SWEET ADELINE

[ropedley]

SWEET ADELINE: Getting More Than You Paid For​

I COULDN'T BELIEVE WHAT I WAS DOING as I pulled up in front of her old two story brick row house and parked on the street.. I met her when she was tending bar at an anniversary party at the clubhouse in the 55+ community where I lived, alone now. I flirted and she flirted back and we made each other laugh. Toward the end of the evening she let me know she was a “working girl,” available for a reasonable fee, and, if I could pay for a taxi or give her a ride home. For the price of an hour she spent the night; a very satisfying one for both of us, mostly vanilla with hints of kink. I took her to breakfast and home in the morning. Her name was Adeline. Addy for short.

I thought she was exceptionally pretty with a charming smile and a warped sense of humor like mine. She was twenty-seven, five foot- six on an athletic, almost skinny body, dark brown hair to just above her shoulders and hazel eyes. I had been following her ads for a few weeks. She offered mild to severe bdsm in her repertoire of services. We had talked about that the night she stayed with me and she said it was her favorite thing to do. Ever since and reading that over and over, I had been having an attack of the S/M hornies which I thought were long gone. I finally got up the courage to call her and ask for a date.

"Hello?"

"Addy. This is Calvin. From the anniversary party?”

After a moment she replied. “Oh yes. I remember you.” Silence again.

“I wonder if we could get together this afternoon for a couple hours or so." I was going to say for a little mild bdsm but she spoke up before I did.

"Uhhh, I don't know," she replied hesitantly, "I'm not feeling too warm and fuzzy about guys right now. As a matter of fact," her voice strengthened, "I'm kind of angry with men in general. So it might not be a good idea."

"Wow," I said. "What happened?" I heard a deep sigh.

"Well... about two weeks ago one of my clients stole my cell phone and I just went through the hassle of getting a new number. Then last night a guy booked a two hour session and didn't show up after I'd turned one of my short-time regulars down. Then this morning I had a date and the guy paid me with counterfeit money. I didn't realize it until after he was long gone. So I really feel like hurting somebody to get even. So this isn't a good time."

Perfect! My heart started beating faster and my face flushed. "I'm sorry that happened to you, but I’d really like to see you. We had a good time at my place and I’ve been thinking about you ever since. We don't really know each other and I didn't have anything to do with any of it. But I think you're kind of cute and I'd like to be with you for a little while." There was silence. Her voice was harsh when she finally spoke.

"I remember you said you knew something about bdsm. I just told you, I'm pissed off. I want to hurt a man as much as those three bastards hurt me. So if you want to see me that bad... you'll be that man. That's my condition. No lovey-dovey shit. A real bdsm session. Think it over and call me back." She hung up.

I thought it over for several minutes. I had played some real serious S/M games in years past. I thought over some of the scenarios I'd gone through with both men and women and groups. Most of it was very exciting. Some of it was downright dangerous…and exciting. I laughed to myself. How bad could a session with her be? And it’s what I’ve started craving again. I called her back.

“Yeah?” she said flatly.

“How ‘bout I book for two hours?”

“Two hours?” She was quiet for a long moment, then, “I’m gonna hurt you, man!” The last sounded like a statement and a question.

“Yeah. I know.” There was another stretch of silence.

“Ooo- kay. I’m up for two hours. Looking forward to it. But I don’t know if you will be. So let me tell you now, it’s the money up front. If you wanna quit early … no refunds.”

“Fair enough.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Thennn … Come on over.”

“I’m on the way.”

She answered my knock on her door and then stood aside to let me enter. She closed the door and locked it. We faced each other. She was wearing simple street clothes; baggy tan cargo pants, black knit cotton T-shirt and tan boat shoes. Her hair was in a short ponytail held by a rubber band.

I smiled, she didn't. She led the way farther in, through a living room, a dining room, a generous kitchen and into a large add-on. Through the back door window I could see a shortened back yard with still enough room for a single car parking pad. The house was nicely furnished and surprisingly clean considering her profession.

The add-on was superbly crafted in heavy post and beam construction filled in with real maple paneling and simple cherry molding. The floor was wide oak strips. I was very taken with it. A window covered with closed venetian blinds was in the middle of each sidewall flanked by double doored closets on one side and on the other side of the room a pub table and two high arm chairs near the kitchen, a made up three-quarter bed with two pillows under the window and a small room holding a lavatory at the back end.

“I’ve never seen anything like this in a row house. Unbelievable,” I said, “and fantastic workmanship.”

“It was built a long time ago for my great-grandmother when she couldn’t go upstairs anymore.”

I nodded and kept looking around. There was a small reclining chair on a round woven rug that could be slid around without damaging the floors. Then there was an elongated saw horse with eye screws at several locations on the legs. It was padded with a black leather covering. A round barstool was the last odd piece of furniture.

She went over to the table and I followed her. On the table was an array of ropes and hooks, clothespins and C-clamps; a gallon jug of water; a pants hanger, the kind that squeezes the cuffs together and lets the slacks hang straight; and a long, wide, old, brown belt with the buckle cut off. She watched me staring at the things. I almost laughed. This was the same stuff I started with as a teenager.

