Grant Roberts - The wayward wifes

Carter had knelt in front of her and shoved his still wet, semen splattered cock into her gaping mouth, and then he held her head by her hair, and sawed her face savagely. She gagged as he rammed his tool to the back of her throat, her ovalled lips brushing the short, wiry hair of his groin, his balls slapping harshly against her chin. She fought for breath, managing to catch it on the outstroke of his cruel buffeting.

The two men pummeled her body between them, and once more the lustful mental vision of her helplessness made her more excited. The desire deep inside her belly became a rabid torrent once more and she began to roll her buttocks high up behind her in a circulating movement, constricting with her cunt muscles at the hot, fleshy, pole burrowing into her. She wanted to exploit it to the limit, to saturate her womb with boiling cum until it spluttered out of her glutted cunt to rivulet down her thighs in a thick, hot mass of sheer sexual abandonment. She sucked insatiably at the stubby penis in her mouth, her cheeks concaving and her tongue swirling. She stabbed the dilated orifice where the sperm would soon be shooting, and she wanted the juice to pour down her gullet and warm her entrails until she was drenched with sperm inside and out.

She got her wish!

At the same time her second climax started, the cock fucking her dog fashion bulged into a crescendo and spurting its creamy hot charge, splashing and shooting violently against her cunt walls, then drizzling back out of her to drip from her saturated vaginal hair. His balls massaged her clitoris causing her to jerk forwards, submerging the prick she was sucking to its very hilt. It roared with sudden discharge, flooding her mouth and throat with the deliciously pungent liquid, bloating her cheeks. She swallowed fast and greedily, clasping her lips together in a tight ring around the prick so as to not lose a single drop. Still, some of his cum managed to dribble down her chin, and she lashed out her tongue in a sweeping, snakelike motion to salvage the strings of sticky semen as the limp penis pulled free of her lips with a wet, sucking sound.

Patty skewered her ass back savagely onto the still spurting cock in her cunt and with a wail from between her gnashing teeth, she felt her own body explode in a burst of showering stars. Her body writhed in the racking, agonizing ecstasy that sent her whirling madly into outer space. Then she felt the clouds roll over her and she fell forward on her face and merciful oblivion overtook her.

As she awoke, the sun was just beginning to lighten the early morning sky. She was alone, and the garden was deathly quiet, and at first she had trouble orienting herself as to where she was. She somehow staggered to her feet, and as she did, a small shower of pictures shed from her head and shoulders like a rain of filth. It took only one cursory glance to tell her that the photos were the ones she had bargained her body for, and that she had been successful in saving Marcia from exposure.

She collected them with a dazed, almost incoherent mind, the muscles and ligaments of her torn and battered body a mass of pain as she bent over to pick them up. She staggered back to the house and found it deserted, except for the houseboy who was asleep in his little bedroom off the library. Her dress was miraculously where she had left it, in the bedroom where she had been feathered by Renault, and slowly, agonizingly she dressed and cleaned herself up a bit.

She went straight to bed when she arrived at Marcia’s house an hour later, and stared at the flowered pattern on the wallpaper. She knew that she had been fucked by God only knew how many men long after she had passed out, even though she obviously couldn’t remember it, been treated like a cold corpse under necrophiliac pummeling.

Her mind was the degraded, humiliated, something less than human object it had been the day before, and she was totally unconcerned whether she lived or died. She was aware that even though her ravished, battered, and bruised body would heal physically, she doubted that anything could ever eliminate the horrible mental injury she had.

She tried to shake the memory of the savage assaults made upon her last night, but then she would remember the pictures and that she has allowed such viciousness to be done to her, and she convulsed in tremors… She should have been filled with repugnance and loathing, but instead she had to admit that she had been an integral part of the action, enjoying and pleading for more and more and more. Oh God! The appalling truth of her debauched personality was too much to bear!

Suicide… yes, she had to kill this horrid creature before it infected others… it wasn’t suicide, it was more of euthanasia, for it would be merciful to end the suffering and torment she was flooded with. Yet there was still a message in the back of her mind which said to live, not die. Perhaps it was the last vestige of her pride, or her stubborn, determined resolve not to let her failure be taken as total defeat. The dim, dazed recesses of her brain fought desperately for survival.

Nevertheless, Patty pulled back the covers and groped her way toward the bathroom. The razor… the sharp, clean razor which would simply and surgically slice her wrists and let the perverted blood of her despicable flesh pour out into the cleansing air.

She got to the medicine cabinet and took the razor with which she shaved her underarms and legs, and removed the thin rectangle of death… It glinted in the bathroom’s fluorescent light as if it was an angel, winking at her, encouraging her to die. She placed it by the rim of the bathtub and turned on the water and adjusted the flow of medium warm. She had read somewhere that lying in the water and slitting the wrists makes it painless. You merely waste away, the clear water turning milky pink, then bright red and then burgundy as the life forces ebbed away. You slept after a long, drowsy period of relaxation. It sounded good and soothing to her wounded spirit to go that way. She watched the water, not in a hurry but then not willing to live any longer than she had to, either.

The phone rang.

She ignored the sound, intent on the gushing water. It rang again and again and again until its persistent jangling made her irritated… she couldn’t die with all that noise… she walked into the kitchen, unmindful that the window curtains were aside and her lovely nakedness was for the passing world to view, and she picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” she said. “Marcia isn’t home.”

“I don’t want Marcia,” came the voice on the other end, “I want you darling.”

“Who…?” and then Patty jerked backwards, almost losing her balance as she realized the man talking was her husband. “Larry!”

“I’ve been trying to reach you all last night and nobody was there. I just got home and darling, I can’t wait to see you. I love you so much.”

“Larry…” Patty, the defenses of her mind shattering from his closeness like straw before a wind, sagged into a chair and cried. “Oh, Larry, what are you doing home?”

“I’m wounded, Patty.”

“Larry!”

“I’m all right, it’s just a leg wound, but I’m out of the service for good. At least the active part. They don’t seem to want one-legged chaps much,” he added dryly.

“One-legged! Oh Larry, oh my precious!” The love she thought was gone for him came leaping back stronger than ever, clogging her throat with the emotion. “Where are you?”

“At my parents, of course. Dad said you were staying at Marcia’s, but he wasn’t too clear why.”

“It’s because…” and then she stopped, and the horror of the past few days welled up like a monster from the ocean depth. “Larry, do you really love me?” she asked impulsively.