A Husband's Revenge

I got home early from work that day, and let myself in as usual. I was just

about to call out to let Meg know I was home when I heard a soft cry from

upstairs that froze me in my tracks. I'd heard that moan before, and I knew only

one thing that could bring it about!

I slipped off my shoes and crept upstairs, mindful of the fourth stair that

creaked. I tiptoed to the bedroom door, which was closed, as I'd expected it to

be, judging by the moans and sighs that got louder as I came up the stairs. I

didn't bother with the keyhole. Instead I went into the spare room, unlocked the

cupboard. Meg didn't know about this, of course! I switched on, and the small

screen came to life, showing me what was going on in the bedroom; I'd hidden the

camera some while ago, curious to see how Meg wanked, as she'd never agree to do

it while I watched.

Now I saw her on the bed with Jeff; he was giving it to her big time. And she

was loving it, the slut! He bounced on top of her, grunting, and she was

squealing and panting, clutching him, crying out for more. The bitch had never

once begged me for more! I was furious, shaking with anger against them both.

How long had this been going on? How long had my brother been fucking my wife? I

left the camera to record, locked the cupboard and went quietly downstairs,

putting my shoes on again and going out quietly. I had to decide what to do

about them both, but I was too angry to think straight just then.

I went for a long walk, my mind seething, turning over plans for revenge,

rejecting them as unsuitable: if I shot them how would I get away with it?

Besides, I didn't own a gun and I didn't know anybody who did: not that I

supposed that they'd lend me it even if I did. (This is where real life falls

short of stories! No convenient pistols lying around to go off by accident, no

shops where I could buy a couple of sticks of dynamite over the counter.)

I walked off my first fury, calming down a bit, though not any less determined

to get back at them both. Maybe I could fuck Tracy - Jeff could hardly complain,

could he? He'd started the fucking-the-sister-in-law routine! But I didn't want

to fuck Tracy. Or I did, but not as revenge. I wanted both of those cheating

bastards to know it when I took my revenge on them. I wanted them to know, and

to suffer: merely fucking Tracy wouldn't be enough to get back at Jeff - unless

he knew it, of course.

But why involve her? She couldn't help what her husband was. Maybe I could...

It was very late when I got home the second time. Meg greeted me, kissing me as

normal; I wanted to hit the bitch. Not a trace of guilt or remorse for what

she'd done! I didn't fuck her that night; I couldn't bear even to touch her,

certainly not in the same bed that she'd been fucked by him.

I left early for work the next morning, not exchanging more than a dozen words e

with her. I had a rough day at work; I couldn't tell anyone, of course - they

probably know all about it, and would laugh at me for only just having found it

out! Besides, it's not the sort of thing you can discuss with workmates, is it?

"Oh, by the way, I caught my brother fucking my wife last night. " No, I

wouldn't tell anyone. I'd keep it to myself, hugging it close, so that, when I

acted, the revenge would be all the sweeter.

I got home late that night, too, and went o check the video recorder. Yep,

they'd been at it again; I watched her sucking his prick, watched her bend over

so he could give it to her from behind, watched the bitch wriggle and jerk with

pleasure as he fucked her doggy-style, I didn't fuck her that night, either, or

all the rest of the week. By the weekend, I'd made up my mind what I was going

to do with her; I still had to decide what to do with him. Saturday was fine and

sunny. I suggested a drive in the country, and she agreed. She said that I

seemed to have gone off it lately, and maybe it would do me good to fuck al

fresco. I had a few things packed in the boot of the car, ready for this event.

She packed a picnic and, with a knowing smile, a blanket. Then we set out. I

knew where I was going to take her; I had the perfect spot in mind. I drove us

by a roundabout route, and she relaxed and enjoyed the trip, Enjoy it while you

can, I thought.

I parked up and we got out, I carrying the basket, Meg holding the blanket. I

strolled along, Meg beside me, apparently wandering aimlessly, but I knew

exactly where I was going. We reached a small clearing, out of sight and hearing

of the road. There was a fallen tree lying at an angle, a patch of sunlight.

"This looks a nice place," Meg said, looking around appreciatively. She spread

the blanket and we sat, and ate and drank in silence. Then she stretched, lay

back on the blanket, her eyes half-closed, looking up at me, smiling. "And what

happens now?" she teased.

"You might be surprised," I said, forcing a smile.

She laughed and reached for me. I went with it, forcing myself to kiss her, to

fondle her. Slowly I undressed her, baring her tits and belly, fondling them

slowly. She resisted, but only for form's sake - she knew as well as I did that

we were far from the road. I slowly stripped her naked, she smilingly

protesting, but not hindering me. Then I fucked her, for the first time since

I'd found out about Jeff. She clung to me, the slut, moaning and gasping as I

let her have it, forcing myself not to be rough with her - that would come

later. We rested for a while, she wearing only my shirt, opened widely. I looked

at her, and decided that it was time. I returned her kisses, let her draw me

down to her. Then I took her wrists, pulled them over her head and pinned them

down with one of mine. "Steve?" she said, startled. She tried to pull her hands

free but couldn't - even with only one hand I was stronger than her.

