Humiliation and Revenge

Humiliation and Revenge

Part 1

They destroyed her life. The man who loves her will get payback

by G. Lawerence

I have read disturbing stories on Literotica about false friends and vicious enemies destroying the lives of young women. I want to see these women avenged. I've tried to make this entry straightforward, but there are conspiracies and surprises lurking in the corners. And just to warn readers, this is a love story. If a love story isn't your cup of tea, this isn't for you. Please note: this story is fiction. It is not intended to be realistic. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

He walked into the rundown diner a little after lunchtime. The plaster walls decorated with old travel posters needed paint. The leather seat cushions needed patching. Locals said the food was good. John looked around to see nearly all the booths were full so he took a swivel chair at the counter. The waitress rushed over to give him a menu.

John was enthralled from the first moment he saw her, the nametag reading Lilly. She looked about 24 years old, 5'5 and 120 pounds, with long golden-brown hair tied back. Her sad eyes were deep brown. The pink uniform hid her breasts, but she had a nice figure.

"Welcome, we haven't seen you in here before," she greeted with a shy voice.

"I just started work at the factory," John replied. "Trying to find my way around town."

"Lots of workers eat here," she said.

"Are you from around here?" he asked.

Suddenly the woman backed away, as if she'd been struck. He saw the pain in her eyes. Raw and heartbreaking. It took a moment for her to recover.

"No, I've only been here a few months," she answered, dashing for the kitchen. An older woman came up, possibly the owner. Gray hair in a bun under a white cap.

"What did I say?" John asked, watching where the young waitress had gone.

"You need to forgive Lilly," Marge said. "She doesn't like to talk about her past. What can I get you?"

"How about a BLT and a cup of coffee?" he requested.

John was back two days later, taking the same seat, happy to see Lilly approach. She gave him a quiet smile.

"I'm sorry about the other day," she apologized. "It won't happen again."

"Lilly, you can be yourself with me. Don't worry about any of that. I think you're very cute. I'm new in town and don't have much money, but I would like to ask you out."

"Oh, no. You don't want to date me," she replied. "That would be a mistake. There are lots of nice girls around. Linda and Mindy don't have boyfriends. I can make introductions."

"Is it because I'm so much older than you?" John asked, stocky with short auburn hair and broad shoulders. "I may be 42 now, but friends say I look younger."

"I think you are very handsome," she bashfully answered, looking down.

"Are you married? Do you have a guy?" he gently inquired.

"No, not married. I had a guy once, but never again. No one will--" She broke off, starting to tear up. "Please, excuse me."

Lilly disappeared. John ordered onion soup and a coke, needing to get back to work. Friday afternoon, he was sitting in his regular seat, waiting for Lilly to come by.

"I keep saying I'm sorry," she apologized, handing him a menu. "Please don't take offense. You seem perfectly nice."

"Marge says you have Saturdays off," John responded. "We are going out. We'll walk in the park. Go to a movie, or the amusement zone. Whatever you want. But I need to see you. Please. Please say yes."

"Okay, but you mustn't get your hopes up."

"Are you that shy?"

"No, I'm-- I can't explain. I'm sorry."

"Lilly, you may not realize this, but I think we have a lot in common. Let's give this a chance."

"Yes, sir," she humbly replied. "But you should know my name is not Lilly. It's Emma. I only use Lilly here at work."

"Your secret is safe with me," he assured her.

John picked her up Saturday afternoon in a small rental car. Emma was waiting at the curb outside her modest boarding house wearing a long green dress, a light jacket, and sandals. She carried a purse just big enough for her housekeys, wallet, and dark sunglasses. A floppy yellow hat covered much of her face. John noticed she didn't have a phone.

"Where to?" he asked.

"The park sounds nice," she quietly suggested.

"The park it is. We can walk around, feed the ducks, and watch the soccer matches. Do you like sports?"

"I did. I used to love sports. Not so much these days."

John didn't inquire further. He knew questions about her past were triggering, and their relationship was too new. But he intended to find out everything.

The day in the park was terrific. John couldn't remember ever having so much fun doing simple things, and Emma was a joy once she started to relax. Beautiful, obviously well-educated, and possessing a playful sense of humor. On the rare occasions when she smiled, it lit up the world. They went to a modest restaurant on the pier followed by a long walk on the beach.

