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A World Turned Rightside Up - FTDS

By: FinishTheDamnStory



~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Rightside Up - my ending to Bobby96600's series A World Turned Upside Down. Thanks for his permission to continue his effort.

http://www.literotica.com/s/a-world-turned-upside-down-ch-01

Bobby96600 wrote a story. I won't summarize it, it's very short and only takes a few seconds to read it. I don't believe it was intended to be a satire, but in many ways it comes off as one, including one of the wimpiest protagonists ever, who at the end of the story said he was going to get revenge!

For some reason, I found that funny. I had to do SOMETHING with it...The author was most gracious in granting me permission.

Maintaining the 'style' of the original story, there may be a few grammatical errors in this follow-up. Much fewer than there were before this edit. There are numerous racial epithets as well, keeping in line with the original. Honestly, I find them rather useless as a literary tool, but the original story was so littered with them, it would be hard to maintain any kind of continuity without them. 

There are too damn many intriguing stories that are never completed. If I find a story that's been left hanging for too long, I'll give you my idea of an ending. Fair warning though, I don't write about total wimps. May not be BTB, all nuclear and shit, but no voluntary cucks, or whiny simpering wimps. 

This is not my usual, there are elements of satire, and some mockery of original elements of the base story. Payback is deliberate and extensive. Very dark response, some would say extreme, in spite of elements of humor and satire. I never said I was a nice guy.

For information on how I choose which stories to continue, please read my profile.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

I lay at the bottom of the stairs, trying to decide what to do. It was obvious she held me in udder contempt. The interracial mutant bastard fucking my wife of 10 years was a foot taller, and a good 100 lbs heavier than me. He was a monster and let's face it, I'm not all that big.

A bookkeeper by calling, I'm 5'3", maybe a buck thirty. Hell, my wife is bigger than me. It didn't mean I was going to let the bastard get away with it. He had the brawn, but I knew I had the brains. At least I hoped so.

Then again, I had something else going for me, she didn't know. I wasn't always the week specimen I was today. I had been a Green Beret, a front lines military analyst, Spec Ops interrogator. A bad experience with chemical warfare had nearly killed me. I'd spent almost a year in intensive care. I knew I'd never get my full strength back, but I had learned to live with it. As a matter of fact, I was getting weaker over the last few months, but not enough to weaken my resolve!

A muted 'Fuck me!' echoed down the stairs, [click] indicating they were still going strong. I wasn't sure how long he'd last, screwing the love of my life, my wife of 10 years, but I figured I'd be smart to hurry. If you're going to do something, no sense procrastinating, right? That's one of the things they taught me in the service. Just a few nights earlier I'd been viewing some prank videos on YouTube. That gave me the core idea. I'd just have to enhance it.

I dumped a quart of oil in a large pot, and turned on the burner. I used a second bottle to oil the space just beyond our bedroom door, at the top of the stairs. I kept the last few inches next to the wall clear for my getaway.

I greased the middle of the stairs the same way, while listening to my wife's solicitous mantra of need. "Fuck me, you fucker!" [click] I lifted the glass surface off of the coffee table, wrapped it in a towel, and beat it until I was happy. I opened the towel on the stairs, scattering the shards of glass their full length.

I could smell the oil starting to heat up, and got cracking. Timing was everything.

At the bottom of the stairs I put together my final ingredients. Since I no longer owned a gun, and played no sports, I was somewhat limited. I settled for the fireplace poker, and the kitchen cleaver as a last resort. I grabbed a hank of rope, and cut it in half, putting a slip loop on each end, making sure it wasn't too loose.

I paused a moment, listening. Things had gone quiet for a moment. I feared I had run out of time. Then the tell-tale headboard banging started up again. "That's it," my wife's dulcet tones echoed down the hall, "Fuck me! Fuck my tight white pussy with that big black cock!" [click][click] 

Reassured, I whipped out my perfectly average dick, nearly six inches long when erect, and pissed on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. That wasn't difficult, since I'd been holding back the urge from the moment I saw that jungle bunny's huge member making my wife's belly bulge with each powerful thrust. I yanked the electric cord off the lamp, and exposed the last four inches or so of wire. I put one end in the urine, and the other I carefully laid on the step before the bottom, taping it to the edge. I plugged the cord back in and stepped carefully away. I once again thanked my lucky stars for the years of Spec Ops insurgency training.

With my oven mitts on, I turned off the burner, safety first, and grabbed the heavy pot of boiling oil, an old military standby. I trudged up the stairs, awkwardly, my feet on the outer edges. At the top I heard them still going at it. I smiled to myself, figuring that was about to change.

I opened the door quietly, pot in hand. There they were. Derrick, her boyfriend as I had just learned, was big and black and had a cock the size of my forearm. At least as thick. He had my spouse on her belly, pounding his enormous dick into her, while she screamed at him to 'fuck her harder'. [click] His legs were spread wide around hers, and I could see where they joined. It would have been hard to miss. They were both facing away from me. Allah must love me. It was perfect.

I walked up behind them and grabbed the pot at the top and bottom. It must have weighed a good 10 lbs, and it took almost all my strength to maneuver it. It was difficult, but I knew the result would be worth it!

"FUCK ME, YOU BIG BLACK BASTARD!" [click] my slut-wife of over a decade screamed, for what must be the 100th time. Ninety-eight since I'd discovered her, to be precise. I'm a bean counter. Smartest in all the county. Each new passionate plea had me clicking the mechanical counter at my side.

