64 comments/ 51940 views/ 12 favorites Defending His Right By: Athena_e19 Screaming. His wife screaming, doubled over the kitchen table, her pants pushed down, with the giant looming behind her. The slapping sounds, the slurps coming from her body's lubrication as it took the rapist's cock deep into her vagina. And his own whimpering. The goddamn whimpering was what haunted him the most. Over and over again, little plaintive cries for help. They were the testament to his weakness, and ultimately they would be the thing which woke him from this nightmare night after night. Davis Stockton woke to the familiar darkness of his bedroom. His skin crawled and his stomach churned as he struggled to free himself of the nightmare. It had been pursuing him for two weeks now, every night since it had happened. He looked to his left, where his wife lay, her own eyes staring wide open at the window. She did that pretty often now. Just lay awake all night long, staring out the window, her eyes silent and her body tensed. A wave of guilt washed over Davis and replaced his own fear. He didn't bother talking to her, comforting her, or encouraging her. He had tried that before and she had rewarded him with a vicious critique of his masculinity. Davis couldn't talk to her after that. She was right and he knew it. He knew that he could have nothing to say until he could somehow prove himself capable of changing what had happened. But he had no idea how. Jasmine Stockton, his wife, was haunted by the same nightmare that Davis was. They had been coming home from a night out with friends when the two men had appeared behind them in the stair well of their apartment complex. Their black masks and clothing had told the couple all they needed to know about their purpose. Instead of fighting back, Davis had crumbled, shrinking down on the stairs his hands covering his head. She could still remember the sound of the men chuckling as they pushed her into the unlit interior of their home and the berated terms they used to describe the man who had promised her protection, provision, and love. Instead he had sat there, watching, as they had taken her again and again and again. He whimpered the whole time. Little squeaky cries of a child in trouble. They had raped her. Fucked her over and over, until she had succumbed, until her body had surrendered to the natural desires it housed. And then they had humiliated her with her own inability to resist. Afterwards they had humiliated her with her husband. They had berated her for marrying such a pussy, for choosing such a man as her guardian. They had told her he was not a man at all. That they were better for her, that she would never be able to forget how much of a bitch he had been. And they were right. All she could think of was his whimpering, of his begging for mercy as they had fucked his wife. She had been raped! Not him! Why should he beg for mercy when they just left him to whimper. They were unarmed even! No gun, no knife, just their strong arms and bodies. That was all it took for Davis to fold. Jasmine was unsure if she could ever look at him the same again. Whenever he spoke now, she leveled him with repeated reminders of his failings, of his inconsistencies, and his inabilities. She was his superior. She had survived the attack and had almost been able to refuse them their demands. But Davis, he was worthless. Incapable of returning to sleep, the devastated and crumpled image of a man rose from his bed and retreated to the safety of the internet. There he was anonymous and there he could be strong again. He could defend his spouse and take from others what he wanted. He wasn't just the pussy who had whimpered. Davis beat himself off to stories of powerful men commanding their wives to behave like whores, while foiling the machinations of lesser beings. It was in one such story that he would find his inspiration. Inspiration for what he hoped would be a changed life. Two days would pass, sunlit hours filled by monotonous work and evenings filled by a cold separation between he and his wife. But he was certain that with Saturday morning, his life would change. It would not come soon enough, but when it did, Davis was ready. He and Jasmine had saved up plenty of money since the rape, they never went out and they never spent anything. There was just no point to it. So Davis had used some of the stagnant cash flow to purchase gear and pay for the first set of lessons. Excitedly the young man would leave his apartment just as the sun peaked above the sky and head to the address directed. The words on the brochures and web page ran through his head. Mixed martial arts. Strength, courage, and control. Seven time world champion. Physique, defense, offense. Dominant. Powerful. They swept him off his feet like a romance novel would affect a middle aged woman. It seemed like perhaps there was something more out there and Davis was glad for the renewal of hope. The building was largely nondescript and run down. Davis liked it though, it reminded him of a movie about an unlikely common man who won the boxing title. "Stony" or something. Its brick façade was aging, obviously in disrepair, and the large windows were dirty and did not look like they had been ever washed. Vinyl lettering decorated the windows, repeating the mantra of the weak- be strong, be able, stand up for yourself, take what's yours. With a grin of self-assurance, the young man entered the glass door. The black paint on the window's interior had separated him from a different world. Straight ahead, a huge seeming boxing ring occupied center stage, taking over his field of vision and dismissing the various other athletic implements that took up floor space. All he could focus on was that boxing ring; its taut red, white, and blue ropes, heavy grey matting, and the diamond cut steel steps that entered from each corner. Davis' heart raced at the possibility that this was the start of something new. His excitement betrayed him, and to the man watching from behind the glass in the rear office, he looked like all the others. He had been teaching the practice for many years. His glory days as a fighter and as a founder of the brutal art form were behind him. Instead the sport had dumped him and forgotten his name when he had grown older and the young grew more capable. But that was how things should be. The strong thrive, and the weak exist. This gym had become his existence, because it allowed him at times to forget his own weakness, and prove that he was still stronger, better, more capable then others. And the young man who called himself Davis Stockton looked to be like all the others. He was excited by the opportunity. With a harsh smirk, he rose from his fading leather