Dalton, Tymber - Monkey Wrench [Drunk Monkeys 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Tymber Dalton

  She forced herself to look up at him. Tears streamed from her eyes.

  She was never allowed to wipe them away, or any snot that might run out her nose, before he was finished with her.

  After laying the belt on the bed, he pressed the head of his cock against her asshole. Sometimes, when he didn’t feel like making the walk to her room in the middle of a night, or if there was a nurse on duty and he didn’t want a witness, he’d play the frat house video on his TV with the sound down and stroke himself to several orgasms while watching her get spit-roasted and reamed by the frat boys.

  He’d given serious thought at one point to tracking down all the men in the video and inviting them to repeat the evening with her, but by then his reputation as a minister had grown and he didn’t want to risk word of it getting out.

  Although he had threatened her with that a few times.

  He slowly speared her, enjoying her look of revulsion and hatred. He reached down and shoved two fingers into her cunt. She was already growing wet.

  She hated this, and him, but her body knew what it wanted even when her brain said otherwise. He’d made sure of that.

  After all, she was his wife, and he owned her.

  The Bible said so.

  “Now make yourself come. Until you’ve come three times, my cock stays in your ass. He took a slow stroke out, until just the head of his cock was still inside her, before slamming deep and hard into her again.

  She let out a soft cry, but her cunt clenched around his fingers, flooding his hand with moisture. She turned the vibrator on and pressed the head of it against her clit.

  “Almost like having two of those filthy frat cocks in you at the same time, isn’t it?” He worked a third finger into her cunt and twisted, finding her G-spot.

  He slowly fucked her ass, smiling down at her as she worked her body up toward the first orgasm. As he felt her body tensing, climbing, he picked up the pace so that when the first orgasm hit her, making her cry out, he was pounding his cock so hard into her ass that he nearly lost control as her tight muscles spasmed around his cock.

  No, she couldn’t lie to him. Her body couldn’t, that was for sure.

  He stopped with his cock buried inside her. “There’s one. You get to come two more times, just like the filthy whore you are. Keep looking at me while you do. I want you to remember who owns every last bit of you.”

  Even through her tears her hatred burned in her eyes. It only made him smile that much more.

  It was all her fault. If she had just been polite when she’d snubbed him the time he’d asked her out on a date in college, he would have walked away. Had she simply been decent and not acted like a fucking cunt.

  But no. She’d laughed at him, her fucking rich bitch friends standing there with her, snorting like that was the funniest damn thing any of them had ever heard.

  “I’d never go out with you. What, are you crazy? You don’t have any money. Friends, sure. And yeah, studying. But I’ve got news for you, you’re not good enough for me for that. You’re here on a charity scholarship.”

  Then she and her friends had walked away, laughing.

  He’d thought she was a real friend to him, a nice girl, a good friend. Not a stuck-up bitch only using him for better grades.

  He’d shown her who had the last laugh.

  If her friends could see her now, the real her.

  She continued using the vibrator on herself. It would take her at least another couple of minutes to get to the second one.

  The third he always loved, because it usually took her at least ten minutes to get there.

  And he savored every second of it.

  “Why aren’t you allowed to make yourself come unless I tell you to?” he asked her.

  “Because I can’t control my body. You are my husband and you control my body.”

  “Exactly.” He started pumping the three fingers buried in her cunt, making sure every stroke caught her G-spot. “And why are you only allowed to come when my cock is in your ass?”

  “Because I’m a dirty whore who doesn’t deserve to be treated like a lady.”

  “Very good.” He scissored his fingers inside her, loosening her up even more so he could really slam his hand into her hard and fast. “And what do dirty whores get?”

  “Fucked in the ass.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  If she’d only been nice. Had she treated him with respect, hell, if she’d accepted his offer to go out with him, even if just that one time, he could have shown her gentle, kind, loving. He would have gladly cuddled with her, treated her like a queen. Let her sleep in bed with him every night.

  Allowed her to bear his children.

  But no. She had to be a bitch.

  So he made her his bitch.

  Oh, tonight’s video would go in the keeper file. He loved playing nights like this back, too. Loved watching her debase herself for his amusement.

  He reached up with his free hand and twisted her right nipple, hard enough to make her cry out, but then her cunt and ass started spasming again as her second orgasm hit her.

  He laughed. “You’re right. You are a dirty whore. You’ve got my hand up your cunt and my cock in your ass and loving it.”

  He’d recovered enough control he could start moving his cock again, this time slowly fucking her.

  Then he had an idea. “You know, I think the fact that you had already cried before I got here tonight means I’ve been too lenient with you. I think that for the next couple of days, I’m going to have to remind you what a dirty whore you are every night. Maybe then you’ll remember who’s in charge here.”

  She sobbed.

  Not because of the vibrator or out of pleasure, either.

  Inside, he danced with glee. She would shed plenty of tears for him over the next few nights.

  He’d been meaning to add an extra element to their discipline for a while now, but he’d been too busy to follow up on it. He would have to get a butt plug for her to wear. A big, thick one. Condition her to get wet when she put it in, and by default to get wet when he fucked her ass. He planned on fucking her ass more frequently. He wanted the extra mental barb of being able to reach around and feel her pussy get wet when he fucked her ass so he could tease her about it.