"FUCK ME!" [click] Ninety-nine.

"OK, YOU'RE FUCKED!" I shouted back, and heaved the boiling oil between their legs at point blank range. A perfect shot, the excess splashed up his back, and on the back of her thighs. I pressed the bottom of the pot against his ass, listening to the sizzle, yielding another great result. 

I backed up to the doorway, waiting for the inevitable retaliation. The monster in our bed, squealing like a pig, saw me and leapt onto the floor. Ok, maybe not 'leapt', stumbled was more like it, but I like the word leapt. Leapt, leapt, leapt.

"Catch, Sweetie!" I told my wife, tossing her the scalding pot. I laughed as she caught it against her belly, screaming again.

I think the massive ebony beast lumbering my way was trying to say something, but I'll be damned if I could make it out between his own crying and my slut-wife's incoherent shrieks. He started to gain momentum, and I decided it was time for a strategic withdrawal. I could hear him only a few feet behind me, as I frog-walked down the stairs, sticking to the sides. 

I looked over my shoulder when I was about halfway down, and saw Blulk (that's Black Hulk, if you didn't get it) appear at the door. I took my time on the next few stairs, until I knew he'd seen me. He bounced off the wall, rushing my way, growling something about killing me or some such nonsense. Fat chance. He had no idea who he was facing. Green Beret genius bean counter. It doesn't get any more dangerous than that. Forget the Seals and Marines. Special Forces baby. Uh-Rah!

Think about it. John Cena, the Marine, Steven Segal, the navy seal, or John Wayne, the Green Beret. Who would you want on your side?

Blulk hit the oil slick before he could build up a full head of steam, but it was enough. His feet started kicking out like a cartoon character, and then he was falling down the stairs face first at a high velocity.

Too fast. I ran down the last couple of steps and jumped clear of the yellow puddle from about two steps up. A massive leap for me, but my adrenaline was pumping!

I grabbed the fireplace poker just in time to see him sliding down the last few stairs. I noticed that his body had wiped the first few steps clear of the glass, and he'd left an ever growing blood streak down the remaining steps. 

As he hit the bottom, his screaming abruptly stopped, as he lay in my piss, his body shaking until the circuit breaker popped. Luckily it was still bright enough for me to see, as I took my time liberally applying the poker to the exposed parts of his unconscious body. Which was all of it.

Breaking a leg is harder than it looks. I finally had to put his foot on the final riser and jump on his calf from a few steps up. On the fourth one I heard the long awaited crack. I never fell once. I might be small but I'm nimble, my first excursion down the steps notwithstanding. My trusty poker assured the break was complete.

Hands and feet break much easier as I knew.

My wife was still screaming upstairs, but no sound was coming from the degenerate animal at my feet, except for semi-conscious grunts. The poker was heavy, but I managed. The little hook on the end was useful, especially when I stood on top of him, swinging it down between his legs repeatedly. 

I'm a bean counter. The best around, or so Mom says. I know everything I own, and its value to the nearest penny. This grunting beast had taken my most valued possession, and reduced her value to nothing. Nothing! You don't steal from a bean counter. Especially not one whose a genius!!!

I was exhausted, sweating heavily, and I knew he was too heavy to move by myself. Taking the ropes, I put one around his neck for later, and carried the other one with me. I went back up the stairs, where my zero-value slut-wife was lying on the bed, grasping between her legs and crying. The loop of the rope fit over her head nicely. I gave it a tug, and it pulled tight.

I don't think she even knew I was there, until I yanked on the rope.

She gasped, grabbing at it, but I kept pulling. She whined and cried, following me on her hands and knees. At the top of the stairs, I started my wide stanced walk, and once I cleared a few steps, gave a hard tug, and watched her start the slide down after me. 

She did a good job of cleaning up a lot of the oil, and most of the remaining glass. She was trying to talk, begging, pleading, sobbing, but I wasn't in the mood to hear her explanations, or listen to her petty complaints. She chose this path, when she decided to insult one of America's finest!

She was laying on her lover, a fitting ending to her little journey. I gave her a good hard jab with the poker. "Get up, Lynn. You've got things to do."

She whined that she was hurt, and that she was sorry. I yanked on the rope forcefully and she stood.

"Drag your boyfriend this way," I told her. I pulled her rope, and jabbed her with the poker again. She whimpered as she tugged with all her might, his mammoth body slowly moving.

My darling spouse looked like shit. A big curved burn mark was on her belly. Her front was streaked with blood, chunks of glass embedded in her skin. From her ass to her knees, the back of her legs were lobster red.

I liked the look on her.

It was only a few feet to the basement door, and then a score or so steps down, (score, another cool word I hardly ever get to use. Four-score and seven...) but it took her almost that many minutes to drag her boyfriend that far, crying the whole time. I hated the mess he made of our hardwood floors, but some things can't be helped.

Somehow, she got him all the way downstairs, bouncing along each step. At least she had gravity on her side. See, that's how you can tell I'm a genius. I knew the attic would be too much trouble. Let nature assist you, whenever possible. 

I noticed the loop around his neck was digging into his skin. "Buddha's beard, Lynn! You weren't supposed to kill him!" I laughed. It was difficult, but I managed to loosen the rope, before tying it to the exposed steel post. My loving wife was curled up on the ground, sobbing. So much for loyalty to her boyfriend.