"Sure you want to do this?" she asked.

I felt my face redden and nodded, yes. She held out her hand. I gave her the money we'd agreed on. She counted it and checked to make sure it was real, then went into the dining room. When she came back she shook her head and threw out her hands gesturing like she was disappointed.

"Well?" she said tilting her head a little.

"What?" I asked.

"I can't do anything to you like that. Take your frigging clothes off! Get naked!"

 

[ropedley]

SWEET ADELINE: Getting More Than What Was Paid For
Continued:

I hurriedly undressed and when I was nude she came over and walked around me examining my body with looks and light touches. I work at staying in shape and except for a little gravity paunch still look good for my age. She pinched my nipples and I flinched. She took my cock in her hand and squeezed it... gently ... hard... then harder. She circled my scrotum with thumb and forefinger and tugged on my balls. I knew then my genitals were going to be the focus of her attention since she was annoyed with men, and I began trembling in fear and anticipation. What is she going to do to me? How far is she going to go? Am I crazy to let her take her revenge out on me?

It was like she could read my mind. She saw me shaking and there was just a hint of a smile. She gently cupped my cock and balls in her hands and softly massaged.

"A little nervous?" I nodded.

"A little scared?" I nodded again. It was true.

"No need to worry so much. I'm just going to hurt ‘em. I'm not going to take ‘em off."

She took my cock and upper scrotum in the circle of her thumb and forefinger. She turned her head a little and stood quietly for a long moment looking over my shoulder. I could see a faraway look in her eyes. Then she turned back and looked deep into my eyes. She almost whispered. "Or at least I think I'm not taking them off today."

She was good. I didn’t know if this was a mind fuck or for real. I flushed and shook with strong groin flutters and even whimpered. But uncontrollably, my penis started to stiffen. She sighed and tightened her grip and continued to stare into my eyes while her breathing increased. She shook her head several times and blinked her eyes a couple of times. She saw what she perceived as the frightened look on my face.

She laughed. "Come on. I'll give you a drink and a cigarette. Calm you down a little before I start working on you."

I moved over to the table where she was mixing the drinks and watched for a moment. She stopped, then tossed me a cloth cord.

"While we're waiting. Wrap this around your scrotum and then around each nut so they're separated. You’ve done that before?” I nodded, yes. “And make sure it's damn tight. I don't want you getting comfortable."

I did as I was told. She inspected my work and seemed pleased that my testicles were turning red. She handed me my drink and a cigarette and smiling said, "You know if I leave that on you too long your nuts will die." I gulped.

We sat sipping rum and coke and smoking cigarettes. She had kicked off her shoes, barefoot … real nice feet… but otherwise remained fully dressed. At first I shook so bad with excitement I had to hold my glass with both hands. We asked each other questions and were cautious with our answers but eventually became comfortable with one another. Too comfortable, and she let me know it. She got up and moved to the table.

"Time to start. Finish your drink and cigarette and come over here."

I did as I was told. There were four pieces of rope with a loop tied in the middle on the table. She tied a rope to each of my wrists and ankles, joined my wrists together behind my back with a double ended hook then moved me to where she secured me for a whipping facing the edge of an open door with a rope over the middle hinge going through the crack of the door and tied tight around my waist.

She took the belt, doubled it and began strapping my back and my ass and the backs of my legs with stinging blows. The noise of the belt snapping as it slapped my flesh was as unnerving as the pain. When I began struggling for breath she stopped. We rested for a moment then she turned me around, retied the rope and threw a couple dozen more stinging strokes onto my chest, belly, and genitals until I was again exhausted. Then satisfied, she untied my balls which had turned purple, and released me for a rest with a cigarette and another light drink.

When she was ready she secured me to the door again with my back against the edge, my arms back on each side hooked to a short rope that had a loop on each end that hung from middle hinge through the crack. My ankles were tied to a detached broom handle as a spreader bar. She picked up the clothespins and began applying them all around my body; nipple, scrotum, naval, foreskin, underarms, inner thighs, laughing each time I flinched or squirmed or cried out when she applied them or took them off. I was thankful when she got tired of playing clothespins.

She gave me a sip of the drink I hadn't finished. She picked up the pants hanger and opened it. She held it up for me to see, then clamped it closed. She reopened it.

"Know where this is going to go?" There was only one obvious place. I nodded, yes, grimaced in anticipation and whimpered.

"Scared little puppy? You sound like a little puppy when you do that. My poor little abused pet. Tsk, tsk."

She pushed my foreskin back, positioned the wood behind the head of my cock and clamped the device shut. I gasped at the pain in my crushed penis. But that was nothing, for what she did next had me screaming.

She squeezed the two ends together further tightening the grip and gave the whole thing a complete twist to the right. I gasped. She gave another slow full twist. I grunted.

"Think I'm going to see if I can twist this little thing all the way off," she said with an evil grin and twisted my cock in a corkscrew for a third time.