  He also wanted to be able to use her own cunt juices to lubricate his cock for fucking her ass. Make her use her own hand to spread them on his cock.

  He wanted her next few months to be spectacularly horrid for her, so that when she tragically caught Kite and died from it while he was out of town at one of the church strongholds, one of her last feelings would be of shame over how she’d treated him so long ago.

  Of how she’d basically brought this all on herself.

  She was sobbing by the time she had the third orgasm. He finished, then pulled his hand from her cunt. “Open your mouth, whore.”

  She licked her own juices from his hand, the way she’d licked them from the cocks of the frat boys that night.

  She was lucky he was grossed out by going from ass to mouth, or he would do that to her, too. He wouldn’t debase himself.

  Only her.

  He finally pulled his spent cock out of her ass. He took the vibrator from her and shut it off. “Go get the wet washcloths.”

  She got up and fetched them from the bathroom, removing the condom from him and wiping him down with one, then wiping the vibrator down with the second one.

  He returned it and the bottle of lube to the locker.

  Then he stood by the bed and she dropped to her knees in front of him, kissing his cock.

  “Now what do you say?”

  He loved the hitching sound of her voice. “Thank you for fucking this filthy whore’s ass and allowing me to come, husband. You are the best husband ever.”

  “You’re welcome. And you’ll be thanking me the next several nights, too.” He reached for his belt. “Get cleaned up before the night nurse gets here.”

  He barely held back his chu
ckle when he heard her crying as he closed her door behind him.

  I can’t wait to begin training my new wives.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, when Stacia returned home after her shift, Aunt Darla had already gone to work but Marvin hadn’t yet left the apartment. Stacia decided to give up on going to sleep right away. Instead, she followed him when he left when he thought she had already gone to bed.

  Sure enough, once outside their apartment building, he made a direct beeline in the direction of the Church of the Rising Sunset’s facility.

  Sonofabitch.

  She adjusted her surgical mask and waited a couple of minutes after he went inside the building to follow him. Of course, the dumbass hadn’t been wearing his mask. He’d probably left it sitting on his dresser.

  Again.

  Idiot.

  Several other people had also gone inside, apparently close to her age or Marvin’s, even though it was hard to tell with the surgical masks most of them wore.

  Inside the front door, to her right, was an open doorway that looked like an office, based on the people sitting inside at desks. When she peeped inside the room to her left that apparently functioned as the main sanctuary, she found it sat completely empty except for rows and rows of folding chairs facing a podium in front of a large cross painted on the wall behind it.

  Listening and hearing a group of people chatting somewhere, she made her way down the main hallway that wound around until she discovered an open door. At least fifty folding chairs sat in this room, many of them occupied by people who weren’t wearing face masks. It looked like a classroom, with a large video screen and whiteboard at the front.

  When she spotted Marvin sitting in the front row, talking to a young, attractive woman seated next to him, Stacia resisted the urge to walk in and drag him out by his ear.

  Of course. A farking woman.

  Where else could a guy without a job, without any money, and without any prospects for a decent future meet women who might express an interest in him but at a church?

  She startled when a woman spoke from behind her. “Hi! Are you one of our volunteers?”

  Stacia turned and found herself looking up at a woman not wearing a mask, but instead who wore a completely creepy and too-wide smile. She carried a clipboard and wore a lab coat and stripper heels. Stacia couldn’t understand why that particular combination, but whatever.

  “My brother’s in there. What’s going on?”

  “Oh, is he one of our volunteers?”

  “Volunteers for what?”

  “Our research project. Haven’t you heard? We’re working toward finding a vaccine for Kite. We’re calling it the Preachsearch Project. Isn’t that cute?”

  Stacia blinked. “What?”

  “You know, that horrible virus. Our doctors are working on a vaccine.”

  Alarm bells went off in her head. “Wait a minute. You mean to tell me the CDC has its greatest minds totally devoted to doing that, and you all think you can solve it?”

  Creepy Smile Stripper Heels Lady cocked her head, but the smile didn’t leave her face. “Well, yes. It’s God’s will. I didn’t realize you’d be joining your brother in the program.” She started to consult with her clipboard. “What’s his name?”

  “Uh, nooo, that’s because I’m not joining your program. And neither is he.” Stacia marched into the room, right up to Marvin, and stood there until he looked up at her.

  “Stace? What are you—”

  She grabbed his arm. “Let’s go. Move it. Now.”

  Marvin didn’t budge. “No. You don’t understand, they’re going to pay me for volunteering. I’m already in training.”

  “Then it’s not volunteering. You can get a freaking job where you don’t have to be a guinea pig.”

  He didn’t get up. “You don’t understand. This is God’s will.” He tipped his head slightly toward the young woman, who smiled that same creepy kind of smile at her as Stripper Heels Lady had.

  “This isn’t god’s will, Marvin. This is you trying to scam women and get laid. Come on. Let’s go.”

  He pulled his arm away. “No. I’ve had a spiritual conversion.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since meeting Korey here. She’s in the program, too.”

