Cucing the Snowbound Couple

*** Disclaimer ***

The following story is a work of fiction. It contains themes of cheating, cuckoldry, voyeurism, and NTR.

I received a lot of suggestions for how this story should end from requests for violent revenge, to divorce, to even kinkier debauchery, to Sean embracing and enjoying his new role, to Alex and Sean reconciling, etc. For obvious reasons, I can't do every single one. So here's where I had to make a choice. I know this ending won't please every single reader, but I firmly believe it is the right one. All stories need an arc, as do characters. Without growth and change, it's not really a story— it's just every day life.

So with that said, even if you don't like the destination, I hope you found the journey fun and exciting and hot as hell!

***

Chapter 8... (Finale)

***

The rest of my "vacation" continued like this. I was basically a captive, forced to watch *their* honeymoon. And by their, I mean Alex and Brett. Somehow they'd connected right underneath my nose. Not only had Brett led my wife astray, but he'd led her down a path were she got a sexual thrill over my humiliation.

How lucky for me. (That's sarcasm, in case you can't pick up on it).

I'd endured their teasing for long enough, and stood up for myself. They goaded me into acting out, and the moment that I lashed out and attacked my tormentor, they tied me to a chair and painted me as the bad guy in all of this. I couldn't help but feel like that was their intention from the very start, but I knew that couldn't be true. They simply seized on my actions to further justify their own selfish acts. It was all an excuse to get me out of the way.

Still... every time I saw them, I couldn't help but feel a swelling of pride at the scabs and bruises I'd left on Brett's smug cocky face. He didn't expect it, and I'd shown him that he wasn't untouchable.

But that didn't help me now. Because I'm still tied to a fuckin' chair, and that chair is tied to a support column in our "cozy" cabin. I've been in this position for over two days, forced to watch them venture further and further down the rabbit hole.

They fucked, they drank, they cuddled. Sometimes it was right in front of me. Other times, they'd be more merciful and only fuck within earshot. They fucked in the hot tub, in the living room, sometimes in the kitchen as they prepared dinner. Sometimes I wondered if anything was put into my food, and I sincerely hoped not. But I had no choice. They fed me.. like a fuckin' invalid.

By this point, I could deal with their fucking. But it was spoon feeding me soup... that was the worst. For obvious reasons, there were other "issues" that inevitably arise when you're tied up for a length of time, that no amount of therapy can erase from my memory. But for the sake of my dignity, I'll spare you those details.

Long story short, this was no longer a vacation. This was an endurance test of my sanity.

Tonight, they were more merciful. They'd fucked in the shower. It had been a long one. I could hear the water running, and grew envious— not of their passion, but of their shower. I hadn't had one in a few days, and was starting to notice.

I could hear their moans of pleasure through the open bedroom door. When they giggled, and went running by naked after they hopped out and were greeted to the chilly air, I didn't even care to watch. I could hear Alex laughing as Brett tried to smack her ass with the rolled up towel.

Then they dressed, and cuddled on the couch together in front of the fire, underneath the warm blankets. It looked comfortable.

The scene was almost serine... relaxing. Even I felt my head begin to lull. I really hoped that this wasn't some kind of weird Stockholm Syndrome that I was experiencing. But then I looked at Brett and my wife, and I legitimately hated them both for what they'd done to me. What they were trying to do to me.

Nope. Definitely not Stockholm Syndrome.

But still... I could enjoy the firelight for a moment... and maybe nod off. Nothing wrong with that, right? Maybe I'd even have a few good dreams where I was far away from all of this, in another life and happy.

I had just reached that precipice between sleep and awake, where you feel like you're floating— you're aware, you can hear and think, but you're in a state of complete relaxation. That was when a new sound roused me. It was something I hadn't heard in a long time, and at first, I thought it was just an illusion— a waking dream.

I looked over at Brett and Alex on the couch. They were asleep— sex drunk— half naked, and cuddled beneath the blankets. They hadn't noticed anything.

I listened closer, and was about to dismiss it as a dream, but then I heard it again and my heart jumped into my chest. It was the sound of a car engine! Not just a car engine, but more than one. And it was coming closer. The roads must have been clear enough to drive on.

