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Yukon

By: ukresearcher



I met Helen when she was twenty-two and I a couple of years older. We quickly moved in together and shared a flat for a year before deciding to get married. With both of us at the start of our careers, money was tight so Helen made the suggestion that we delay our honeymoon for five years. "We can't afford much now but in five years we should both be on good salaries," she said. "Also in five years I will want to start a family so my idea is that we spend the next five years working hard and having lots of fun but then we can have the holiday of a lifetime before settling down to family life. I don't mean just a two week holiday, I'm thinking more like a month or six weeks." I couldn't fault the idea so that is what we agreed.

We are complete opposites. Helen is outgoing, positive and a doer where I am more reticent and tentative. I think of myself as more of an observer. The strange thing is that we work perfectly together. 

At school she played a lot of hockey and basketball and has been into physical pursuits ever since but Bridge, poker and chess are my idea of sport. Although very attractive she lacks the sylph like form that fashion models require but would have been in much demand as a photographic model had she chosen to go that route.

Physically she is a woman not a girl and I love that fact. I adore her full breasts, narrow waist and round buttocks. I have a more wiry build. It may give an idea if I say that at 5' 11" I am three inches taller but believe that she marginally outweighs me. I do prefer sedentary hobbies but don't consider myself to be unfit, getting great pleasure accompanying my wife on long hikes in national parks and over the moors. 

Over the five years I made reasonable progression in my career with a large reinsurance firm while she has made quite a name for herself selling houses. When we had been married three years, good luck contributed to her selling three very large properties within the space of six months and the resulting bonus was the equivalent of a years extra salary. We could have cut the five year plan short then but decided to persevere, spending the extra cash upgrading our cars, buying new clothes and eating out.

The time finally came for us to have our greatly delayed honeymoon but, bearing in mind our differing outlooks, Helen suggested that instead of discussing we should separately write down a description of our ideal holiday. Mine was easy, a six week tour of all the ancient centres of civilisation. My proposal was that we should start with Carthage, move on to Egypt, take in Crete followed by Rhodes, head on to Greece and finish up in Turkey. 

Before showing her preference, Helen prepared me with a bit of background. "When I was young my dad was always taking me camping and I loved it. The best of the lot though was when we spent two weeks in crofter's cottage way up in the wilds of Scotland. It was very primitive with oil lamps and water from a pump but it was fantastic. We were lucky with weather but it was the most marvellous two weeks of my life and I've wanted to do it again ever since. Well for our honeymoon I'd like to go one better and have a full month in the Canadian wilderness, actually within the Arctic Circle."

We decided using a supposedly foolproof variation of tossing a coin that Helen devised and which she of course won. I was not too upset. Since first meeting we had enjoyed a healthy and adventurous sex life, trying most things but without making a fetish out of anything and the prospect of a full month with nothing to do but fuck was not something to get depressed about. It promised to be a memorable month and on that basis we decided that Helen should leave her BC pills behind when we went.

Our month fell in the middle of the Arctic summer but we planned to take nearly a week getting there and the same on the return journey, intending to do some sightseeing on the way. We flew first to Montreal but I won't bother to detail the rest of our travels. Early in the morning of the appointed day we booked out of our hotel and headed towards the small port where a boat was waiting to take us on the six hour voyage water to our honeymoon retreat.

We walked hand in hand along the pier to where fork-lifts had just deposited our stuff, two large crates filled with supplies for the month, together with a travel trunk and holdall containing our personal effects. As we approached the captain stepped off the boat to greet us. He was a cheery older man with ruddy complexion and a full white beard that gave him the perfect Captain Ahab appearance. After a few minutes of chatting we saw another squat looking figure heading towards us with an almost waddling gait. 

As he drew closer, I was surprised to see that this new male was actually slightly taller than myself and that it was his great breadth of body that gave the foreshortened impression. His face was decidedly ugly, carrying many scars together with a nose looked to have been broken multiple times and this unappealing visage was finished off with small piggy eyes. "This is my crew Pierre," the captain said loudly as way of introduction, "He doesn't say much but he's a one man workforce. He can hump almost anything I ask him to."

I smiled and said 'Hello', half extending my hand but all I got in return was a surly nod as the crewman moved past. The man could certainly work. Helen and I stood and watched admiringly as he efficiently used a pulley to single-handedly hoist the cargo on board. During the trip, with the captain on the bridge and Helen below deck there was little to do and nobody to talk to. The enigmatic crewman refused to chat so I sat and studied him instead. He was wearing leather boots, long baggy shorts that reached down to mid calf, with the ensemble completed by a sleeveless Indian style tunic. Although he could undoubtedly look after himself in a dockside tavern, the man seemed seriously devoid of personality.

Tying up alongside the small jetty at our destination, I foresaw a problem with our luggage for there was no helpful pulley to assist. However, Pierre took the unloading in his stride. Crouching with his back against a packing case he reached back to grab the straps, then leaned forward and stood with the two and a half hundredweight crate balanced on his broad back. He then slowly carried it the hundred yards or more up to the cabin. This was repeated twice more with the second packing case and the trunk, making a very impressive display of pure strength.

We said our goodbyes to the captain and walked behind Pierre on his last trip with me managing the holdall. I expected him go straight back to the ship but instead he sat down in front of a radio standing on a shelf sticking out of the wall. Taking a screwdriver from a pocket he removed the outer case and then twisted the dials until receiving a signal, upon which he reported in that we had been safely delivered. Having memorised the sequence, leaving him to reassemble the radio, I wandered to retrieve a beer from the packing case as a small reward for his efforts. He took it and drank it without remark then stood and headed for the door, totally ignoring me but throwing a funny kind of smile at my wife. 



We watched the boat until it disappeared in the distance and then did some sorting out but while still only half unpacked I crept up behind my darling wife, pressed my groin against her rounded buttocks and, grabbing a ripe breast in each hand, rubbed my face amorously into her neck. Alice responded to me but warned, "Don't get your hopes up lover, my period just started. I had hoped it would be a day or so earlier."

"Shit," I swore stepping back, "A fine bloody start to a honeymoon I don't think."

Alice laughed. "Don't be such a male chauvinist pig. We can still mess about. Anyway, it's only three days and then I'm all yours for a whole month. It's going to be a honeymoon to remember because you have no idea what a sexy lascivious trollop you married." 

The cabin was basic but built of solid log construction. The main room contained a large heavy table with a bench down each side, a big armchair and a couch which had seen better days. Near the centre there was a large iron pot bellied stove (obviously used for cooking) and under the window a stone sink but of course no running water. The bedroom contained a massive bed and a wardrobe of equal size and there was a narrow horizontal window high in one wall. There was also a very narrow extra windowless room originally intended for storage but two bunks had been installed along the outer wall. Outside there was a pump for water and some yards behind the cabin the latrine stood in front of a clump of bushes and trees.

For the first three days Helen was not feeling energetic so we contented ourselves with simple strolls exploring the immediate location. The cabin stood some hundred yards from the rudimentary jetty and the waters edge. To the left a trail headed into woodland but to the right a huge outcrop reached to near the beach and beyond that we found that a one time twin spit had largely collapsed into a massive pile of huge boulders.

First thing on the second day I decided to operate the radio transmitter to report that we were settled in. I could see no reason for removing the outer case so tried just turning buttons but without success. So I partially dismantled the equipment the way Pierre, the guy from the boat, had done but even though repeating his sequence of actions exactly, the damn thing still would not work. I did not envisage a need to use the thing so I was not unduly concerned. 

On the late afternoon of the fourth day while my wife was in the cabin preparing our meal I was standing on the beach, skimming pebbles at the surf when a small speck far out on the water caught my eye. Curious, I started to watch it, wishing my binoculars were to hand. As it drew closer I could see that it was a kayak and it was moving purposefully in my direction. However it was not until the last few paddle strokes that I recognised the kayak occupant as the boat captain's uncommunicative assistant, the guy who was the last to work the radio.