chair and strode through the door. "Davis?" Davis looked up when he heard his name called. From the back of the room, a grey haired man called. He was a little disappointed. He had hoped that his trainer would be more impressive. But as he approached from around the ring, he realized that the hair color of this man was hardly an indicator of his strength. There was something in the stance he took, in the distance his shoulder's covered, that belied power. Davis was reminded of the stance that his attackers had taken when they had taunted him. They had been strong like this man. "John," he hesitantly asked, his voice cracking as it trailed off. John just grinned and gave him a nod of his head. This guy was prey and nothing more. He had to resist the urge to laugh in his face. As the man approached, John found himself more and more disappointed. He was tall and lanky, his body too thin for his height, and his movements ungainly and unpracticed. And the smile on his face was as timid as his voice had been. When they drew near the two men shook hands, friendly and forced smiles occupying their faces. Davis signed his papers eagerly, unable to wait for his chance to prove the hidden talent he had buried inside. John pointed him towards a changing room/ rest room and waited until he returned. The pussy's stuff was brand new John recognized as Davis stepped from the rest room. He probably hadn't even worked out in years. The way the too small t-shirt clung to his slim frame was disturbing and his shorts were too shiny and too pretty for this sort of thing. And the pads he wore looked stiff and bulky, not suited for quick movements or reflexes. John decided on a more severe introduction of the sport and its finer points. "C'mon. Get up here. You've only got an hour and a half lesson today. And you're wasting time," John called out. Davis immediately moved quickly to try and appease the powerful old man who had promised such greatness. In doing so, the bulky ankle pads he wore caused his foot to be less reflexive and his first step into the ring proved to be his last for the lesson. He had raised his right foot as he had jogged up the stairs and had not been able to bend it enough to get traction. Instead he ended up kicking his big toe into the steel steps, tripping, and face planting against the edge of the mat. For several minutes the world has spun and his new instructor had peered down at him, checking for a concussion. By the time the new customer had left, John was dying from restraining his laughter. He had some pansies who folded on the first visit, but this was the first one who had managed to KO themselves without getting in it. He was certain that this would be the last visit from the young man. If it wasn't John was certain that there would be plenty more entertainment to come. When he arrived home, Davis discovered that Jasmine was up already and looking for a fight. The swollen bulge underneath his eye and the split lip he sported were certain to make for an interesting discussion. "Where in the hell have you been," his lithe firecracker wife yelled. "I went out," he replied "Out where?!" "Just out!" "Don't fucking yell at me! You're the one who left. Fucking pussy!" She had not spoken like that before the rape. Jasmine had been gentle, cute, and sweet, her exotic looks giving her an intensely sexual appearance, but her personality's openness and friendly mannerisms knocking it back a notch or too. Davis was always incredibly stung to hear her swear now. The first time had been the night she had been attacked. She had sworn at her attackers, then at him, then at herself when she had responded to their repeated penetrations and ministrations. "Don't call me that!" "Call you what? A pussy? A pussy would be able to recognize that marriage is a two way street. Its called communication. A pussy wouldn't have just left in the morning without a note or word abut where they were going. A pussy wouldn't just stand there and not say where they were. Course, no one here doubts the fact that you're a pussy!" Jasmine was on a roll. Her blood pressure was up and her whole body was tensed with anger. Davis had all this and more coming to him. "Don't you have anything to say for yourself, Davis? Do you want to call your mother again? Huh? How 'bout it? Should I get the phone for poor little Davis?" "Fuck you! Fuck you! I'm tired of your shit, Jasmine! I was out at the gym! I have a martial arts instructor. That's were this black eye came from! I know I fucked up, okay! I know I let you down! But I'm trying to do something about it. How do you think I feel? How humiliated and violated do you think I feel, Jazzy?" Davis had not ever yelled back. Perhaps just going to the gym had changed something inside him. Silenced by his violent outburst, Jasmine fell silent for the first time. She had not heard Davis swear or yell, ever. But beneath the suddenly quiet exterior, all her anger and humiliation still boiled. What right did he have to be violated? The dicks had been in her! She had been the one who was assaulted. He had just sat there and whimpered. For a few moments she glared at him, her anger ebbing and cooling. "You were at the gym? Doing martial arts?" Davis detected the interest in her voice. "Yeah. It was my first time. If it checked out I was going to get us both memberships," he lied. He wanted to be the strong one and didn't want his wife there until he was capable of something. "And?" "And.... Well, its cool. It'll be good. I was going to talk to you about it and sign you up if you want." "Good." With that, Jasmine pivoted and left the room. She took a long shower, replaying her assault with the suddenly added element of her own strength and self-defense being much better. Davis would still whimper no doubt, huddled in a corner, while his petite wife beat the crap out of the men who had dared to assault her. For the first time in weeks, she left the shower feeling clean, better then when she had climbed in. The next appointment was scheduled for a Friday afternoon, once the couple was off work. They would meet there, take the lessons, and then go home separately. John was waiting at the scheduled time and was surprised to see the door open and a beautiful young woman enter. Davis had called to inform him that his wife would be joining them for their lessons, but John had expected much less from the pansy. Instead, the woman who entered the gym and hastily crossed its padded floors, was a siren. She was shorter then John, approximately five foot seven, her thin body perfectly balanced between fitness and femininity. John found his older single male body responding to the closeness he would have to this woman. Her breasts were full and round and stood