He wasn't breathing so I applied old fashioned CPR. I kicked him in the gut and chest until he gasped. Good enough for me. The way his legs looked, he wasn't going to get up and walk away. Not on those feet, anyway.

I tugged my wife's leash. "Up Lynn, up!"

"I can't," she groaned. "I'm dying. I need to go to the hospital."

A couple of whacks of the poker convinced her she wasn't dying. At least not yet.

"No sitting down on the job Honey. There's so much you still has to do!"

"Please, baby! she sobbed pitifully, her naked body shaking. "I'm sorry!"

I pulled her along, but was very disappointed when she collapsed on the first step, unconscious. Damn it. She always was a lazy thing. In the field I would have gigged her, and had her up for an Article 15.

From the garage, I retrieved all the rope I could find. I made sure loverboy was going nowhere, and gagged him to keep him quiet. I wasn't done with him. No, not by a long shot.

For my wife, I had different plans. Lots of rope, lots of knots, pretty patterns. I was in no hurry, and took my time. I had her hogtied quite nicely before I was through.

I went upstairs, looked at our beautiful home, and sighed. Once again, I'd have to do her job for her. I'd clean the steps, fix the circuit breaker, take care of the floor. I'd even change the sheets, and flip the mattress. That was a hellacious job, but I'd done it once before. I knew I could manage. 

I wasn't going to do everything for her. She sure as shit was going to dig loverboy's hole in the backyard himself. But there was no rush for that.

~ * ~ * ~

I sat at the cozy table for two, toasting my darling wife. "To us," I whispered.

"To us." She sipped her wine.

She looked great. She was wearing my favorite outfit. I too had dressed for the occasion. Her adulterous affair had nearly destroyed us. It was time to move forward. She had betrayed me, but it was one time in 10 years. She deserved a chance to redeem herself.

It had been a week since that time. A long difficult week, for both of us I imagine.

She leaned forward for more bread, but the chain around her collar pulled her up short. "May I have another piece of bread Honey?" she asked nicely.

I was feeling generous. It was her third piece. A feast. I pushed it across to her, and continued eating my filet mignon.

"I'm sorry," she whined.

"Sorry doesn't cut it my love. I'm a bean counter. Everything gets counted. Credits and debits. Everything has to add up, balance. You have a massive debit. It's going to be difficult to reestablish any kind of equity here."

Her boyfriend moaned from his position a few yards away. It had taken an enormous amount of work in the last seven days, to get things to the point where I was considering allowing my wife an opportunity for restitution.

Lynn's eyes followed my own, landing on the form of her former boyfriend—or so she swore—strapped to the device I'd made for him.

It was a frame of black steel pipe. Nearly six feet in length, and four feet across, it had two cross poles at the two foot and four foot points. He was tied to it, face down, his arms and legs fastened securely. A rope secured him at the waste, so his body wouldn't flop around when he was upright or inverted.

The hard part had been making the hinged middle that allowed it to be rotated and tilted. Ropes and pulleys made it possible, there was no other way I could move his massive bulk on my own.

"What...what kind of debit," my wife asked softly.

I finished the last of my steak, leaving a few bites left unconsumed, watching her stare at it lustfully. "I have no idea how long this has been going on, and no way to verify any claims you make. I do know that in my presence, you begged him to have intercourse with you 99 times." I placed my manual clicker on the table.

"No Honey! That's impossible. I...I wouldn't do that," she whined.

"Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck me you black bastard...need I go on?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'd undo it if I could."

I smiled. "That's exactly what I was hoping you'd agree to. We need you to unfuck him."

The look of confusion on her face was priceless. Unlike her worthless self. "Unfuck? How?"

I opened the bag beside me. I pulled out a strap-on that was at least as big as our unwelcome guest's tool had been. "With this. He fucked you, now you will fuck him, returning his fucks, since we no longer want them."

She shuttered, handling the item carefully. "Ninety-nine times? What makes up a time?"

"I believe I have a solution for that as well. I'll show you once we've started. Shall we?"

I loosened her leash, giving her some room, while she tied her instrument of recompense around her waist. I passed her a large bottle of oil. When I replaced what I'd used in my preliminary payback, I'd purchased extra. She was getting the cheap stuff. The investment was too high already.

I adjusted the rotational settings, and lowered her black buck to the ground, belly first. He was aware, if not too cogent. I was keeping him fed and watered. I didn't want to lose him before we were through. Hell, I'd even set his leg and braced it, all those years of field medical training paying off. "He's all yours Lynn, honey. Time to start."

It took her a while to get in place, apply the oil to her disproportionately large artificial member, and start penetrating him. He was whining quite nicely, his threats to my health having been reduced to almost zero a few days earlier. 

Once she had things worked out, she did a reasonable job. "Like this Honey?" she asked me nervously, pumping her toy into our guest.

"That's perfect. Keep going."

I removed my own clothing, using a better lube to grease up my own, not insubstantial condom covered member. She turned nervously when I took my place behind her. "You asked him 99 times, my dear. I believe it's time you asked me."

She nodded. "Fuck me, baby? Please?" Call me crazy, but I honestly believe she meant it.

"Hold still a moment, my love." She stopped her movement, and I placed my protected tool at the entrance to her traitorous pussy, and entered her. She whimpered a bit as I filled her. I'm not sure why; I'm surprised she could even feel me after having been used by her 'boyfriend'.

