Tessa Johnson was a beautiful woman who had it all. Good looking, fit and sexy as hell with a rich husband, a big house and a life in the lap of luxury.
She didn't work. She didn't need to. Her husband provided her with the only thing she needed from him, leaving her alone six days a week with more credit cards than she could count. Tessa still spent most of her time looking for things to do. She'd taken tennis lessons, tried to play golf with the girls at the club, even swam in the club's Olympic-sized pool just to kill time.
At home, she mostly piddled around the house as workers periodically came and went, cleaning the Johnson's own Olympic-sized pool, landscaping their three acres of manicured lawn and flowering bushes. Tessa hadn't planted a single thing.
The Johnson's private chef came six days a week, twice a day. The cleaning ladies came every Monday morning. Her friends dropped in for idle chatter, and occasional martinis on days she wasn't getting her hair done or her nails painted.
If she was ever bored, you'd never know it. But then, no one knew of the shoe box behind her winter boots. The box was filled with sex toys, big dildos and long vibrating wands, buzzing rabbits and clit stimulators.
The box was Tessa's best-kept secret. Her other secret was already out. Her much-older husband Kramer had a small dick.
They made for an odd pair. Tessa was a model-quality woman, tall and confident with white-blonde hair, Scandinavian not bleached. Her bright blue eyes caught your attention first, unless you first saw her in a bathing suit. She was sculpted like a distance swimmer (and hairless from the neck down), with long legs and an athletic butt that swayed without jiggling. There wasn't an ounce of fat on her.
Her husband was a shortish, bookish guy with a receding hairline above a face made for spectacles. No one understood the appeal, though power can be an aphrodisiac. Still, it was just odd to see them together, which they rarely were.
Kramer Johnson III was a lawyer. Not just any lawyer but the assistant district attorney for Fulton County, an Ivy Leaguer who joined one of the top firms in the South right out of college, a partner in a powerful law firm before he turned 35 and on a career path that he hoped would point him toward the one thing he wanted more than anything. Attorney General for the state of Georgia.
Kramer always got the big cases, loved reading his name in the papers and mugging for TV cameras.
Many of his trials were very public, scandalous and bitter. He'd sent 12 men to their death and hundreds of others to prison for life. Among criminals and prisoners, he was the most hated man in Atlanta.
Among his colleagues, he was respected, feared and privately resented. Kramer had no real friends, just acquaintances - lawyers, judges and reporters. At 55 years old, he'd made his mind up to run for office in the fall. But first, he was trying a serial rapist and murderer in a trial that could last a month or more and would be televised state-wide.
He informed his wife one night over dinner that he would need to move into a hotel room near the courthouse until the trial was over. Tessa shrugged.
"Well, at least you told me about it before the trial."
Kramer grunted and took a long swig of whiskey.
"It starts day after tomorrow."
He kissed his young trophy wife on the cheek and walked into his study. It was the last time either would see the other.
------------------------------------
J.D. "Big Dick" Morrison was a seasoned criminal. He'd been sent to juvenile prison for rape, was transferred to a federal prison for killing a guard and was somehow released for good behavior after serving only 20 years of sentence originally slated for 40 years.
Morrison was notorious for working the system, somehow wriggling out of trouble time and time again for crimes large and small. His relationship with certain influential people in and around criminal justice was well-known.
Not only was he released but was given a job, a large sum of money saved from winning (cheating) at the prison poker games and a governor's pardon from his original crime committed as a minor.
Upon his release, he raped the wife of the lawyer the state provided for him 20 years prior. The lawyer was never seen again.
The next day, Morrison was back at Roy Agnew's Body Shop and Wrecker Service. Nobody ever connected him to the crimes, in large part because the lawyer's wife never said a word to anyone.
She filed a missing person report, inheriting a fortune and dropping out of sight. The only person who knew anything about her secretive life was a man who came to see her every few days.
J.D. "Big Dick" Morrison.
His life had been a whirlwind of foster homes, schools and scrapes with the law. His education was scant but his street smarts made him sharp. J.D. was 47 years old, in great shape from years of prison workouts. He was 6-3, 245 pounds of raw sinew and muscle.
His complexion was dark. He might have had some Indian blood from his mother, a woman he was never close to. No one knew who his father was.
Anyone who ever spent any time with him knew him for one reason. His cock hung more than halfway to his knees. When he walked, it looked as if he had a pipe bomb hidden in his pants.
Men stayed away from him in prison, though he'd only been in one fight and never had any intention of letting a fellow felon suck his cock. He had no interest in fucking a felon either.
J.D. had a steady stream of women who came to him - psychologists, prison safety officials, lawyers, parole officers, reporters and even a judge. They had power and access to the only thing they wanted inside the hellhole that was North Amsterdam Federal Prison. "No Amnesty" to anyone inside it or in the near vicinity.
"Big Dick" Morrison's big long cock.
The monstrous appendage, the scent it gave off and the amount of semen stored in his massive ball sack was legendary, and few who encountered it would ever forget it. Such was the fate of the court-appointed lawyer's wife who lived in a private paradise called Moccasin Pond.
When Morrison was released from No Amnesty, he somehow slipped through the lawyer's security gate one night, eluded the cameras at the stone mansion where the lawyer lived in luxury with a trophy wife who hated him.
Morrison had been breaking into houses, storage facilities and even hospital pharmacies his entire life. Walking into the stone mansion was easy. He opened the back door with a pocket knife and an ice pick.
The scene was something out of a horror movie. The lawyer had cameras hidden in his bedroom, too. Little did he know that his wife knew about them and loved performing for her own entertainment, sometimes fucking the pool boy and even the black plumber with the fat dick who she let abuse her asshole, all for the camera.
The camera was on that night. It was around 2 a.m. and everyone was asleep when Morrison walked into the bedroom, inserted the ice pick in the lawyer's left ear and pulled his naked wife out of her drunken slumber by her long blonde hair.
She never noticed her dead husband's body or the small red spot on the pillow under his head. All she saw was a glimpse of a large man who blindfolded her and shoved her to her knees before him.
"Suck on this lawyer slut," he said in the menacing darkness. "This will set you free."
He'd said it somewhere along the way, during one rape or another, and decided he liked it. It became his opening line every time.
The little wife immediately smelled a strong scent inches from her nose, an intoxicating smell that strangely drew her toward it, powerless to control her inexplicable desire to taste it.
As she ran her tongue up the length of Morrison's cock, she backed away startled.