"Ah! Uhh! Ahh! Ahhhh! " I screamed.



“Stop screaming or I’ll gag you!” she ordered, “I’m not finished.”



"Please! No!" I begged. She ignored me and began the fourth twist. She got it about three quarters around.


"Poor little pain pet," she cooed. "That didn't work out did it?" I raised my eyebrows questioning. "I mean it's still there," she said, gesturing to my still trapped penis. "Maybe if I turn it to the left.


I was red-faced, making guttural noises struggling for breath. She stopped and slowly untwisted back to the starting position. She left me panting and got my drink and held it for me to take a few sips. She put the drink down. She ran her hands gently over my body, rubbed my exposed cock head with her tongue-wetted forefinger, then stroked my cheek and kissed me.

She put a folded handkerchief in my mouth, told me to bite down and began twisting again. My muted screams were only squeals through the gag and got louder and louder as she made it to four full turns and I was begging her to stop by shaking my head and crying “No” through the gag. She tried to go for five but saw I had stopped screaming and protesting, spit out the gag and just stared at her, like I had gone somewhere else. So she stopped and slowly untwisted again. Then she took the clamp off. I came back and got control of my breathing.

She let me rest for a bit. She released my left hand. The big knot in the loop wouldn’t let the restraining rope slip through the door crack so my right hand remained restrained. She lit a cigarette for me and mixed me another drink and set it next to me on the barstool. I sipped and smoked while she worked at the table with her back to me. She turned around and watched me. When I was near finishing the cigarette she took it and resecured my hand. Then she picked up the cloth cord and began w rapping my sack tightly just above my balls trapping them in the bottom. She tied a knot on the underside leaving two tails which she fastened into a loop. She went to the table and returned with a full gallon jug of water and a double-ended snap hook.

 

[ropedley]

SWEET ADELINE: Getting More Than What Was Paid For
continued:

She had already tied a piece of cord in a loop through the handle of the jug. My balls had turned red and looked like a ripe tomato. I knew what she was going to do to me now... or thought I did... as she hooked the two loops together. She slowly lowered the jug letting the 8.3 pounds of water stretch my balls away from my body. I groaned with the pain. But she wasn't done.

She pushed my foreskin back and put the hanger back behind my cockhead and clamped it shut. I cried out in pain. But she still wasn't done. She put clothespins back on my nipples and I begged her to take them off. Instead she made me open my mouth and stick out my tongue and clamped clothespins there to keep me from talking. All I could do to protest the pain she was inflicting was whimper, and cry, and groan.

She slid the recliner around facing me and halfway across the room. Then she lit a cigarette and sat down to watch me suffer. She seemed delighted with herself because after a moment she slipped her hand inside her clothes and began fingering herself. It lasted a long time. I don't know how long, but she finally got up and quickly stripped off her clothes. She was red-faced and breathing heavy when she came over to me and took the pain-givers off and released me. She pulled me with her to a recliner chair and after pushing me to my knees sat down, spread her legs and pulled my face into her pussy.

She was wet and her clit was very swollen so I did my best to give her what she wanted. I licked, and sucked, and licked some more. I gently nibbled her labia and her clit and reached up to tweak her nipples and massage her breasts. It was her turn to moan and breathe heavy and I hit the right spot... with the right action of my lips and tongue... and she let me know it with, "Yes. Yess!"... and... "YESSS!"... as her body stiffened in orgasm. I continued until she pushed my head away.

I let her relax and catch her breath. She told me I had done well and she had enjoyed it. I put my mouth back down on her cunt. "Mmmmm. Mmmmm. Nice. Okay that's enough." She started to move but I grabbed her wrists and held her in place as I continued to lick and suck. She wriggled and squirmed trying to get away... but not too hard.

"No, Calvin, stop... it's too much... don't, dammit... you're going to make me cum again."

She stopped struggling and slid a little lower giving my mouth easier access to her pussy and I slurped it up. And her body tensed and then went rigid.

"Aww. Aww no. I'm cumming. Ahhhhh! Ahh... nnnnnnnn.... mmmmm."

She slumped when it was over and I let her wrists go. I sat on the floor at her feet, pleased with myself. She sat with her eyes closed, breathing heavily for a few moments and then slowly back to normal and the flush left her face. I watched her, pleased with myself. Then she opened her eyes and looked into mine.

"You just made a big mistake," she said as she got up. I thought the pain part of the session was over, but pulling me to my feet by my arm she took me back across the room, pushed a pub chair against the corner of the table and fastened me to it. The bonds, securing me again. This time tighter with my groin thrust forward. She tied the chair to the table leg for stability.

I was frightened by the quickness of her action. "What are you going to do?" I asked tremulously. She shook a cigarette out of the pack and came close.

"I'm going to light this cigarette and burn you with it." I whimpered again and shook my head, no. "Oh yes." She took the unlit cigarette and touched me. "Here and here," she said, dabbing my breast and nipples. "And here," with dabs around my navel. "And here, and here, and here," touching my belly and inner thighs. "And then here, and here," touching my balls. Then she pushed back the foreskin, "And ending up here," she said, putting the cigarette to the exposed head of my cock several times. “And I’ll put it out here.” She opened my pee-hole with her thumb and forefinger and ground the tip of the cigarette into it.

