The Plan-B Bust: 2 / 5
An Altered Fates Story
by Iolanthe Portmanteaux
Once you accepted the transformation of Andy into Caresse Desmesne, the rest of William’s “unbelievable Plan B” was pretty simple. It wasn’t a bad plan, either. William had set up a safe house -- one known only to himself -- some time back. The new Caresse would lay low there, and use her time to make videos in which she’d explain the material that came out of surveillance. William and Joseph would feed the videos to the task force. In this way, they’d lay bare Plice’s org chart. They’d fill in names and make connections that so far no one had been able to establish. It would be invaluable intel. Legally, none of it could be taken as evidence, or proof of crimes, but she could provide details that might be corroborated by other means. It wasn’t likely, but if necessary, the new Caresse could testify in court, but obviously she’d only be able to testify to something she'd heard at her condo.
“Plice -- and anyone else who knows that the real Caresse is dead -- won’t dare to call her identity into question or say that she’s dead, because it would implicate them in a murder. They won’t be able to say that you aren’t the real Caresse, because your DNA, fingerprints, etc., all PROVE that you are Caresse Demesne. You don’t have to pretend to be her, or even try to act like her, because you ARE Caresse Demesne.”
Once the work was all over, when all the information had been given, as soon as there was nothing more for Caresse to say, they’d pretend that Caresse had been relocated by WITSEC. In reality, Caresse would simply revert to being Andy.
In the meantime, Andy’s absence would be explained by his working with Caresse, organizing information, helping make the videos, and acting as security guard. William and Joseph would visit on an irregular basis to drop off supplies and pick up videos.
Now the three detectives were all on the same page, as far as Plan B was concerned. The boys loaded Andy’s wheelchair and Caresse’s duffel into Andy’s van, and left her to drive to the safe house and remain there. Joseph and William returned to the task force, but they were only killing time. They decided to wait a week before reporting that Caresse had “turned.” It was better to let Caresse get settled first. And that’s exactly what she did.
However, the new Caresse did not drive directly to the safe house. The new Caresse was in an extremely foul mood. First off, she’d been changed into a woman without having really been asked… and turned into not just ANY woman, but the dead girlfriend of the biggest mob boss in the state. Worse than that, her colleagues took for granted that she’d have no problem being pawed and groped… and no doubt used as some sort of sex doll! Her jaw was clenched so tight, she was afraid she’d crack a tooth. She wasn’t just mad; she was hopping mad. She was boiling mad. She was red-hot flaming-lava mad! The worst thing of all, the thing that made her angrier than anything else was the fact that the pawing and ogling had actually excited her, sexually. The new Caresse was burning with sexual tension and unfulfilled carnal desire. She was a kettle of anger, resentment, and lust, and that kettle wasn’t just boiling over, it was on fire, shaking, and ready to explode.
Still, she would be DAMNED ALIVE if she’d let one of her idiotic colleagues touch her again. Ever.
Caresse suddenly realized that she was tearing across town in her van. She actually hit 75 mph on a residential street. Calming herself, she took a deep breath and loosened her white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. She practically had to peel her fingers off the wheel. She reminded herself that she didn’t have a drivers license that matched her appearance. She couldn’t afford to get stopped -- or worse, to hurt someone by her own inattentive driving. Remembering the old advice about pretending there was a raw egg between her foot and the accelerator, she gently pressed her way forward, and did her best to pay attention to pedestrians and to give way to other drivers.
Truth to tell, there was something else that was eating her up inside -- something that no one else knew -- and this “something else” made her kettle of anger and desire burn hotter than the summer sun: Andy Niskin had never had sex in his life. Never. He hadn’t even come close. Andy was a life-long virgin. Mainly because of his religious upbringing, he hadn’t take advantage of several delicious opportunities when he was young. He had always been an attractive person, so he had plenty of material for regret. Then, when he was eighteen years old, and had only just begun to shed his inhibitions, a drunk driver struck him, and striking him, put an end to all that. Not only did the accident disable his legs, but it also rendered Andy impotent. Now, as Caresse, he had a new pair of working legs, beautiful legs, a body as attractive as anyone could wish, and garden-fresh genitalia that -- as far as Andy was concerned -- had never been used. The new Caresse wasn’t just anatomically correct; she was switched on and ready to go.