"This has been wonderful," John said, dropping her off before 10 o'clock. "If you enjoyed it as much as I did, we must do it again."

"I did have a nice time," she admitted. "But you shouldn't get involved with me. Nothing good will come of it."

"May I give you a kiss? Just a light one. A goodnight kiss," he requested. She nodded, allowing a soft touch on the lips. John drew her closer, feeling her heart pounding. Excitement? Or fear? He couldn't tell. But she felt great in his arms. Like she belonged there.

They dated every Saturday for a month, sometimes going to baseball games or outdoor concerts. John wasn't surprised to learn Emma had a fine arts degree. He took her to a gallery where she discussed the backgrounds of the artists and provided insights on their techniques. John thought her very bright. He wondered why she was working in a coffee shop at minimum wage. They began dating Tuesdays, and then Thursdays, too. Their kissing grew passionate, with mild caressing, but there wasn't more.

"I need to stop seeing you," Emma said after a long day in the park.

"Why? Why would you say that?" John questioned.

"Because I've fallen in love with you," she replied. "This isn't fair to you. It's not fair to either of us."

"Emmie, I don't understand. We have such good times together. You need to explain."

"Yes, I know. I allowed this to go too far. Please believe that I didn't lead you on deliberately. I just got caught up." She started crying. John took her in his arms.

"We can't go back to your place. The boarding house doesn't allow gentlemen callers after hours. Is it okay to go back to my apartment?"

"Do you have a computer?" she asked.

"I do. A very nice one."

"Let me make sure I have bus fare."

"Bus fare?"

"After our talk, you won't want to see me again," she said, trembling.

John's apartment was modest and recently furnished. Emma thought it hardly appeared to be lived in. The cheap furniture was new. The dishes in the kitchen barely seemed used. The towels in the bathroom still had their sales tags.

"Sorry, I know it's not much," John said. "Between seeing you and my new job at the factory, I haven't spent much time here."

"It's fine," she said, sitting on the long couch. There was a laptop computer on the coffee table. John sat close, brushing knees.

"Can I have one last kiss?" she asked, tears welling up.

"It won't be our last kiss. You need to stop thinking that. Nothing you show me on a computer will change anything." She sighed and opened the laptop.

"I'm from a small factory town called Langsford. In northern Oregon," she began. "After graduating college in New York, I went back home. I was going to find a job in a big city, maybe Boston or Los Angeles, but wanted to spend time with my family first. I hooked up with my old high school pals Judy and Tricia, and saw an old boyfriend, Mike. He had played on the football team. They seemed excited to see me and introduced me around to their new friends. It was going to be a nice summer.

"Another friend, Samantha, was getting married. She wanted time to prepare for the wedding and asked if I could fill in for her at the nightclub where she worked. Just taking orders and serving drinks. I made money parttime in college as a waitress and said yes. It was the biggest mistake I ever made."

John felt her shaking as she reached to open the internet connection. He moved a little closer to offer support. There was a creeping terror in her eyes.

"On the second night, the owner, Donna Livingston, said her dancer had cancelled and could I fill in. I said no, of course. I wasn't a stripper. Donna said I could wear a mask, and the crowd was so small, no one would recognize me. And I'd only go down to a halter top and shorts, nothing further. I tried to say no again, but Donna insisted, and said the tip money would make it worth it. I didn't want to disappoint her, or put Samantha's job in jeopardy, so I said yes."

Emma accessed an internet site. Donna's Landing in Langsford. A decent enough nightclub from the outside.

"Donna had a skimpy outfit for me. The regular waitress, Belinda, looked jealous. I don't think she wanted to dance; she just didn't like losing the extra tip money. She was mean to me. And I learned she was dating Brad, a boy I knew in high school. Brad was always hitting on me and got mad when I turned him down. He called me frigid. At the time, I was still a virgin."

The website opened to a date seven months before. In the beginning, it appeared to be security footage of the club and stage. John saw two dozen tables and about fifteen patrons, with soft lighting. The owner, a stout woman in her early fifties, was schmoozing with her customers while Belinda, a scuzzy-looking 30-year-old with dyed red hair, was tending bar.

"Donna came backstage, showed me a daring costume, and gave me a drink. Gin and tonic. And then another. I guess it was more gin than tonic. She said it would help me relax and perform more naturally. She told me to strip. Everything. After I was naked, she put my clothes in a locker with a padlock, leaving my phone on her desk. She kept the key, saying my clothes would be safe."