"I feel like playing games," I said, and she smiled and relaxed; we'd often

played games before. So when I pulled the cord out of my back pocket and tied

her wrists she shivered, but didn't protest - this wasn't a new game, though

we'd never played it out of doors before. But when I pulled her to her feet and

led her by the cord to the fallen tree, she held back; I pulled sharply, and she

stumbled after me, asking me what I thought I was doing. I didn't bother to

answer; she'd find out soon enough! I tied the other end of the cord to the

fallen tree, making sure that the cord was out of her reach - unless she climbed

the tree naked with her hand tied! She wasn't enjoying this any more; she

demanded to know what I thought I was doing, demanded that I untie her this

instant.

"Or what?" I said, and she was silent, suddenly realising the position she was

in. I fetched the blanket and laid it down for her to sit on. The cord was long

enough for her to sit; it was long enough for her to lie down, I'd made sure of

that! Then I packed the basket, putting all her clothes in it. She was

wide-eyed, frightened.

"What are you doing, Steve?" she whispered. "Surely you're not going to leave me

like this!" she cried out as I stood and began to walk away. "You can't leave me

like this!"

"No?" I said. "Who's to stop me?" and she bit her lip.

"Why, Steve?" she wheedled.

I turned to face her. "Jeff," was all I said, but she coloured hotly, betraying

herself. "You're a slut," I told her. "So I'm going to leave you here, like

this, for a while."

"I'll scream!" she warned.

I laughed. "Scream all you like, slut. What do you think will happen to you if

men hear you, and find you like that? What do you think they'll do to you? Untie

you and lend you their coat and the fare home?"

She gaped at me, slowly realising what I meant. Then she burst into tears. "You

can't leave me like this!" she wept.

"Just watch me," I said, and walked off.

She cried out, but not too loudly, I noticed! I went back to the car, left he

basket, took out the things I'd left in the boot, and went back to the clearing.

She gasped with relief when she saw it was me - she'd obviously heard my

footsteps and feared the worst. But I made no move to untie her. Instead, I took

out the sign I'd prepared, and showed it to her before I hung it prominently on

view.

"No," she cried. "No, you can't!" The sign read: 'I am a slut who was caught

cheating on my husband. He left me here to be punished. Do what you like with

me. I deserve it. ' "No, please no," she begged, weeping, on her knees on the

blanket. "Please don't do this! I'm sorry!"

"Too late," I told her, taking another item out of the bag. She threw her head

back, sobbing in misery when she saw the stout leather strap. I beat her with

it. She sobbed and rolled at my feet, grovelling, begging for mercy. I only gave

her five strokes; then I left the strap hanging beside the sign. The marks in

her flesh would be evidence that it had already been used on her; that would let

people know that it could be used again, if they wanted to. She called out,

sobbing, as I left her. I walked noisily away, then crept back to the place I'd

marked when I'd selected this place two days ago. I settled down, got out the

video camera, and waited. I knew that I wouldn't have to wait for long - it was

a long way to the road - from the way we'd come. It wasn't so long from the

other direction - and there was a well-marked pathway close by. I knew that

someone would come along before very long. And what they did then was up to

them. She tried to break the cord, tried to rub it against the rough bark, even

tried to bite it loose; she remained perfectly secure. She huddled on the

blanket, legs drawn up, miserable; she knew she couldn't release herself; she'd

have to wait for me - or another - to come along and hope that I - or he - would

deign to free her.

I heard footsteps a way off; I straightened in anticipation, got the camera

ready. I could tell when she heard them; she moaned and curled up even tighter,

though she couldn't help but look out to see who was approaching. She didn't

know if it was me - the footsteps came from a different direction to the one I'd

gone off it, but that didn't mean much. I could have circled, to throw a scare

into her when I came back. I wondered if she knew there was more than one person

approaching, to judge by the footsteps.

I lifted the camera when I saw the men get very near. They walked along the path

casually, chatting; they would have walked right past if one of them hadn't

happened to glance aside in passing. He stopped dead, exclaiming aloud in shock.

The other stopped, turned to see what the matter was - and he saw her, too.

"What the fuck?" he said softly, stunned by what he saw. They went closer; I

started the camera as they stopped close to her, looking down at her, their

faces disbelieving. She buried her face in her knees, trembling, bright scarlet

with shame as they looked down at her, not speaking. They looked at her, then at

the sign, at the strap, at the marks on her body; then they looked at each

other. Both were aroused, which was to b e expected. And they were both going to

do something about it, I hoped.