Uppermost in Caresse’s mind was the fact that once she entered the safe house, she’d be stuck there. And not just stuck there, but stuck there for a very long time. Worst of all, the only company she’d have would be those two assholes, William and Joseph. They never were Andy’s friends; they were only colleagues. Now they had morphed from colleagues into predators. Andy recalled with some bitterness that when the task force was being formed, William and Joseph didn’t want him on their team. They actually worked against his being selected. The only reason Andy was eventually chosen was that no one else in the state could match his expertise in electronic surveillance.
Caresse decided that there were three things she absolutely had to do before heading to the safe house: the first was to get laid; the second was to pick up some more of Caresse’s belongings; and the third was to get a good strong lock for her bedroom door at the safe house. She had seen the clothes that William shoved into the duffel bag: they were, without exception, sexy clothes: dresses, short skirts, high heels, lingerie… all of it food to feed his fantasies. Caresse had plenty of other clothes as well, but William had passed on all of it: sweatpants, shorts, sports bras and t-shirts, loose dresses, and comfortable pajamas. For shoes: there were sneakers, ballet flats, slippers, sandals. She needed to load up on that kind of clothing: Caresse was not putting on any shows for her colleagues. Another thing: those sexy clothes didn't look particularly comfortable, and there was no point whatsoever in her being uncomfortable.
She didn’t have the key to Caresse’s apartment, but she knew from surveillance how to get someone to open the apartment door, and she was pretty sure she could get that same person to fill her other need as well.
She parked Andy’s van around the corner from the condo. After climbing into the back of the van, she emptied the contents of the duffel bag into a pair of big black trash bags. She tucked the folded-up duffel bag under her arm, and entered the Innovaer Tower through the front door. Why shouldn’t she? None of the staff knew she was dead. The doorman smiled and greeted her by name, and she smiled back at him, making his day. The concierge greeted her as well, and smiled broadly as she approached his desk. He made it all too easy: “Hello, Ms. Desmesne,” he said. “Let me guess: you’ve forgotten your key again, haven’t you?” Caresse was surprised to find herself blushing with embarrassment. She nodded and said, “Yes, I’m so sorry! I swear this will be the last time!” The concierge smiled and assured her, “That’s never a problem, Ms. Demesne; it's why we're here. I’m sure that Henry will be more than happy to let you in.” Henry, who had been listening and waiting in hope, rose to his feet with feigned nonchalance, and declared that he was glad to oblige.
Caresse was sure from watching surveillance that it would be Henry. It was always Henry when Caresse forgot her key (which happened a lot), or when Caresse needed help with packages, or when she had some other silly problem that she wanted a man to deal with.
Another thing that the new Caresse knew from surveillance was that Henry wanted Caresse, and he wanted her bad. Caresse never actually did anything with him -- not even a kiss -- but she mercilessly led him on. She’d get him all worked up, then send him away, frustrated, with a bulge in his pants. Back when Andy was Andy, he and the other two men had long discussions about whether Caresse’s torture of Henry was purposeful or unconscious. Joseph often (and unsuccessfully) tried to start a pool, taking bets on when Henry would finally have his way with her. He should have bet that today would be the day, Caresse told herself.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, Henry glanced at Caresse’s cleavage, and smiled at her. She smiled back, and opened her top a little wider, to give him a better look. His eyebrows danced. Caresse held his arm to steady herself, and pulled off her shoes. She lost a few inches in height. Looking up at him, barefoot and big-eyed, she moaned, “I need to get out of these clothes so bad.”
