The Wife Gets Fucked Up
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The Wife Gets Fucked Up

The Wife Gets Fucked Up

I sit at home emotionally conflicted. Sometimes angry, sometimes hurt, sometimes jealous. Mostly just stewing wondering what the hell I am doing letting my wife go out to a meeting with a strange man, an admitted sadist! He could be a psychopath or a serial killer. Of course he is. He is a fucking sexual sadist after all.

An hour, then two creep by with me imagining all sorts of horrible things. The door finally opens and in she stumbles wobbly on her heels and walking bowlegged. Her stockings have holes ripped out and are streaked with runs. There are no buttons on her blouse so it flaps open exposing red marks on her belly and breasts. A shocking and disturbing sight.

I rush to her and she embraces me sobbing on my shoulder. When I hug her back she squirms and shrieks with pain. “Are you OK?” I ask gently in her ear.

She manages to get out between sobs, “I'm OK. . . Exhausted. . . Sore and stingy in places. . . I took quite a beating.”

How can she do this to herself? To me? I'm thinking as I'm helping her up the stairs to the bathroom. I know how, we've discussed and discussed. I just don't completely understand.

In the bathroom I lay out the swabs, antiseptic and ointment. She stands with her head bowed and shoulders slumped forward. I give her an Oxy and sit her down on the toilet and begin to remove her make up. There are no obvious abrasions on her face thank god, but her cheeks are red and there is some bruising. She's been well slapped, I hate to think what with.

While I tend to her, she again begins a quiet crying. “I'm so sorry,” she sobs, “I feel so guilty. . . I'm such a horrible person. . . I don't deserve anyone as good as you.”

I don't argue just quietly continue cleaning her up and listening. Overwhelming guilt and contrition are a huge part of her experience. My being the concerned mate, caring for her, cleaning up the aftermath of her debauchery feeds that guilt way more than any castigation or punishment that I could or would care to mete out.

She ohs and ouchs as I gingerly remove her torn and buttonless blouse revealing a bra cut in half with cups that hang useless under her arms. I unhook the back and carefully slide the two haves off noticing that her upper arms have fingertip sized circular bruises. The bra halves stink of her stress sweat. I hold them up for her to see and drop them in the bottom drawer of the vanity with the rest of my growing collection of souvenirs from her various adventures.

Her tits are beautiful, perfect g[filtered word]fruits, as a maturing woman they are just starting to feel the sagging effects of gravity making them more irresistible. They've been battered and are streaked with red marks and flecked with tiny bits of dried blood. Her nipples are erect and bright red. I accidentally brush against one which elicits a yelp. I dab her wounds with a swab soaked in alcohol that sets her screeching. I casually ask, “What happened to your breasts?”

She gathers herself, brushes away her tears and starts, “He had my arms above my head tied apart spread eagle, but standing.” She shows me the rope marks. I rub her wrists feeling the deep impressions and then gently kiss them. “He then ripped open my blouse and came at me with a big Crocodile Dundee knife. I was totally vulnerable and scared shitless. He slid the blade along my skin and between my breasts. It easily sliced my bra apart. Then he circled my nipples with the tip while making these nonhuman obscene sounds. I'd never felt so threatened and helpless. Of course my nips immediately popped up, I was afraid they were making a too inviting target. I willed them to go back down but they wouldn't. I was so afraid of what was going to happen.”

“He was disgusting, fat and hairy. He wore wide leather straps that crossed his chest making indents on his man boobs. . . And tight leather shorts, his fat hairy belly flopped over the top. . . The crotch was open and this huge flaccid cock hung between his legs. . . He looked like some kind of a gorilla.” She fades off back into subspace. Her nipples look angry and are going to be that way for a while, I rub them with the alcohol pad. That shock brings her back into the now and what we are doing so she continues,

“He grabbed and pawed at my chest. He especially liked my nipples. He twisted, yanked, bit even rubbed them against his and on the brillo pad of his cottage cheese belly. After that on went the clover clamps.” She shivers remembering, “He flicked them with his fingers and when her got bored with that he pulled them up and out and down and around. It was like he was flying a drone he even made little flying sounds. He was a giant fat kid with new toys to destroy. Besides belittling it hurt like hell. I begged for him to stop but, no, not even a response. When I called him a 'pig', well, that got his attention.”

“I immediately regretted my impudence because he abandoned flying my nips and got a cane. At first he just poked at me with it. So demeaning. He'd push it on my leg and then twist catching the nylon and twist until the material would tear and then he'd twist some more. He giggled with glee at the sound of the nylon ripping and me inhaling and whining out complaints. Over and over he did that. He yanked my skirt off and pulled my panties halfway down and left them there. I was so embarrassed by that. Imagine that! Embarrassed in front that slobbering pig!” She looks me in the eye, “What the hell is wrong with me? I'm such a raging pervert. I wouldn't give that slobbering tattooed pig my spare change if I saw him on the street. But, there I was tied open, his plaything with me hoping that he will hurt me more.”

I begin to apply aloe and vitamin E on her marks. She flinches as I dab, “That's nice, baby. I love you.” She coos out.

Her smile melts into a frown as she carries on, “That's when he started hitting me. Just tapping at first, they stung but nothing I couldn't handle. He worked on me from neck to toe, I was warm all over. When he used the cane on my head and face it was just too much. I was overcome with humiliation and bust out in tears.”

I remove her skirt and shredded hose, noting the absence of panties, and start with the same treatment on her bottom half.

