Retaliation

by Jurgen von Stuka

  Hank Rostrom officially died one night shortly after Melinda knocked him out in the wine cellar. Yet, according to public records, his death was anything but normal. His fully restored, original Shelby AC Cobra sports car, a very valuable relic from the sixties, threw a wheel on a curve of the Pacific Coast Highway, sending the car and its driver through the fragile barrier and down a three hundred foot embankment studded with boulders and a few trees. The full tank of gasoline fractured halfway down the cliff and when the car landed in a pile of twisted metal, it burst into flames and then exploded in a way that would have made any Hollywood film special effects demolition expert proud. Investigators hypothesized that Hank had ridden the car part way down and then been catapulted out the open top and into the surf another hundred feet below. It was a well-known area for sharks and the local surfers stayed away from these cliffs. A few torn fragments of Hank's clothing were found in the rocks along the shore, but his body was never found.

  Oddly enough, a fragment of the car was later discovered wedged into a rocky outcropping and medical examiners and CSI personnel were able to test a small piece of human flesh that was embedded in the metal, which turned out to be a part of the car's steering wheel. The DNA from the skin on that fragment matched samples taken from Hank's hairbrush and other personal effects in his bathroom at home. The investigation was eventually closed and Hank's funeral well attended. Melinda wore a clingy, black designer dress that did nothing to hide her perfect figure, showed off her tits in what some people might have thought was an inappropriate but nevertheless fashionable manner, and a pair of shiny, black patent shoes with six-inch stiletto heels, very much like the one that often resided in Hank's mouth.

  Melinda mourned for nearly a year, seldom leaving the huge house, except to go to work, and letting all but one of Her staff go on extended vacations, which She graciously paid for in full. Meanwhile, She kept herself occupied by developing Hank and the basement. She was working, as She told him frequently when he wasn't totally encapsulated in some sort of disciplinary gear, on making him Her personal sex slave.

  She was also developing new areas in and under the house. The two objectives dovetailed nicely with Her overall plan and meanwhile, She was building a file on Dorothy Moss, another bimbo She knew Hank had been boinking. When the right time came, Melinda intended to add Dorothy to Her get-even, under-the-house mix.

  In the process of designing Her long-term training programs for Hank and his seemingly endless retinue of sexual partners, Melinda accidentally discovered the secret affair with Sheila, one of the few people Melinda actually trusted. In Her heart, She knew at once that ignoring the possibility of Hank carrying on with Sheila had been a serious mistake, so when the affair came to light in the form of a video tape that arrived in the mail one morning after Hank's death, She was not totally shocked.

  The video was of first class quality and apparently taken by two hidden cameras in the suite that Hank leased at The Five Seasons Towers. Someone with a true hard on for Hank took the time and trouble to secretly install the cameras and monitor their recordings. Melinda assumed that the one tape was merely the appetizer to what could turn out to be a major buffet of Hank's indiscretions.

  And Hank, She knew, was not exactly Mister Popularity among the LA and Malibu social set. Most of his male friends were equally well known for their infidelity and generally indiscrete shacking up with everything from flash-in-the-pan TV actresses to female and male political figures who, without their connections wouldn't merit a second glance. Being married to Melinda, who was a celebrity in Her own right, provided Hank with access to women who he otherwise wouldn't have met. One of his most productive resources, Melinda learned, were Her own patients, many of them seeking almost any publicity exposure that they thought might yield a TV part, a Hollywood film role or an opportunity to get their newly acquired tits and or artificially enhanced ass in the paper, on film or TV. Over time, Hank became very adroit at spotting Melinda's work in action. It was his habit to glean names and addresses, along with the requisite before and after photos, from the computer files in Melinda's offices. His intimate relationship with Sheila, the receptionist, allowed him to view and review medical records, picking and choosing those women who he thought he'd like to pursue. Melinda learned that Hank was not above calling one of Her patients and setting up a date, ostensively to check, on Melinda's unknowing behalf, the postoperative status of the patient. When these meetings went well, a liaison usually followed, with Hank happily inspecting his wife's surgical work first hand.