“Mmm,” he replied, as his eyes and his smile widened. He wrapped his arm around her. “I’m sure I can help you with that.”
“That’s good,” she said, sidling closer, so that her soft body pressed into his muscular frame. Her voice grew husky. “I need a lot of your help today, once you get inside.”
Throwing subtlety to the wind, she peeled off her underwear just before the elevator doors opened. Henry picked her up with one arm and swept her toward her door. Without putting her down, he unlocked the door, carried her inside, and threw her on her bed. She opened her legs in a big capital V, and said, “I can’t wait another second, Henry. Fuck me first -- I’ll undress later.” Henry’s pants were already down, and his considerable cock was pointing to where the wall meets the ceiling. He crawled across the bed and slid inside her.
Because of all her built-up tension and desire, Caresse came almost immediately. Henry was surprised, but glad. He congratulated himself on his sexual prowess. He kissed her and gently fondled her, giving her some moments to catch her breath, before he started moving again. Henry glided in and out of her, pumping gently, slowly, undressing her as she squirmed and moaned. Her face changed every moment, as she gasped, as she felt sensations she’d never felt before. The idea -- the experience -- of having a man’s cock (and such an enormous cock) inside her body was both mind-bending and glorious. Henry ran his hands over her wonderful breasts. Caresse trembled, and her skin flushed red all over her body. When at last their two bodies teetered on the brink of a mutual orgasm, Henry started pumping a little harder and a little faster. He reached down and massaged her clitoris. He sped up a little more. Her body arched and bucked. He seized her butt with both hands, drove his full length deep inside her, and held it there. They were pelvis to pelvis, and he used his pubic bone to rock against her clitoris. She clawed the bed and tried to say something, but all that emerged from her mouth was a high cry. The two of them shook and shouted at the same time. Caresse felt fireworks explode in her brain, over and over. The shaking, the explosive sensations, the feeling of being wide open and laid bare to the universe lasted for over a minute. Then she lay there, spent, her mind a blank, feeling the exquisite weight of his body on top of her. They smiled at each other. Then…
“Oh, God -- sorry!” Caresse said, embarrassed and wiggling. “I suddenly have to pee! Oh, God! Sorry! Sorry! Excuse me!” and she pulled herself out from beneath him, amazed at the length of his glistening cock as it glided out of her. She ran, naked, into the bathroom. Her desperate-to-pee jog set her breasts and butt jiggling and shaking. It was a strange new impression, a strange new sense of self: feeling those soft shapes, and knowing they were a part of her. She touched her breasts, her butt, and between her legs, and realized that she’d need to sit to pee. When she finished, she checked her face and hair in the mirror, and walked back to the bedroom, still naked.
What she didn’t know was that while he was alone, Henry had placed his phone so it rested on top of a mirror frame. It had a perfect view of the bed, and it was recording.
“One more time?” he asked Caresse.
Her eyes widened. “Can you?”
He gestured to himself. His cock was at complete attention. Was he ready? He was SO ready. He’d been ready ever since the first time he laid eyes on her. He couldn’t stop being ready. Henry led her onto the bed, on her hands and knees, facing the camera (although she had no idea). Ironically, in that exact moment, as Henry placed her in his frame, she considered the placement of her surveillance cameras, and knew she wanted a copy (from all angles) of this session with Henry.
“Look at yourself,” he said, gesturing to her reflection. “Look how beautiful you are.” He wanted her to look into the camera. Once her head was up and looking in the right direction, he put one hand on the base of her spine, and used his other hand to position his cock. He said, “Ready?” but didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he grabbed her hips with both hands, and pressed forward, pushing inside… slowly, irresistibly…
“Oh, God! Into my butt?” she cried out in surprise. But it was already too late to object. He was plugged in, and he kept moving forward. She felt her anus stretching farther and farther open. “You won’t fit!” she cried, “You can’t fit! Pull it out! Pull out!”