firmly atop her chest. The sports bra she wore now flattened them a bit, but her nipples were still evident beneath the top. And her short spandex bottoms displayed the other portion of her fantastic assets. John wished that he were her husband. He would fuck her a million ways to none. He had to adjust himself before she entered the office where he stood. His hand was in front of him and waiting as soon as she crossed the threshold. Jazzy had found the place easily enough, but unlike Davis she had not been impressed by the slightly deteriorated surroundings. And the boxing ring and few other exercise implements did not make a gym necessarily. She was a little disappointed in herself for believe that her husband could have actually found a cure for her self-loathing and spite for him. The gym owner and her instructor changed that opinion. When she entered the office, she had nearly run into him. He was just over six feet tall, slightly shorter then Davis, but built like a real man. He had a thick neck that slid into broad shoulders and a muscular chest and arms. His stance belied power and the cold way his eyes evaluated her as if she weren't aware of his gaze spoke of self-assurance. At first she was put off by the way his eyes roamed her body while they talked, but Jazzy was surprised to find herself flattered and gladdened by it. To her it meant he did not care what she thought of him. He was enough. His personality, his strength, his accomplishments, they were enough. He owned this area and everything in it. Perhaps that caused her to be a little more open with her life then what was necessary. For half an hour they would talk, John almost always quiet, his gaze prompting further explanation from the raven-haired beauty who sat opposite him in her workout clothing. Jazzy found her voice dropping a few decibels as she described her life, and the event that had driven she and her husband to the gym. Once she had managed to spill everything on how it had made her feel, he had encouraged her, telling her what he could do for her. John had given her the perfect medicine- he had made her feel like she was capable of taking care of herself, or that she would be with him. He told her that she would need to be tough, that the lessons were not easy to learn, but that when she did learn them, she would not need Davis or anyone else to care for her. Something in that statement had made her a little too excited. The idea of being capable of protecting herself was a little to sweet. Some of the bitterness of her rape no doubt played into that, but she had not heard it from someone else, as if it was logical and rational to not need him. John's opinion of Davis had continued to drop as he heard Jasmine Stockton's description of her assault, and her husband's response. He could not imagine standing by as another man took his wife forcefully and then berated him. He would have either killed the man or died trying. He had told Jasmine so- that he would not have allowed it, and that with him, it would not have happened. He knew from his years of experience that self defense could be a form of therapy or healing, and that what he was saying was wrong. But looking at the skimpy form fitting outfit she wore made John think differently than he normally would. Secretly he wished he could take her, as those men had, and make poor Davis whimper once more as his wife cried out for more. His erection was just getting to be a little too intense when Davis entered the gym. He had seen his wife's car out front and felt terrible for being late, but rush hour traffic was impossible to navigate this time of day. He didn't bother entering the office until he had changed once more into his gear and come out of the restroom. By the time he had finished, Jasmine and John were already waiting for him in the ring. Davis was eager to prove himself after his embarrassing tumble the previous day and volunteered to spar first with the shorter, but stronger man. He thought that his youth and height would matter, as fight commentators always mentioned. To his dismay, height and youth matter when you are both professional fighters. He and John had adopted their fighting stance, legs slightly offset and arms raised in front of their faces. "Just strike however you want to. I won't strike back, just defend myself." Davis danced around a bit more, trying to look like the fighters he witnessed on Pay Per View. When he saw John's stance relax a bit and his arms lower slightly he dove forward, his long slender arm pointed in front of him like a javelin and his glove flying forward. In a flash, he was face down on the ground a knee driven into his back. He wasn't even sure what had happened, but Jasmine snickered in the background. Apparently he wasn't at such an advantage as he had thought. John helped him to his feet and reset his stance and encouraged him to try once more. Davis decided that perhaps striking with his feet would be better. Dancing around once more and waiting for what he perceived to be a tell tale sign of softening, he flung one of his long legs around in a kick towards the waist. This time, he was able to see what happened in painful, jarring detail. The moment that Davis' foot was in the air and incapable of stopping, John stepped inside of his legs, his body moving swiftly and smoothly. Before Davis could connect even his knee into the man's hip, a swift sweep of the ankle and a forceful shove had pounded him into the ground. The world spun momentarily and stars flinched in and out of existence at the periphery of his vision. Once again the tinkling laughter of his wife filled his mind. Not waiting to have John tell him to get up, a hot tempered Davis lurched to his feet and charged forward. The older fighter simply sidestepped him and lifted his knee. Davis' own momentum carried him into the bony extension and the wind left his gut with a whoosh. Gasping for air, Davis doubled up and stumbled into a corner. Jasmine was laughing unrestrained now, emphasizing his weakness. Enraged, and still out of breath, Davis turned red faced towards John and started to swing his arms wildly. The repeat world champion just smacked his hands away, barely even moving his torso. Davis tried launching a knee when the last of his right hooks was batted down like it was thrown by a child. John grabbed his foot as it rose and used Davis' bent leg and its limited range of movement to launch him into the air. In a surreal moment, Davis watched as the lights disappeared from view and he completed his flip face first into the mat. Humiliated, his nose bleeding, and most of his body aching from the heavy impacts, he rolled over. Defending His Right The torturous feminine laugh of his wife further buried