"You cheated on your husband?" the first man demanded. She didn't answer, didn't

move, except that her shivering increased. He crouched and took a handful of her

hair, forcing her head up. She was weeping, terrified, I was glad to see. "You

cheated on your husband?" he repeated, crouching down beside her, his hand in

her hair. She shook her head a little, too frightened to do more. She cried out

as he slapped her face with his other hand. I could clearly see the mark on her

cheek. "You cheated on your husband?" he said again; when she hesitated, he

lifted his hand warningly.

"Yes," she burst out. "Yes!"

"And he left you here to be punished. And it looks like someone's made a start,"

he added, indicating the strap marks on her body. She shuddered. "And you're a

slut who deserves anything that's done to you, are you?" He slapped her face

again, three times, until she cried.

"Yes! Please don't hit me any more!"

He thrust her back to the blanket and straightened. "Maybe. Maybe not. " He

turned to the other man, who was watching open-mouthed. "Shall we?" he asked,

indicting her with a jerk of his head. For answer, the other pulled a coin from

a pocket and spun it. "Heads!" the first man called, and they both looked at the

coin and laughed. The first man stepped back, the other man stepped forward, to

the edge of the blanket. He looked down at her.

"Get on your back and open your legs, slut," he told her.

"Please," she whimpered. He thrust her down with the sole of his boot; she lay

still, his boot on her chest, between her tits.

"Don't argue, slut. When you're told to do something, do it. " He took his boot

off her, thrust it between her legs and forced them wide open. When he took his

boot away, she stayed perfectly still; she shuddered as he reached for his

zipper, got his prick out. He got between her legs, lowering himself on to her;

she turned her fact aside [towards me, luckily, so I could get her reactions on

film]. I could tell when he penetrated her, and I enjoyed her expressions very

much as he pumped and poked into her, fucking her strongly, thrusting heavily

between her thighs. He didn't take long to come. When he got off her, the first

man stepped forward again.

"What's she like?"

The other man shrugged. "A cunt is a cunt," he said. "This one's nothing

special. Find out for yourself!"

"I will," the first man said, and did so, fucking her with equal strength and

vigour. Her face creased up as he rose and fell on top of her; she bit her lip

hard, tears in her eyes. He got off her before long. "You're right," he agreed.

"Nothing special."

The second man took down the strap, holding it thoughtfully. "Maybe we can do

something about that," he said. "The strap wasn't left here by accident."

The first man gulped. "You'd use it on her?"

"That's why it was left here," the second man said. "And someone's used it on

her already. Maybe they had the same problem we have, and found the same answer.

Maybe the strap will make her a better fuck. We've nothing to lose by trying!"

He turned to her; she was on her knees, begging not to be struck, in tears as

she begged for mercy.

Her submissiveness turned me on; it did the same for the other two men, I could

see that. The more she begged, the more she made them want to do it to her. The

second man found the other end of the cord and untied it; he tied it much lower,

giving her much less slack. Then he took the strap off the other man and swished

it experimentally through the air. She shuddered, weeping. He beat her slowly,

strongly, enjoying himself immensely. The sight of her marked body and the sound

of her sobs and pleas obviously delighted him; the blows became harder, quicker.

Then he threw the strap down, grabbed her, forced her to the blanket and raped

her brutally, bouncing on top of her as he forced her to pay of exciting him so

much. She sobbed and twisted, but was utterly helpless. As soon as he got off

her the other man leaped on top of her, raping her with equal brutality. His

hand over her mouth held back her shrieks and sobs as she felt herself being

violently fucked, savagely invaded. When he too got off her she curled up,

sobbing, shaking. I felt no sympathy for the cheating slut - she was only

getting what she deserved, the bitch.

"We'd better shut her up before anyone else hears her," the first man said. With

a handkerchief and a length of cord, cut off the main tether, they gagged her

firmly.

"Aww, now she can't suck," the second man complained.

"She will, later," the other promised. "We just gag her with our pricks. Until

we're ready to have her suck us off, that'll keep her quiet."

Over the next several hours, they raped her repeatedly, in many different ways,

making her assume various positions. The camera had long run out of tape, but I

was too busy watching to care. I had an erection the size of my forearm by this

time; there was an exquisitely pleasurable torture in not being able to wank off

without being overheard; I had to hang on to my arousal for the time being. She

was lashed several times - each time she dared protest at their orders. Soon I

was pleased to note that she obeyed them as soon as they spoke. Her body was

covered in the marks of the strap - even her tits and inner thighs were striped.

