Ch 5 Retribution

Consequences

By H. Jekyll

CHAPTER 5: Retribution

Here there be sex. And rough stuff. You've been warned. It gets very dark.

*****

Here is where one might expect events to become sweeter and lighter. John and Laura will move past her cheating and, oh, one could almost fill in the blanks. But things don't work just that way. Didn't Laura's little speech at the therapist's move John oh-so-close to reconciliation? Sure, she pled guilty, even

massively

guilty, and she took full responsibility. But in the end, it was just words. Words, words, words. And sure, John figured he'd played some role. The betrayed spouse almost always plays

some

role, though Laura's ex-friends probably wouldn't accept that argument. But even if so--even if--it was so minor in comparison to six long months of her getting naked and screwing George Mathis and deceiving John. And it had taken her this long just to really accept it.

Where did that put John, Mr. Nice Guy, in all his brooding time since he'd stumbled onto Laura's trysts? His entire experience. Myra was right that what Laura had done was

so

much worse than what Amos had done. How had John survived it? After all that, a reconciliation? Really? What actually came of their 'reconciliation'? It wasn't pretty. It wasn't pretty at all.

What had become of John? What

had

happened to him? Ernest Hemingway--yes, the same Hemingway--wrote that the world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places, and having been broken so often, he probably knew. But sometimes the broken places don't heal straight. How crookedly had John healed after Laura had well and fully broken him? How straight would

anyone

heal? Or there's this to consider: had he healed at all?

That afternoon they took the kids over to Myra's house and explained the new situation, the defined period part. Laura kept trying to touch John, his arm, a shoulder, anywhere, because he still hadn't accepted a hug. Myra, though, was over the moon. There was a late cold spell that year. There was even a late snow. But for Myra it was a lovely summer's day. She'd happily keep the kids until dinnertime. John and Laura would have some time alone.

Maybe? Maybe they can work things out?

That's what Myra asked herself.

When it was time to go, John called Laura but she tarried a bit to talk with Myra and hug the children.

"Laura! We're

going

! Now!"

That got

everyone's

attention. He was furious with her. The slightest thing she did set him off now that he was out from under the therapist's control. Laura thought he was like a different person, and it scared her. He didn't say anything at all on the way home and she leaned against her window and looked over at him with worry until they entered the garage. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean to do that."

"So did you

already

forget, about doing what I say or leaving?"

"John. Please. Don't even threaten. I'll do anything. I mean it."

"Then take off your clothes."

"What? Please John. Don't."

It was cold in the garage. It seemed almost as cold as it was outside. He grabbed a wrist and dragged her to a floormat that he kept in front of his work bench.

"Your clothes! Off! Hand them to me."

"John!"

"Then go pack. Anything means

anything

!"

So, she shut up and stripped. Everything. Her coat. Her shoes. Her socks. Her flannel slacks. Her wool sweater. Her blouse. Her bra. Her panties. She handed everything to John, and he tossed it all onto the work bench. At each step she showed him more of that womanly body: her lovely breasts, the nipples, her pubic hair, dark and curled and trimmed to a little triangle. Not just those parts but the rest of her too: her slender hips, her trim thighs, even her scars, the faint appendicitis scar and the larger one from her Caesarian section. He'd been with her for the birth and he'd nursed her afterward. Laura's body. The body he'd loved--loved so much because it was hers. Not hers anymore but someone else's. The body that was shivering even before she was completely naked. She was begging him to let her stop, begging with her eyes.

"Kneel."

Laura knelt, hugging herself against the cold, and John unfastened his pants. He pushed them and his underwear down in a single motion.

"Now suck me."

He wasn't erect, not when she began, but as she sucked him into her mouth and began swirling her tongue beneath his foreskin, it grew nice and hard. She tucked one hand under John's balls and held the other along the shaft. She moved her head up and down and sucked and tasted her husband, using the sweet, hot, wet mouth that she'd used on George Mathis' cock from--what?--September to March, but as she did it she shivered ever more. She was covered with chill bumps. She leaned up against him to get what warmth she could from his body while she sucked on him. Shivering, quaking, and sucking. Poor Laura. John grabbed her head and held her tightly so he could move into and out of her mouth. He grunted and started to come, pushing into her, to the back of her mouth, making her gag before she dutifully swallowed.