  Korey waved, the smile remaining on her face. “I’m from Kentucky.”

  She sounded like it. “Yeah, I can tell you’re not from around here,” Stacia quipped.

  Stacia’s sarcasm soared over Korey’s head. “No, it’s my first time out of the state. I got to fly on an airplane for the first time, too! Boy was that excitin’, I’ll tell you what. The church even paid for it.”

  Stacia focused on Marvin, glaring at him. “Let’s go. Now.” Usually that tone of voice got his ass moving if nothing else did.

  He scowled at her and dropped his voice. “They’re going to pay me one hundred thousand dollars for doing this,” he hissed. “So don’t mess this up for me. I made it through the first round of training, and I’m nearly done with the second. I’m going to be staying in the dorms here, too. The food’s great! And they have all the farking cable TV channels. It’s unbelievable!”

  She knew she couldn’t have heard him right. She was still hung up on the money. “One hundred grand? What? What the fark are you talking about?”

  He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. It was a copy of a signed contract.

  She skimmed through it. Yep. They would pay him one hundred thousand dollars if he kept his end of the bargain and successfully made it through the program. She didn’t fail to notice how the contract did not specify what, exactly, the program entailed.

  Even more alarm bells went off in her brain, really loud, scary ones that sent gooseflesh rippling across her arms.

  He pulled the paper out of her hands and neatly folded it to return to his pocket. “So, you’re welcome. It will be deposited in Aunt Darla’s account as long as I complete the training process and get sent out to an assignment. Now go away before you mess this up for me. You’ve been bugging me to do something, to step up. Well, I did, and I am. Maybe this is what I’ve always been waiting for. I can do this and we’ll be able to live on it for several years. Maybe you’ll even be able to go back to school now.”

  So this was why he hadn’t told her anything about what he was doing. Because he knew she’d make him stop. “What the hell do you think they’re going to do to you that they’re paying you that much money!”

  Could he really be that stupid? There had to be a catch. There always was a catch, and especially in a situation like this, which sent warning bells screaming through her brain.

  Now Stripper Heels Lady was talking to another woman in the back of the room, but the smile had fallen from her face. The other woman wore a surgical mask, lab coat, geek glasses, and sensible shoes.

  Fark.

  “Last chance, Marvin. Let’s go.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

  Aunt Darla wouldn’t be happy about this, but there wasn’t a damn thing Stacia could do. Her brother was an adult, older than her, even if he’d chosen to act like a helpless kid for most of his life.

  She threw her hands up in front of her. “Fine. Do this. I don’t care anymore. I’m done trying to get you to step up and simply act like a farking adult. Best of luck.”

  There was also a door to the hallway at the front of the room, at the end of the row where Marvin and Korey sat. Stacia headed for that one instead of walking all the way back to the one she’d entered through, meaning she’d have to pass the two lab-coated women.

  From behind her, Marvin spoke up. “Love you, sis.”

  Stacia didn’t turn or even slow down, only raised an arm at him as she ducked out the door, hurrying, practically at a run as a nasty tingling sensation developed at the base of her spine. She wanted out of that building.

  Immediately.

  Ever since their mom died in one of the flu pandemi
cs, she’d resented that Marvin hadn’t stepped up more, at least as an older brother.

  Whenever he fucked up, that was his stand-by response. “Love you, sis.”

  It’d worked when she was little.

  Now? Not so much.

  Words didn’t pay bills. Words didn’t buy food. Words didn’t help keep Aunt Darla’s pain at bay by buying the medication she needed to function.

  Words didn’t make up for all the disappointment, the broken promises to get a job, to try harder, to step up and be a man.

  If he’d at least set a good example, made an honest, decent attempt to inspire her, encourage her.

  He hadn’t even done that.

  At least he hadn’t ended up an alcoholic, a drug addict, or in jail.

  Scratch that. Had he ended up in jail, at least he would have had three squares and a cot, and Stacia and her aunt could have rented out his room for extra income.

  Her aunt did the best she could, but her arthritis made it difficult for her to do much more than work a low-paying job at a local call center for a national bank. She’d been widowed when her husband was killed in the line of duty in the military before Stacia and Marvin were born. That gave their aunt a small stipend every month, and guaranteed discounted housing.

  As long as she paid the rent every month.

  They couldn’t raise the rent on her, either. They could, however, evict her if she didn’t pay. At least with Stacia working, they were able to pay the bills every month as long as they were careful with their money.

  Stacia always shopped at thrift stores for clothes whenever she got to the point she couldn’t avoid buying any. She used the library for books, and she frequently took things she found in garbage bins or on a curb, fixed them up, and sold them for a little money, or traded them for store credit with a couple of thrift shops who’d do that for her.

  The only luxury she allowed herself was the basic cable service for the TV, because her aunt enjoyed watching TV, especially when she was in a lot of pain and couldn’t afford extra pain medication after her monthly allotment ran out. It wasn’t an easy existence, but at least they were better off than many people.

  It meant staying where they were, though. If they moved, they could get a discounted rate on a participating place, but it would be discounted from the current price. Aunt Darla had lived in that apartment for twenty-two years. No way she could ever afford a newer place at skyrocketing rents.