He groaned in pleasure. “Just watch your face, baby, watch your face. Relax. Relax. Look in the mirror. Look at how beautiful you are. It’s natural. It’s beautiful.” She looked at her face. She saw her discomfort, her surprise, her uncertainty and pain, but as he slid in and out, the feeling changed, as did the expression on her face. As his strong hips pushed into her soft butt cheeks, her face, her expression, were still contorted; they still showed her doubt, but now the doubt was mixed with pleasure. She felt her butt-hole relax. His cock was still gripped by her tight little hole, but the pain was slowly giving way to a strong sexual fire. She watched her pendulous breasts swing. She looked at the animal lust in his face and felt his strong hands holding her in place. She was exquisitely aware of his long hard cock. If she closed her eyes, she could see it sliding so deep inside her, she hardly believed that it fit. She opened her eyes and saw herself staring at herself. She saw her mouth open, and a low moan came out. She kept staring. She kept moaning; she couldn’t stop. Henry moved faster, bouncing his thighs off her beautiful derriere. He reached down and grabbed her breasts, squeezing them as his cock grew even larger inside her ass. When it seemed it could swell no further, she felt it pulse, hard, like a jackhammer beating within her. She cried out in pleasure and alarm. As Henry came, Caresse came as well: a hard, body-shaking, breath-taking orgasm. For her, it was an orgasm decades in the making -- all the pent-up desire, the frustration of impotence, the renunciation and resignation to never being able -- at long last the dam broke, and a life-rocking, life-affirming orgasm hit her with everything it had.
A few minutes later, when Henry returned from the bathroom, he saw that she was crying. “Are you okay, baby?” he asked. He was fully dressed now, and he had to return to his duties. Henry was not very bright and not very patient, and when women cried, it always confused him. He never knew how to react, or what to say. Especially now, when he needed to get back to work. He didn’t have time to waste on what he considered “female emotional shit.” He didn’t understand why girls couldn’t wait until they were alone to get into this stuff. But he did know that he had to at least pretend to care, didn’t he? He was not a bad man, was he? So he sighed impatiently and asked, “Baby? Are you alright? Talk to me, baby.”
“I’m just happy,” she said. She didn’t hear his impatience; she heard only concern. “I’m really, really happy. Thank you. Thank you, Henry. It was wonderful.”
“Oh, that’s all right, then,” he said, still confused but enormously relieved. He kissed her, first on the cheeks, kissing her tears (which he thought was an inspired move), then a long, promise me we will fuck again kiss on her soft, full lips. “I gotta get back to work,” he told her. “But you know, any time you need me…” He squeezed her butt, then fondled her breasts for a moment. He found her hard to resist. He wanted to put his cock in her mouth, but at the same time he really had to leave. “Okay,” he said aloud, more to himself than to her. “Time to go.”
The moment the door closed, Caresse leaped out of bed. She took a quick shower, then went through the condo to collect all the things that William neglected to take. She grabbed Caresse’s wallet and checked that it had her drivers license and all her cards. She took a folder full of Caresse’s other documents. She took her tampons and panty-liners. She piled all the comfortable clothes onto the bed. Figuring that the real Caresse had already gone to the trouble of knowing what worked for her, the new Caresse grabbed all the cosmetics, all the hair and skin care products, the razors -- ALL the toiletries, and she made note of the brands. She took a couple of handbags. Then, on a last-minute inspiration, she took all the jewelry, and a cache of currency and gold coins and a gun that Handsome Dan had hidden in the condo. The real Caresse hadn’t know it was there, but the new Caresse had watched Dan hide it.
She dressed in a pair of soft, comfortable jeans, a loose-fitting top, and a pair of sneakers. Then she filled the duffel so full that she couldn’t get it closed. Luckily, one of Caresse’s rolling bags was big enough to contain all the overflow.