The screen image changed to Donna introducing the evening dancer. John recognized Emma instantly. Anyone would. The mask barely covered her face, and her long flowing hair was distinctive. The purple costume showed off her long bare legs under a short skirt, bare shoulders wrapped in a silver cape, and a thin gold belt around her narrow waist. The outfit was lowcut, displaying a lot of cleavage. John glanced at Emma, seeing her head hanging in shame.

"I danced slowly, at first, as the music played. It didn't seem so hard. And then more people started to arrive. A lot more people. Donna pulled me offstage to give me another drink. I was getting woozy. Patrons started calling for me to take more clothes off. I would raise the skirt and wave the cape."

John saw that was what she was doing, but he also saw more. Her eyes didn't look right. They were glassy. She wobbled a few times.

"Suddenly the bar was filling up," Emma continued. "Fifty or sixty people. People I knew. Judy and Tricia. Mike. My little sister, Katy, and her college friends. I knew Katy had always hated me. It was making me nervous. Samantha and her fiancé showed up. And their wedding party. High school acquaintances. People I had worked with. Just about everyone in town who I had grown up with. They were taking pictures with their phones. I didn't know it then, but one of the phones was mine. For some reason I'll never understand, Donna gave it to Brad. He was taking pictures and sending them to everyone on my contact list."

"Donna came on stage and said I needed to take off more clothes. She removed the cape and then unbuttoned the skirt while everyone cheered. She said the shoes weren't good for dancing and pulled them off. She gave me another drink."

John watched the show on the laptop. Donna was stripping her dancer onstage while Emma hardly seemed to know what was going on. And then a large young man jumped up, taking hold of Emma's arm.

"That's Brad," Emma whispered.

"Does everyone think we've been teased long enough?" Brad shouted, a hulking brut with curly brown hair and an expanding waistline.

"Yes, yes," the audience replied with enthusiasm.

"Is it time to see this bitch naked?" Brad asked.

"Naked! Naked!" the patrons chanted.

"Take off that top," Brad ordered, forcing Emma out of the shirt. And then he unclipped the bra, throwing it into the audience. Emma covered her firm round breasts with her hands.

"Let's not let this marvelous performer go unrecognized," Brad said, pulling off the ineffective mask. "It's our own Emma Coleman, the frigid bitch of 4th Street. Let's have a hand for her."

Emma was cowering with only her panties remaining. John saw everyone laughing at her, mocking her, and shouting insults. Even her so-called friends.

"You're a disgrace," Samantha said, standing up. "Don't expect to be at my wedding!"

"I always knew you were a slut!" Judy chided.

"You aren't so high and mighty now, are you?" Tricia yelled.

"What are you waiting for, Brad? Get my sister naked!" Katy demanded.

Brad didn't wait, tearing off the panties. Emma discovered too late they had been precut for that purpose. Emma was standing naked on stage, Brad holding her arm so she couldn't escape.

"Now let's make this really interesting," Brad said. He pushed Emma to her knees, opened his pants, and took out his throbbing dick. "Suck me, bitch. Show everyone what a whore you really are."

And that's what Emma did. Too shocked to say no, she wrapped her mouth around his cock and pumped her head. Brad was so hard it only took a few minutes to cum in her face, spraying her cheeks and hair.

"We're not done yet," Brad said, tucking his cock away. "Who wants to fuck this bitch? Mike, get up here. You've always wanted to fuck her."

Emma's old boyfriend jumped onstage, got behind her doggy style, and fucked her hard before the cheering mob, taking his time as phones in the audience recorded everything. Then several men from Samantha's wedding party did the same. Donna came out, made Emma roll over on her back, and fingered her pussy before inviting other women to do the same. Several accepted Donna's invitation, including Judy and Tricia, grinning maliciously with every stroke. They kept their clothes on, only Emma was naked. Eventually, Emma lay before them in a puddle of juices, barely able to breathe.

"Great work, Em," Katy yelled. "I just sent the video to Dad. He said don't bother coming home. You're not his daughter anymore."

That caused more laughter. Emma was in tears without a friend in the entire club. Donna lifted Emma by her hair and marched her down the center aisle toward the front door past the jeering mob, still nude, smacking her ass with a paddle.

"Your dancing sucked. I'm keeping the tip money and your clothes in payment for my trouble. Now get out and don't come back, you fucking slut," Donna declared.