I felt light-headed and breathless, and my stomach started fluttering. "Please. Don't. I won't be able to stand that."

"You're going to have to. You're really helpless this time. Just like me when you made me cum the second time."

"But I did that for your pleasure,"

"Oh Calvin. This will be for my pleasure, too."

I knew I'd need some help to endure that. So I begged, "Please, can I have another drink before you start?"

"A little liquid courage?" she smiled. I nodded.

"Sure. I'll give you another drink."

She picked up my glass and went into the lavatory. When she came back I could see the glass was half filled with her pee. She poured a heavy draught of rum into it and stirred it with her finger, smiling, then licking her finger. "A nice urine cocktail," she said holding the glass to my lips.

I turned my head away. "You’re gonna drink it. It's the only thing you're going to get." She turned my head back with a strong grip on my jaw. Then squeezing my cheeks against my teeth forced my mouth open. I took the drink in several gulps, grimacing as she poured the warm, bitter liquid into my mouth with an evil grin on her face the whole time.

She put the empty glass on the table. She shook a second cigarette out of the pack and held it between her free fingers as she lit the first cigarette, turned around and took two puffs to get a glowing coal. We locked eyes and she slowly approached holding the cigarette near her mouth so we wouldn't break the gaze. The second cigarette was frighteningly perched between her ring and little finger where I could obviously see it. With a mind of its own my flaccid penis turned into a raging hard-on. She smirked.

When she was next to me she let me have a draw on the cigarette. A pause and a deep second draw. She ran her free hand over my chest and belly then down to my cock and balls with caressing touch that had me throbbing. “Feeling the cocktail?” she asked. I nodded. She nodded, then let me have another pull of smoke. Then she took draw. "From my lips to your body," she said, and lowered the glowing tip to touch my flesh.

I flinched, and twisted, and bucked against the ropes crying out and pleading as she touched me everywhere she said she would, both of us hitting the cigarette to keep it hot. She lit the second cigarette off the butt of the first. And when that was near gone she went and got another and maybe even another. I hadn't been overly loud, even when she put the ember to my shaft and my balls several times. But I got louder when she started touching it to my skinned back cockhead and the inside of my foreskin. I couldn't tell how many times she did that because the drink and the endorphins and the dopamine dulled the pain I still felt. But the neighbors could probably hear my screams when true to her word she opened the tip of my cock and put the last cigarette out against in and against the hole.

I think she came again during this ordeal for we were both exhausted when it was over. She released me for a rest with my own cigarette and a very light drink, mostly coke. She praised me for doing so well through the whole thing.

When I was done she laughed and said she was going to reward me. I didn’t know how she thought she was going to do that. My cock was totally soft. She tied me down again in her recliner in a position where she could put the big C-clamps on my feet. She tightened them until they were uncomfortable. Then she started playing with my cock, pleasuring it with her hands and her mouth. I began to respond when she said, “I love the taste of your burnt flesh.”

She tightened the clamps until they were painful. Then she worked harder and faster on my cock. I started moaning with the mixture of pain and pleasure again. She tightened the clamps a little more, then gave all her attention to my cock. It was all so good I tried to hold back but the mixture of sensation took me away, and over the edge, and she brought me to a mind-blowing orgasm.

She got dressed then helped me clean up and get dressed. She put her arms around me, laughed as she gave me a deep kiss and said, "Sincerely? I really enjoyed this date. Coming back?"

I said nothing. My body hurt and the burns really stung now, but as I was leaving I turned and said over my shoulder, "If you ever get pissed-off at men again? …. Give me a call.” I had found another soulmate.

 

[ropedley]

LOSING SWEET ADELINE: Sequel to SWEET ADELINE.
Paying for play - It might not always be just you and her.​

I had been seeing Sweet Adeline, a “professional” young lady, for S/M sessions for a little over two years. I had “taught her the ropes,” so to speak, and was quite satisfied. Plus she only lived two miles from home. I helped her turn the unusual open basement of the house she inherited from her grandmother into a professional dungeon. I bought a lot of toys for her to use on me with permission to use on her other clients. She got really good at what she did, God bless her. And then she just up and disappeared… gone… with all of my toys.

What follows starts two and a half months after our last date and except for some paraphrasing and editing of the recording it is all true. It sounds like something out of a crime novel… but it ain’t:
* * * * *
I answered the ring of the doorbell and looking through the peeper saw a man and woman dressed in business attire. “Yes?” I inquired through the door. The man held a badge and ID card up.
“Calvin Gauderon?”
“Yes.”
“May we come in? We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”


I had no reason to be involved with the police for any reason I could think of offhand. But…? I had my cellphone in my hand. I set it on audio record and put it on the bookshelf behind a swivel chair.