It took some work, but we found a reasonable rhythm, whereby she thrust herself back onto my cock, and I pushed her, and her huge rubber dong, into our groaning guest. I would pull out a few inches, and she'd back up and take me back in, only to repeat the exercise.

I normally didn't have a short fuse, but it had been a while. Months, actually. After a minute or so, I pushed her into him, and made her stay still, as I completed my own effort, coming for her. I pulled out of her, removed my used condom, and tacked it to the wall. "That's one," I told her.

She was back to pumping his quivering ass, paying off her debt in that black asshole's asshole. (See what I did there? Pretty cool, huh?)

"Can we go again?" she pleaded, repeatedly. (See, I remember my schooling. That's a Tom Swifty, right?)

I was willing. And there were additional avenues of recompense I was considering investigating. I walked over and stood beside her, my limp member at eye level. "I'll need help getting ready."

"You...you want me to suck it, don't you?" she asked nervously.


A World Turned Rightside Up - FTDS



"Of course," I said. "I watched you suck him like a bro. Don't I deserve the same? You are my wife, after all."

She started slowly, but I was surprise how good she could do it, her hips continuously thrusting away at her boyfriend's bowels, all the while. She took all of me in her mouth, sucking and tugging, smiling for me as it grew. Even once I was fully hard, she didn't stop. I liked it. I had a very good feeling she'd be doing that a lot more often. Then again, there were many things she'd be doing more often. She didn't know it yet, but she's a smart woman. Not a genius like me, but no dummy. She had to suspect what was in store for her.

I retrieved another rubber from my industrial sized box. One gross, 144, and I planned to use them all. Only ninety-nine before she had unfucked him, but there was more than that to pay for. Lots more.

I put the rubber on, held her still, and found my way back inside of her. After a few more minutes we'd found our special rhythm, and this time I lasted a lot longer. She noticed, encouraging me. "Fuck me, stud. Wear me out with that big cock," she pleaded. A good three minutes after I'd started, I was groaning as I filled another condom. Ok, maybe not filled, but there was evidence that I'd had a good come. Really good!

I was shot. Two loads in one night! I helped her off of her ex-boyfriend, and let her use the laundry sink to clean up. It was selfish of me, I know, but I was going to be spending a lot of time down there, and didn't need the whole place smelling of shit. That's why I'd given her a nice little bucket, and made sure she kept the both of them clean. The fearsome dark beast who'd thrown me out of my own bedroom a week earlier, wasn't so fearsome, and in his weakened and restrained state, had problems cleaning up after himself. Lynn didn't like having to take care of him, but he was her boyfriend, not mine.

~ * ~ * ~

A month into balancing the scales, I noticed something. I was getting stronger, feeling better. I could make it all the way up the stairs without getting winded. My efforts at exercise were improving. I enjoyed working out in the basement, showing off my new strength. I'd moved from the five pound dumbbells up to 10, and was now completing multiple sit-ups at a time.

Lynn, as well was looking much improved. Her new forced diet had her losing most of the weight she'd put on over the last decade. I had given her a hairbrush, and a tooth brush, and once a week let her clean herself thoroughly at the laundry sink, while she was doing the laundry.

The at-home STD tests for HIV, chlamydia, gonorrhea, herpes, syphilis, hepatitis and trichomonas had all yielded negative results. Another $200 down the drain, but I felt better. I was still going to keep using condoms. Better safe than sorry, my old DI used to tell me. Or was that Mom? I can't remember.

The wall of condoms now numbered over 70. That's right, 70. I was doing it two, sometimes three times a day! Lynn was the beneficiary of my increased libido, and would urge me on, while we unfucked her boyfriend. He wasn't looking as good as me or Lynn, but that didn't bother me much. Casualty of war, you know. You fuck with the bull, sometimes you get the horns. (See what I did with 'bull' there? That's a double entendre! Don't tell me I can't write!)

I had a surprise for Lynn. I didn't think she was going to like it, but again, not my problem. There are winners and losers in life. I was a winner. Lynn, not so much. Not after fucking with a Green Beret bean counter stud. Semper Fi!

Once I finished my workout, I let her use her mouth to get me ready for another unfucking session. She strapped on her 'punisher', as she'd taken to calling it. Somewhere along the line she'd developed a real disliking for the third member of our little threesome. It was to the point where after I finished in her the first time, she begged to keep going while I took a rest. Ten or fifteen minutes later, my energy returned, her mouth would get me going, I'd slip on a condom, and go at it.

Today would be something new. She got me hard, and turned away, bending over so I could start the second part of our session. I pulled her up by the hair, and stuck my cock back in her mouth. "All the way, my love. No stopping."

She slowed down, looking nervous. I don't think she liked change. She sucked me, while slowly humping her ex. I was feeling great! Strong. Even through the excitement of knowing I'd soon be coming in her mouth, I held on a good three minutes, maybe even four! I could tell she knew I was approaching my finish. She looked up at me, slowing down.

"Don't stop. You did it for your boyfriend, you'll do it for me."

She picked up the pace, and was rewarded with a mouthful of my best throat yogurt. She grimaced but worked her way through it, swallowing, and gave me a tentative smile afterward. "That was wonderful Dear." I knew she lied, but I loved her for trying. And she'd be trying that a lot more.

"Thank you Sweetie. That was very nice. You don't get to count that as one of your unfucks, but I promise you a nice little surprise later."

She was angry with her big black buck. She unfucked him really hard, even had him responding a little. "You bastard," she growled. "This is all your fault!"