Back in the van, she used her laptop to log into the condo’s surveillance system. After copying her session with Henry to a USB drive, she set all the recordings back two hours so her visit and her activities would all be overwritten. “Fix those motherfuckers,” she muttered, meaning William and Joseph.
She drove to the safe house, and took a quick tour. It was surrounded by woods, which was good for hiding, but not so good if they needed to fend off an attack. There was a separate garage that easily accommodated Andy’s van. Half of the garage seemed to be a workshop, although most of the tools were for yard work or painting. The house itself was small, but not cramped. It was fairly clean, and wasn’t as dusty as Caresse expected. The first floor consisted of a living room, the kitchen, and a mudroom out back. The kitchen was fairly complete as far as pots, pans, knives, dishes, etc., but there wasn’t any food at all. Caresse made a mental list of what was needed. The second floor had two bedrooms and the only bathroom. One of the bedrooms was empty. The other was the larger of the two, and was furnished with a bed and a big table that could serve as a desk. It also faced south, so it had plenty of light. Caresse sniffed at the mattress, and hauled it and its box spring into the empty bedroom. She brought her bags in and stashed them in the nicer room to lay her claim. Then she drove two hours north to a shopping mall just over the state line. She used Caresse’s cards for the first and last time, knowing that Plice would pay the balance. He was that kind of guy.
She joined a bulk-goods club and bought a new mattress and box spring. She got a office chair, a vacuum cleaner, and plenty of feminine hygiene products. She stocked up on laundry detergent, dish detergent, and cleaning supplies. She bought a computer and a big screen. She bought a large packs of legal pads, pens, and USB drives. She bought sheets, blankets, towels, and pillows. There was still loads of room in the back of the van.
I probably haven’t come anywhere near the credit limit on this card, she reflected as she entered another store, where she picked up skin care and hair care products, as well as magazines, books, and movies. On a sudden inspiration she bought a gym bag. She bought a door lock, and some tools. She stocked up on bulk items like rice, canned goods and other foods with a long shelf life.
The last purchase she made was a week’s worth of fresh food, along with two coolers and four bags of ice to keep the cold stuff cold for the two-hour trip back.
Back at the Innovaer Tower, Henry was on cloud nine. He had finally seen Caresse naked, and he had touched her naked body. Best of all, he’d fucked her naked body, three times, and would likely do it again. He watched the recording on his phone, and congratulated himself on the quality. You could see her amazing breasts shaking. You could watch that lovely face, plain as day, and that huge all-thanks-to-Henry orgasm playing across her features. And yes, you could see Henry, too, with his earnest, hardworking face, diligently pounding away at her amazing ass. It was a work of art… in spite of being taken by a cell phone placed in haste.
There was something else making Henry happy, although if he had even an ounce of brains he would have let it go: Henry believed he was about to earn $1000 in cash from Handsome Dan Plice. When Caresse moved in, Plice came to speak with Henry. He asked about Henry’s family, his history, his hopes and dreams, and then he gave Harry a handsome tip. He gave him two hundred dollars in cash to “keep an eye on Caresse.” Every month Handsome Dan would find the time to visit Henry. He’d ask a few questions, and slip Henry another two hundred.
Plice, who was insanely jealous, was pretty specific as to what he meant when he said keep an eye on Caresse: he meant, of course, to help her when she needed help. Things like carrying her bags, opening her door when she forgot her key, picking up her dry cleaning… little things like that. But there was also another thing, the real thing, and it was this other thing carried the possibility of a neat, tax-free cash bonus of $1000.
Henry was supposed to keep an eye out for any male visitors Caresse might have. And, if possible -- maybe by listening at the door or some other way -- to find out whether any of these visitors had sex with Caresse. If Henry ever brought news of that variety to Handsome Dan, it would be worth $1000 on the spot. If he could identify the man, or even better, if he could take his picture, it might be worth even more.
Henry was good looking. Henry was tall. Henry worked out. Henry was strong and smooth and incredibly male and all that, but one thing Henry was not, and that was clever. Henry was never the smartest guy in the room, no matter what room he was in.
