[This story is dedicated with admiration to Just Plain Bob, many of whose stories served as inspiration.]
*
By the time I got back home it was very late, after 4:30 a.m. I knew what I was going to find, but I was hoping against hope I'd be wrong.
I wasn't. The front door was unlocked and the living room lights were on. I ran straight upstairs. When I got to the bedroom I was sickened by the sight, even though I knew what would be there.
Camilla lay sprawled on the bed on her back. She was naked. Her blonde hair was wildly tangled, her nipples looked red and sore, and there were several bite-marks on her breasts. Between her widely-spread legs, her gaping pussy oozed cum down towards her anus and onto the sheets.
She was either deeply asleep or just passed out, probably the latter. I quickly checked her breathing and her pulse—she was all right. I got the digital camera and took several photos, making sure to include her face, her abused breasts, and her dripping pussy. After that I gently covered her with a blanket and turned off the light.
I went downstairs, drank a cup of day-old coffee, and sat in my easy chair to think. I knew more or less what had happened. Now I had to decide what to do about it.
*********
Alex Janzen and I were both junior vice-presidents at Acrodynamics, Inc. We had each joined the company 10-12 years earlier, and had each risen through the ranks to our present positions. We were both good at our jobs, and had earned the respect of the people who worked for us. We also hated each other's guts.
I never really knew why Alex had it in for me, but I knew why I hated him: he was a dishonest asshole. I never minded honest competition with someone; when he had a better idea than mine, I supported his. Sometimes his division did better than mine in a quarterly accounting, and I congratulated him—then tried to beat his ass the next quarter.
But Alex didn't play fair. He stole ideas, took credit for successes that weren't his, and badmouthed people—not just me, but other colleagues as well—to upper management whenever he got the chance. A lot of us didn't trust him, but it was always me he particularly tormented.
Come to think of it, I did know one reason he hated me. We knew each other's wives quite well, and while his wife Linda and I got along very well, my wife Camilla detested Alex. It infuriated him.
Acrodynamics prided itself on an atmosphere of camaraderie throughout the company, and there were a lot of company parties, picnics, trips to ball-games, etc. Attendance was pretty much mandatory if you wanted to succeed at the company, so we all got to know our co-workers and their spouses pretty well.
Over the years, Camilla and I had sat at enough cocktail tables with Alex and Linda to know what we thought. Linda was charming and intelligent, and both Camilla and I enjoyed her company. She even flirted with me a little, in a friendly way. But Camilla saw right away that Alex was a snake, and she didn't work too hard to conceal his dislike.
Camilla and I have been married for eight years, and it's been fantastic. She is loving and sexy and very loyal. Our life together, in and out of bed, has been as happy as it could possibly be. We communicate a lot about sex, and have always agreed that total fidelity is what each of us needs from the other.
I've never had the slightest worry about Camilla's faithfulness. My only worry is that she can't handle her alcohol. Even one glass of wine gets her as tipsy as most people get on four or five; three mixed drinks and she's totally looped, and very vulnerable. It's sort of a joke between us. But she's always made sure never to do any drinking except when I'm there to keep an eye on her.
One of the big annual company events was a Harvest Moon Dance, held in September in the big assembly hall attached to our company's offices. So naturally I was there with Camilla, and unfortunately we got stuck at the table with Alex and Linda. I tried my best to be pleasant, but Alex was nastier than usual. He was joking about how sexy my wife looked in her black cocktail dress, and how she needed more of a man than I could ever be. It was totally tasteless, and even Linda looked annoyed.
Camilla and I danced and tried to have a good time, staying away from the table a lot. She was in a drinking sort of mood, and by ten p.m. was already on her third vodka gimlet, giggling happily and flirting with some of my co-workers (though NOT Alex). I didn't mind—Camilla got amorous when she was tipsy, and I was looking forward to getting home after the party!
About 10:15 Alex came across the room to me, a nasty grin on his face, and said that John Warburton (the CFO of the company) needed to see me right away—it was urgent. Knowing Alex I suspected some trick, but he insisted that Warburton was waiting in my office. I told Camilla I'd be back in just a few minutes, and hurried away.
My office was empty when I got there; and when I turned around to leave again the door swung closed and I heard it click shut, and then a spraying sound. Then Alex's smarmiest voice through the door:
"Well, Rick, looks like you might be stuck in there all night! What a shame, leaving poor Camilla all alone. And her being so loaded and all . . . I sure hope she finds someone to keep an eye on her." He laughed, and I grabbed the door-handle and twisted. It didn't move—Alex must have sprayed something like superglue in the lock, and I couldn't get the door open.
"You big sack of shit, get me the hell out of here!" I shouted, but I knew I was stuck. I heard his taunts and laughter fading as he walked back down the corridor towards the party.