Please, god, let it be the police, I prayed. Let them arrest these two monsters for what they'd done to me, and free me from this prison. I kept my eyes glued to Alex and Brett, not wanting to believe that help was actually coming. Not wanting to build myself up for more heartbreak. I had seen the movie Misery. I wasn't convinced that these two sociopaths wouldn't shove me into some closet and pretend everything was just fine.

Please, please, please come!

I heard the car doors shut outside. My pulse quickened. Alex started to stir, lifting her head sleepily and yawning. Then she put her head back down on Brett's chest and dosed.

Help me! Get me out of this!

I heard the front door open. Had we not bothered to lock it? Not that we'd needed to.

Feet walking on the boards behind me. I couldn't turn to look, but I could hear them. They were moving softly, not wanting to wake us up. I suddenly worried that these weren't police or rescuers. They would announce their arrival.

Then I heard the soft sound of a man's voice behind me as he took in the scene— me tied to a post, looking utterly destroyed and smelling like slow death. "Jesus Christ," he gasped.

I looked into the faces of five men. They were in winter parkas and wool hats, but I recognized them all at once— Brett's buddies. The men from the bachelor party. The one in the middle was carrying a crowbar and wearing a mask of barely restrained fury. The groom-to-be. A silent exchange passed between us. He had gotten the text messages after all. Somehow, by the grace of god, the weather must have given me a break. Every photograph on Brett's phone, every text exchange, all of it had reached it's destination.

The night before I had begun to pound on the bedroom door in my final confrontation with Brett, I had taken every single photo, 'sext' message, and vile exchange, and I'd sent it all out in a mass message. I never once assumed they would actually go through as long as we were here. It had merely been a dead man's switch— intending to burn Brett the minute he left this place.

Well they must have gone out just in time.

And from the look on the faces of the groomsmen, Tony— Brett's best friend— wasn't the only one being wronged by the best man. (As I would later come to find out, most of Brett's friends had their wives and girlfriends seduced by this unapologetic man-whore.)

They'd all gotten a nasty surprise the moment the text messages had gone out. And now, those chickens had come home to roost.

They looked from me, to Alex and Brett, still asleep on the couch. They saw the defeat in my eyes. The shame and the pain. Though I didn't know any of these men, it was a feeling that we all shared together.

"Are you okay, man?" Tony's face softened for a moment. He knelt, and they untied me, helping me to stand on unsteady legs. I hadn't used them in two days.

"No," my voice was gravel. I hadn't spoken for a long time. I broke down. Sympathy was something I barely recalled. I felt like I'd spent eternity enduring the icy stares of people who viewed me as less than human. "He took my wife."

I detected a hint of deep dark sorrow in Tony's eyes. Then his expression hardened again. "Mine too." He stiffened, he and his group all looking over at the sleeping couple at once.

"You just rest buddy. We'll take care of them..."

I started to weep.

***

I sat in a corner of the living room. I was sipping hot soup, and smirking at the uncomprehending expression on Brett's face. He was trying to plead his case, play the innocent card. But he was failing pretty miserably, considering he didn't know the circumstances.

"I wasn't the problem here," He insisted.

"You always kidnap people on their honeymoons and fuck their wives?" Tony brandished the crowbar while his friends had collected around the couch.

Alex had moved cautiously away, where she sat alone in an armchair, with an expression like she'd just gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I wondered, right then, just how exactly she thought this whole trip might end before rescue arrived. Maybe she was too caught up in their "relationship" to give it much thought. Regardless, she knew she was in trouble now. She had the same posture of a delinquent student facing down an angry principal.

"He swung at me. He attacked us, and threatened to burn the cabin down," Brett lifted his hands innocently. Tony knocked them away with the crowbar. Brett withdrew his hands, his knuckles split. "What was I supposed to do?"

"You fucked his wife. You're god damn lucky he didn't kill you." Tony continued, and though my initial impressions of him had been a preppy frat boy like Brett, I detected a hint of something else in his voice. It was subtle, and I didn't know my accents. Brooklyn? Maybe Boston? "I wouldn't be so forgiving..." Tony's voice dropped to a tone that was ominous.

"Dude, she wanted me to," Brett glanced to Alex. "We started hooking up, and it turned out we were really into each other. It's not my fault she married a guy that she wasn't that into, then changed her mind when she met me."