  Inevitably, some of the patients became less than enchanted by Hank's cursory treatment, if not by his sexual abilities, and Melinda soon heard about what Her husband had been doing behind Her back. In more than one case, the source of information about the Hank situation came via male acquaintances who were not pleased with Hank's fooling around with their wives and girlfriends. Melinda knew that there were enough guys in the local area who would have loved to kill Hank if the opportunity presented itself, so there were few serious mourners at his funeral.

  Chapter Ten

  Licker

  “Time for your education to continue, Dickhead” Melinda's harsh voice said through the speaker recessed in the overhead. “Today, you will learn more about proper behavior and attitude. From now on, you have one mission in your pitiful life and it is not drinking vintage wines with the first dumb blond who trips over your dick in a bar.”

  Melinda was somewhere nearby, but Hank, tightly blindfolded and gagged with a new contrivance that was driving him crazy, was unable to tell exactly where She was. The table he once lay on had been replaced by the cold concrete of the cellar floor and Hank lay on it on his side, his hands and feet chained behind him. He could feel a cold metal collar around his neck and there was something new attached to his sex, something cold and hard that gripped his cock and balls, compressing the entire package into something much too small and much too tight. He felt as if his balls were no longer in their sack, but somewhere else where they hurt a great deal. The thing up his ass remained in place, as far as he could tell.

  “Do you know what that mission is?” She asked.

  Hank shook his head, feeling the grip of the steel collar on his neck and hearing the attached chain rattle slightly. The device that covered his mouth and nose seemed to wiggle a bit as he shook his head. As far as he could determine, he was attached to what felt and smelled like a simulated female sex, complete with all of the details and strapped over his mouth and nose. When he breathed, the air came and went through some aperture around the device. His tongue was pierced, ringed and attached by a short chain connected to the deeper recesses inside the thing, the hairless lips were pushed wide and the well-appointed clitoris was directly below his nose and easily accessible to his bound tongue. Periodically, when he was instructed to stimulate the wide-open, false vagina, the entire thing seemed to sweat and soak his mouth with a not unpleasant, somewhat salty liquid. The more he worked as instructed, encouraged by an occasional electrical jolt in his ass, the more liquid the false cunt produced. He was now in a rest position, having been told to cease his efforts at titillating the plastic, silicon and rubber device.

  “Your mission is that you will serve me,” Melinda was saying. “You are mine now and you have no other purpose in life. You officially died in a bad car accident on the PCH and your sparse remains were positively identified. That, by the way, is where that little slice of flesh I took from your arm went. Since there wasn't enough of you left to allow a visual identification, the cops settled for the DNA analysis of that one scrap and closed the case. You destroyed your precious Cobra, but the insurance company got people down there with a high risk recovery effort and salvaged a few parts that have most likely already been sold on the Internet for stupidly high prices. They have already, though reluctantly, paid the two hundred-eighty grand to your estate, so my expenses with Daddy are already covered and now I have you all to myself. His guys just eased off a few wheel n
uts on the right front wheel and everything else went just as they planned it.

  “You are officially dead and gone as far as anyone but me is concerned and I have some wonderful plans for you.”

  Hank shuddered as he listened. He knew that Melinda had truly vast resources, legal and extra-legal, through her father, who everyone knew was some sort of crime boss, but was always well below the radar of the government and local police. When something bad happened, Daddy was suspected, but never implicated. His connections were that good. Hank knew that if Daddy set out the dispose of Hank, Hank would vanish faster than Osama Bin Laden. More than once in the history of Hank and Melinda's marriage, Daddy, better known as Tony The Phony, told Hank that if he didn't behave himself he would have a bad accident and end up, as Tony put it, “seriously dead.”

  The Cobra accident on PCH was a simple, classic Daddy operation. Shortly after Hank was knocked out in the cellar, a guy, dressed in Hank’s flashy clothes and looking like him, took the car for a long drive late that evening. When he got to the right spot, a sharp left hand curve where the guardrail was already beaten up, he tied the steering wheel and accelerator with monofilament. The engine revved, he put it into gear, popped the clutch, bailed out the driver’s side door and let the car do the rest.