I opened the door, nodded and stepped aside, closed the door and directed them to the sofa. After they sat I sat in the swivel chair and swung to face them. They introduced themselves as Sheriff’s Detectives. I smiled and said nothing. I guess they expected me to open the ball and after a few moments the silence grew awkward. Finally the male detective spoke.

“Do you know Adeline Barrow?”

“I do.” Silence. Awkward.

Male: “And… umm… what is your relationship with Ms. Barrow?”

“Want to tell me what this is about?”

Male, gruffly: “Just answer the question, please.”

“Is this an interrogation or an interview?”

Male: “Which do you think it needs to be, Mr. Gauderon?”

“Let’s start off with an interview. But I want to record it. You each have a witness. I don’t.”

Male thinks it over: “There’s really no reason for that, Mr. Gauderon. We just want to ask you a few questions regarding Ms. Barrow.”

“Dump the hostility and I’ll answer… until you start pointing a finger at me for something, then I’ll shut up and lawyer up.”

Male: “Fair enough. Your relationship?”

“Okay. We’re friends with benefits.”

Female detective: “You’re a little old for that kind of relationship with her aren’t you?”

“She thought I was cute and funny. I made her laugh a lot. Sort of like Trump and Melania. Melania said that about Donald in an interview some time back.”

The female blushed and shifted position. The male gave just a hint of a smile and continued.

Male: “How did you meet her?”

“She was a bartender at a social gathering.”

Male: “Really? And where was this social gathering?”

“Here. In the Community Hall. She came with the caterers.”

Male: “And what was the occasion?”

“Ohhh. That was a couple of years ago. I don’t remember.”

Female: “A very young woman finds you attractive enough to start a relationship. I would think the event would be very memorable for you.”

“No disrespect, Detective, you’re what, twenty-seven, twenty-eight? When you get to be my age, and I hope you make it, one day’s memories blends into the next or the one before. Or even the year before. There are two or three social events a month here. This is a 55+ community. Most people know each other. There are birthdays, weddings, becoming grands and great grands, ice cream socials, golden oldies dances and on and on. Even wakes when one of us dies. And sometimes someone just throws a party because they feel like it.”

Female: “Was there money exchanged when you shared the benefits with her?”

“Whoa! That would be illegal wouldn’t it? Shouldn’t you be reading me my rights?”

Female: “Are you aware Mr. Gauderon, that Ms. B arrow was a prostitute and that giving false information to a police officer is a serious criminal offense.”

“Wow! “

Male: “When was the last time you saw Ms. Barrow?”

“Roughly? Three months ago. I have the exact date on my computer. Might be even longer than that.”

Female: “Do you usually go that long between dates with her?”

“No. But she started ghosting me after the last date. And no, I don’t know why. Her phone went out of service and my emails went undeliverable. So why don’t we quit fucking around and get to the point of your visit?”

Female: “Where did you meet when you dated?”

Sigh. “If not at a bar or a restaurant, then at her place.”

Female: “And the sex acts were always at her place?

“I never said anything about sex.”

Female: “Friends with benefits implies…”

Male detective cuts her off: “So you’re saying you haven’t talked to her since your last date a couple of months ago?”

“No. I didn’t say that. And if you’re trying to trip me up into saying something that’ll give you probable cause to consider me a suspect in her death, then you’re wasting your time and mine. And… the party’s over unless you tell me why you’re here and what you think you’ll get from me.”

Male: “What makes you think something happened to Ms. Barrow?”

“This ain’t my first rodeo, boys and girls, I was six years in C.I.C. in the Army, most of in Germany, way back when the Russians and the East Germans didn’t like us. I did background checks and minor fraud investigations for the Federal government for thirty years. And… I had a little criminal law practice up until ten years ago. Your lady partner said Adeline ‘was a prostitute.’ That implies she either entered the convent like Dolores Hart…”

Female: “Who? Who entered a convent?”

“Dolores Hart. ‘Where the Boys Are’? A pretty famous actress back in the early sixties. Made a couple of movies with Elvis”

Female: A perplexed look and a shrug.

“Anyhow. Either that, or she OD, or somebody killed her. If she OD I didn’t sell her the drugs. I tried to get her to go into rehab and told her I’d help financially. And I certainly didn’t have a reason to kill her. Thought the world of that little baby girl. We had a lot of fun together. If she went into a convent you wouldn’t be here. So she’s dead. I assume you tracked me through her phone or her computer. And I assume you subpoenaed my phone records.”

Male nods affirmatively: “Computer. Emails.” He raised his eyebrows, smiled a little and nodded his head. I assumed he found them steamy.

Then Female chimes back in: “Time for you to be a little more straightforward, Mr. Gauderon. Did your dates with Ms. Barrow, paid for or not, have a bondage aspect to them?”

I thought for a long moment, then, what the hell they already knew from the emails. She’s asking all the questions about sex in the city, sooo: “They did. But it was more than bondage. It was hardcore S/M. She was the mistress and I was her slave. And we never switched. I’ve been a pain freak since I was eleven years old. And my wife … pretty much the same. We belonged to S/M clubs and had sessions with likeminded singles and couples our whole married life. I assume you found the whips and toys at Addy’s. They’ll have my blood type and DNA all over them. Want me to describe in detail what we did?”
Male: “That won’t be necessary.”