Tony looked thoughtful for a second. But it was all a façade. His expression was one of a cat toying with a mouse. His muscles bulged as he rested his hands on his knees, and I got a sense that Tony was built. Brett might have the height, but he looked gangly in comparison to Tony, who was thick, with a bull neck and large biceps.

"Maybe..." he said softly "Just maybe you ought to keep your dick to yourself." Tony snarled the last few words.

Brett looked up at his friend as though he didn't understand. His face was a mask of practiced innocence. Nobody was buying it. Tony, least of all. If anything, Brett's efforts to lie only sent Tony into a rage.

A second later Tony reached into his pocket, withdrew his cell phone and whipped it at Brett's face so hard, that it made a wet smacking sound as it bounced off his already bruised cheek. "You really should lock your phone!" He bellowed. Brett flinched as the phone plopped into his lap.

The photo that stared Brett in the face was from his collection. This one wasn't my wife. It was Tony's future bride.

I could see the gears turning in 'Pretty Boy's' expression. He was connecting the dots. Then he looked to me. His face was glaring. His eyes burning with fury as he suddenly realized that I'd forwarded Brett's collection to his buddies. And they weren't too pleased to see what Brett was doing behind their backs. 'Oh you tattled on me, you little bastard.' His eyes burned through me.

I thought of all the times that Brett smirked at me this past week. That same stupid Ashton Kutcher face he always seemed to make each time he drove another nail into the ruination of my marriage. The smugness on his lips each time he thrust his cock into my wife. I did my best to mirror his face just now. And he got the message. I ruined him.

Brett glanced down at the photo again, then back up to Tony. Tony had him dead to rights.

Brett looked from face to face and realizing that nobody in his group was on his side. Five very angry men regarding him with furious expressions.

"Look, guys, that's not what it looks—"

"Shut up!" Tony roared, and everyone in the room jumped. Myself included. "I'm not interested in your bullshit. That was my wife, motherfucker. My wife!" Tony's face had flushed red with rage. The veins in his neck bulged.

For a minute, I thought Tony would start hitting his former best friend, and never be able to stop. But then a flicker of an idea crossed his face, and he managed to restrain himself... for the time being. "Tie him up," he said to his friends.

I couldn't help but smile with amusement that now my tormentor was meeting the same fate as I had been subjected to. I considered making Brett a gag out of something nasty... but I figured the less that I implicated myself in what was about to happen, the better.

Brett was bound on the couch. They used duct tape to secure his arms and legs. Brett was bare-chested. Taking all of that off would hurt like hell. He was just lucky that for once he'd remembered to wear pants. They gagged him with some duct tape over his mouth.

Once the group had Brett tied up and subdued, it was Tony who turned to me. "Hey, my man. What do you think we should do with these assholes?"

"Me?" I glanced up.

"Yeah, you. After the week you've had... you can have first crack at it."

I looked to Alex. She hadn't said a word, which was wild. I'd never heard my wife rendered completely speechless before. She didn't bother to meet my eyes. She knew she had gone too far and there was no coming back from that. Whatever fate was coming, she was resigned and afraid. Then I looked at Brett. The duct tape over his mouth silenced his protests, but I saw a glimmer of something in those eyes as they stared back at me. Fear. For the first time, he was afraid of me. I was never an intimidating guy. Nobody ever looked at me with fear in their eyes before. And it felt GOOD.

My stare continued to alternate between him and Alex. I thought about all their cooing and coddling. All of their lovey-dovey bullshit over the last few days. Maybe Brett really was smitten with her, and maybe she was just another conquest. Regardless, I wanted to humiliate him, the same way that he humiliated me. The love between us had already been severed. Our relationship was over. I felt about as much for my wife at this point as I felt for Brett. But she hadn't been the problem until we arrived. He had. Alex would be the tool I'd use.

I recalled the one chink in Brett's armor. That time they'd fucked in front of me, how she'd tried to incorporate the sex toys. The way she'd somewhat enjoyed taunting Brett. The way she got off on calling herself a slut. The way she'd taken multiple toys from multiple angles. I knew from casual observation what Alex might enjoy... what might get her going... and what would really piss off Brett.

"Alex has a thing for multiple guys at once," I just blurted out.

It was as if time stood still for a second. Everyone in the room looked at me at the same time. Tony and his buddies thought I lost my mind. Alex was bewildered, a deer in headlights. And Brett... well... there was just a delicious touch of loathing to his eyes.