Several minutes later, I was feeling up for another try. I stuck my dick in her face, and she started sucking. As I firmed up, she paused. "All the way?"

"Not this time, my little Angel. Just hard enough for me to enjoy that naughty little cheating hole of yours."

My rubber encased man-meat pounded her, in perfect rhythm with her unfucking. We were getting good at it, working together. It was a banner night for me. After seven minutes I was still going strong!

"God, baby, you...you're gonna make me come!" she gasped.

That's right. I was the man. I pounded that pussy. She squealed, and I felt something new, a strange tightness around my cock, as she slammed her cock into her unfuck-friend, and I pumped her viciously. She was gasping, and the new sensation put me over the top.

When I pulled out of her, walking to the wall and pinning up our latest trophy, I saw her pull out of the dark meat, walking toward me. "That was incredible, baby. I love you so much." She was so cute, naked, her big cock waving while she walked. Sometimes I forgot how beautiful she was.

She tried to hug me, but we weren't ready for that. We still had to balance the scales. Beside, the leash pulled her up about two feet short.

I shortened her chain, and went upstairs to get dinner. I saw the tears in her eyes, as I placed her plate in front of her. It held more than double what I'd been feeding her. A full chicken breast, and a scoop of mashed potatoes. I pushed the butter toward her, along with a spork and plastic knife, the first utensils she'd been allowed.

"Butter?" she whispered.

"And salt," I said, spicily. (Swifty!) I gave her a wink.

"You, you forgive me?" Her beautiful blue eyes were swimming in tears.

I laughed. "Hell no, my love. We still have a ways to go before there's any balance, and it'll be long after that before we even think about forgiveness. But I did like the blowjob."

~ * ~ * ~

The next few days were back to normal. Every day I felt better, stronger. Cooking for myself seemed to be the trick. That and the exercise. That's all I could figure.

People were starting to get curious about her absence. They had all easily accepted my first explanation about her taking a vacation on her own. After more than a month, they were asking when she'd be getting back. I arranged to email her friends, bragging about her wonderful South Sea island vacation, and that she'd be extending it indefinitely. I found some nice pictures from Google and attached those.

Her meals were back to the usual, bread and water for breakfast, no lunch, and something simple for dinner, typically a bologna sandwich.

On the fourth day, with our number almost to 80, she tried to hang onto me, when she sucked me hard. "All the way?" she pleaded.

"Sure," I said. "Why not?"

She got me off, and ten minutes later, I was pumping her again. She was obviously excited, and for the second time in our marriage, I felt that special tightening around my cock, as she cried out her joy for me. This time I lasted a whole minute afterward, and almost thought I'd get to hear her scream again. Almost.

She was trembling in her seat, when I uncovered the plate in front of her. A burger, with a roll and all the fixings. A heaping of potato chips. Even half an ear of corn. I set the condiments in front of her. Catsup, butter, salt, pepper. Her voice broke as she opened the burger, preparing it. "Thank you, baby. I...I'm sorry."

"I know, dear heart."

~ * ~ * ~

Things slowed down. One condom a day was the new standard. She worked hard to make sure she got a mouthful of my cum each evening. I teased her a few times, pulling away from her, and watched her scramble to get me back. The first time I pulled out and sprayed her face, she almost cried. "Please, baby! Does it count? Does it count?"

Not only did it count, but I gave her seconds.

We were almost at ninety, and I had a new surprise for her. She earned her dinner, unfucking the broken beast, who rarely moved anymore, while sucking me off. When I let her get me hard again, this time I moved behind her and oiled up my cock. No condom. 

She pushed herself deep into her black booty, waiting for me, eager. I'd been giving her an orgasm almost ever night for the last week. This time I spread her ass cheeks and pressed against her other hole. Her head spun around quickly. "Honey?" she said nervously.

"Did he have you here?" I asked, pushing, probing, trying to work myself in. It wasn't easy.

"No! Never. Nobody ever has," she whined.

"Reach back and spread your cheeks, Angelic one."

She whimpered but did as she was told. With a beastly effort, I forced my way in. She grunted, but held onto her cheeks. It took some work, and a good bit more oil, but I managed to do a good job of filling her virgin hole, groaning as I let loose my first uncontained load into my wife in over 9 years.

She pouted as she looked over at the wall. "No condom?" For a moment I thought she was going to cry.

"Not tonight dear, but I'll make it up to you."

Ribs. She loved ribs. Ribs with a loaded baked potato. She finished it all looking quite happy. Her eyes lit up when I put the second small covered plate in front of her. She lifted the top off, exposing the small slice of chocolate cake. "For me?" she gasped, her finger scraping off some of the icing and bringing it to her sexy lips.

"I told you I'd make it up to you, beautiful."

~ * ~ * ~

Condoms eighty-eight to ninety-five, took more than a week. She wanted a load in her mouth, and another in her bottom every day. Begged for it, if it looked like I had other plans. Unless I was good for three, there was no condom on the wall.

Luckily for her, my renewed strength, better eating, and constant fucking had me coming three times a day, more often than not. Only once did she not come when it counted, and she really surprised me when she came from taking it up the Hershey highway.

I had to cut her portions back a little when it looked like she was gaining weight. 