John watched it all happen on the laptop screen. Video and audio. Security cameras and phones. After Emma was thrown out of the bar, the derogatory remarks continued. Her closest friends couldn't wait to say the nastiest things about her, celebrating her humiliation.

"I don't know why they hate me so much," Emma said, tears streaming down her face. "I'd been off to college for four years. I hadn't even been home more than a few weeks. But they decided to destroy me. Why? Why would they do that?"

"What did you do after this happened?" John asked, suppressing his rage.

"I ran home but my father wouldn't let me in the house. I discovered boys in cars prowling the neighborhood looking for me. And Katy's goon squad. I had to escape. There was a midnight bus, and the bus driver felt sorry for me. I rode away from Langsford and never returned. When I reached Tacoma, I stumbled into Marge's diner still crying and terrified. All I had to wear was a borrowed T-shirt. It was the only possession I had in the whole world. Marge was shocked and told me to leave, but I collapsed on her floor. She took pity on me, gave me a job, and I've been here ever since."

John scrolled through several websites. The event was well-documented, with Emma's photos tagged by her faithless friends. The photos were accompanied by cruel remarks, none of them specific. Just mindless insults. Bitch. Tramp. Whore.

"So now you know," Emma said, getting up from the couch. "You know what a shameless slut I am. A disgrace to my family." She started for the front door, desperate to flee.

"Where are you going?" John asked in surprise.

"You don't need to be nice. I know what you're thinking," she answered.

"No, you don't know what I'm thinking," John replied, jumping up and grabbing her. "You know I'm not a rich guy. Just getting by with my new job and this shabby apartment, but I really like you. Please don't leave."

"Really? That's how you feel? Even after--"

John took her in his arms for a deep kiss, then drew her into the bedroom. The bed was new, the sheets hardly slept in. He unbuttoned her blouse, dropping it on the floor. Then the skirt. Emma held still, frightened but hopeful. She kicked off her shoes. John removed her bra, knelt, and slowly pulled off her panties until she was standing revealed before him. She had a lovely body, with firm perky breasts, a slim waist, and a trimmed bush. Hard work at the diner gave her muscles a ripened tone. He put her on the bed, removed his own clothes, and laid down next to her.

"You are beautiful, Emma," he whispered, stroking her soft skin until she relaxed. "Beautiful in every possible way. You are smart, and funny, and incredibly brave. Tonight, I am going to make love to you like I've never made love to a woman before. And tomorrow, I want you to marry me."

* * * * * *

The executive board room was filled with corporate vice-presidents, lawyers, and business managers. Charts on the walls displayed a vast empire of interconnected enterprises. Maps indicated factories and warehouses all over the world. John entered and took his usual seat at the head of the table.

"Congratulations on getting married," Harry Rawlings said, shaking his hand. Tall with curly red hair, the former college basketball star was John's most trusted deputy. A score of colleagues and associates also offered congratulations.

"Thanks, Harry. And thanks for understanding why it couldn't be a big affair," John replied. "At least, not yet. We'll do it right later. For now, it was just her friends from the coffee shop."

"Can we ask why?" Jimmy Hopkins asked. The head of the company's private security was a thickset fellow with short black hair and guarded green eyes. He carried a pistol in his shoulder holster. Jimmy was not alone in his inquiry. The whole room was curious.

"Emma doesn't know yet. I haven't told her," John said.

"Haven't told her what?" Harry asked.

"That I'm Jackson John Latimer," John answered.

The room fell silent.

"Wait, are you saying your new wife doesn't know you're the 9th richest man in America?" Harry questioned.

"She thinks I'm a middle manager down at our new plant. She married me for me, not because of my money. I haven't found a way to tell her yet," John explained.

His board of directors, all loyal comrades, had a good laugh.

"Hey, wait a minute," Jimmy said. "You're saying Emma really doesn't know?"

"Jim, you helped me rent that tiny apartment. And buy those cheap furnishings. And lease that lousy car," John answered. "Thanks to you, Emma is so convinced I'm poor that she keeps offering to share her tip money from the diner."

"You've always been worried about gold-diggers," Harry said. "I have an idea. How about Janet and I invite the newlyweds to our estate for the weekend? We'll hang out around the pool, have the cook make us a nice meal, and you can break the tragic news that you're wealthy over lobster and a $1,000 bottle of wine."