him in shame. Wincing he crawled from the ring as John turned towards his beloved Jazzy and waved her in to join him. Pinching his nose shut he hurried towards the restroom, his eyes filled with moisture. Davis refused to cry in front of the man and the woman he hoped to garner respect from. Jasmine was a bit nervous when John invited her into the ring. He had easily trounced Davis, seemingly for no reason. Jasmine wasn't sure but she thought that maybe it was for her benefit. "Alright are you ready, Jasmine?" "Yes, I think so. Just don't do that to me," she whispered in awe of the speed and grace the man possessed. "Don't worry. That type of training is more effective for men. Women very rarely will have to face down their attackers like a fighter would. We'll work on some grapples and breaks with you before we get into striking." Jasmine felt a little appeased by the answer but didn't know what breaks were or how to perform a grapple. "Okay. How did the men in the apartment approach you?" "From behind," she said, her voice fading as she remembered the moment. "Exactly. Almost always, attackers and rapists will approach their victims from behind. It gives them less time to respond and react. Some self defense experts recommend screaming and calling for help, but I believe that women need to be capable of getting themselves free of a situation to go get help. So, I want you to turn around and face away from me." John waited till she had looked the other way. He took the opportunity to appraise the tight little ass she possessed and the beauty of her smooth long legs. "Good," he muttered, referring to her body and not her obedience. Jasmine wasn't an idiot and picked up the tone of voice that a man uses for double entendres. Instead of feeling offended, she felt grateful that she was being admired by a real man. "Okay, I'll be your attacker. I'm going to jump on you from behind. Your job is to get free. I'll try and behave as realistically as possible. Ready?" "Yes, I think..." before she could get out the so, she felt John's powerful arms grab her shoulder and spin her around. A heavy muscular leg snaked between her own and tripped her up just even to drop her to the ground. Before she could react any further, the knee had dropped between her thighs, forcing her legs apart, and exposing her to her "rapist". Jasmine managed to swing one hand at the side of his head, but it was quickly engulfed in a massive palm and fingers and driven back to the mat. As her other hand spun upward simultaneously it too was hammered back to the mat. Too fast for her reaction time, they were brought together and clenched down by one mighty hand. Then everything was silent and still. Jasmine was breathing hard as she squirmed beneath John. His knee was pressed firmly into her groin and her hands were immobilized. She was entirely helpless to whatever he wanted. But all that roamed her body then were his eyes, drinking in her breasts as they heaved beneath the tight synthetic material that cradled them. She felt a little violated, watching her instructor drink in her body like it was item to be taken. Then with a regretful look he released her and quickly pushed himself back up to his feet. "Let's try that again. You reacted too late. If you're on the ground before you can strike you've already lost." For a moment she stared up at him, his imposing frame, and all the speed and power she now knew he was capable of. Jasmine pushed herself from the ground, determined to be faster the next time. When she faced away from him she waited, waited for any signal that he was about to pounce. Silent seconds ticked away, her heart racing and her body braced for balance. Then she felt it in the mat, a springiness that belied movement. She tensed as she felt his arms wrap around her waist. Her elbows flew back then up again then back again. She managed sharp jabs into his forearms with her elbow to little affect. A leg of his once again swept underneath her and she found herself tumbling backwards, his body beneath hers. Even before she had registered the fall John had pushed back up, his thick legs pushing their two bodies over, so that she was face down beneath him. Once more a single hand gathered up hers, and another found its way into her hair. He grinned as his erection pressed between the tightly clothed mounds of her backside. John liked doing doggy style, it gave him control and that was what his life was about. Jasmine panted beneath him, her own attempts at escape futile and her blows useless. She could feel the heat of his body as it pressed against hers and she knew that he could take whatever he wanted from her once more. She was certain that his eyes were tracing the curves of her body and enjoying the sensation that their contact elicited. The only disgust she felt was for herself and the ease with which he had captured her. As Davis emerged from the rest room, his nose plugged with toilet paper, John released his hold on her and stood. He could see the sudden spark of interest that the husband had in his teaching habits, but also knew that Jasmine was desperate to feel control once more. Any conflict would be won by the wife and not the spineless husband. "One more time, then we'll try Davis again." A bitter and pissed off Jasmine pushed up, gave her husband an angry glance and then turned to face away from her instructor. "Don't be afraid to use your surroundings. Grab a hold of something if you need to try and stay up. Don't worry about hurting me. You can't worry about your attacker. Right?" "Right!" "Good. Now are you, ready?" "Yes." "Lets get it on." John had chosen the phrase to amuse himself. He knew that Jasmine at least might see something of a pun in it and perhaps the pussy man would too. Once more he admired his pupil's body, waiting to strike. She was tense, as before, and he was eager. His gym shorts were still struggling to hide his engorged member. He wanted to be on top of her again. This time he went with the hair, grabbing the pony tail she had with one reach of the arm and pulling her to the side and back. Jasmine stumbled her eyes wincing in pain, but she managed to keep her balance. Trying to pull away from John only increased the burning of her hair at the scalp and she found herself spun repeatedly around the ring. Tiring of his game, she drove forward quickly, the length of her hair allowing her make contact with his torso. It was John's turn to stumble and at the last second Jasmine hooked his ankle just enough to spend him sprawling. All the while, John never released her hair and Jasmine found herself laying across him, between his thighs. She paused thinking she had won and was given a moment to feel something hard pressing into her stomach. But