Red faced, but persistent Female, who didn’t listen closely: “You and your wife are both into bondage? Does your wife know about Ms. Barrow?”

“I think so.”

Persistent Female: “And does she approve?”

“I’m sure she does.”

Female: “And where is your wife now, Mr. Gauderon?”

Male Detective, who had been listening and whose eyes had been scanning the room the whole time, gave that very slight hint of a smile again.

I swung around in the swivel chair and pointed to the bookcase they’d been facing.
“She’s up there in that cherrywood box. Probably laughing her ass off at what’s going on down here . Now tell me about Addy or the interview is Ooo-ver.” Female Detective never asked another question.

Male: “She was murdered. Two weeks ago. Late Saturday night or early Sunday morning. Her roommate found her when she came home from an all night date.” Male tilts head and raises eyebrows inquiringly.

“Aw FUCK! No, no, no.”

Male: “Something you want to tell us, Mr. Gauderon?”

“You’ve got the phone records.” Male nods. Tears and sniffles, mine. “Let me get myself together a little bit here. Then I’ll tell you what happened.” Eye wiping, nose blowing and a big sigh. “I didn’t know she had a roommate.”

The Detectives looked at each other with expectant expressions. Maybe they were going to hear a confession?

Another big sigh, then: “Addy called me on Saturday, two weeks ago. I didn’t recognize the number so I let it go to voice mail….?”

Male: “What time was that?”

Shrug. “Early evening? What does the records show?”

Male opens a folder: “Five forty-eight p.m.”

“I didn’t think it was that early. Anyway, I got a text message a few minutes later asking me to call her. I called. She wanted me to lend her sixteen hundred dollars. I asked what for and she said she couldn’t tell me but she really needed it. She said she’d make it up to me any way I wanted. There was pleading in her voice.
“I told her I’d just made a $500 ATM withdraw and couldn’t do another until Sunday. Then I told her I could have the whole $1600 Monday morning as soon as the bank opened and I would lend it to her, but with payment on demand terms. I never paid her for sex. I loaned her money when I saw her. I have a notarized promissory note for repayment when she wins the lottery.”

Male nods: “So that’s what this is all about?” He pulls a photocopy of her copy of the note from the folder. It bore the dates and amount of the loans, usually $400, and my initials each time.

“I have the corresponding note with her initials in the other room. Probably comes to something more than $8,000.”

Male: “Eight thousand eight hundred actually. Did you lend her the $1600 she asked for?”

“When I told her I couldn’t get it until Monday morning, she said she really needed it that night and just hung up. I figured she was going to try another soft touch client.”

Male: “And that was the end of it until tonight?”

“No. She texted me around 10:00 p.m. and said she was going to call which she did and it was still another number. She said was ‘in real serious trouble’ and was there any way I could get the money before Monday. It sounded like she was crying. I told her I’d try. She said, ‘Please, please, I’m desperate.’ I figured she owed her drug dealer the money. I offered to come pick her up and let her stay here with me until I went to the bank. I told her she’d be safe here with the armed gate guards and I’d go with her to pay whoever she owed.”

Male: “What made you think she owed her drug dealer that kind of money?”

“Ohhh … I guess four or five dates before the last she called me and asked if I ‘could come out and play.’ I asked if she had the S/M hornies and would the visit be free. She said she did have the hornies for a session, but she still needed the $400. I got to her place around 12:30. It wasn’t a rushed session, but it was all business; no joking, no teasing, no affectionate words or gestures. Thorough but mechanical. She chain smoked cigarettes the whole time.
“It had ended just before 3:00. She sat in a chair smoking a cigarette watching me dress. Her leg was shaking up and down. I figured she needed a fix. She couldn’t hold any longer. While I was putting on my shoes and socks she made a phone call. She identified herself as Adeline then said, ‘I’ve got your 300 and enough for a dollar bag.’ There was a pause and then she said, ‘He’s leaving now.’ We hugged and kissed at the door and she thanked me for coming over.”

Male: “She said, ‘I’ve got your 300 and enough for a dollar bag.’ You’re quoting her?”

“That’s a quote. Yes.”

Male: “She ever mention who she got the drugs from?”
“Of course not. I made a couple of phone calls but nobody had any ready cash, but one guy said I could make a loan on my credit card but would probably have to go to several different ATM’s. I called the credit card company and got the protocol and borrowed the whole $1600. It took half the night. I woke up early and at 7:00 a.m. I was knocking on her door. Got no answer, though. That’s what got me upset. I was standing on her front step with the money and she was in there dead.”

 

[ropedley]

Whomsoever moved my story only moved half of it! Duh??​

Half of the story "Losing Sweet Adeline" got lost when somebody moved it. Way t' go!

 

[Madiosi]

Whomsoever moved my story only moved half of it! Duh??​

Half of the story "Losing Sweet Adeline" got lost when somebody moved it. Way t' go!

