I do not know what I was feeling but I wasn't happy, wasn't happy about what had just happen, wasn't happy about what I had just done. My emotions were all over the map even breaking down each emotion led to even more confusion no one feeling was concrete clear to me.
Fear, of course, I had just committed major felony. If I was caught and convicted, I could do serious time, hell maybe life. Not to mention what it would do to my family. Probably kill my mother she was not in the best of health anyway. She would be better off if I died in some accident or even was shot in a drive by, at least then the shame wouldn't kill her. She would not blame herself and she still had my brothers and sisters. My bothers could convince her, it was an unfortunate accident, wrong place at the wrong time deal or just Gods will. Yeah, if they could convince that God needed me, hell, she would not skip a beat, cry sure, she just lost her baby but at least she had not raised a criminal, a rapist not less.
That wasn't even the worst of the fears. The fact that I could convince myself to rationalize it was justifiable. That is what scared me the most. That was not me. Jesus up until twelve hours ago the worst crime I had committed was smoke pot every now and then. Revenge, because that bitch offended me, hurt my feelings, shit I had suffered much worst indignation before and just let it slide. What next murder, shoot some poor dumb asshole because he was having a bad day and flipped me off in traffic.
Next on the laundry list of emotions had to be guilt. I was feeling guilty for what I had done. Sure, what I had done was wrong, no doubt about that. I had not really hurt her, scared the bajeezus out of her for sure but that was what I had intended. Hurt her yes, nothing that would hurt more than a day or two sore muscles, a small bruise here or there from the spanking and the love bites. The spanking, yeah, that was sweet. I loved the way her ass would jiggle after every smack. The way she was trying to act all tough as if it didn't hurt, but she made those little sniffling, whimpering sounds and in the end the tears did come. I had accomplished everything I set out to. The worst hurt she would suffer was fear, the fear that if it happened once it could happen again.
Sympathy, this is the one emotion that bothered and confused me the most. Why was I feeling sorry for her? That bitch never was sorry for anything. It wasn't just me, it was everybody that she thought she was better than and treated like shit. Looking down her nose at every one she thought she was superior too. I was feeling sorry for her but for the life of me I did know why. She had never felt sorry for anyone she had mistreated.
The other side of all the bad emotions was the good ones I was experiencing. Emotional crusaders battling to rule the tortured domain that mind was now, the victors to become memories, good or bad for what I had done.
I had formulated the perfect plan and pulled it off flawlessly. Timing and execution perfect. I would be clear across the country in a couple of days. I had great new job and a new home, in sunny California, three thousand miles away. She had seen my face yes, but she did not know my name nor did anyone she knew. No one in the bar knew me by name or any thing about me, where I worked, where I lived, where I came from or where I was going. I am the quiet, shy, private type, how much could learn about some stranger in a bar a couple of drinks a night in the few times I'd been in the joint. Even the bartenders would not remember me, the place was always busy, and I always paid cash and didn't run a tab.
I had just had one of the best lays of my life, no quickie either. I fucked her repeatedly during the twenty-four hours I kept her captive in her own home. I think she may have even liked it.
I started to replay the whole thing in my mind just to see if I had forgotten some small detail. Had I made one slip up, from the moment, I first laid eyes on the bitch until now. I was already seven hundred miles away and twelve hours since I had raped her and left her tied up on her bed. In another hour, I would stop at an interstate rest area. Make the call to one of her friends. Tell them they had better go rescue her before she pissed herself.
The final humiliation was the way I had left her, tied up on her bed in a puddle of sweat, a life like vibrating dildo secure in her twat and buzzing away. Just like it had been for every other half hour for the last twelve hours. No need to worry about the batteries running down this was the expensive type vibrator you plug in to the wall socket. The digital on/off switch was a great touch. The big black vibrating cock and the black stud white slut magazine with only her fingerprints and lipstick prints on it. With her high-heeled boots, garter belt, hose and shelf bra on. She would have a hard time convincing her friends and the cops that a rape had occurred and not a naughty play date gone wrong. I really couldn't imagine the cops not laughing their asses off over this crime scene. They would all want the crime scene photos for their files. She would never live this down with her stuck up friends knowing at the very least she had a dark kinky side; she was more than the holier than thou, high society, and academic
Sophisticated woman they thought she was, she liked to get down and dirty.