the sensation was fleeting and John had rolled them over and straddled her chest. His body weight pressed down into her breast, and he maintained his hold on her hair. Jazzy was face to face with a very tented pair of shorts, and a sudden warming sensation in her stomach silenced her. John leered down happily at his prey allowing the suggestive shaping in his pants indicate his desires. Then he pushed up off of her, leaving her on the mat, her mouth dry and eyes wide. Already, Davis was climbing into the ring. The little displays he had witnessed between his wife and instructor were pissing him off. John just continued to stare down at Jasmine, his back turned on Davis. A little phrase intended for her husband did all that was needed. "Try it." "Try this, jackass!" Davis said as he lurched forward his face beet red with anger. His raised fist was caught by a whirling backhand and once more he found himself stumbling to the floor. Wincing he pushed back up, charged again, and was rewarded for his efforts by a disapproving slap to the back of the head. "First rule of fighting is never fight angry. If you're pissed, you don't think straight." Davis wasn't really listening, just charging again. This time the slap was more forceful and caught him on the side of the cheek. He felt as if he was being reduced to a child right before his wife and right before himself. "Fuck you," he yelled as his arms whipped out. Some of the blows actually landed on John, but none did any injury. Instead John dealt him the most injurious blow of all. A knee right to the groin. That ended the fight right away. Davis doubled up and crumpled to the floor, the haunting whimper creeping from his lips once more. Jasmine was sitting in the corner against the post watching her husband try and defend his honor. It was embarrassing. Even she could see the wide sloping angles his fists took and the delay that each attempt at a blow carried. John was by far his master. When she heard him begin to whimper she knew that it was over. She accepted John's outstretched hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. They stood inches apart, evaluating each other silently, weighing options, actions, and possibilities. Then they broke apart. "Time's up," John called as he gave Jasmine one last pointed look. Wiping a light sheen of sweat from his brow, he hopped from the ring, his erection swaying proudly in front of him. He gave his clients one last glance as he entered his office and shut the door. Jasmine was standing over her husband, hands on her hips, a disproving sneer covering her cute mouth. By the time they managed to gather up Davis and leave the building, John was furiously masturbating in his office, thinking about all the things that he would do to the young woman he was teaching. And how humiliated her husband would be when he found out. Davis was exhausted, his ego and body beaten and bruised by the day in the gym. When Jasmine's car pulled in behind him and she followed him up the steps, he let a bit of it out. "What the hell were you doing in there with him? Letting him touch you all over like that?" "Fuck you. He was acting like any other rapist would. Since I don't have a husband who can protect me, then I had better learn to do it myself." "Yeah right, acting. You saw the goddamn erection he had. He wasn't acting. The fucking prick. Then beating up on me because I bothered to interfere." "Ha. He didn't even beat you up. He just made you look like a fool. John would never whimper like you did. No man would. You just curl up in a ball and cry and let other men do whatever they want with your wife. If you were a real man you would've stopped it." Neither Davis or Jasmine were sure if they were talking about the initial rape or the instruction at the gym. "That's the last time we're going." "Yeah right. I'm going back with or without you. I'm not getting raped again," Jazzy yelled at her husband. "Fuck you!" Davis stormed up the stairs as best he could. He had to step gingerly, unknown aches and pains were popping up all over his body. It wasn't even that late, but he sprawled himself on his bed, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, listening to the clock tick away the time. At some point he would fall asleep, his mind reeling from its ordeal. Sleep would come less easily for Jasmine that night. By the time she crawled into bed next to Davis, still in her gym clothes, her mind had turned to other things. Like sex. She had not had any since her attack and had been increasingly aroused by everything. The time in the gym had been especially arousing for her. Being around a man was strong, confident, and capable of taking what he wanted, was suddenly very arousing. The smell of her sweat on her body increased the vividness of her memories. Quietly, laying next to her sleeping husband, Jazzy slipped a hand down the spandex shorts that hit her most precious center. Practiced touch slid downward, parting her aching lips, finding them already moist and hot. With a small gasp, she pressed one into her vagina, feeling its sensitivity and long delayed release. Back and forth that digit would rock in her opening, held tight to it by her bottoms. The wetness there was building, but the one finger was not capable of getting her what she desired. With her eyes closed she imagined John pinning her on the ground exploring her with his own longer fingers at will. She was so close, but so far away. Her arousal overtook everything else, and for the first time in a great while she looked at Davis, that look in her eye. She squirmed her tight little ass from her shorts and dropped them to the side. Rolling out from beneath the covers she straddled him, and watched as his eyes opened in surprise. It took him a moment to register what was happening, but once he caught sight of her naked pussy lips and the liquid glow they carried, he knew what she wanted. Davis mistook it for something else though- believe that his wife was apologizing or trying to repair things through sex. Not one to refuse, his hands jerkily went to her top and peeled it off of her tits. The two full globes fell free for the first time in eight hours and the nipples perked up at the naturalness of the air's caress around them. Jazzy let out a little moan of delight as Davis' hands began to roam her body, feeling out once familiar nooks and crannies and erogenous zones. Her hips were rocking back and forth on the growing erection in his own gym shorts, pinning it to his stomach. Her cunt left a wet trail across the polyester material that would absorb in, then be released by more fluids as she gyrated. Davis would not notice that her eyes were closed, that she wasn't looking at him. He wouldn't hear