I rose to my feet. I was still unsteady. Poor circulation from being bound must have fucked with me a bit. I stepped forward and took the crowbar from Tony. I turned to my wife.

She stared at me as though she didn't recognize me. Rightfully so, I guess. I didn't recognize myself any longer. I rested the bottom of the cold metal beneath her chin and tilted her until she was looking up at me. "Stand up." My voice was soft but firm and strong. I meant it.

Without a word of protest, Alex rose to her feet. I took a moment to let my eyes wander over her— something I'd forced myself not to do during the long hours of watching them fuck.

Despite my burning anger with her, I'm sorry to say that Alex still looked good. She was wearing one of Brett's long button downs again, like she had on the very first night she'd given herself up to him. Her strong legs were smooth and bare. She was wearing her bright cheerfully colored socks again that clashed with her tremendous lack of innocence. I still remember how she'd cooed when she picked them out. "Baby, don't you think these are so cute!" She'd declared. The voice from another world.

I could tell by the way her nipples pressed through the shirt, she wasn't wearing a bra. Though we couldn't see from the shirt, I knew Alex was wearing one of her black lace thongs.

"Look me in the eyes," I told her when she averted them.

Her big brown eyes flicked back to me. "After what you did to me... you need to be punished." I said. My voice was raspy like steel. For a brief second, she looked at me as if to ask 'Who are you?'

"You've been a bad girl," I said, and let the hard steel of the bar wander down her neck to the top button of her shirt. "Say it."

For a second, Alex said nothing. I could see a slight tremble to her expression.

"Say it!" I barked in a voice that mirrored Tony's earlier outburst.

It took Alex a moment to find her voice. She swallowed. "I— I've been a bad girl." Her voice quivered.

"Doesn't that feel good to say?" I asked as my crowbar reached the top button of her shirt.

I could see the conflict in my wife's face. She was very unsure. I think it was out of fear. She still thought my revenge would be more violent. But there was just the smallest glimmer of excitement. She had no control over the situation at hand, and for a woman who was always in control, I think this was a new thrill all together.

"You and pretty boy tied me up," I said, glaring at her. "You basically tortured me. You did irreparable damage to me psychologically. What the two of you did... you ought to be fuckin' arrested for."

This time, she did look away. Alex might have been groomed pretty well into a sex crazed slut, but she wasn't an idiot. Now that the outside world had arrived to give her a dose of reality, she was realizing the gravity of it all.

I looked back over my shoulder at Tony and his friends. They were all furious in their own ways. But they stayed silent out of respect for what had happened to me. All of them stared at me as I circled slowly around my wife. "You want to end up arrested?" I asked her. I turned the crowbar around, running the hooked end over her shoulder blades, then down her back to her butt. I used it to lift the bottom of her shirt. I wasn't wrong. She was wearing a black lace thong that complimented her firm round butt cheeks. I used the cold steel to give her ass a little smack, making them jiggle pleasantly. "You want to lose your job? Want to live in a cell?"

Alex was cautiously silent.

I decided to press her harder. "I asked you a question!" I barked. She jumped again.

"N-no," she stammered.

"You call me 'sir', god dammit."

"No sir," her brow pinched together, aware that I had gone off the deep end a little... and even more aware that she made me into this monster.

For the first time in my life, I was empowered. "Good," I said. "Because if you don't want to get arrested, you're going to make this up to me. Not just to me... but to all of us. You let this vampire into our bed, even knowing what he'd done to these other guys. So you're going to make damn sure each of us is satisfied. And you're going to do it in front of him," I pointed at Brett with the crowbar. His eyes were burning with fury. Sucks to be you, buddy.

When I turned back to Alex, she was looking at Brett. Speaking of monsters that were created this weekend... Despite the fear in Alex, the lack of control over the situation, the terror of punishment for everything that she'd done, the tiny flicker of excitement in her eyes had grown into a flame. Brett had built this monster—a woman who acknowledged she was a slut and liked it. A woman who was turned on by infidelity. A woman who had not only grown numb to cruelty, but got off on it. A woman who was turned on by thoughts of pleasing multiple men at once— giving herself up to a gang of rough angry alphas... in front of her significant other. Today, Brett was going to feel my pain.