The visitor ran his craft up on the shingle and climbed out, to pull it clear of the water. He beckoned me to assist and together we lifted the kayak but as soon as it was off the ground he flipped it up and strode up the beach with it balanced on his broad shoulders. Well clear of the water he carefully put it down in the lee of a sand ridge at which point I said, "I'm glad you're here, the radio doesn't work." 

He shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, can't help you, I can work the things but I can't fix them. It's probably a valve. There should be some spares but I've no idea where to look." 

"You work for the company, isn't it your responsibility?"

"Not any more. I quit on Saturday. I'm off to spend the summer trapping like I usually do. I was heading straight past this place but I thought 'they seemed a nice couple; they'll put me up for the night'. What do you say?"

It put me on the spot. I did not particularly like the guy but more importantly I didn't welcome having a third party in the cabin to inhibit my anticipated night of passion. On the other hand, having been introduced by the captain, the guy seemed bona fide and I had heard that hospitality was a bit of a tradition in northern latitudes. "We can certainly offer you a meal and there's a bunk bed going spare," I said grudgingly. 

After eating we settled down for the evening but soon found that the presence of the stranger put restriction on our activities, even talking to each other. Pierre made no attempt at conversation and returned only monosyllabic replies when either of us asked him anything. He just sat doing nothing but his eyes were never still and I suspected him of mentally undressing my wife. After a couple of hours of this, even though it was still early, Helen stood up saying she was going to turn in. I waited for a few minutes and was just about to follow when Pierre said, "I wanted to talk to you."

Politely I paused to listen, only to hear him say, "I don't like the bed you gave me."

The nerve of the man. He turned up out of the blue, imposed himself upon our hospitality and then had the audacity to complain. I shook my head in disbelief and asked rather haughtily, "Just what exactly is wrong with it?"

"It's too small. It's far too small for a man like me. I think that bed is more your size so I say we swap places."

I laughed out loud, this was ridiculous. "Let me get this right, you are proposing that my wife and I should sleep in the bunk beds and let you have the whole of the large bedroom to yourself."

"Your wife is fine where she is, in fact I insist on it."

"If this is meant to be a joke I don't think it's at all funny."

"It's no joke," he said with a deadpan face devoid of humour. "It's not just tonight either. I'm staying all month and I will be sleeping with your wife."

"What if I don't like the idea of my wife having sex with anyone other than me?" I asked, not yet taking him seriously.

"I say you ought to get used to it," Pierre replied. "It will have already happened and it will happen again in the future after I have come and gone. Your wife is a type I recognise, the type of woman who doesn't let marriage stop her opening her legs for other men. I bet anything you like that some other man's prodder has dibbled her love box since you married her."

I didn't intend to sit discussing my wife's fidelity. "If you try to touch her I'll stop you," I threatened.

"You'll try," Pierre said standing up, this immediately reminding me how powerful was. "You'll try, I will hurt you badly and then I'll tie you up. If that happens you will stay tied up all month unless I decide to drop you in the lake and enjoy myself without bothering about you again."

I felt fear for the first time as it struck home how easily he could make good his threats. He was twice my bodily bulk and where I had not raised a hand in anger since leaving school he looked as if physical violence was a regular part of his life. My only chance was to either talk him out of his obscene plan or find some way to outwit him. 

"You wouldn't dare," I said, resorting to bluff. "The authorities know we are here and they will hunt you down." 

"They wouldn't know who to look for," he said, some semblance of a smile showing on his coarse lips.

"My name isn't really Pierre although it has done me well enough for the past couple of years. It might help you to know I've already done time inside for rape and murder and with that kind of record I wouldn't have got much work if I hadn't found a new name."

"Who did you kill?" I had to ask.

"All you need to know is that it was a situation very like this one."

"You obviously got caught," I pointed out.

"I won't make the same mistakes this time. Anyway it shouldn't come to that; the other guy just didn't know his own limitations."

"How do you mean?"

"He was bigger than you and he thought he could take me on. I know you're more sensible than that. You are going avoid getting hurt by doing exactly what I tell you. Like going into that bedroom and telling your wife how things are going to be."

"Fuck you."

"You don't believe I'll kill you," Pierre said ominously, anger in his eyes.

"If you kill me you kill me. I'm confident you'll be hunted down and punished for whatever you do." 

"No chance. There's over million square miles of wilderness out there and it's my world. With just a knife, tinder and a water bottle I could survive indefinitely but you'd be dead within a week." As he spoke Pierre pulled a large vicious looking Bowie style knife from his belt and tossed it casually onto the heavy wooden table. "I mention that in case you have any thoughts of running away."

The knife introduced a new element and for the first time I saw a glimmer of hope that I might beat him. I didn't know if he was overconfident or just careless but it offered me a chance to protect Helen. From where I was sitting, to go to the bedroom I would quite reasonably pass between Pierre and the table and for one vital moment I would be closer to the knife than him. However it was important that I didn't rush things or give him any suspicion that I intended to resist. "It doesn't look as if I have any choice," I admitted.

"It is going to happen but whether we do it the nice way or the hard way is up to you," Pierre said smugly. "If it's nice and friendly all three of us might get on like a house on fire. It needn't even spoil your holiday. As long as the sleeping arrangements are to my liking, you and your wife can do whatever you like during the day."

I stood with slumped shoulders to signal defeat and said unhappily, "I better tell her then." Moving slowly with feigned reluctance, I started walking towards the bedroom, but as I passed the table I casually trailed my fingers along the surface until they encountered the knife. At that point my body blocked Pierre's view of the weapon so I quickly grasped the handle of the knife and whirled round with arm raised, ready to plunge it down into his vile heart. For one glorious moment I thought I had taken him completely unawares but then, fast as a snake, his hand shot up to halt my descending arm and hold it in an iron grip.

He looked up with an evil grin, displaying a mouthful of broken teeth, then moved his other hand up to delicately remove the knife from my nerveless fingers. Still grinning but without speaking he began to exert a twisting pressure that forced me slowly down until I was bent over on my knees with my face pressed into the rough board floor against his big boots. With my arm bent cruelly up my back I was whimpering with agony and expecting to hear the bone crack at any moment but then he suddenly released me. "Fair enough," he said, "You had to try I suppose but if you pull another stunt like that I'll kill you." 

I stood up trembling all over and clutching my aching arm. I was uncertain what to do so just stood there, I suppose waiting for instructions. Pierre nodded towards the bedroom door and in an almost sympathetic voice said, "Go on. Go and give your lovely wife the good news that she's going to be sharing her bed with a real man for a change. Tell her however way you choose. I'll give you half an hour to keep her calm about it but if you're not out by then I'm coming in." 

I pushed open the bedroom door and walked in. Helen was sitting up in bed looking expectantly towards me and I was pleased to see that some instinct had made her wear a nightdress for the first time. "What kept you?" she asked but before I could answer she said, "I'll be so glad when Pierre has gone. That man gives me the creeps."

I took a deep breath. How do you tell the wife you love that she must prepare to be ravished by a monster? "He's not leaving tomorrow; he says he's going to stay all month." I waited until I saw her react to my words before adding, "And he says that I have to sleep in the bunk room."

"What about me?" Helen started to say but then she nodded her head and said, "So that's how it is."

"I'm sorry," was all I could say.

"You're sorry," Helen echoed, "Aren't you going to protect me."

"I already tried and almost got my arm broken in the process. He is incredibly strong and he has a very sharp hunting knife."

Helen gave me a gentle smile that cancelled her earlier reproach. "I know he must be very strong, just seeing the way he humped those crates on the day we arrived told me that. Don't blame yourself. I knew when I married you that you would never make a bruiser."

"He says that he has killed and raped before. And been to prison for it. I think it was a couple like us." I volunteered.

"Probably just said that to frighten you, part of the intimidation."


Yukon



"Maybe but I'm sure he has done this before."