the soft repeated whispers of another man's voice. All he could hear was his own desire and his own believed victory. Jazzy was being no help, so he shifted his hips enough to slide his shorts a bit farther down on his legs. Just enough to free his cock from its trap. The sudden sensation of naked flesh against her labia perked Davis' wife right up. Her long legs lifted her from her press and allowed his cock to stab upward, brushing against her twat. With an excited groan she slipped backward, allowing her husband's long slender cock to penetrate her fully for the first time in a great while. Her fingers dug into his chest as she began to quickly and eagerly ride up and down on his shaft. Jasmine loved the sensation of being filled by cock and had lied to her husband about being a virgin when they married. She had many partners and had enjoyed sex to the point of it being an art form before settling down. Now her practiced vaginal muscles seized and jerked over the long rod penetrating and filling its channel. Her arousal made their fucking smooth and efficient. Jazzy could lift her pussy three to four inches off his cock before burying it entirely in her again. She barely registered his voice as it cried out that it was close. It did so only to remind her that she had to finish quickly. Davis had not been inside a pussy in sometime and it was only natural that his ability to restrain himself would have eroded by the delay. Jasmine eagerly fucked herself up and down on the dick buried in her, still imagining someone else's body beneath her. Over and over again she slammed her crotch back down onto her man's letting it push to its furthest depths. A loud grunt signaled that Davis was coming and she felt the familiar burst of heat inside her as his come splashed over her pussy walls. Jazzy was so close, as his dick spasmed the last of its seed from its tip. Angrily, she ground her pussy down onto him, trying to eke out her own release. But it was to no avail. Davis was a loud partner and his voice and the swiftness of his orgasm had brought her out of the fantasy world she had been so aroused in. She found herself sitting atop her husband's softening cock, listening to his whimpering of pleasure. Jazzy was somewhat surprised by her actions but the intensity of her arousal was overwhelming and she desperately needed to come. For a bit she tried grinding herself off on his body and limp penis, but with no results. Angry, disappointed, and saddened, Jasmine rolled off of Davis and left him wondering what in the hell had just happened. The next morning was more confusing to Davis. He had woken after a good night's rest, thinking that everything would be different. Even the ugly bruises that covered much of his body didn't dissuade them from this notion. When Jazzy woke besides him, he was quickly informed that no such change had happened and that she was merely horny. Disoriented, he would stumble off to work, puzzling through his life and its meaning. More depressed than ever he would return home to a house devoid of love, comfort, or affection. The dream would return that night and the night after. And each time he woke, his wife would be staring out the window, same as always, seemingly incapable of sleep. For Jasmine, the truth was in a growing obsession. She had been unable to sleep, to be sure, but her memories of evening she had spent beneath the strange men had begun to change. As she would lay awake, looking past Davis, past their room, past the house, and into the universe, she would find herself pinned once more, but this time by John. His member would be pounding in and out of her and his snarling visage would be cheering her on as she cried out in pleasure. By the time Saturday came around, both members of the couple could not wait to return to the self defense lessons. Davis thought that maybe the ongoing physical activity and fighting would break Jasmine loose and that the sex would not have been a one time thing. Jasmine had an undeniable itch to scratch, one that she had found herself incapable of. She was fairly convinced that John was the only one would be able to. Davis had worn his gear the entire of the way, although his wife's clothing had remained carefully hidden beneath a warm up suit. As they entered the warmer air of the gym and she removed her shoes, tops, and bottoms, he understood why. As did John. Jasmine had worn a bathing suit of sorts. It was a bikini top, one intended for athletic swimming, and the bottoms were a tiny pair of boy shorts. Little was left to the imagination for either men and both had a series of mental thoughts go trolling by as they pondered the possibilities her body offered. John was especially excited by the outfit. He had felt something of the connection with Jasmine and knew that her desire to have a strong man would create strange and conflicting emotions within her. The fact that her husband was such a weakling would only magnify those feelings. His erection pulsed as she bent at the waist and tied her ankle guards on. Her beautiful ass pulled the tight material higher and higher up until a good portion of her cheeks were on display. He was pretty certain that he could make out the cleft of her pussy beneath the bottoms as well. For Davis, the moment was a torturous one. At first he thought the display was for him, then the startling recollections of their previous visit came rushing back. The show Jasmine was putting on was an offer intended for John. Davis would be damned if he allowed what had happened the previous week occur again. "Alright, Davis. You want to go first," John asked. He intended to beat the snot of the boy until he could take his wife on the mat. Davis saw through the ploy. A twisting knot formed in his stomach as he realized this would be a battle of wills. He hoped that the two years of marriage and the several years of dating that he and Jasmine had shared meant more then the viciousness of her assault. His answer was guarded and cautious: "No. Jasmine can go first. I'm going to stretch a bit." "Fine by me. That okay with you Jazzy?" Flinching as he heard his pet nickname for his wife used by another man, Davis bent to stretch. In reality, he was hiding his burning red face and watering eyes. Jasmine meant the world to him, and he could not, would not lose her. Defending His Right Jasmine coyly slipped into the ring, her suit struggling to contain her voluptuous curves and plentiful assets. "Where do you want me, John," she asked, voice husky and confident. "Why don't we start with you facing me this time. That way you can see what I have working for me." John relaxed his shoulders at this statement. The effect emphasized the large protrusion in his athletic shorts. "Sounds