“He watched me cry with a scorching intensity that burned through my chest exposing my beating heart. I must have displeased him because he came back at me with a bigger cane and everything picked up in pace and ferociousness. I can't tell you where he hit or how much or how hard. You can probably tell better than I. All I know was that I was aflame and in a whirlpool of sharp stinging pain. It went on forever. I tried not to look at him, He was this sweaty hairy hulk of an [filtered word] ruthlessly enjoying the torture of a helpless female. And me, a willing part of it. I was. . . am, so ashamed.”

I'm on my knees on the tile between her legs as I dab the contusions on her thighs. Staring me in the face is the red and blue mess of her pussy. It is as angry as her nipples and looks like it has been turned inside out, “What the hell happened here?”

She is glad to tell, “He was huge. I was still hanging by my wrists but he'd wrapped my legs around his spongy waist. He was poking at my open pussy with his baseball bat of a cock and laughing like a kid that is tearing the wings off of insects. I felt a rush of perverted pride knowing that by taking his beating I could raise that monster up to its full potential. God that sounds awful, doesn't it? I don't know what makes me think shit like that. Do shit like that.” Her face turns red and she chokes back a tear.

“Anyway, that thing was my creation, I'd earned it and I wanted it inside me. I was wiggling my ass and humping at it like an orangutan in heat but I kept bouncing off because I was suspended. He made fun and laughed at my futile gyrations while I pleaded for his cock like a crazed slut. I was a crazed slut. He called me a 'pain slut' and a 'whore' as he slapped my face. I agreed enthusiastically while begging to get fucked by the [filtered word]. I would have said, done anything.” I still staring at the mess between her legs, she reaches down and lifts my head, “This is so terrible. Are you sure you want to hear it sweetheart?”

“Yes, tell me. I'm here for you.” I tell her that I'm there for her. Not a lie but I'm not a complete martyr either. The stories and tending to the wounds excite me in a way I'm not sure I can describe. A feeling that is sexual but somehow transcendent too. It is like there is a string connecting my groin and my brain and when I vicariously live her stories that string is plucked and the brain and cock vibrate in perfect harmony. Done with her wounds I sit back on my feet and watch and listen. Her hand dives down and covers her pussy. She bends all four fingers and they go in without touching the sides,“That's not right.” I tell her.

“I know! It's so terrible having my pussy wallowed out like that. At 30 I'm a worn out slut, nothing but a stripped out screw hole with no pride or shame. Pathetic!”

“I was humiliating myself, begging for this disgusting [filtered word] to fuck me with his grotesque cock. Once he thought I'd demeaned myself enough he grabbed my ass with his calloused hands, positioned me like a fleshlight on his salami cock. He pressed harder and harder against my pussy seeking entry to a hole that had never taken anything near that girth and length. I wiggled my hips wanting to help. He relentlessly pushed with his cock and pulled with his hands until the head finally popped in. I saw red lighting flashes accompanied by the pain of childbirth! And I came and came screaming and thrashing as he pushed in deeper and deeper. Holy shit!”

“He dropped his head and watched as his cock destroyed my pussy. I could tell he loved doing this to women. You know using that monster as a weapon, punishing women for being desired by him. At that point I felt my entire existence was reduced to being an inadequate cunt and I was OK with that. He humped and humped like a mindless machine all the while smelling like a monkey house. He was concentrating so hard that drool fell from his mouth and onto my chest, it felt like acid on my skin. I came and came over and over howling like a wild [filtered word]. Uncaring he kept to his own agenda and pace.”

“I'd been coming incessantly and was finally getting my breath back when he picked up his pace which took me to another level. I didn't know if it was pain or ecstasy. I did know it wasn't going to stop until he was finished. He started grunting like a wild boar and making frightening faces. I thought this was finally going to be it but before he came he raised his head and saw the clamps still on my nipples. He took a big bear swipe sending them flying and spit in my face. I was blasted to somewhere I'd never been before and couldn't explain even it if there were words.” She scans my face and says with concern, “You must hate me.”

We fall silent, or eyes locked. Then, of course, she goes on, “The next thing I knew he was untying me. I felt his sticky seed dribbling out of my raw and aching pussy. Suddenly, a gentleman, he gathered what was left of my clothes and asked after my feelings. He said he had a good time and hoped that we could get together again after I'd healed. After I'd healed! That's rich! I didn't answer. I was totally disgusted with the both of us. I just wanted to get out of there. I felt awful and wondered how I could have possibly been that depraved and done such despicable things. I thought about you here at home and burst out in tears.”

Her face softens, “Between you and the Oxy, I'm feeling better, baby.” She gives me a stoned smile, “You look so serious. I love you and only you darling.” She reassures stands offers her hands and pulls me up and guides me over to the tub. In she goes and slides on down, “Get in here and stand over me. Get the little fellow out and piss on me. I know that I revolt you, I deserve to be coated in your waste, seems only fair,” She puts her hands together in prayer, “Pleeeease.”

The idea appeals. I unzip and plop it out while I take in the scene. What better way to exact some measure of justice from a situation that is beyond morality. I explain, “It's not that I don't want to but I've never been asked to pee on demand. It will come I'm sure.”

While we wait she encourages, “Come on! Please! Pee on me! You know I'm a fucking slut! A filthy fucking adulterating perverted pain slut. . . I deserve your contempt. I'm a bad, warped person. . . Don't I disgust you? I know I disgust myself. Pee on your cuckolding bitch wife. . . Did you see what that [filtered word] did to my pussy? I came like a whore while he did it. Give me your disgust, please.” She wraps her arms around my calves, slides down flat and opens her mouth.

I let go and a fragrant stream hits her right in the third eye. She gasps and moans spits and coughs as I direct the stream soaking her face, hair, tits and cunt. She's on a hair trigger and starts writhing around like a snake in a growing yellow puddle and then screams out an orgasm that seems to cause her more pain than pleasure. I leave her there to shower and then join me in bed.

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