My wife fell silent, no doubt contemplating what lay ahead but I had not yet abandoned hopes of finding some way out of the situation. I first looked towards the long narrow window with the idea of us climbing out to hide in the forest and possibly finding something to use as a weapon to use against him. Unfortunately for that idea the window was heavily barred, no doubt to protect against marauding bears.

The only other alternative was to barricade the door against him but only two items of furniture were suitable, the bed itself and a large dresser come wardrobe. Both were monumental wooden items of basic rustic design and looked incredibly heavy. I could imagine that Pierre was capable of manhandling them relatively easily but I knew that the combined efforts of Helen and myself would be able to move them only slowly. Long before we managed to block the door Pierre would have come in attracted by the noise. And even had we succeeded there was no point for our captor would only need to wait until hunger or thirst inevitably drove us out. 

"So I face a fate worse than death," Helen said suddenly, sounding less distressed than I felt. I think I mumbled something and she continued, "It's not the end of the world you know, it's certainly not worth getting killed over. You did right not to provoke him too much."

Quite unexpectedly tears began streaming down my face and I stood helplessly overcome by emotion. In an instant Helen was out of bed with her arms wrapped round me. She pulled me to the side of the bed and we sat for a long time in a tight embrace, during which I became increasingly aware of heat from her body radiating through the thin material of the nightdress. 

After a time she said quietly, "You mustn't worry about me. Female bodies are designed for sex. Remember, he's not going to do anything to me that hasn't been done before."

"But it's going to ruin everything."

"No it isn't, Helen insisted, "When we are safely back home, all this will disappear into the past and we can forget all about it." 

"He might fuck you all month and then still kill us both," I said, directly naming the act for the first time.

"No he won't," my wife said confidently. "I know his sort. He wants sex and he's dangerous until he gets it but keep him happy and he's controllable."

I started to say something but my wife told me that I better leave. "Aren't you going to put some clothes on," I asked, very aware of her near nakedness.

"What's the point if I'm just going to take them off again?"

At that moment the door swung open to reveal Pierre standing on the threshold. "Times up," he said quite pleasantly.

"Please give him a couple more minutes to grab his things," my wife asked. Pierre stepped inside the room but seemed happy to acquiesce to the request.

I hastily picked up some personal items and made my exit leaving Pierre in the room with her. Ignominiously I made my way to my new quarters with Helen's words, "I'll be all right," ringing in my ears. 

Alone in the narrow bunk room I felt numb and I felt empty but at the same time I was bursting with impotent rage. The only small remnant of pride left to me was that I managed to resist the urge to break down and cry. After some effort, I managed to achieve a state of resignation but soon morbid curiosity drew me to press my ear against the wall separating me from the other bedroom. I could hear nothing but was unsure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Over the next two hours I made frequent visits back to the wall without gaining any clue as to the fate of my wife. Eventually, while reclining on the bunk I fell asleep. 

I first drifted back to consciousness in what must have been the early hours of the morning but the constant light outside made it difficult to tell. For a few blissful moments I did not remember what had happened and it was not until I lazily reached out for Helen that the grim reality came back to me, of where I was and why I was there. It was a harsh truth to face so, as I had sufficient tendrils of sleep still in my brain, I sought refuge in further oblivion.

I woke with a tune running through my head but then realised that the sound was actually coming from beyond the room I was in. After dressing I went to investigate but, as I opened the door to the living room, my nostrils were pleasantly assailed by the mouth-watering smell of bacon cooking. Pierre was standing in front of the iron stove, whistling cheerfully as he fried eggs, bacon and sausages in a large skillet on the hot plate. 

An unknowing observer would have seen a friendly obliging type, cheerfully providing sustenance for his companions, without suspecting that this same 'friendly' man had forced me to surrender the pleasure of my wife's soft body to him, both for last night and for many nights to come. It was perverse, it was unfair but all the same, I suddenly realised that I was ravenously hungry.

On seeing me Pierre raised his hand in a wave and invited, "Come and grab a plateful, get yourself set you up for the day.

The jovial figure he now presented was in stark contrast to the taciturn threatening individual of before. Even through my hatred I could see that when his evil side was not in evidence he would be perceived as a welcome addition to many groups. Loathe though I was to receive anything from the man's hand I accepted the proffered plate of victuals and carried it to the table. Helen appeared as I started to eat. I looked towards her but she avoided my eyes and went over to collect her breakfast. She sat down opposite and this time she did respond to my gaze, giving a simple nod in answer to my unspoken question, 'Did he fuck you?" 

We ate in silence until, speaking with his mouthful, Pierre asked, "So what kind of plans do you to have today?"

"We're not sure, "Helen replied but implicit in her answer was the fact that we did not know if we were allowed plans.

"What would you have done if I hadn't turned up? I don't want to interfere," Pierre told her. "I'll be away most of the day finding some meat for the table so what you do is inconsequential to me. I do need fresh meat and the rations you brought with you don't cater for three." 

My wife informed him that we would be taking a hike and nothing more was said. I was hoping we would be left in possession of the cabin so we delayed while putting on our hiking boots and inclement weather gear, hoping he would leave. Unfortunately he seemed to have the same idea so, carrying a small camping stove, bottles of water and food in our backpacks, we set off.

We must have walked in silence for over fifteen minutes. For the first time since I left Helen alone in the bedroom with him we were free to talk but apparently had nothing to say to each other. That was the opposite of the truth because my mind was brimming over with questions. The problem was that I had no idea how to voice them.

In the end I said tentatively, "Last night..."

"I don't want to talk about it," Helen said quickly.

That effectively blocked me off completely so we continued for several minutes more with neither of us speaking. Then she said suddenly, "For your peace of mind – it was nowhere near as bad as I imagined it would be."

"How do you mean?"

"I thought I was going to be brutally raped but he was surprisingly gentle with me until I had adjusted to his size."

"His size?"

"He's got a huge cock. It must be at least twice as big as yours, in thickness if not in length."

"But it was still rape."

"Technically,"

"How do you mean 'technically', he had sex with you against your will?" I said sharply as my pent up feelings broke through.

"That's what I mean," Helen said patiently, "I just wanted you to know that he didn't hurt me, at least no more than he could help."

I halted as the mental image conjured by her words seemed to take all strength out of my legs and I believe I began to hyperventilate. My wife quickly reached out to take my hand tightly in hers saying firmly, "Darling you mustn't let yourself dwell on this. It's only sex. We're in a bad situation but we can get through it if we both stay strong. The secret is to make the best of things and whatever happens, don't provoke him." 

That seemed to clear the air and our mood lightened. In fact by the time we had put some miles between us and our captor, the pleasant weather, the picnic and finding plenty to photograph made the day quite enjoyable. It was only when starting the return journey that despondency began to overwhelm me again. The difference between my wife and I was that where my footsteps tended to drag, Helen strode out purposefully, as if seeing no purpose in delaying what lay ahead.

Pierre was in front of the cabin, spit roasting a deer like animal over a fire. As soon as we appeared he gave instructions on what needed to be prepared to accompany the meat. It was delicious and just what was needed after a long day that was both physically and emotionally tiring. Helen and I cleared away and washed up then she settled on the couch with her book. Pierre spent some time working on what I guessed were fishing lures and then started whittling a large lump of wood with his hunting knife.

I was unable to concentrate on anything and after an hour of inactivity I announced that I was turning in and went to the bunk room. It was only when it was too late that I realised I should have at least gone through the motions of kissing my wife goodnight. As it was it seemed that I had meekly accepted my new place in the scheme of things but I had only left because I could not bear the thought of seeing Helen and Pierre walking into the other bedroom together. I knew that there was quite a while before I could hope to escape in sleep so there was nothing else to do but think.

My situation was unusual now but in the time of our ancient ancestors it was probably the norm. Most current species of ape have a system of a single alpha male who has breeding rights over a harem comprising all available females while all other males in the tribe cluster together as a bachelor group. It is highly likely that early hominids were the same which means there must be some genetic imprinting in the human psyche. What was even more pertinent to me was the role of displaced leaders.