good," an even more sultry and hinting Jazzy replied. Davis was standing now, his hands on the bottom rope and his body beginning to tremble. It was getting out of hand too quickly, and he was doing nothing. Silently he watched as the man and his wife took positions opposite each other. Jasmine was hunched over her, hands in front of her and her knees bent. John merely stalked back and forth in the ring, his eyes roaming the body of the other man's wife. Still nervous, Davis studied the actions of the two people. John was obviously proud of himself and of his erection and was flaunting it before Jasmine and him. This was a game of domination and Davis knew that he was losing. He felt his stomach groan in agony as John suddenly launched forward and his wife proved woefully slow to counter his attack. But John's attack was anything but normal. The older man was certain that he could take what he wanted and that neither of the young Stockton couple would refuse him, or at least were capable of it. Davis momentarily thought his wife had escaped his powerful hands, but that idea lapsed when he saw the yellow scraps of her top flutter onto his face. John had ripped off Jazzy's top, exposing her breasts. Jasmine had moved to cover the naked globes and John had seized the advantage thrusting her lighter body to the ground. Davis leapt into the ring, his own fists balling in fury as he sought to come to his wife's defense. But he stumbled on the ropes as he stepped through and his fight was over before it began. A meaty hand hammered high on his jaw, sending waves of pain throughout his skull and dropping him to the mat like a bag of potatoes. He would be out for several minutes. Jasmine was both terrified and incredibly aroused by the boldness of her attacker. And when he had felled Davis with a single punch, her pussy had began to spasm rhythmically. She still hugged her breasts tightly, in an effort to at least argue modesty and propriety. John had had enough. He wanted the woman and knew that he could take her. And with her pansy husband out of the way there was nothing to stop him. The predator once again approached its quivering wounded prey and eyed its body before attacking. She was truly a gorgeous and exotic beauty. Her long raven locks fell across her face as her lips pouted in a semi-disproving frown. Delicate arms embraced and cradled the large youthful tits that were exposed to his glare. And between her sculptured legs nestled a small wet line that marked her sex and her arousal. Hungry, John went back to work. He pulled her from her sprawl on the ground and spun her around into the turnbuckle of the ring. One of Jasmine's hands went to steady her body as it was jerked to and fro. The other tried to maintain her coverage of her tits, but John had the arm pinned behind her back quickly, his breath spilling over her bare shoulders. "You want this don't you. You want me to take you. You want a real man's dick in your pussy again. That's fine. I'll give it to you," he rasped into her ear as his other hand slid roughly over her body. Jazzy found herself whimpering, a familiar begging sound, that she had last heard from her husband's lips. Instead, she was the frightened animal that wanted something, and even she was uncertain of what it was. As John's right hand toyed with her breasts, tugging at each nipple, and squeezing each full ripe melon in his palm, she became more certain that she wanted him. So when his hand abandoned its grasp on her chest and moved to remove her bottoms, she graciously spread her legs for him, allowing him to pry them down her body in a smooth motion. She had hoped that John would take her there, right then, but he had other plans. He grabbed her by her hair and tugged her away from her position in the corner. Jasmine found herself positioned against the opposite turnbuckle, her legs straddling her husband's unconscious face. Her breathing was heavy and fast. She kept her eyes closed, waiting for John to touch her. But the old man was savoring his moment. He had a twenty-something model bent over in his ring, waiting, wanting him. He studied the smooth arch of her backside as it moved away from her torso. The tight tension in her hamstrings as she posed for him, wantonly, exhibited the fine control she had over her body. His left hand landed forcefully on her ass, causing her to cry out in pain. Quickly a dark red imprint backfilled his slap. Another slap to the opposite side left the same mark. "Please, please just fuck me. I need it. Fuck me. Please just do it," Jazzy begged of her master. John just grunted his rebuttal and pressed two fingers into her pussy. She was tight and wet and smelled delicious. He nearly came in his shorts right there. It had been a long time since he had taken pussy this good. Soon, he thought to himself, very soon. Urgently, and with obvious intent, his fingers pummeled in and out of her soaked channel. There was little regard for foreplay or softness, this was a finger fucking to the utter extent of the word. Eagerly Jasmine's vagina swallowed the two digits that John ram-rodded her with. "Yes! Yes," came her needy cries. The slurping sound of her twat's desire filled the echoing old gym and small droplets of her sex began to dribble from between her lips and onto her thighs. John was nearing his own limit of self restraint and pulled his shorts down with his free hand. His cock stood proudly at attention, waiting to be called into service once more. His hand was working at a frantic pace, pounding his two fingers four inches into the tight depths of the young woman begging for more. And looking down into the blank face of her useless husband, he felt a surge of power. His spare hand locked onto the back of her neck and held her still as he pulled his fingers from her cunt. He pushed them to her lips. "Suck." It was not a question, suggestion, or request. It was simply a command. And Jasmine obeyed. Hungrily she swallowed her own fluids into her mouth, savoring the saltiness of her desire with the tip of her tongue as she cleaned his finger of her mess. "Good girl," he whispered into her ear. "That's a good girl." "Mmmm..." she mumbled through her pursed lips and his pressing fingers. For a few moments he finger fucked her mouth, until he was satisfied she had cleaned him of all her fluids. Then his hand guided the large red bulb atop his shaft towards her entrance. He grinned as her thighs and buttocks quivered with excitement at the first caress of it against her lips. Taking a firm hold on both her shoulders he braced himself, his tip resting against the forefront of her pussy, just within the entrance. Jazzy begged once more for his mercy and her own satisfaction. "Please, John, please