She was becoming a tease, shaking her bottom at me when I came down to workout, or licking her lips teasingly when I brought her breakfast. Once she found that she'd earn her meals with her mouth and ass, whether she was unfucking or not, she became absolutely brazen. She would suck me whether I came or not. The first time she pulled away on her own, saying "Let's save the rest for later," I was shocked. When I came down to find her laying on her table, legs open, rubbing her pussy, I was absolutely gob-smacked. (I learned that word from my SAS buddies. Bob's your Uncle!) 

"I want you, baby," she moaned. "No unfucking. Just give me some of that wonderful cock."

I didn't even need the warm up sucking. I put on a rubber, and went at her. Pounded a good one into that pussy, made her suck me hard, and did it again. She climaxed twice, telling me how much she loved me. I tacked the two rubbers, with surprisingly full contents below the others.

"Why there?" she asked.

"Forgiveness count. It's a start."

She cried.

That night, over dinner, she cried again, when I put a glass of wine in front of her. She sipped it slowly. "What's all the noise outside?" she asked tentatively.

"We're putting in a shed."

"For real?"

"Yes. Later, I'll take you outside and show you."

She was clearly excited.

When I took her out there around 1:00 am, away from prying eyes, she was nervous. When I took her inside, moved the floorboards away, and handed her the shovel, she was not so happy.

I had her dig for a couple of hours. I made her tell me a story. A story of a cheating wife, and how she came to be that way.

By the third night of digging, she'd finished her story of seduction and submission. She cried through most of it, apologizing profusely. She said she had never had an orgasm during sex and the first one, delivered by her demanding lover, brought down all her defenses. It had gone on for six weeks. Six weeks! Every weekday after the second week. She had tried to keep it hidden, but when loverboy insisted he wanted to rub my nose in it she went along. She couldn't tell him no, or he'd take away his magical love wand.

It sounded like a lot of stupid excuses for her to be a slut. That's what I told her. "Sounds like a lot of stupid excuses to be a slut."

"I tried to stop him. I tried hard. I even fought him. He was too much, too big, too strong, too demanding. I didn't want it baby. You have to believe me!" she whined, standing in the bottom of the five foot deep hole.

"I know what I heard. You weren't fighting too hard when I walked in on you."

"Once he was in me, I couldn't resist him. I'm sorry. I tried to stop it, but once he got going, that big thing inside me, I lost all control. You have to believe I didn't want it, baby, I swear I didn't. I didn't love him, it was only sex. Great mind-blowing sex, but only sex!"

"You want to climb out of the hole, my dear loving wife?" I asked.

"Please. You're frightening me, baby."

"Then explain something to me. After I found you having sex with that interracial bastard, I went to the doctor to make sure you hadn't given me anything. I had a full blood workup done. Can you imagine my surprise when I found out you've been poisoning me?"

She shook her head briskly. "No! I would never do that. I love you. I only want the best for you Darling. I would never poison you. I couldn't do that!"

"You haven't been adding anything mysterious to my food? Nothing to weaken me, make me sick, so you could kill me off and leave with your big black lover?"

"Of course not! The only thing I ever added to your food was vitamins, my love. I swear it's true. I only did that, because I know you hate to take them, and I want you to be healthy and strong. So we can live a long life together."

I gave her my hand, and pulled her out of the hole. I led her to the kitchen. "Show me," I said.

She opened the cabinet, and right in front was a row of eight different vitamin bottles. She brought them down. "This is it. Two of each one ground up with breakfast and dinner. That's all. It was for your health!"

I read the labels. I'm a bean counter, the best there is. It didn't take me long to add up the numbers. "Darling wife, you've been giving me 20 times the recommended dosage of vitamin D, 16 times the dosage of vitamin B, 10 times the maximum dosage of vitamin A, and 6 times the maximum intake of iron. Any one of those could make me very sick. The iron alone could kill me!"

The stunned look on her dirty face convinced me she was stupid, not evil. "But that's impossible! How could they sell it, if it's not safe! I only gave you what the label suggested."

"The dosage is per day, not per meal, and the same supplements are in several different bottles. They all add up. Trust me, my love, the numbers don't lie. Numbers never lie."

She nodded sadly. "If you say so, it must be true. Nobody knows numbers better than you, husband dearest. I'm so very sorry. I only meant to help you. I never would intentionally hurt you. I love you far too much for that."

"You think it didn't hurt me, the things you said, seeing you in bed with your damn lover, screaming for him?" I snapped at her, using my best Green Beret, leadership voice.

"I...I'm sorry, honey. I was under his spell. It was that big dick. The dick made me say it. I swear I didn't mean it. I love you. It was only sex with him. It wasn't even really sex with him. It was sex with that big dick. You have to know I love you. Please forgive me and let me make it up to you."

"We'll see." I chained her up in the basement, and went to bed. I had a difficult time getting to sleep, knowing that phase two of my brilliant plan was nearly complete.

The next morning I let her do the laundry, and clean herself up. All the digging had left her kind of messy. I probed her tonsils after breakfast, letting her earn her dinner. I told her I was happy with our progress, and that I'd let her make it up to me again that night. Number 99. Number 99. Turn me on dead man. (Seriously, play it backwards. It really says that. Kind of spooky.) 

I'd stopped feeding the vicious interracial interloper the first night of the digging, and stopped watering him the second. He wasn't in very good shape that evening, when he received his last unfucking. He didn't speak, didn't moan, didn't move. Luckily we were done with him.

Lynn was pumping him, while I pumped her, in her tight little cinnamon ring, earning her dessert. After I finished, I took a rest, and was surprised when she stopping slamming the 'punisher' into her boyfriend. 