  Hank waited now, crouched in a fetal position on the cold floor, still amazed that Melinda had so easily outwitted him. His wait ended with the harsh stimulus of the thin buggy whip applied to his already well-scared ass.

  “Get up and get moving, Dick,” another voice he didn't recognize shouted. With his head sealed inside the rubber hood, Hank had no real clue as to who was wielding the slashing leather thong, but he knew that he'd do whatever he was told. He had no desire to encounter the anal shocks or the cock leash, so he quickly was up on all fours and sitting with his hooded head held high. The chain on his collar dangled below and the chain around his cock and balls was stretched tight from its connection to the nearby wall. The whip struck repeatedly. Hank was torn between the natural impulse to pull away from the whip while his mind told him that if he did, he'd very likely rip off his entire sex package, such as it was, with his legs spread enough to expose his crotch, should the whipper decide that a few blows to the balls might be merited.

  As suddenly as it began, the flailing stopped and he felt the nearby presence of someone. He smelled his wife's perfume and then felt Her gentle touch on his shoulders as She placed Her smooth thighs over his shoulders, removed the fake vagina strapped to his hooded head and thrust her scented bush against his rubberized face.

  Hank knew this one. He instantly extended his pierced tongue and began to slowly lathe Melinda's swollen and molten slit, carefully spreading the pedals apart and gaining entrance with his lips and tongue, all the while licking and sucking as he had been taught while practicing on the faux sex that was recently strapped to his face. Melinda's hands were behind his head, pressing him deeper. Her hips ground into his face and mouth as he drilled deeper and then moved back a bit to nibble Her exposed, demanding clit. The sounds Hank heard told him what and when to do it.

  “This is what she wants. This is what I can do,” Hank thought as he stretched his aching, pierced tongue even further up inside Melinda’s soaking hole. It beats having her whip my junk.

  As if on cue from his inner thoughts, he felt the first of many blows on first one side and then the other of his swollen ass. Melinda took up a spanking rhythm that matched her pressure on the back of his head. When she wanted him to lick and suck faster, the blows to his butt increased. When she slowed the strokes she was telling him to slow down as well. Hank was grateful that it was only Her leather gloved hand being applied to his ass rather than the whips and canes. He had come to appreciate small gifts like this and he knew that his wife could change the game in a flash, electing to chop off his nuts as opposed to just spanking him.

  A few hours later, Hank again found himself kneeling naked on the floor of the same room, this time with his ankles, thighs and knees strapped to large D rings mounted in recesses in the polished hardwood. His wrists were cuffed wide apart below his shoulders and his head was again encased in a tight rubber hood, a massive inflated ball gag filling his mouth.

  “One of your more frequent whores told me that you have a fear about being pegged, Hank,” his wife murmured from somewhere nearby. “I find that interesting, to say the least, considering how obsessed you seem with butt-fucking the women you entrap.”

  Hank shivered partly from air conditioned chill of the room, but more so from Melinda’s accurate observations. Indeed, he always felt a strong revulsion to anything having to do with his ass, a holdover perhaps to his toilet training as a baby. Even before this unpleasant thought settled in his tormented mind, the light, but wicked strike of a shattered bamboo cane seared his buttocks and Hank nearly leapt out of his restraints.

  “Nhgooooo,” he screamed into the gag and encapsulating hood, the dozens of thin slices of his already tenderized ass meat quickly oozing blood.

  The bamboo stick had once been part of a long fishing pole when Melinda bought it at a local sporting goods store. She asked the salesman if the bamboo was sturdy and would last a long time. The salesman, having a hard time keeping his eyes focused on this luscious customer’s face instead of her magnificent chest, assured her that this was aged bamboo and that the only way it might break was if she drove her SUV over it.

  “Oh?” said Melinda, sounding curious.

  “Well, that’s what usually happens,” he said, sneaking another glance at the double curves of Melinda’s tits as they surged from beneath the V-neck sweater. “The pole falls out of the truck or you drop it and then it gets run over, like this,” he said, showing her a shorter pole that had one end shattered into dozens of thin, sharp fragments.