When Plice spoke to Henry, Henry didn’t understand that some of the things Plice said were serious, and some of them were jokes. Not particularly funny jokes, but jokes nonetheless. Plice never challenged Henry to try it on with Caresse, but that’s what Henry understood him to mean. He thought that Plice had thrown down a personal challenge: Could Henry seduce Caresse? When Plice asked Henry whether he was up to the task and did he think he could do it, Henry replied, “I will do my absolute best,” and he really meant it. Plice shook Henry’s hand and told him, “I can’t ask for anything more than that!”
And that is why Henry, at the end of his workday, went straight to Handsome Dan so he could deliver what he thought was good news. As they watched the video together, Henry could see that it hit home with Plice. It evoked some pretty strong emotions. Still, it never crossed his mind that any of Dan’s indignation and sense of betrayal were pointing in his direction. He wanted to know whether Caresse is unfaithful, Henry told himself. I gave him the proof that he wanted.
“This is you!” Dan exclaimed in disbelief.
“Yeah,” Henry nodded, smiling.
“Fucking my girl!” Dan was incredulous. He stared at Henry in a way that should have made Henry fear for his life. But Henry smiled, proud of himself.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“And you’re fucking her -- in the ass?”
“Ohhh, yeah.” Henry replied, drawing the words out with great pride and a truckload of swagger.
Plice paused, so he could get a grip on himself. Then he asked, “And this happened today.”
“Yeah.”
“Today. Monday. I mean, since the sun came up this morning. Today.”
“Yeah,” replied Henry in a puzzled tone. “Today.” He pointed to the date and time.
When Plice got really angry, it wasn’t fire. It was blackness. It was a cold, empty void, as lifeless as outer space. It was finality and death. It was silent annihilation, without a breath of mercy or compassion.
“Has anyone else seen this?” Plice asked.
“No,” said Henry. “I came right here, to you. So… about my reward…”
“Oh, yeah,” Plice said. “Right. Your reward! Can’t forget about that. I promised you a reward, and now I’m going to give it to you. Let’s go downstairs, Henry. I have a special room where I give out rewards.” He brought Henry to a basement room, a tiled room with a drain in the floor. They called it the “dog-washing room,” although no one had ever washed a dog there. Henry looked around, puzzled but still proud, happy, and hopeful. Plice told him, “You’ve got balls, kid. Great big balls. Either that, or you are dumbest guy to ever fall out of a woman’s womb. Stand right here, in front of me.” Plice took a garotte from his pocket, and strangled the young man. Then, after a rueful shake of his head, he called the Gipper on the phone. “Come downstairs -- I need help with a cleanup.”
When the Gipper arrived, Handsome Dan asked him, “You did kill Caresse when I asked you, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” the Gipper replied, a little puzzled by the question. “Why?”
“Take a look at this video,” Plice told him, and called it up on Henry’s phone.
The Gipper was a little nervous. He wondered whether it was going to be a video of himself and Caresse doing the deed. When in fact he saw the naked Caresse, his heart lost a beat. But then he saw that the man hard at work behind Caresse was not him. It was someone else.
“That video was taken today,” Plice said softly, as he threw the garotte around the Gipper’s neck.
After the Gipper stopped moving, Plice wiped off the garotte, wound it up, and put it back in his pocket. He checked both bodies to make sure there was no pulse.
He washed his hands. He closed his eyes so he could enter that black unfeeling void inside of him.
“Oh, Caresse,” he said. “Caresse Desmesne, you devil on heels. Why did I ever meet you? Why the fuck did I ever fall for you? I love you and I hate you, and now I have to kill you a second time. Why did you have to be such a life-changing bomb? Why are you such an evil, back-stabbing whore?”
Plice clenched his fists and rested them against the hall. He stood there in silence, without moving, for half an hour.
