. Hyde full range again. I leaned close to her ear, nibbled the lobe and then stated malevolently,

"You can either leave here in one piece or I can mail the local cops your limbs and torso in separate boxes. The choice is yours, Red."

At this point her eyes grew larger than saucers and I felt certain that she would piss herself. Her skin broke out in sweat that gave her skin a lovely sheen. I stared intently for a moment at her crotch. No puddle of urine appeared. I began slicing up the right side of her oversize ivory hued blouse. Denise owned a flat trim tummy, I had a hard time believing she had ever given birth. In one of our exchanges she confided that she had been working out with abandon since her daughter had been born. Her husband, Darnell's claimed he wanted to try for another child, but his impotence was becoming more and more pronounced. Rather than see a doctor, he believed he could pray himself hard all the while proclaiming that since he couldn't get it up, maybe they weren't meant to have more children. Trying to be an obedient Christian wife and sublimate her own desire she had turned to the gym. Needless to say, it was a woman only gym. I wondered how any man could fail to be aroused by the body being revealed before me. He was old enough to be Denise's father, maybe he was subconsciously viewing his marriage as quasi incestuous. What ever it was afflicting her husband, I sure as hell did not suffer from the same malady.. Inside my trousers, I was so hard I could have gone pole vaulting and set Olympic records..

Presently, I sliced up the right arm exposing her well constructed yet still lacy brassier. My first view of her tits was quite arousing., Large, yet firm looking mounds of femininity.. I could practically taste them with my eyes. Denise's tears continued in their intensity as I began slicing her left sleeve. The sight of Denise's tattered blouse fluttering to the floor was quite satisfying. As the cold air of the storage unit met her skin she broke out in goosebumps. I could tell there was more than simple fear in her reaction.

I turned my attention to the right side of her tattered skirt. Practically all that was keeping it in place was my restraints. Still cutting the fabric rather than simply pulling it away had a more profound psychological impact. The slate gray remnants of the garment tumbled to the floor to join her blouse. She stood now in just her very sexy panties and matching bra. I drank in her slim form and flawless skin. Only an irregular birthmark to the left of her navel marred the perfection of her complexion. Her porcelain skin flushed red with embarrassment. I regretted that I could not see the colors dance across her cheeks and face but the hood allowed me, in case of emergency, the option of sealing off her vision and, even with the gag out, sipping closed her mouth. It also greatly increased her fear, a not insignificant factor..

Through the lace of her panties I could see the light crimson of her bush and the lacy bra revealed the shadow of her aerolas . Already I was imagining what her nipples and her secret place would taste like. I ran my hand along her rib cage. Denise reacted as though it was radioactive. I stifled a laugh. Denise was so sheltered and inexperienced , She had never been with a real man who knew how to properly please a woman. This petite little housewife had no idea what was about to hit her. Inwardly, I smiled. I felt positive that before I was finished with my little adventure, Denise would be purring like a kitten and begging for more.