  “Oh, that looks nasty,” Melinda had said, touching the multiple broken fibers with her gloved fingers and envisioning what she might do with such a wicked object.

  She bought three of the long poles, took them home and cut them into lengths suitable for caning, then experimented with crushing one end of each pole until she got the desired result – flail that could literally slice up flesh if enough power was behind the stroke. Using it on her husband was not only entertaining for her, but also another step in her continuing education in the methods of training recalcitrant men.

  Melinda ignored Hank’s cries and struck three more times before she dropped the cane and advanced on his now bloody ass from behind.

  “Feel this, Hank, Honey, because it’s the beginning of an activity that you are going to experience many times in your otherwise dull and unhappy future,” Melinda said, advancing slowly and placing the long, heavy silicon penis clone lightly against Hank’s quivering bottom. The touch of the cold and slippery false dick made Hank jump again, straining against the thick leather straps that kept him in his exposed position. He tried to lean forward, hoping to flatten himself against the cool wooden floor, but he suddenly realized that there were more leather straps around his thighs and these held him in the kneeling position, unable to move forward or back. His knees ached, his ass was on fire and he felt the cool and slimy dildo being expertly guided towards his ass.

  Contact! The flared tip of the huge thing pressed itself against his butthole and stayed there while he shook and tried unsuccessfully to dodge it by swinging his hips and rotating his ass.

  “Come on, Hanky,” Melinda crooned from behind him. “This is no big deal for a stud like you. How many times have you reamed some poor woman’s ass while she was tied to the bed in your little sex nest up at the Five Seasons? Huh? Did they all ask to be butt fucked just as I am going to butt fuck you? Huh? Did they?”

  Hank recalled all too easily the multiple occasions when he had indeed placed his less than willing sex partners in a position in the TC where they had no choice but to accept his deep and forceful penetration of their lovely ass. He had always soothed the entrance of his cock by telling them how good it would feel
and on most occasions, after the pain of initial entry, he had brought about the promised multiple orgasms and the thrill of an anal reaming. This usually left his captive women with something slightly more positive than regret. But now Melinda was about to repeat the process on his asshole. Hank was terrified because he had heard many times from his buddies that such activity was extremely painful and only suited to gays and with women who of course, according to the male myth, not only deserved it but who craved being ass-fucked.

  Now it was Hank’s turn and he was praying that something, anything, might suddenly distract Melinda and bring about an abatement of this, Her latest revenge punishment.

  The pain was so sudden, so deep that Hank was holding his breath as Melinda, practicing no restraint whatsoever, jammed the entire length of the huge dildo as far up Hank’s ass as it would go. As he slobbered and cried into the gag hood, he felt Melinda, now pressed hard against his ass and thighs, resting her huge tits against his sweating back, jerking her hips slowly and constantly while he struggled. Hank feared he would vomit as he felt the massive thing deep inside his abdomen, but knowing all too well the consequences of throwing up with the gag and hood in place, he sought to relax and take what he knew was going to be a long and unpleasant screwing.

  “I’ll just bet that that little whore of a receptionist in my office practically sucked your dick into her ass, right Hankie?” Melinda muttered. She was enjoying the event, not only for its revenge value, but because She was wearing a special new toy that, in Her experience, offered more exciting erotic benefits than those of the common strap-on. The feeldoe lodged deep within Hank’s shuttering ass and hammering his prostate was also embedded inside Melinda’s vagina, its swollen, silicone bulb and serrated, connecting neck bringing more erotic feeling to Her than any normal coupling usually brought. The feeldoe was a fine and accurate copy of a large male package, complete with hanging ball sac and the appropriate anatomical ridges. Melinda fucked Her husband’s ass and was getting into it with all of Her pent up anger and energy, pulling back a bit every now and then, letting the false balls slap against Her wide stretched lower lips and the sides of Hank’s butt crack and then restoring the full flexible length of the false dick into Hank’s now well-plumbed asshole.