In the animal kingdom generally, leaders get challenged but this rarely leads to death for either contender, in fact serious wounds are unusual. In zoos, for bloodline and genetic diversity reasons, they create this situation artificially by introducing a new potent male into an established group. In the times I have seen it happen on film there is skirmishing with superficial scratches inflicted but the encounter is decided more on nerve than strength. What is striking is that the loser invariably accepts his demoted status without further challenge or any apparent resentment. I had to ponder if there was any lesson to be learned from this. 

Once more I made compulsive visits to listen at the wall but again heard nothing. I hopefully surmised that they were not making much noise but the more realistic explanation was that the heavy pine logs comprising the intervening wall were not designed for the transmission of sound. Sleep eventually overtook me in much the same way as the previous night.

Next morning it was Helen on breakfast duty but we couldn't talk as Pierre was sitting in a chair again working on his fishing lures. The meal was lightly fried thin strips of venison plus some of the animals internal organs such as liver and kidneys. That first day when we were alone I hadn't even thought of having sex but I had decided that today I was going to talk Helen into a bit of lovemaking. Following the logic of my previous night's musings, if defeated males always surrendered breeding rights then just continuing to have sex was itself an act of defiance.

Unfortunately for my plan, as we separated from our captor, after announcing that fish would be on the menu that night, Pierre told us, "It you two want to get romantic out in the trees feel free, it's no skin off my nose." Once the bastard had given his permission I no longer wanted to do it.

On the trail, searching for something neutral to say, I remarked, "Those deer kidneys were rather delicious, you should have tried one."

Helen quickly suppressed a smirk and said, "They weren't kidneys, they were the deer's testicles."

I felt that there was more to it than that so I said, "And?"

My wife did not want to say but after a pause she admitted, "Pierre instructed me to give them to you, he said you needed the benefits more than he does."

That small exchange soured the day for me and as a consequence I enjoyed it far less. That night the fish pie was good, (I had to admit that the swine knew how to cook) and the evening passed quietly as before. Once more I retired very early but this time I remembered to kiss Helen goodnight, rather loudly telling her that I loved her and having the pleasure of hearing her say the words in return. I had resolved to resist the temptation of the wall and had stayed determinedly in my bunk for a couple of hours when I clearly a something that sounded like, 'Oh, Oh ,OH' 

A short while later it was repeated and then again but this time with an extended, 'Ooooooohhhhh' completing the set. And so it carried on with the volume and intensity of her cries increasing in magnitude and it became very evident that Pierre was giving my wife a far more thorough fucking than I had ever managed to achieve. Despite the rage that this knowledge caused me I found that I was sporting a raging erection and this only added a sense of bitter shame to my woes.

I must have fallen asleep at some point because I suddenly found it was morning. Venturing out of the bunk room I found Helen again at the stove, making some flat, flour and oatmeal scones on the hot plate, but this time she was alone. Pierre had gone for a swim she informed me. This was the first time we had been alone in the cabin since the interloper first appeared but I had an urgent task that took priority over talking.

When I helped Pierre to carry his kayak away from the water I had noticed that his paddle was safely stowed inside. If my only plan for escape was to be realised it had to be still there or else there would be no way of propelling the small craft. Leaving the cabin I saw no sign of Pierre anywhere in sight so I made a beeline for the Kayak. However, when I was barely ten feet from my goal, Pierre rose up out of the water a mere stones throw away. Although the air temperature was pleasantly warm and could even feel hot away from the wind, I knew that the water remained barely a degree or two above freezing. It was amazing that the man could immerse himself with such impunity.

I immediately altered my angle hoping to make it appear that I was simply walking past the boat. My adversary was not fooled. "The paddle is well hidden if that's what you're looking for. You didn't seriously believe I'd be that careless, did you?" he called out contemptuously.

Determined to stick to my story of a pre breakfast stroll, I held my ground as Pierre approached. He was barefooted and completely naked, revealing that he was deeply tanned with his skin having a look of leather. He bore the scars of multiple injuries and other damage may have been hidden beneath the masses of shaggy black hair that hung in clumps from his torso and belly. I could now see the reason for his wide legged stance. His thighs were unusually thick and gnarled like tree trunks and hanging between was the most obscenely large uncut penis it is possible to imagine. I remembered seeing a similar image in a fantasy bestiary when the illustration was captioned 'Troll'. 

I could now easily understand the reason for all the orgasms I had overheard but this increased my sense of hurt rather than lessened it. Consequently I had not been walking alone with Helen for many minutes before I said accusingly, "I heard you last night."

I saw wife tense defensively. "He made me cum," she said simply without elaboration.

"A whole load of times."

"So!!! He's got a very large penis and something that size is bound to create sensations whether a woman wants them or not. Was I meant to resist them? Is there any rule that says I can't allow myself to enjoy it? If I struggled so he had to rape me every time, would that make you feel any better? Sweetheart, we agreed that we had to make the best of things and that is all I'm doing."

I felt suitably humbled but at the same time this established my concrete resolve that we had to escape the monsters clutches before my wife fell much further under his spell. The kayak was a lost cause so it had to be the far inferior Plan B, getting away from him on foot. This in turn meant carrying sufficient food to sustain us until we reached civilisation and that was not going to be easy. Pierre never actually searched our back packs but he certainly took note of what we put in and I noticed him unnecessarily lifting and moving them, no doubt testing the weight. This meant that we had to smuggle out one or two items at a time and build up a cache away from the cabin.

I did not mention my escape plan to Helen because she was very much against taking any form of risk but if we stayed, the month was likely to prove far less onerous for her than it would for me. We did not travel far and on the return journey I called a halt about a mile from the cabin. There I sorted through our backpacks removing items that had not yet been opened. I selected a tin of peaches and one of salmon and added the jar of honey we had taken to eat on the scones. Finally I unscrewed the gas canister from the small cooking stove even though it was a new refill that morning. These four items I hid where they were unlikely to be disturbed by scavengers. 

The passionate sounds from next door made that night another noisy one and again I found myself getting painfully aroused. There was a definite temptation but I resolved not to masturbate, either then or for the duration of the nightmare. Next morning when preparing for the day I managed to slip an extra item in each pack, a tin of corned beef and another of stewed steak. I very much wished not to get at odds with my wife again, so when I remarked, "You were busy again last night," I kept my voice cheerful and free of reproach.

Helen answered in kind saying simply, "The man's insatiable."

No other reference was made and we walked on feeling relaxed. I chose a particular pleasant picnic spot and after eating, while sitting enjoying the view, I started my amorous moves. After unsatisfied long lasting erections on two nights I was desperately in need of release. To my great surprise and shock, Helen knocked me back. Frustration turned to anger as I accused, "So now we know the truth, you enjoy being fucked by him so much that you can't bear me to touch you anymore."

There were tears in my wife's eyes as she said, "It's not that at all. I wish so much that I could make love to you but I've been thinking ahead and it's not worth it because I'm almost certainly going to end up pregnant before this month is over. You know I'm very much against abortion but if I'm sure that the child is Pierre's I'll get rid of it like a shot. Darling if there is even the slightest chance that it might be yours it will be a much more difficult decision." 





Reluctantly I accepted my wife's logic and resigned myself to further celibacy but during the rest of the hike, I consoled myself by calculating how many more days of surreptitious purloining would be needed before I had a hoard of sufficient size for us to flee. That night it was as if Pierre was demonstrating that my wife was giving him what she had denied me and giving it a prodigious number of times. Now there were cries of "Yess," mixed in with the Oh's and Oooh's and at times she sounded almost out of her mind with pleasure. 




Yukon



Next morning Pierre was sitting waiting for me when I appeared. He explained, "Your wife is going to do breakfast but I kept her busy rather late last night so she's having a lie in. While we're waiting there's work to do. Just because I've relieved you of bedroom duties doesn't mean you get a free ride." 