Hi ropedley, I suggest to writing your story at the end and start after finishing a sequel in the same thread. That will hold the thread on top in the "News-List" for a long time and new members will finding easier the older parts of the story.
I could hidden the start chapter of the Sequel, when you want.

 

[ropedley]

Hi ropedley, I suggest to writing your story at the end and start after finishing a sequel in the same thread. That will hold the thread on top in the "News-List" for a long time and new members will finding easier the older parts of the story.
I could hidden the start chapter of the Sequel, when you want.

The whole sequel was already written and posted and being read for two or three days and then SOMEONE ... not me... Moved It !!! And lost half
of what was already posted. Can you find it and fix it???

 

[Madiosi]

The whole sequel was already written and posted and being read for two or three days and then SOMEONE ... not me... Moved It !!! And lost half
of what was already posted. Can you find it and fix it???

I've deleted nothing. Only move the postings in this thread.

 

[Madiosi]

I controlled your list of postings. No one is deleted. Maybe the 20.000 characters-issue?

 

[Madiosi]

I suggest for future, to write stories with a texteditor and save it on a HDD or Flash-drive.
Maybe you use a PortableApp (Notepad++) on this portable hdd or Flash-Drive.
https://portableapps.com/apps/development/notepadpp_portable

 

[ropedley]

Thank you again for your advice. Unfortunately, I have no idea what the technology you refer to is.
I do my writing on a Montgomery Wards manual typewriter with Elite typeface. I then scan the paper manuscript on a really neat all-purpose printer that my great-granddaughters got me for my last birthday. It has a send feature with a plug-in keyboard. It has saved me a lot of money in paper, postage, and typewriter ribbons all of which have gotten very expensive.


(tongue in cheek)

 

[ropedley]

I'll go through my paper files...if I haven't burned them yet... and  try to repost, repeat, repost, the rest of the story. Which, by the way, is very, very true and meant as a little warning.

 

[ropedley]

LOSING SWEET ADELINE: or as Paul Harvey used to say, "And here's the rest of the story."



The Detectives gave each other a puzzled look. Male: “Where was this?”

“At her house. Collingswood. In the southwest part of the city. About two miles down the road. She lives in a townhouse there.” I gave them the address.

He shook his head, no: “She died in a trailer on a single lot in the east county. The roommate’s a tranny. Nice looking though. He or she owns the trailer and the lot.”

“I don’t know anything about a trailer or the roommate. How was she killed?”

Male pulled an 8x10 glossy colored photo from the file and handed to me. Something right out of Dolcett. I almost lost my dinner. Adeline was naked, tied to a wooden captain’s chair. Her hands were facing palms up with her wrists tied to the armrest and ropes secured her upper arms to the chairback. She was pulled forward, so her sex was on the seat edge. Her feet were tied to the back chair legs and her legs were spread with her knees tied to the front chair legs to keep them open. The needle was deep in her right arm attached to an empty syringe. Her head was tilted back, the left eye swollen shut, the right wide open. There was a stream of bloody mucus running from her nose to her open lips mixing there with a white froth. Semen was on the corner of her mouth, her chin and her chest.

She was badly beaten before she was tied to the chair as blue-black bruises were everywhere. An ice pick had been jammed all the way into her left buttock. If that had hit the sciatic nerve she had to be in real agony. Cigarette burns were all over her body, legs, arms, face and vaginal lips. Her hands had been used as ashtrays and held several butts and a cigarette had been put out inside her vagina.

Whoever had put the needle in her arm sat on a footstool right in front of her and did the fixings on a TV tray while she watched and probably begged for her life.

There were three sets of fingerprints around the execution scene. Two had no match. The third set belonged to a known thug, but they were all over the house. He said he saw Adeline professionally and had an alibi for that night. DNA samples similarly turned up no matches in the databases. And a thorough search found no phones. Using the callback numbers on my phone showed she was using throwaways. And yes, I turned off the audio record beforehand.

After I had looked at the crime scene pictures, I said, “I’ve got some interesting pictures on my computer you might like seeing. So, one of you go into the other room first, I’ll follow and the other follow me. That way everybody’s nerves should stay calm.”
I turned on my computer and showed a series of pictures of a silver Mercedes 4 door, with the license plate, pulling up in front of Adeline’s townhouse. One man got out of the driver’s seat and went up to the front door and went inside. Another man got out of the passenger door and a third got out of the rear passenger side. The latter two stayed beside the car and looked up and down the street. I have no idea why I went around the block and parked up the street and waited to take the pictures.

Ten minutes later the first man came out of her house. The three of them got back into the car and drove off. The date/time stamp was for the day she made the phone call when I was getting dressed. I used my still active lawyer’s account at the DMV to identify the driver and owner as Deshawn Desmond. I also got a copy of his driver’s license. That cost me $14.50.

I made the Detectives a flash drive copy. They used it to bring in Desmond and the passenger, William “Billy Blue Eyes” Redd. The third man from the rear seat was the thug with the alibi, Marcus “Soldier” Welby. But there was no M.D. behind his name, nor any service record, though he told stories of heroic fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan.