Drink it, you slut!

It was brand new, Laura doing him, but it wasn't new in his fantasies. Those began when he'd first learned about her and George. He'd thought about it, oh, all the time. One night he'd even tried to calculate the total volume of George's semen that Laura had drunk. He was

that

obsessed. Depending on the number of times she had done it, and the average volume of ejaculate per orgasm, he estimated maybe a half cup to a cup. It didn't seem all that much when converted to defined units, but in any event, now, in the garage, he thought

I have a ways to go to catch up.

He didn't turn Laura loose even when he was finished. His first blow job from Laura. How skilled she was. What was he thinking during it? It was mostly,

You fucking asshole, George! You fucking asshole!

"Keep sucking." Laura was whimpering into his erection because of the cold. Finally, he just pushed her aside. "Get dressed and come inside when you're decent. We'll talk." He pulled up his pants and fastened them and went into the house. He was shivering.

Fuck! I'm a monster. Shit, it was good. God damn it, I'm a monster.

The therapist had screwed up. She'd given him the idea, and a monster was just what he'd be. John, Mr. Nice Guy, might be somewhere but he wasn't here anymore.

*****

And Laura. Laura! Why didn't she just call John's bluff? That's an easy one. It's because the world breaks

everyone

, indiscriminately. Life had been wonderful for Laura and George. They were in the clear and getting exactly what they wanted, the two of them, until John confronted Laura and had the evidence.

Can Laura remember the exact moment she began cracking from the shock and the despair of knowing her little, deceitful world was ending? Does she remember how the cracks spread across her like a spider's web as event piled on event? Didn't it almost kill her to have to help John tell George to confess? Crack. Did she break all the way through when George put a bullet through his head from the shock and despair of knowing

his

little, deceitful world was ending? Or did that wait for Marge to out her to the assembled mourners?

There wasn't much holding her together by then--was there?--only her faint hope for some kind of rapprochement with John. But last night she'd learned a fairly minor thing--just how calculating and soulless John actually found her--and that was that. Considering the bigger picture it was truly a small thing, as light and gentle as butterfly wings flapping over the Amazon jungle, but it had shattered her into a thousand jagged little shards. Laura should remember last night. After that there was nothing whole of her left, nothing to knit back together. Perhaps she should have followed George's lead, having followed him in so much else.

*****

And perhaps she intended to. That thought swirled around upstairs as much as anything else, but John offered this one lifeline, and he was all she had in the entire world. So, here she was.

Inside the house, John started the gas log fireplace and warmed himself. Laura staggered through the door a few minutes later, dressed but shaking, shuddering. She swayed with the shaking as she walked, enough to bump into the door frame. "Come on in," said the spider to the fly. The man by the fire was someone she didn't know, and she was afraid to come near him.

"Come here."

She stopped six feet away and stood there quaking.

"Come

here

!"

She walked up to him with hesitating, baby steps, and finally he made a sound of exasperation, hooked an arm around her waist, and pulled her to him. "Warm yourself." He held her by her waist and moved her in front of himself, toward the fire, so she could do that, and after several minutes she stopped shivering. He wrapped one arm around her waist, the other right over her breasts, and pulled her into him. He nuzzled her hair. She shivered, not from the cold. He smelled her hair and blew a warm breath back through her hair to her scalp. If you'd seen it you'd have thought the scene was sweet and romantic. He said, "I like you afraid. I like you submissive. They make you so very sexy, my sweetheart."

He turned her around. "Look at me." She didn't want to look up. "

Look

at me!" Yeah, it was so much better being a monster. When she raised her face he told her how it was going to be.

"I'm going to punish you and hurt you." She was motionless in his arms. They may have been all that kept her from falling. "When I'm ready, I'll hurt you, different parts of you, in different ways, at different times. I'll come up with new punishments, so they don't get too repetitive. I'll tell you what I'm going to do, and you ... you're going to cooperate. Whatever I decide. You have a choice. If you cooperate, you can stay. If not, you leave and can't ever come back. Do you understand?" Laura didn't say anything. She stared up at him and had trouble breathing. "Tell me you understand!" She nodded. "Tell me in words. In whole sentences." That's when she began to cry again. He'd have her crying a lot.