He led me round to the back of the cabin and a great pile of pine log roundels. Rolling one clear he picked up the large axe and swinging it one handed, neatly split the log in two. These he halved again and then repeated the operation with another five logs. Standing back, he said that I now had to split each segment again to reduce the original logs into eighths. I started, needing to use two hands just to lift the exe and still having difficulty. I was hoping he would leave me to it but he settled down to watch. 

I was about half way through and already hot and bothered when he said conversationally, "I won that bet by the way."

"What bet?"

"The bet that your wife has opened her legs for at least one other man before me. Does the name Jack Fallon mean anything to you?" 

It did mean something because it was the name of a man I hated but that had nothing to do with infidelity. Jack was a colleague, we were once in competition for a major promotion and I was considered the favourite until he pulled an underhand stunt. Speaking loudly in the hearing of an auditor, he remarked that if I got the job I would soon be rich because I was already milking the firm on my expenses. There was no truth in it and the long investigation proved that but it was no surprise when he got the directorship.

"It's a guy I used to work with," I admitted.

Pierre gave a dirty grin and said smugly. "Well he certainly did a job of work on your wife. You should ask her about him."

I was still so distressed that I almost forgot to pack extra items when preparing for the day. I could hardly wait until we were clear of the cabin before asking Helen about her and Jack Fallon. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I had a small affair with him but you've got to believe that it happened before he told that diabolical lie and lost you the job."

"How many times did you see him?"

"Only five but the last three I didn't want to. It started the night of that office party when you got totally inebriated only half way through the evening." (I remembered it well because I always believed that my drink was spiked but could never think of a motive for anybody to do it.) "Jack was very helpful," Helen continued. "He help me get you to his car, drove us home and then helped me put you to bed. Then he started coming on to me. He is an attractive man, I had been drinking as well and I was really pissed off with you so I foolishly let him fuck me."

I had a question but Helen held up a hand to stop me. "Two weeks later when you were in France, he rang me up and asked me round to his place on some pretext. I knew what would happen but I went anyway because I wanted to see if it was as good as I remembered. It wasn't and I decided then that I was stupid to risk a wonderful marriage for tacky mediocre sex on the side."



"I thought you said five times?"

"Next time you were in France Jack rang again but I refused to see him. He claimed to have some CCTV of me with his cock down my throat. He said that I must see it because if I didn't he was sure you would. I had no alternative and the next two occasions that you were in France he blackmailed me again but then I played his own game back at him. The sixth time he tried it I made him repeat all the threats but this time I recorded it all then played it back to him. He didn't bother me again but he still managed to hurt us." 

I made no recriminations and in fact felt admiration of my wife's ingenuity but my hatred towards Jack Fallon now nearly equalled the hatred that I felt for Pierre. We walked on several more strides before the thought struck me and I said, "I can see how Jack Fallon was able to take advantage of you but why the hell did you tell Pierre about it?"

"He made me."

"How the fuck could he make you tell him about something he didn't even know about?"

"He suspected that I'd cheated on you before and tormented me until I admitted it. Then of course he kept on until I told him everything he wanted to know."

I guessed the answer and did not want to hear it but still I asked, "How did he torment you?"

Helen had the grace to blush bright red as she confessed, "He kept rubbing the head of his cock up and down the lips of my pussy and refusing to put it in until I answered his questions."

"We've got to escape from him," I told her urgently, "Don't you see, if he has that much control over you already, what is it going to be like at the end of the month?"

My wife nodded. "You're right. I just never dreamed that it was possible to be made to feel so good."

I told her my plan and she was eager to help. "The big problem is the tent and sleeping bags, "I said, "We need them to survive but I can't think how to get them outside without him seeing."

Helen grinned. "That's easy. The bedroom window slides open and I can push them out that way then one of us can pretend to go to the loo and hide them in the bushes behind the latrine. We can even get extra food out the same way."

Everything went like clockwork and two days later I decided we had a sufficient stash of food to survive. It might have been advisable to wait until we had accumulated slightly more but listening to my wife being fucked to delirium every night was too painful to bear now that it was about to end. Usually our treks were done in a leisurely manner but now, once clear of the cabin, we struck out briskly and apart from a couple of refreshment halts, maintained that pace for six hours. Even after stopping to eat something more substantial we carried on for another two hours before making camp.

When we were both in the tent I asked the vital question, "Do you think you might be pregnant yet?"

Helen shook her head. "Up to last night should have been safe. Today would have been more dodgy."

"Then I want to make love to you."

My wife gave me a sad but loving look. "I'm very very tired."

"I'm tired too but it's something I need to do," I said desperately. "Even if it's only symbolic, I need to reclaim you as my wife."

Helen immediately understood and moved to give me access to her body but that was not enough. "You need to be naked, the same as you were with him."

With slightly more reluctance she began to undress and on seeing her breasts I understood the hesitancy for her breasts were almost totally covered in hickeys. "He's an animal," Helen said, seeing the look on my face. 

That was not going to stop me so I got on top as she opened her legs for me. Taking a deep breath I plunged home – and felt absolutely nothing. There was no sensation of contact at all. Maybe it was that fact alone or perhaps just the build up of sexual deprivation and provocation. All I know is that I immediately ejaculated in copious amounts, so much so that the sensation was not unlike urinating."

Helen said, "Wow!", and clutched me tight but I was distraught. "I'm so sorry," I told her from the depths of despair.

"Please don't be sorry," Helen begged embracing me in her love. "That was lovely; it was perfect, it couldn't possibly have been better. You have just given me all the love I've been missing."

We fell asleep soon after, still held tight in each others arms.

I again woke to the sound of whistling and for a moment thought I was back in the cabin but then the dire implication of the sound hit me. With a feeling of dread I unzipped the tent flap and peered out to see Pierre sitting on a boulder, patiently using his knife to remove the branches from a small sapling. On seeing me he shook his head and said quite pleasantly, "Didn't you even think about trying to cover your tracks?"

Encouraged by his tone of voice I crawled out of the tent only to be filled with fear as he said coldly, "You know what I warned you would happen if you ever tried something like this."

I mumbled some regretful words at which he laughed and said, "Don't worry, I haven't come to kill you, in fact I'm actually saving your lives. I doubt if you have more than seven days supplies and it would take me two weeks to get anywhere. You were in serious trouble even if the weather wasn't about to turn." I began to relax until he went on, "But I do intend to make you suffer for this little stunt."

By this time Helen had exited the tent and to her he said, "I'm disappointed with you. I could expect him to run away but I thought you enjoyed me fucking you."

"Maybe that's what I wanted you to think," Helen told him calmly.

Pierre considered her words and then said, "You can't be saying that to upset me so it's got to for your husband's benefit. Do you think I can't tell? Do you think I don't know that I make you cum more than any other man you've ever been with?"

Automatically my head turned to hear my wife's response but she said nothing and this encouraged him to continue bragging, "I doubt you'll ever find another man to fill you the way I do. Your husband's useless. After only a few days of having my cock up you I doubt if you can even feel him inside you anymore. Can you?"

"No," Helen admitted very quietly.

"Why do you think I encouraged you to keep opening your legs for him?" Pierre asked triumphantly. "It wasn't kindness; I wanted to keep you aware of the contrast between him and me."

With my mental anguish taken care of, Pierre set about ensuring extreme physical discomfort. He made me lie face down on the floor with arms out at either side then created a yoke by tightly tying my outstretched wrists to the denuded sapling. Finally grabbing me by the scruff of the neck, almost without effort, he hoisted me to my feet. Pierre then efficiently collapsed and packed the tent, placed both back packs on his own shoulders and we began the long trek back to the cabin.

We did have brief rests during which he allowed Helen to feed me food and water but there was no respite from the pain in my shoulders. Back at the cabin I was released while we ate a scratch meal and I thought his retribution was over but, after an hour, Pierre ordered me to kneel on the floor in front of him. While leaning forward on his instructions, he pinioned my arms with the rope then pushed me down to do the same with my ankles and as a final indignity tied ankles and wrists together in what I think is called a hog-tie.