"I'm afraid Honey," she whined. "I...I don't think he's alive. I fear we've unfucked him to death."

I sighed, and presented my prodigious cock for sucking. "We still need one more, baby. Let's make it a good one, Ok?"

She wasn't in the mood, I guess. She kept her big dildo inside him, and I took my time filling the condom. I was becoming a true stud. I lasted more than 10 minutes, but she never came for me. I didn't like it, but I understood. Even a Lothario like moi can't guarantee an orgasm every time.

Dinner was a special one. A nice thick steak for the love of my life, asparagus, steak fries, and chocolate mousse for dessert. It was a quiet dinner. I was in a good mood, and thought she should be too. Instead she seemed nervous and frightened.

Let me tell you, getting that big black buck up the stairs was no easy feat! Even after strapping him to a board, setting up pulleys, and putting plastic on the stairs, it took us nearly an hour to get him out of the basement. Once we had him in the living room, I loaded him onto a dolly, and waited until 2:00 am to wheel him out to the shed. Lynn did most of the work. I was healthier, feeling stronger every day, but even after a few months of starvation, our extinguished guest still must have weighed more than a hundred pounds.

We dumped him in the hole we'd prepared, and I allowed my wife the honor of filling it with the dirt she'd removed. When she was done, I replaced the floor board, and moved the bench and equipment back on top of them. I noticed that while I was finishing up hiding the evidence of the demise of her ex, she spent a lot of time staring at the second hole I'd had her dig. She was trembling when I took her in my arms. "We'll cover that one up for now. Let's hope we never have to use it, my love."

~ * ~ * ~

The next morning she was waiting for me, on her knees at the bottom of the stairs. We played tonsil hockey, and I fed her twice. Once with a mouthful of my finest, then with a waffle and fresh blueberries. It was the weekend, and I had decided I'd be spending most of my day with my dear loving wife. 




A World Turned Rightside Up - FTDS



"What now?" she asked, nervously, in between bites of waffle.

"You've unfucked him. It's a great start. Now we work on forgiveness." I nodded toward the wall of reconciliation. The 99 unfucking condoms proclaimed her success in phase 2. The eleven 'forgiveness' condoms were a start toward phase 3. Phase 1, in case you never figured it out, was getting them out of that damned bed, and into the basement, under my control.

See, guys like me, we don't go off half-cocked. We make plans. Green Beret plans. Bean Counter plans. Genius plans. Don't be jealous.

"What can I do to earn my forgiveness?" she asked. "Please tell me. I'll do anything. Whatever it takes."

"I'm a bean counter, baby. Ten years we've been married. Ten years I've allowed you to dictate our lives. In all that time, you never let me make love to you without a condom. You never took me in your mouth. You deprived me access to your incredible ass. Do you think that's fair to me? You didn't make him use a condom. You sucked him, happily enough, even swallowed his cum. Was that any way to treat the man you claim you love?"

She shook her head. "I didn't want to do it with him. He made me. The dick made me do it. I swear, darling husband. I never wanted to. Once he forced me to, of course I knew I would do it for you. I'll do anything for you. You only have to ask. No, I take that back. You don't even have to ask. Do what you want, and I'll never say no. Never again."

"I've counted. I've got the spreadsheets of every time we had sex. All the times you denied me. Both times I asked you to suck me, to no avail. All eight times I pleaded with you to allow me to make love without a condom, only to be laughed at. The time I suggested we might possibly have anal sex, when you cut me off for four months. I've done the math, my dear. You know it's correct. Thirty seven weeks I was given no sex at all! Thirty seven!"

She was crying. "I'm sorry. I was a horrible wife. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Never again will I deny you your marital rights. Let me prove my love to you!"

"Thirty seven weeks. You owe me those thirty seven. Ten years without blowjobs or anal sex. I understand that might not be something I should have expected every week. Perhaps not even every month. But 10 years of denial!" I was getting worked up, and used my extensive self-control training, counting backwards from 10. That's the secret, you know. Not counting from 1 to 10, but doing it backwards. In Hindi as my yogi taught me. "You owe me, wife. I believe I deserved a blowjob on my birthday, on our anniversary, and at Christmas. I think a Valentine's day anal treat would be reasonable. That's 30 blow jobs, and 10 ass-fuckings, on top of the thirty-seven times you denied me sex."

"Whatever you want. I'll be happy to give it to you. All the blowjobs you could ever hope for. You can have my ass whenever the urge comes upon you. My pussy is your personal playground, use it at any time, anywhere."

I nodded toward the wall. "Eight condoms, toward the thirty-seven times you made me do without. When we've eliminated that debt, we can start on the blowjobs. After the BJs are caught up, we'll knock off the rump-riding. Does that seem fair to you?"

"More than fair. Will I be forgiven then?"

"Perhaps. The books will be much closer to being in balance. I still have to consider your harsh words towards me, when I caught you in our bed. You know I haven't been able to sleep there. I use the guest bed. The master is still exactly as you left it. Also, there is the matter of poisoning me for the last year, even if it was possibly unintentional."

She understood, and we started balancing the books once more. She was still interested in eating well, so I got my daily blowjobs, and used her fantastic ass everyday. With my new found strength, increased sex drive, and incredible stamina, we were having sex at least 3 times a day, sometimes four! Every morning before breakfast, I'd receive my daily fellatio, and each evening would begin with a visit to the brown-eyed valley. After that, whatever she could wring out of me would earn another condom on the wall of reconciliation. It was only four weeks later, that the last of the thirty-seven 'denial' condoms was tacked to the wall.