"I'll cooperate. When you want to hurt me. Please John. Don't make me."

"I'll make you. Now kiss me. No. A real kiss."

They began a long, deep, loving kiss. She had to because John made her, and the whole time her tears ran down between their faces. Except for the tears it was another warm, romantic scene.

She had to know something but she was afraid to ask without his permission. When the kiss was finished, she asked, "John?" in a quavering little voice that told him she'd deny him nothing.

"What?"

"How much will you hurt me?"

"We'll see. How much punishment do I think you need? How much do I want you to suffer? How good can you be?"

He made her thank him by kneeling and blowing him a second time. Jesus, she was good! He wondered if there was any limit to how many times he could do her in a day.

When he was finished this time he told her, "Go start making dinner. Myra will be here with the kids."

*****

*****

It wasn't hard to tell something was going on with Laura. Her voice: small, quiet, deferential. She was so attentive, always looking to John when asked something. Busy cooking, serving, cleaning, refilling; otherwise mostly sitting quietly, hands in her lap, following but not truly engaging in the conversation. Oh, she played with the kids, but she was different. Myra wondered, about her and about John, but she didn't want to wonder too much.

*****

*****

That night, after the children were asleep, John told Laura it was time for her first punishment. "Take your clothes off. Kneel on the bed, your hands and face to the pillow, your ass high in the air. Higher." He talked in a soft, controlled voice, the smooth voice of a demon. Not of a monster? No, definitely a demon. He reminded her she could leave at any time of her choosing. If she never wanted to come back.

Laura did everything she was told. John was naked and his dick looked huge.

"I'm going to whip your ass with my belt. Hard. Do you understand?" Laura nodded into the pillow. "Good. You're going to count each stroke out loud." She nodded again. "If I can't hear the number, we're going to repeat it. Lift your head and tell me what you're going to do."

She lifted her head. She was shivering, though it was warm in the room. John had an inspiration.

Maybe next time I'll tie you to a chair in the basement and leave you naked in the cold after I punish you.

Maybe he wasn't just a demon. Maybe his soul had been taken over by Lord Satan himself, who had so many good ideas.

"You're going to whip my ass and I'm going to count the strokes out loud."

That's nice.

He stroked his dick.

Don't play with it too much. We want to stretch this out.

"Good. I'll take my time. We have plenty of time. Two things you're not going to do. You're not going to try to dodge any of the strokes. If you do, I'll have to tie you down and start over. Do you understand?"

She lifted her head again. "I understand."

"Good. And you're not to scream. I don't want you waking the kids. If you scream, I'll gag you and double your punishment."

When he was ready, he whipped Laura hard, the belt making a whirring sound in the air before hitting her. She didn't know it was coming and wasn't prepared, and she yanked her ass down to the bed and screamed. At least the scream was into the pillow.

"Count."

"One! Oh, God!"

"I'll be lenient on that one, since it was the first, but no more dodging or screaming, or it'll go hard on you."

He waited until the digital bedside clock showed that a minute had gone by, then he whipped her again, a little lower. "Count."

She tried not to evade the strokes or to scream. She really tried, but she couldn't help clenching her butt and tensing her thighs and swaying. She screamed, but it was through her teeth, also clenched, with her face in the pillow, so the sound came out as a muffled "Ah!" and John thought it was fine. At seventeen he was so excited that he took a break to fuck her from behind. "We'll get back to the punishment shortly." Which they did.

At twenty-one Laura suddenly sagged and fell to her side. She was conscious but seemed dazed. She was breathing hard and covered in sweat. "We're almost done, darling. Do you think you can be a good girl for four more? If you can, we'll stop at twenty-five, but if not I'm afraid I'll have to tie you and continue. Can you do four more? Hmm?"

"I ... please. I'll be good." When she lifted her head John could see the pillow and her face were covered in saliva, snot, and tears, a facial troika that looked just like cum.

"All right. Now get back into position." He was speaking to her in the new Satan voice. He felt strong in the broken places. His penis stayed large between fucks. He ran a hand very lightly over her ruined buttocks, as Forest Gump would have called them, and felt heat radiating off her. She was covered in welts and purple marks. He whipped her again. "Count."