Looping his arm through the juncture of limbs he carried me, on his arm like a basket, through into the bedroom, shepherding Helen in front. Once there he ordered her, "Strip."

"I damn well won't. I'm not doing anything you say while you're like this," she told him defiantly.

"Either take off your clothes or I'll do it for you."

My wife's rebellion was short lived because she meekly undressed, draping the discarded garments over the bottom of the bed. Standing naked in front of him she asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"Your husband thinks you need rescuing but he has to realise that you want me to fuck you, so he's going to see how I send you crazy with pleasure when I put my cock inside you," Pierre explained.

"It's for his own good. After this he should accept how things are."

"I'm not having sex with you while the man I love is lying helpless and in pain by the side of the bed. You can't expect me to," Helen told him with a look of determination on her face.

"I can force you."

"Yes you can but that doesn't really give the impression that you're hoping for, does it?"

Pierre considered this for several seconds and then conceded, "He remains in the room all night and he stays tied up but I will let him straighten out and make him more comfortable. Only on condition that first, you suck my cock the way you know I like and explain to your husband why you like having it in your mouth so much."

Helen nodded her agreement upon which Pierre let his shorts drop to the floor and stepped out of them to place himself lightly perched on the edge of the bed. My wife squatted in front of him and I managed to roll on my side, the better to watch what I did not really want to see. She grasped his thick shaft in one hand and placed the other under his scrotum before turning to me and saying, "Do I really need to explain? One look at this magnificent organ gives the answer, I doubt if there is a woman in the world who wouldn't go crazy for the chance to suck a cock like this."

Her next act was to bend his cock down to quickly lick the tip that was just emerging from his foreskin, before nuzzling her face into his general genital area. Pulling back she bounced his testicles on her hand, informing me, "They're as big as oranges and I like to suck them as well. I just love the sweaty masculine taste."

I lay and watched her do the whole routine, licking up and down the shaft with obvious pleasure and then stretching her lips to the maximum extent to allow an impossible length of cock deep into her mouth. After a time Pierre stopped her with the cue 'Time to fuck' upon which she leaped onto the bed with unconcealed eagerness to lie with legs expectantly spread. I was shocked how much he had conditioned her in so relatively few days, for the look I saw on my wife's face was one of craving.

Before giving her what she wanted he honoured the bargain cutting the rope joining wrists and ankles, then threw a pillow down and lifted me until I was seated on the pillow and leaning against the wall.

By the time he had rejoined her on the bed Helen had bent herself double, with ankles alongside her ears, held in place by her hands and without hesitation Pierre plunged his rigid pole into the proffered orifice. I was amazed at how far her cunt lips had to stretch to encompass his huge girth and the sheer volume of hot flesh that she could accommodate within her. 

There was no mistaking the pleasure she felt just having his cock inside her even before he began to fuck with rapid rhythmic strokes. In addition to the same cries of passion that I had overheard from the adjoining room, Helen kept up a stream of verbal encouragement, "Fuck me, fuck me you bastard, do it to me, make me cum." Make her cum he did, a countless number of times and every orgasm of greater magnitude than any I could hope to achieve. This 'viewing' could leave me demoralised for the rest of my life for if this was real fucking then it was beyond my ability. For the first time I could answer the question 'What's the difference between a poke and a fuck', I poked, he fucked. 

In the midst of my misery, I found some consolation in the thought that only deep love could have made her run away from this to be with me. It was a valid thought but soon submerged in the evidence of how much he had made my wife his creature. An insidious idea took hold that perhaps this was the natural order, that Helen belonged with a man like this rather than me but I fought it by concentrating on small inconsequential detail, such as the way her internal juices built up on his gleaming shaft.

At one point I must have pushed myself up, the better to see, until I was almost vertical, propped against the wall. I know I was standing when they switch position, he on his back and Helen on top, impaled on his cock. This was the hardest part to watch. Before, with his powerful piston like strokes he had been doing it to her but now she was pleasuring herself on him, sensuously, almost in slow motion. She would raise herself then let herself slide back down, wriggling and squirming until every available inch of flesh was inside her.

Was she pleasuring herself or trying to give him pleasure, it was hard to tell. At times she rubbed her tits sexually against his barrel chest seemingly for his benefit but at others, with the almost same motion, she seemed more intent on keeping her clitoris in contact with his shaft. He had given her innumerable orgasms but with this lewd use of her body Helen returned the favour by tempting him until he ejaculated. As his cum pump into her Pierre gave a great bull like roar and I saw a smile of satisfaction on my wife's face as she received the reward for her effort. Unable to take anymore, I slid back down to the pillow and let my mind switch off. Maybe they fucked again but I doubt it for after the day's efforts, both must have been as close to exhaustion as I. 

I woke with my upper body still propped against the wall although I had slumped down slightly while asleep. Pierre was on his back, lying motionless down the centre of the bed. Helen lay face down horizontally across it, her head resting on his lower torso near his groin and with a hand still wrapped round his huge phallus, which was standing up like a flag-pole. The greater part of her legs protruded beyond the edge of the bed and, in plain view, her cunt still gaped open with much evidence remaining of the semen that had oozed from it. I spent over twenty minutes contemplating that grossly enlarged and defiled orifice that had once been my private territory. 

Pierre woke first and was instantly alert. After gently extracting himself from under my wife's sleeping face he padded round the bed to cut me free from my bonds. "No hard feelings I hope – it was only to prevent future problems," he said. I made no reply but could claim a bursting bladder as reason for a rapid exit from that room of humiliation.

The period of eating and getting ready for the day that followed is a complete blur. I cannot remember a single sentence that was spoken except that as Helen and I walked away for another day on our own, Pierre called after her, "You ought to give your hubby some of that special sexing. I know you probably want to keep it all for me but if you give him a taste now and then it might keep him more contented."

When we were hardly out of sight of the cabin I had to ask, "Why did you put on such an exhibition with him last night?"

Helen halted to face me. "Because everything that Pierre said was true and I also agree with his reasoning," she said sincerely. "If I hated doing it with him, was suffering every day and prying for it all to end, then there would be a reason for you to risk your life trying to save me but it's actually the exact opposite. The only sensible thing for you to do is just sit tight until the end of the month." 

"Are you saying you would rather be with him than me?"

"Don't be silly. I love you and I detest him as a man. What I want is for us to be back at home, just like we used to be."

"How can we possibly be the same especially with his cock being so big, it can't ever be the same as it was?" I asked rather petulantly.

"I'll have shrunk back to my old size before we've been home a week. Just wait and see."

"But after the effect that Pierre has on you won't you always hanker to be made to feel that way again?" In my mind this was the killer.

"If we had gone on the historical holiday instead of coming here, "Helen began thoughtfully, "You would have had a fantastic time, you would have loved the experience and want it to keep on, you would have made the most of it but at the same time accepted that it would never ever happen again. That is exactly how I feel right now."

I grudgingly accepted the comparison and we passed a reasonably pleasant day without mentioning the subject again but I don't think either of us had the previous evening out of our minds. On the return journey we had to hurry because we saw the clouds building and had just nicely reached the shelter of the cabin when the rain started. It was the beginning of a four day storm that kept us confined and introduced a new element to my ordeal.

That night I was allowed to sleep in the bunk room but with the usual pornographic sound track. Fortunately I found that my 'in the same room' experience had somewhat inured me to the sounds.




Yukon



Next morning rain and high winds were lashing the cabin and it was surprising how much the temperature had dropped. Pierre settled down in a corner with his whittling, already a kind of mermaid figure was starting to take shape. I started a jig-saw on the table and Helen curled up in the armchair with another book. 

After a brief break for lunch we all returned to the same activities but after a while Pierre packed away his handiwork and sprawled himself on the couch. I thought there was something significant in the move and I was not mistaken because after only a few minutes, he called to Helen, "Hey Hot Lips, come over here and suck my cock."