I lunged for the phone on my desk—and to my horror it was gone, cord and all. It had been unplugged from the wall and taken from the room. That bastard had not only set me up, he'd planned it pretty thoroughly.
The door was solid oak, the walls were thick plaster, and the windows were sealed. I could have shattered one, but I was four floors up. Even if I'd shouted until I was hoarse, my office faced the back parking lot, which was deserted, with the woods beyond it. No one would see me or hear me for hours, probably not until morning.
Sweating and cursing, I tried everything I could think of on the door, but nothing worked. After a horrible half-hour, I realized I was totally fucked. Or rather, that Camilla soon would be. There was little doubt about what Alex had in mind.
I screamed and shouted for a while, but there was no one in that part of the building at night—and the party was getting so loud no one would hear me anyway. At last it occurred to me that sometime during the night a watchman would patrol the hall. I'd have to wait and listen for him.
It was the worst four hours of my life. When I heard the watchman a bit before three, I screamed and banged on the door, finally getting his attention. I briefly explained the situation. He had to call a locksmith, and I didn't get out until 4 a.m. The assembly hall was deserted, of course, and my car was gone from the lot. I called for a cab, which finally got me home.
*********
I must have fallen asleep in my chair, the coffee cup on the floor next to me. I jerked awake about 10:30 a.m. when I heard a shriek from the bedroom.
When I got upstairs Camilla was standing naked in the bedroom, looking at herself in the mirror. She was shuddering and crying, and when she saw me her sobs got more frantic. I pulled her robe from the closet and put it around her, then held her gently in my arms while she wept. She kept trying to speak, but the crying made it impossible. Finally, after many minutes, she began to calm down.
"Where were you? My God, Rick, where WERE you? You knew I'd been drinking, and . . . " She started to cry again, while I just stroked her back, saying, "it's okay, baby, it's okay".
Finally I got her quiet, and I sat her down in a chair and sat facing her on the bed.
"Honey—Alex locked me in my office, and he'd stolen the phone. I was stuck in there until 4 a.m. When I got home you were already . . . like this."
As gently as I could, I said, "can you tell me what happened?"
She looked at me bleakly. "That bastard, he . . . fucked me. He brought me home and he fucked me, Rick. At first I thought it was you, and . . . then he . . . " She broke down in sobs again, and it was a long time before I could get the whole story out of her.
After locking me in my office, Alex had come back to the table. He played the gracious "friend", keeping an eye on Camilla and making sure to keep her glass filled. He even pretended to "go look for Rick" a couple of times. Camilla got way too drunk to be worried about me. When the party was breaking up Alex pretended to be baffled and annoyed by my absence, He told Linda to drive their car home and he would bring Camilla home in our car.
Camilla was 90% asleep during the car ride. He carried her into our house and up to our bed. Then he dimmed the lights, took all her clothes off (and his own), and began to make love to her. He took his time, caressing her, kissing her neck and her breasts, stroking her pussy. He didn't speak, and for a long time Camilla thought it was me—which may sound unlikely, but when she's that drunk it's more than possible.
It was only when he was on top of her and had thrust his cock inside her that Camilla realized that it was someone else: his smell and the feel of his body were different. Drunk as she was, she tried to fight him off (or so she said), but Alex was determined. After a while, she stopped fighting.
Camilla wasn't sure, but she thought he'd fucked her at least twice, the second time doggy-style. He might have licked her pussy in between. She thought he tried to get her to suck his cock, but she was far too out of it to manage a blowjob.
"Did he hurt you?" I asked. I was furious, out of my mind with rage, but I was using all my strength to remain calm with her.
"No . . . I don't think so. He must have left these bite marks on my breasts, but I don't remember anything painful. I remember he talked a lot about how exciting and sexy I was; he probably thought he was really turning me on, the prick!" To my relief, Camilla seemed to be coming back to herself now—she was less shocked and more angry, which seemed appropriate.
When we'd finished talking I led her into the shower and we washed, lovingly, not doing anything sexy but holding one another a lot. We went downstairs and had some breakfast, then we both took a nap. Each of us in our own way had had a pretty rough night.
*********
"What the hell are we going to do, Rick?"
Camilla and I were sitting at dinner that Sunday evening. She still seemed a little shaky, but not as bad as I'd feared. It occurred to me that being fucked when you're incredibly drunk like that is probably easier to handle than being raped when you're sober—not that either of them is so marvelous.
"I've been thinking about it all day, babe. There's no way we could make a rape charge stick—too many people saw you very drunk at the party, and he would simply say that when he got you home you wanted it. But I have some ideas about how to teach him an appropriately painful lesson. I'm going to ask you to trust me and let me handle it, okay?"
We went to bed early, watched some TV, then cuddled together for a long time.