"Twenty-two."

After twenty-five he made her hold herself in place for several minutes, then turn around and suck him off yet again.

I'll catch up with you, George.

He told her to clean herself up and get a dry pillow slip, but after almost an hour of whipping she was too weak. She swayed so much that she almost fell, and he had to hold her up. He had to help her into the bathroom and help her do everything else. She couldn't sit on the toilet because it hurt too much, but she was too weak to hold herself above it, so John had to hold her and then had to walk her back to bed. He got the new pillow slip himself.

Maybe I got a little carried away.

She fell asleep almost immediately but woke gasping from pain when she rolled to her backside. She slept badly and woke several times. She thought she must have woken John, but he never said anything. In the morning, she was lightheaded but she could at least stand and walk and hold herself over the toilet.

John called her into the bedroom, but she made it only as far as the doorway. He was pointing down at the sheets. "Look what you did!" She tried to look from the doorway. "Come here and look!" When she did, he slapped her and she squeaked. "When I call you, you come, understood?"

"I'm sorry, John." It was her same, tiny, deferential voice.

"Look. You bled on our sheets!" There were some smears of blood. "And look at your panties."

"I'm sorry John."

"Wash them right now, before you eat, and remake the bed."

"I will. I'm sorry."

He went downstairs to get breakfast for Kyle and Kayla. He wondered how long he could keep it going before Laura would give up and decide she had to leave.

Well, enjoy it while you have it!

He was really,

really

enjoying it. It was utterly fulfilling.

Becoming a demon in, oh, one easy lesson.

He'd never done anything remotely like this. He'd known about these things, of course. You can't miss all the video porn sites, but they hadn't been in John's world. They certainly were now, and there were any number of ideas to pick up. Women being whipped, tied, their breasts tied and whipped, pins thrust through them. That was just the beginning. What couldn't he do to her? Lord Satan was generous with ideas. My word, the possibilities!

And I've been bypassing them all these years?

John went to new video sites, searching for more things. He'd certainly miss it after Laura finally left.

Fuck it, I'll go to one of those places that have women who want it. I'll hook-up or maybe hire a pro. I won't need Laura.

Such women wouldn't be as good as just having Laura. If he hired someone, she'd be a stranger, and there might be legalisms. He didn't know exactly how to get into sadism with someone online. But with Laura? She simply agreed to cooperate.

*****

It wasn't John's plan to punish Laura every day. The sex, yes. She'd suck him off every day, sometimes more than once. And he'd use her other ways. But not the punishments. After all, she only had so much body. He made her lie on her belly that evening to check her bum, and frankly it was a mess.

I need to lay off it until she heals up. Practice a tad of self-control.

He'd always do

something

. That night, after the twins were asleep, he leaned over her and put his mouth right up against her ear. "How often did George fuck your ass? Tell me everything."

"Four times, John. I think it was four times."

"Did he lube you up?"

"He put some lotion in me."

"And did he clean you out first?"

"No."

"So, he came out dirty?" Laura hesitated after this question. "You're not

answering

."

"He did. He'd go wash himself off."

"I want you clean, so you're going to do enemas. Two of them. I'll fuck your ass and then you'll clean me with that great mouth you have."

Everything about Laura slumped, her head, her shoulders, her very body. Her arms just hung from her shoulders. "The enemas are by the sink. You know you can leave whenever you want." While she was in the bathroom he sat on the bed, playing with himself, listening to her move around, hearing the toilet flush, two, three, four times, then watched her emerge, as slumped as when she'd left. She never raised her eyes from the floor.

"Get back up like last night." He got out petroleum jelly and put a slippery finger into her. Then two. He used more petroleum jelly. "Did George prep you this much?"

"Not that much."

"Did it hurt when he did you?"

"At first."

John worked a third finger in. When he was ready he put the head to her and held it there before pushing just a little. Then more. Then he was all the way in and Laura grunted between her teeth. He began playing with her puss while he pumped her slowly. Almost all the way out. Stop. Slowly all the way in. Stop. Slowly out. Don't rinse; just repeat. Now faster.