fuck me. I can't bear it," she cried as she squirmed her thighs and groin farther back. Desperately she wanted to feel his meat penetrate her body. "What do you want, my little whore," he taunted. "Fuck me! Fuck me now! Please! Fuc!" She did not finish her last word. His long rod slammed home and filled her physically and emotionally. Jazzy felt right at home being taken like this. It was all she had wanted for days and as he brutally hammered into her, she found her voice crying unintelligibly for more. John grunted gleefully as his penis powered deep into the tight little snatch of Mrs. Stockton. She was his bitch and he was going to use her for all she was worth. His long penis drove forward into her sliding through her sopping wet walls and pulling back out. Jasmine could feel it burying deep into her, noting its contact as it brushed against her cervix then slid out. Her backside and his groin met in a regular slapping noise that caused her tits to bounce beneath her bent torso. With each slapping thrust she would whimper happily at being filled so deliciously. Jazzy's fluids were spilling out of her pussy at an alarming rate, spraying rivulets of her juices onto an unconscious Davis. She looked back between her thighs and watched as the gleaming droplets landed on his face, neck, and shirt. What a bitch she managed to think as John's cock slammed back into her. One of John's long arms slipped down to her waist and farther to the top of her V. There it tugged at the hard little nub of nerve endings that was her clitoris. The first few seconds of caressing drove her higher and higher, until she came in an intensely powerful orgasm. Her fluids practically sprayed form her body as her come joined the lubricants naturally filling her tunnel. "Fuck yes! OH FUCK YES!" Her voice was hoarse with pleasure and she was incapable of complete sentences. This is what Davis woke to. It took him a moment to register what he was watching. His wife beautiful cunt, his beautiful cunt, being ravaged by a thick cock that belonged to the man who was supposed to be teaching him to defend it. And his face was covered in her fluids, her pleasure, her submission. Angry he tried to sit up, his hands moving to crush John's testicles. But a foot landed on his throat and he found himself pinned on the ground. His hands clawed at the man's legs but he merely laughed at his desperate attempts to resist him. All fight would go out of him when he saw his wife's face peering back at him through her thighs. She was smiling, cheering on John, encouraging him to fuck her, to embarrass her husband, to use her right there. The sickening sensation of loss overwhelmed him and Davis gagged on his own vomit and tears as he watched the broad circumference of John's cock slap back and forth inside his wife's twat. The whimpering welled up in his throat once more. It was lost for the most part in his gags and gasps for air. Jasmine came again watching her husband's humiliated surrender. This time her pussy's muscular spasms were enough to bring John over the edge with her. His long rod pulsed inside of her depths and his seed fertilized her channel. Load after load of the ropey white cream filled her. Eventually it too would begin to leak out. Unbelievably satisfied she would stand, John's cock still thrust deep in her, and relax into his powerful pectorals and abdomen. His arms encased her and she felt safe. She did not mind that she was his slave or that she was his slut. She was safe. And well fucked. Once again the cruel smirk of a superior graced her face as she looked down at Davis. She pivoted slightly on John's cock and stepped away from him. The desired effect was accomplished and his softening member popped from her quiver with a light spray of cum. Davis still whimpered from beneath her as she crouched over him and pushed away John's foot. The first stream of his jizz was beginning to leak from her spread cunt and she did not want it wasted. With her thighs widely spread she settled into position over her husbands face and pressed her cream filled cunt into his mouth. He gagged once more beneath her as he limply struggled for freedom. "Drink it little bitch. You're my bitch now. I may be John's whore, but you're mine you little fuck. Drink his come. Swallow it. C'mon bitch!" Jazzy did not know where this cruelty came from but the press of her pussy forcefully against her mouth was getting her aroused all over again. Her hips began to rock, smearing the sticky white substance across his chin and nose as she used his face as a fuck toy. She reached behind her and grasped Davis's retracted cock and began to tease it to life. She wanted his body to betray him, the same way hers had been made to so long ago. And sure enough, her gentle touch and the soft whimpers of encouragement she gave him brought it too life. Davis was humiliated- his lips stayed tightly shut, but the smell of his wife's sex and of John's jizz filled his nostrils. Some of the stuff was beginning to form in the crease between his lips and he knew that he would soon have to gasp for air. He tried to deny his wife's touch and how it aroused him, but her heaving breasts perched so high above him was a difficult sight to remain cold before. Soon his hips were eagerly thumping up from the mat into her hand. And just as he had known, he would surrender his mouth's gates to her pussy lips and John's semen would spill into his throat. It was hot and sticky and thick and mixed in with the familiar and precious taste of his wife's arousal. Tears spilled down his cheeks just as pre-cum began to spill down his cock head. He had not understood how pleasure could be used to hurt you until then. As he swallowed gulp after gulp of come and watched his wife pull John's cock into her mouth, he knew that his life as a man had been pretend. He was truly a bitch. That was the last thought that ran through his head as his own cock exploded in orgasm and his jizz spilled into the cradling hand of his wife. Later it would be fed down his throat but by then it would not matter. Davis had learned his lesson. John groaned as he looked down at his new pets. He would beat Davis later for fun, and then make him watch as he fucked his wife again. It would be a wonderful life at the top of the food chain. Jasmine would savor her time in the middle as well. The only adequate revenge and healing she could acquire from her rape was subjecting her husband to a similar circumstance. She had plenty of ideas for him- plenty of ways to abuse him, to use his love for her to humiliate him. And the thought was oh so arousing to her. Another orgasm washed over her as she cleaned John's cock of their mess. Life was beautiful when you knew your position in it.