My wife shut her book and stood but then told him, "I will but only in the bedroom."

Pierre laughed. "After last night I see no reason for shyness but if that's the way you want it." With that he followed her out of the room. They might as well have performed in front of me because over the next hour my mental images were as vivid as if I were actually watching.

Helen emerged first just steps in front of him. She just walked back to her chair but he felt obliged to say loudly, "After swallowing all that, I hope you've got room left for the evening meal."

After that, each day of our confinement, during the afternoon Pierre took her into the bedroom for periods up to two hours and when emerging always made some comment about what they had been doing. Helen kept her face impassive but I could tell from the pleasured glow that she had not found the interlude too unpleasant. The unfortunate fallout from those four restricted days was that Pierre had acquired a taste for afternoon sex. As we set out on the first day that sunshine allowed our excursions to resume, Pierre ordered me, "Make sure you get back early because I've got a little job for your wife before we eat."

Pierre did not demand daytime sex every day but although frequent it seemed to be done on a whim or possibly designed to keep me unsettled. Two days later, just as Helen and I were about to leave for the day, he called her back, telling me to wait outside. Anticipating a long wait I walked down to the water but was pleasantly surprised when my wife appeared after only fifteen minutes. I assumed that he had merely wanted to tell her something. However, after we had gone only a short way along the trail she called a halt saying, "I've got cum running down my leg. Please don't look while I do something about it."

I turned my back but still managed to watch as she removed both her trousers and panties then used the underwear to soak up the mess, before pushing the sodden garment in her pocket. While busy with this she explained, "He wanted a quickie so I dropped my pants and he just bent me over the table."

When we had finished eating later in the day, Helen suddenly said, "You know why I can't let you fuck me but I've realised I can suck you or even use my hand if that helps."

With Pierre's sperms swimming inside her at that moment, my pride made it seem humiliating to accept any less so I rejected the offer and then regretted doing so for the rest of the day.

In similar circumstances, one morning a couple of days afterwards, I was again sent to wait outside. This time her absence was more like ninety minutes but on reaching me I received a big smile as she said, "He didn't fuck me. I only had to strip and pose for him. That carving he's doing is meant to be me." 

At the end of the second week Helen told me that she thought Pierre intended to start goading me and warned me not to react. I asked what she meant by 'goad'. "I think he's going to start rubbing your nose in the fact that he has made you into a cuckold."

"Cuckold?" I had heard the term without being sure of the meaning. It sounded medieval, the kind of word Shakespeare might use.

"By the strict dictionary definition, any man with a cheating wife is a cuckold but more recently it has come to mean a husband who knows his wife is having sex with someone else." 

"What do you think he intends to either say or do?"

Apparently changing the subject, Helen told me, "I've been asking Pierre about the man he killed. I had assumed it happened when he was imposing himself on the other couple but it seems they'd been submitting to him, like we have, for over two weeks. I'm not sure what caused it to all blow up. Pierre admits to teasing but blames the guy's poor sense of humour for the fight." 

"That doesn't mean that he's going to start on me."

"I think it does," my wife insisted. "Up to now he's been satisfied with getting sex from me any time he wants it but the novelty is wearing off. He has actually said it would be more fun if you seemed to mind a bit more about him fucking me."

I thought about this and decided to find out for myself, so while Helen was in the bedroom bathing from a pail of hot water, I asked Pierre about the murder.

"I didn't intend for it to happen," he said, apparently quite relaxed to talk about it. "They convicted me for murder but it was really an accident. I only got ten years so I think the judge saw it a bit that way and I reckon that if I hadn't been poking the guy's wife it would have been even less."

"So how did it happen," I wanted to know.

"He was a big guy but when I took over he put up far less resistance than you. Even two weeks later he seemed happy enough with the situation and so was she but then the wives always are. Well I got careless. He managed to make himself a club and hit me by surprise. It hurt me badly and would have finished me if he hadn't hesitated. That gave me the chance to fight back but I'd lost my temper and didn't stop when I should."

Picking up on his use of 'wives' in the plural, I asked, "How many times have you done this?"

"You are the fourth couple. It started when I was hunting and accidentally blundered onto the cabin of the first pair but it was already half way through their month. Next time I was geared up and ready and had even picked my target but that was the year it went wrong. After I was released from jail I wasn't going to risk it again but then I found a young couple out camping. The tent was so small we had to do it outside. The boyfriend always had the chance to walk away but preferred to stay and watch. I think he was almost as fascinated by my cock as she was. They never reported what had happened and that's what encouraged me to try my luck with you two."

I thought Pierre had finished talking but then he volunteered, "You're the best of the lot, at least your wife is. That's a very passionate woman you've got there. You must have been keeping her on short rations or else she wouldn't appreciate what I have to offer so much. Hell, I wouldn't be getting all the fucking I am if she wasn't always so eager."

At that moment the bedroom door opened and, her ablutions completed, Helen started to come out. Pierre winked at me and said, "Watch this," then gave her the instruction, "Go straight back in there if you want me to make you dirty again." Without a word my wife turned round and did as he said. Throwing a triumphant look to me he said expansively, "Come in and watch if you want, I may even let you join in if you do." It was an offer I had to decline.

When alone with me, Helen seemed to play down her sexuality, probably trying to reduce the temptation on me but on our next full day out she deviated from this. After eating our picnic lunch in warm sun she stretched out sensuously in a way I would once thought invitational. Nothing was said for a while and then she revealed, "Last night Pierre wanted to know you ever stuck your dick in me the back way. When I told him 'a couple of times' he wanted to try like that but it hurt far too much and he had to stop."

I was relieved to hear this and was about to say so but my wife had not finished. "He said I needed opening up first. His idea was that I should encourage you to fuck my bum to get me ready for him." 

She paused. "It made me realise I could have let you have me that way right from the start but you may not want to now he has suggested it."

There may have not been outright goading but Pierre made many snide comments. Once in front of Helen he said, "When I'm out of your lives I hope you're not expecting your wife to go back to getting all her satisfaction from you. Without me taking all her energy she might start giving you more but she's still going to need better men to fill all the places that you can't reach."

On her first opportunity after this, Helen tried to reassure me by saying, "Don't take any notice of Pierre. When we're safely back home I'm going to put all of this behind me and I swear I'll never have sex with any other man but you." I clung to my wife's words because I needed to but deep down I felt that his carried the more conviction.

Another development was that he liked making me a player in his carnal relationship but only on a verbal level. For example, one day when he and I were at the wood pile he ordered, "Before you start work, pop inside and tell your wife I want to fuck her under the trees." Even more extreme was the day Helen and I were on our way out when he called me back to say, "Tell your wife she can go with you if she wants but if she'd prefer to sit on my cock all day instead, it's ready and waiting." To keep the peace Helen did go back and I don't think we got another day out alone after that because Pierre decided that he wanted to keep her ready and available for him all the time.

I have spoken little about my mental state but it got so that I permanently suffered some form of arousal, ranging from partial erections to a painfully stiff penis. My refusal to masturbate undoubtedly contributed to this physical distress but I felt it was a matter of principle. Rightly of wrongly I believed that if I gave myself relief it would effectively condone Pierre's actions. I had to accept the situation but was determined not to take any pleasure from it. Despite this nature intervened with a safety valve that caused a steady trickle of pre-cum down my leg and every morning I woke to a sticky semen puddle on my thigh. The only blessing is that I was unable to recall the dreams that prompted the emissions.

The constant nature of the sex meant that it was no longer restricted to the bedroom with my wife having abandoned her resistance to performing in front of me. Fortunately there was no requirement for me to stay and watch so I invariably went out. This meant that I was able to spend many hours wandering by myself in the locality of the cabin. On one of these excursions I was clambering on the pile of fallen boulders on the other side of the outcrop, thinking it was somewhere Pierre might have hidden his paddle.