Lynn was surprised when I used her pussy the next day, without a condom for the first time in our marriage. "Never again will I use a condom with you," I told her. I continued counting one of her blowjobs as her dinner voucher, and any additional ones were finished on her pretty face. I'd capture the moment with a picture, and post it to our wall. She still liked dessert, so her ass got no rest. It took another 26 days to achieve the blowjob balance.

"We're on the home stretch," I told her, as I pinned the last picture to the wall. "It's time for another change."

"Whatever you desire. I love you, and all I want is to make you happy."

"You need to clean up the mess you made of our bedroom, before I can consider allowing you access to the rest of the house," I explained. "I want the bed removed and put in the garage. The sheets will be burned. You will re-carpet the bedroom, and repaint it. When that is complete, we can start the anal balancing."

I supervised her activities each evening. When she wasn't working on the bedroom, I practiced my Eagle Scout knot-tying, and kept her bound, naked in the guest bedroom. I still used whichever holes I felt the urge for a few times each day, although she wasn't getting credit for any of them. She was fed well, and I even allowed her the use of the bathroom, including her first bath in four months. By the end of the week, I had a new bedroom, had hauled the old bed off to the dump, and was becoming pretty good at tying her up. 

Seven days later, her anal debit was off the books. 

I untied her, bathed her, and gave her clothing for the first time since she'd screwed up. "The books are balanced. It is time for us to start anew." She was beautiful. It was painful to escort her to the front door. I made her get on her knees and give me a blowjob. Damn, she was getting good at those. I finished on her pretty face, and kicked her out.

She begged me to reconsider, but there was no way I was staying married to the slut. I'm pretty sure I mentioned that at the end of the first chapter.

~ * ~ * ~

I was not surprised when the police showed up at my door. An army of them, with warrants in hand, and weapons drawn. No surprise at all for a genius Green Beret, bean counter. She should have known that.

I was handcuffed, interrogated (by amateurs, I might add. I would have done a better job), and the house was searched. For three days. The backyard was dug up, shed disassembled, and the basement went over with a fine toothed comb. They left the house a shambles.

Of course they found nothing. 

Genius, remember? Of course I'd moved the body, while I kept her locked up in the basement. It's in the landfill, good luck with that. While she was remaking the bedroom, I was doing the same in the basement. Not a shred of evidence remained when I was finished. I even moved things around so it didn't match her description. The iron contraption was gone, the floor and walls painted, and the wall of evidence, boxed up and hidden away where nobody would ever find it. I considered destroying it, but there were too many great memories attached. 

One of the men whose lives I'd saved in my Green Beret days, was living in Fiji, and had kept up a stream of emails pretending to be my wife, keeping the wolves at bay, and proving she was far away, while I was 'supposed' to be torturing her.

Us bean counters are almost as close knit a group as my military buddies. I had a vast array of alibis covering nearly the entire time that my crazy ex-wife was supposed to be chained up in my basement. That's right, ex-wife. I had the legal documents to prove it, with her signature on the divorce papers, including the envelope postmarked Fiji. Hell, I'd had months to practice her signature, and with my amazing skills, even she couldn't tell the difference.

I believe at the end, when the psychiatrists got done with her, even she believed she'd gone crazy. The fact that she was in the loony bin while I submitted my paperwork to the police for compensation for damages to my property, helped my case of a misinformed warrant, and I was paid $12,000 in damages. I didn't bother replacing the shed.

Her younger sister, Jean, was so distraught over her evil older sibling's treatment of me, she moved in, and helped me repair the place. She had no problem with performing the sex acts that Lynn denied me all those years. And guess what? It turns out that I'm not the infertile one. It also turns out that all that experience I gained tying knots has come in very useful. Young Jean may only be 18, but she's a kinky little slut. Fortunately for her, she's only a slut for me. I like it that way.

Lynn got released last week. They only kept her for about 8 months before she was cured. She's extremely remorseful, apologizing profusely for her 'episode'. She understands now that her bull Derrick was only a fantasy, and that something occurred in Fiji for her to enter her fugue state. 

She's a little upset that her baby sister has replaced her. Jean and Lynn are negotiating for a way to allow the ex back into my bed. She has nowhere to stay, even her parents are afraid of her mental condition. Jean is a sexy, wild thing, but even she's having difficulty keeping up with my new sexual appetite. I imagine five or six times a day might be difficult, for anyone. I understand she could use some help taking care of me. My record is nine, shared between her and her twin Joan. Joan was a willing playmate for a while, but she's determined to finish her degree. We've agreed to keep an opening for her. So now Jean thinks Lynn could take her identical twin's place for the next few years. I'm considering it. As a temporary solution, of course. Lynn does give great head. She could teach her sister a thing or two. And in a few months Jean won't be in any shape for the sexual marathons I've grown accustomed to.

That's my story. I have to go now. I'm auditioning Lynn in a few minutes, and want to snap off a quick one in her baby sister's back door before getting down to business.

There's a moral here. Don't mess with genius Green Beret bean counter sex-machine Eagle Scout wordsmiths with friends. Lynn and her interracial bull found that out the hard way. And if the Houston PD reads this, remember, it's only fiction. Besides, I have an alibi. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~