They took her from behind, making her put her head to the blanket, her arse up

in the air for their convenience, fucking her doggy-style, deeply and quickly

thrusting to their orgasms. Then the first man knelt behind her again, his prick

ready to invade. When he spread her buttocks, both she and I realised what his

target was going to be; she whimpered, wriggling, trying to break free of his

grasp. He held her tightly, pushed the tip of his prick to her hole, then

suddenly, savagely, rammed inwards. She jerked wildly; her scream was muffled by

the gag, but it reached me clearly. He raped her arse heavily, panting as he

rode her with increasing force until he came. The other man had to bugger her

then, of course - he was as brutal, as rough as the first man had been - more

so, in fact, because watching her being arse-raped had turned him on even more.

He bounced violently on top of her, grunting and panting as he came. She fell to

her side, sobbing, shuddering, blood on her thighs where her other virginity had

been ripped from her.

The men rested. Then she was lashed again, for protesting at being buggered.

When they told her to kneel again and present her arse for fucking, she did so

without demur; she tamely accepted their buggery, and that abject acceptance was

even more exciting than her previous resistance had been. They'd taught her to

obey, to submit to their demands. They were dominating her, and she was

submitting. While they were engrossed in her arse, I stole away to a safe

distance and wanked furiously, jerking off heavily, the picture of her on her

knees, on of them up her arse as I came.

When I crept back, they were both fucking her, riding her cunt and arse

together, jerking her between them as they fucked and buggered. Halfway through

they changed places, again fucking and buggering her until they chose to stop -

which wasn't soon! As a finale, they ungagged her and raped her mouth, holding

her on their pricks with both hands while they thrust in and out. She squirmed

on her knees, choking, gasping for breath as their pricks shoved down her

throat. When the second man had come, he made her swallow, then thrust her to

the first man, who raped her mouth without ceremony, also making her swallow.

Then they dressed themselves.

"If your husband asks, you'll tell him what we did to you, slut," the second man

said. "He'll know you've been punished, by the marks on your body. But you'll

tell him everything we did to you, and in detail. In fact... " He took down the

sign, turned it over, and wrote on it. Then he replaced it. "There! That should

give your husband all the information he needs to decide whether you've been

adequately punished or not. If he thinks you haven't, he can always leave you

out here again!" Laughing, they went off, well satisfied with themselves. I

wondered what they'd written on the sign. I hoped they'd left at least their

phone numbers! I didn't think they'd mind repeating themselves at some future

date!

After a while, I stepped out of cover. She turned her head quickly, and fell

when she saw me. She was still gagged, still helplessly bound, and her body gave

ample evidence that she'd been well disciplined. I stepped over her, took the

sign down and read it. It detailed what they'd done o her, hoped that they'd

given her sufficient cause to regret her cheating on me, and said that they'd be

around the same time next week - if needed. There was no phone number, but there

was the promise of future contact. Which might be amusing. I untied her,

ungagged her. She wrapped herself in the blanket, clutching it to her, shaking,

as much from shock as from cold.

"Did you enjoy the experience?" I asked her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she wept. "Please don't punish me any more. I'm sorry!"

"Maybe you'd like to repeat the experience another time?" I asked, and she fell

to her knees at my feet, sobbing. I looked down; she looked good like that,

kneeling at my feet, humble and submissive. I thought I'd keep here there. It

was where a slut like her belonged - at my feet, helpless and knowing it. "We're

going home," I told her. "But you're already where you belong. At my feet,

humble, submissive, subdued, tame. That's where I'm going to keep you from now

on, slut - at my feet."

"Please," she whimpered.

"Of course, I could always tie you up again and leave you here for a few more

hours," I mused. "Or even overnight. Or maybe even longer than that."

"No, please," she wept. "Don't do that to me again, please!"

"Kiss my feet, then," I told her. "Kiss my feet and beg me to keep you on your

knees at my feet, totally dominated. " She hesitated; then, with a sob, she bent

forward and kissed my feet. I nearly came on the spot! "Beg," I demanded

roughly.

"I beg to be kept on my knees at your feet," she wept. "Kept totally dominated.

Please don't leave me here again! I beg to be totally dominated!"

"Beg to be my slave," I ordered harshly.

She wept. "I - I beg to be your slave," she sobbed. I threw back my head and

laughed in triumph.

"I will, slut," I promised her. "Oh, I most certainly will! And if you ever get

out of line, I'll bring you back here and leave you for them - yes, slut, I can

get in touch with them; I can have them do all of it to you again. And again and

again!" She kissed my feet in terror, abjectly begging me not to, promising

almost hysterically to obey me, to be good. I wanted to fuck her. But first I

wanted to get her clean. So I snapped my fingers at her as I turned away.

"Follow me, slave. " And she did, following me back to the car. I made her get

into the back, made her lie down, told her to stay there until we got home. I

drove home in a very good mood; I was very pleased with myself. I'd got even

with her - now all I had to do was to find a way to get even with him.

But that could come later. For now, I had a slave to train and I was looking

forward to it very much.