The Male Detective and I established a rapport after I went to the Sheriff’s Department Headquarters and gave a recorded statement of the previous night’s interview. I also sat with he, some Narcs and a profiler and answered more questions about Adeline. What they brought out is that what I had unconsciously observed from my years ago training and experience I knew more about her than I ever realized. And it proved helpful.

Fingerprints and DNA matched some evidence found at the scene. Desmond and the passenger had no prior arrests and were bailed out at $250,000 each on a murder charge based on the circumstantial evidence. Desmond had a bachelor’s degree in business. He had incorporated a consulting firm right out of college and Redd, who had a sociology degree, was his only employee. Both were squeaky clean, paid taxes on modest incomes and belonged to different churches. Neither were on local, State, or DEA narcotics radar.

The Detectives kept digging for dirt on Soldier, but his alibi was holding …. Until… he threatened to cut up and kill the tranny. He left her with a little knife wound on the inner thigh that required two stitches to close.

She had been sent to the back bedroom and told to close the door by Desmond when he and the others came to the trailer in the week before Adeline’s death and demanded the $1600. She had not told the police and Soldier was sent to advise her to keep things that way. Terrified, she told the detectives she heard everything and went into hiding deep into the gay community that can be very protective of its own. Soldier was charged with witness tampering and also got out on bail.

Things went along quietly until discovery. The defense balked at accepting the photos I’d given to the prosecution and wanted to examine my camera. I gave it up for evidence and laughed in doing so. It had been my “lawyering” camera, a 12mp Nikon Coolpix. When I stopped my practice, I stored the memory chips away and put in a new 32Gb that now carries about 3,000 pictures of flora and fauna and landscapes, one horrific auto accident, and Desmond and the boys. That’s it.

I was notified that the defense now knew who I was and where I lived, and I was under no obligation to talk to defense lawyers or their investigators. I already knew this was coming and had started carrying a 9 shot J.C. Higgins Sentinel, a .22 LR. 3” barreled revolver loaded with hollow points. It was a product of my C.I.C. days and was supposed to be thrown away after certain missions. None of the backups ever did and most brought them home. And no, I never shot anybody. I didn’t want any ejected casings laying around if I had to do a questionable self-defense. My 9mm SCCY became the home defense weapon. And yes, I had a concealed carry permit.

I also cleaned, oiled and loaded my short barreled 12-gauge hammerless side by side. It was a product of Germany and Belgium stamped Merkle Belgium 1893. It will chamber a 3” round, though I’ve never fired one through it. In the U.S. it would be called a coach gun, the supposedly favored weapon of the stagecoach security person riding “shotgun.” In Germany and Belgium, it was called a “wolf gun” or a “shepherd’s gun” and in Italy/Sicily the “lupara” the favored gun of Mafioso bodyguards. Most of the Mafia guns were from Belgium or sawed-off Italian guns. The Belgian guns’ nineteen- and three-quarter inch barrels converged at 60 meters, a little more than 50 yards. If I went out to the countryside or at night, I carried this wrapped in a beach towel behind the front seats loaded with #4 buckshot in one barrel and a pumpkin ball in the other.

It was a nerve racking four months waiting for the trial after discovery. With my pictures and the tranny’s testimony the case had tightened considerably. I was followed a couple of times, but they weren’t very good at it, and I ditched them. The Detectives showed up one day and told me Desmond’s lawyer had talked to the DEA and the Feds might take over the case but not to relax.
Then it was all over. Desmond, Billy Blue Eyes and Soldier were found in the Mercedes under a huge bridge. They and the car were shot to pieces. Theory was the lawyer told Desmond's supplier he was going to try to make a deal with the Feds.

So … It’s not always about you and the “professional” date you’re seeing.

 

[Madiosi]

Thank you again for your advice. Unfortunately, I have no idea what the technology you refer to is.
I do my writing on a Montgomery Wards manual typewriter with Elite typeface. I then scan the paper manuscript on a really neat all-purpose printer that my great-granddaughters got me for my last birthday. It has a send feature with a plug-in keyboard. It has saved me a lot of money in paper, postage, and typewriter ribbons all of which have gotten very expensive.


(tongue in cheek)

Remarkable technology. You should contacting our old school expert @thehangingtree .
I'm happy for success the reposting.
Sorry for trouble and probably bad feelings. That was not my intention.
Greetings

 

[ropedley]

Remarkable technology. You should contacting our old school expert @thehangingtree .
I'm happy for success the reposting.
Sorry for trouble and probably bad feelings. That was not my intention.
Greetings

Dear Lady,
I could never have bad feelings towards a woman with a bound hand as lovely as yours, especially since it belongs to a Schatzi with such a heavy responsibility. I'm just glad I found the story before I used it to light the kindling wood for the kitchen stove. However, from this day forward, when you are doing surgery on the posts here remember the oath of Heinrich Adolph von Bardeleben and "first do no harm." Greetings back, a big smile and thank you.