Climbing near the top I stepped on an almost spherical lump of rock and almost fell when it moved easily under my foot. Further examination showed that the boulder was poised almost on its point of balance and it struck me how easy it would be to push it down upon my tormentor, if only I could get him to stand underneath. My mind immediately started thinking how I might persuade Pierre to place himself in that vulnerable position. 

There was less than a week left and I had to weigh both the risk and the morality of taking such drastic action. That evening, while Helen was visiting the latrine, Pierre treated me to a confidence that effectively sealed his fate. With a boastful grin he told me, "All this sex is fine but there is just one particular high that makes it all worth while, and that's the kick I get looking into a guy's eyes and seeing the moment when he first realises that I am going to put my cock in his woman and he can't do a damn thing to stop me." The man was evil and deserved to die. 

During my times spent waiting outside I noticed that after his afternoon sex Pierre invariably made a visit to the latrine. I reasoned that that it might be easier to trick him at these times, when he was possibly less alert. To start my plan, I smuggled a now redundant back pack out of the cabin and filled it with pebbles before hiding it in a small gulley. The next day, while Pierre was treating Helen to her afternoon fuck, I crouched down in the gulley watching the cabin door and the moment he emerged I stood up and began walking quickly towards the outcrop, carrying the heavy pack. Frustratingly, when I glanced back from the outcrop it was to find that he had not noticed me.

I repeated the exercise the next day and this time when I looked back Pierre was walking suspiciously in my direction. Hurrying on to the rock pile I clambered up until reaching a point three feet directly below the poised boulder. I waited until he appeared round the outcrop then knelt and lowered the pack down a gap between two great rocks, leaving it lying just barely within reach. At this Point Pierre shouted out, I looked back and then, as if in panic, climbed higher up. He had started to run but seeing I had effectively trapped myself he slowed again to a walk.

From the bottom of the pile Pierre looked up, a cruel smile on his face, and said, "What have you just hidden?"

"Nothing," I told him.

By this time he was just below me and looking down he must have been able to see the backpack. "I hope you are telling me the truth," he said. "If I find you've lied I'm going to really hurt you this time. I'm going to make you unable to fuck your wife or any woman ever again." He laughed nastily, "I might even make you eat your own balls this time."

Pierre confidently lay down and reached for the pack which was my signal to place a foot on the boulder and roll it over the edge. There was no cry but a satisfying crunch. Looking down I saw that the rock had struck almost exactly in the centre of his back. 'Gotcha, you bastard,' I swore but in a terrifying 'terminator' moment the boulder slowly began to rise. Fortunately after moving up over two inches it suddenly fell back, accompanied by a gurgling sound. It didn't move again.

I sat and watched for about twenty minutes but there was only a deathly silence from below. His legs still protruded so I spent another hour moving other smaller rocks to pile around so that the body could not be seem from any angle and then set off to give my wife the good news. Outside the cabin I removed the broad grin from my face and replaced it with a more sombre expression, before entering to announce, "Pierre is dead." 

"What happened?"

"I just killed him; I pushed a boulder on him." I told her triumphantly.

It was not a look of relief that came to her face. "Wasn't that a bit final, I mean he never really hurt either of us." 

I could have mentioned all the mental hurt I had suffered by his actions but instead I said simply, "I felt it was necessary."

"Why? Why did you need to? It's almost the end of the month with only another four days to get through before the boat comes to pick us up."

"There was no guarantee that he wouldn't kill us when he'd finished with us. I just guarded us against that possibility."

Helen nodded, "That's true but I don't think he would. He couldn't kill you without killing me and I think he was fond of me in his way."

She wanted to see where it happened so I took her to the pile of boulders and described what had occurred. Helen thought we ought to get his body out and give him a proper burial but I insisted that the body was far less likely to be discovered where it was than in some rough grave. I was rather hurt by her attitude but she made it right during the walk back to the cabin by saying, "I am glad he's gone. He was making me into something I'm not." 

The first task was to gather Pierre's scant belongings and either burn or otherwise dispose of them. This led to the wrapped up carving. On unfolding the cloth I was amazed to see what it contained because the enclosed statuette of a female figure was exquisite. About ten inches high, it was perfectly formed and I would have thought it impossible to achieve such smoothness of finish, with only a knife and a few flint chippings.

I cannot say that the face bore any likeness to Helen's but the body was undoubtedly her with the same ripe breasts, narrow waist and swelling hips. The figurine female was seated on a rock with thighs slightly parted and ankles crossed. On the pubic mound there was some representation of curled hair but below it the vulva was shown swollen into high prominence and divided by a deep cleft. I am not a man who wilfully destroys beauty but my first instinct was to take it outside and use the axe on it.

Helen gazed at the small work of art in silence and then said quietly, "I want to keep it."

Her words provoked a different thought. Had Pierre presented it to her at the end of the month as a gift and keepsake of their times together, no matter what my wife wanted, I would have reduced it to matchwood at the first opportunity but in the new circumstances the statuette could legitimately be considered spoils of war. As such it was less a celebration of my month of misery than a marker for the fact that I had avenged the stain on my wife's honour.

That night when Helen said she was going to bed, out of habit I almost went to my bunk and it was only feeling some awkwardness that I joined her in the bedroom. Even in bed things did not improve because I felt totally inhibited about initiating activity due to memories of my sexual debacle on the night of our failed escape. My wife guessed my problem and took over saying, "You just lie there and let me make love to you."

With just hands and mouth she reduced me to a state of pure ecstasy, using her skill to ensure that it was not over too soon. The fact that she must have done the same for Pierre countless times could not detract from the pleasure. Our lovemaking followed the same limited pattern the next night and it was not until our last night in the cabin that I finally achieved consummation in the honeymoon bed. 

For those last three days we just hung around the cabin, really just killing time until the boat came to collect us. The only necessary action during that time was to carry Pierre's kayak between us further along the beach then cave in the side with a rock and push it into deep water. On the last morning I walked by myself round to the pile of boulders to check that the body remained well concealed. Looking down in a crevice I noticed a small posy of wild flowers but have never mentioned that I saw it. 

When the boat arrived it had the same captain but this time he had a black guy to manhandle our boxes.

"So you're still alive," the captain joked on seeing us but then explained, "When you didn't radio in we tried contacting you but there was no response. I was going to sail by and check on you but then that big storm happened and I never got round to it since." 

As we sailed away Helen went below deck but I remained by the rail watching the cabin recede into the distance. I was thinking about how easy killing proved to be when it is meant to be difficult for normal people. Countless films show captives who at some point gain possession of the gun and point it at the villain but then are unable to shoot allowing the bad guy to simply walk up and take it from their hand. I did not hesitate before toppling that boulder and nor did I feel the slightest twinge of conscience afterwards. To the contrary, all I felt was the warm glow of vengeance achieved. 

Perhaps I ought to check up on Jack Fallon.

Update.

One night in bed when I began to get amorous, Helen rolled on her front and by dint of provocative squirming indicated that she wanted me to put my stiff penis in her anus. I complied and thoroughly enjoyed it. Afterwards, feeling good, I said, "Well at least he never managed to have you that way."

There was a long silence while my wife struggled with whether to tell the truth. That itself gave the game away so realising this she said, "Actually he did. When you refused to help, Pierre started pushing his fingers up trying to make me bigger. It didn't do much good but then he found a jar of bear grease in the bottom of the wardrobe and that made all the difference. I glad he did because he wouldn't leave me alone that last week and at least my poor twat got a bit of a rest." 




Yukon



In the hotels on the journey back and the first few days at home we had full sex every night. I had not seen any significance in this until Helen said, "My period is well overdue and I'm pretty sure I'm pregnant."

"That's not a problem, you get an abortion," I said, quite unruffled. "I didn't make love to you even when I could so that there was no possibility that a child could be mine."

Helen nodded. "I know that's what we agreed but it's not quite that straightforward. The night we made love in the tent it was unlikely I would get pregnant but it was possible. Some women say they can tell the moment they are impregnated and although I never believed it I felt something that night. It was certainly very special, that's all I'm saying."