Blackmailing Vengeance (Re-edited)

This is a story re-edited, better worked and contains several differences compared to the original already posted.

!WARNING!
This is a rape story. If this kind of content offends you in any way, please, stop reading.
I’m not in favor of rape of any form and this is just a fictional story of sexual violence.

If you have no problem with that, please, vote and comment as you wish. Thanks.
(Special thanks to my friend Rutger5 for helping me with the english stuff =*)

…

Blackmailing Vengeance


I always knew how I wanted my life to be. I wanted an easy life. Marry some rich guy who would fulfill my wishes and do whatever I wanted for the rest of my life. It would be really simple to obtain, looking as good as I knew I did. People used to compare me with Candice Swanepoel all the time, one of the Victoria’s Secret Angels and I really do look like her: a tall blue-eyed blonde with a tight body, we even share the same 34B bra-size – and I have those given by nature, not silicone – as I’m not that skinny and not that tall, but taller than half the girls at school, I was 5’7″, a lot of it being due to my long shapely and toned legs.
Being always in touch with high-society people, thanks to my mother’s connections – she is kinda famous as an attorney – I shouldn’t have problems making a life. But it is never that easy, is it?

My mother died from cancer a couple months after I turned eighteen, that left me sharing her possessions with her second husband, Alan, the douche, as I used to call him.
He had his own company and I couldn’t understand why he was accepting his share of my mom’s inheritance. He was obliging me to share the house my mother built with him, even knowing that I didn’t need his support. I never did! Even with my mother being such a dictator I was completely independent at age thirteen and he knew that, all I needed was money. Soon after he started spoiling me in every way possible and I was pretty sure what his intentions were. So, I was rushing to find that fucking rich husband. But it is never that bad, is it?

One day, when I was coming home after school, I just came across a drunken Alan fallen by the pool. Passed out with a bottle of bourbon in a hand and an open cellphone in the other. I called him a dozen times but he didn’t wake up. So an idea came to mind and I couldn’t help myself from doing it.
“So, that’s it you bastard!” I growled and pushed him into the pool.
Turned out he just stood underwater. Initially I freaked out, but seconds later I saw it as a really great chance of getting rid of him. He was not getting a chance to get even near me and I could inherit all my mother’s possessions, as it should be… And his too. Maybe I didn’t need a rich husband after all. So as soon as I saw no more bubbles coming from him I was sure he was dead. That was the end of Alan, the douche.

It worked like a charm. In a couple months I was living like a queen, alone in my own house with all that money. In a matter of three more months I would graduate from school and leave the country. Maybe live in Europe with no manipulative overprotective mother to give me orders and no douchebag to share my money, it should be great for me. But it is never that easy, is it?

At the end of the third month I answered the door.