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First Anniversary Party Ch. 02

By: FinishTheDamnStory



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I Love My Wife - my ending to ru_dolph's First Anniversary Party (7/29/02)

http://www.literotica.com/s/first-anniversary-party-ch-1

ru_dolph's story was hardly a Loving Wife story. It was a gang rape. Simple and to the point. The husband was drugged, the wife was forcefully groped and raped against her wishes, among 20 people.

The story would have been better categorized as NonConsent - not Loving Wife, and I believe this type of evil deserves a like ending. If you don't like violence and extreme payback, don't read this one. I don't like to change the category from the original posting, therefore the LW categorization. 

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

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

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Original Ending:

"No, please stop" whispered Karen as she tried in vain to get up. The hand that was at her breast moved to her hip, holding her firmly in place.

"Just think of your husbands career" replied Karl as he thrust upwards, impaling Karen in one go.

"No, no, no.." Karen kept repeating as Karl thrust in and out of her cunt.

"Surely one of the other women will see and put a stop to this" thought Karen, but as she opened her eyes, she saw the lights had been turned up and everyone was just watching. Then she heard one of the women say "Smile for the camera" as Pete swung round the corner with a Polaroid and started to snap away. At this Karen resumed her struggling but to no avail, Karl held her tight and whispered "Here it comes baby" and proceeded to explode in her cunt, filling here fertile womb with his sperm.

The look of defeat on her face must have been legendary as Karl slowly lifted her off his softening cock and removed her dress revealing her in all her glory to everyone present and the camera.

To be continued...

Once my boss had my wife stripped naked, it got worse. She was pulled to the ground, and one of the other men took his place between her legs.

"Please don't," Karen cried, to no avail.

Karl attempted to calm her. "You know you loved it. Stop fighting. Think of how this will help your husband's career. Be a good little whore now, and I promise it will pay off."

She struggled, too drunk to be very successful against the larger, stronger men, unwilling to surrender. "Stop it!" she screamed.

That only made the crowd around her laugh. The cameras kept flashing, and the video kept recording. "Relax honey," one of the wives said, "You know you want it. We saw how you were dancing, teasing all the men. Give us a good show, something to remember this by." She leaned over and held her video camera out, recording the action.

Karl held her down to stop her from fighting, and Bryan, one of the two bastards that carried me to the room, impaled my wife, and started plunging his dick into her. The cameras flashed, videos were taken, and everyone laughed at my wife's second rape. 

"Fuck, she's a sweet little whore," Bryan growled, while Karen cried, helpless to defend herself. Her sobs continued to be interspersed with groans of "No", and pleas to stop. 

When Bryan was done, Pete passed his camera along, and took his turn. By this time, my wife was crying uncontrollably, while Karl tried to stick his dick in my wife's mouth.

"Suck it, you dirty little whore," he told her, grabbing her by the hair and shaking her head. "Get me hard. I'm taking your ass next. I'll be coming in all your slutty holes tonight. You're mine now."

She gasped as Pete slammed the full length of his cock into her, and Karl seized the opportunity to shove his into her mouth. He laughed, pulling her head firmly against his bulbous belly.

As drunk as she was, I'm proud of Karen. She was helpless, surrounded, and being held down by her rapists, but she fought back. Karen bit down as hard as she could, and refused to let go. I've heard it said the jaw muscle is the strongest in the body. My wife proved that. Karl screamed, but his shrieks were drowned out in the laughing and commotion of the other couples. He struck out at her, trying to free himself, but she just bit down harder, moving her jaw side to side, grinding her teeth together. She was drunk enough to ignore the pain and disgust. She was fighting back the only way she could, with all she had. Pete continued plunging into her, but stopped when he saw the blood streaming down her face. 

"What the..." he started, pulling out of her. 

Karl fell back, blood pouring out of the inch or so remaining of his cock. Pete shrieked, rolling off of her, and squealed when Karen spit the remains of Karl's dick at him. The adrenaline rush had her more alert, angry, and responsive. She reached over and grabbed Pete by the balls, digging her fingernails in, clutching with all her might. Her half inch nails pierced his skin, drawing blood. He tried to push her away, grabbing her wrist, painfully grinding the bones together, struggling to get free. Unfortunately for him, he was successful, and he passed out from the pain, when his body went one way, and one of his balls went the other, still clutched in my brave wife's hand.

I guess the gang-rape of my wife wasn't enough to gain the hotel staff's attention. The screaming of Karl and Pete, and the resulting hysteria and cacophony was different. Hotel security was at the door, insisting on quiet. "Help!" Karen screamed out, "RAPE!!"

That was enough to get the full attention of the hotel security guard. I learned later that seeing her naked with blood all over her body, screaming 'rape', was the scariest thing he'd ever seen. He stood in front of the door, calling down for help on his radio. Several of the people managed to push their way past him, before assistance arrived. The police and EMTs weren't too far behind. 

Unfortunately I missed most of it. I was still knocked out, the drugs doing their job. When they couldn't wake me, the EMTs took me in as well. It was a busy night for them. They had four people to take care of. The police were extremely busy as well, interviewing the crowd. They took possession of the cameras, and video recorders, which would turn out to be invaluable.

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"How are you feeling," I asked, standing by my wife's bed. It was the first time I'd been allowed in there. I'd already had the doctor's report. Her injuries were mostly superficial, except for a broken finger where Pete the rapist had tried to get her to release him. Her face was swollen, where Karl had hit her, trying to get her to let go.

"I tried to stop them, baby. I tried," she moaned, sobbing.

I sat down on the bed, holding her. I was devastated at what had happened, and felt useless at my inability to protect her. "I know. It sounds like you did a hell of a job, according to the police."

"I kept looking for you."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'll regret it for the rest of my life, that I wasn't there to protect you. I never would have expected to be drugged at a company party. I swear, all those bastards will pay."

Karen nodded. "The police are sure they will."

They did.

The criminal trials were quick and easy. Many tried to argue that it was just a party that got carried away. That was easily defeated by the video evidence, the blood work that I was drugged, and the pictures of my crying wife being raped. It was just a party, right?

The video of my wife pleading with them to stop, while they raped her, and with nobody intervening, meant that virtually everyone in the room got some time in jail, male and female alike. Even the ones who snuck past the security were still identified on tape.

The bartender at the party only got 60 days for his part in drugging me, after the blood work proved I'd been given an extremely high dose of a sedative. He confessed his involvement. Karl had tipped him $100 to turn a blind eye to his actions, doctoring my drinks right in front of him. It was nice to see that nobody got away with anything.

Careful viewing of the video showed only one man, and two women who tried in any way to prevent things. Bill, the man who had danced with Karen at one point, the only one not to grope her when their version of musical chairs started, became a witness for our side, as did his wife. The first security guard to show up at the room was especially convincing.

I lost my job, but gained a company. The civil suit was a slam-dunk, and the jury thought it appropriate that my boss pay dearly. Beyond losing his dick, that is. To the tune of $11 million. His personal wealth was around $2M, but the company was valued at a little over $7M. The doctors were unable to do more than leave him with a 2-inch cock. Anything the jury didn't give my wife, such as his home and car, which were exempt, asshole Karl's wife took from him, during his inevitable divorce. Of course, from behind bars, he probably didn't care that much, since he wasn't getting out for 15 years. When he did get out, he'd still owe me $2M.

Karen is pregnant. It's mine. The hospital gave her treatment to prevent any pregnancy after her gang rape, cleared her of any diseases, splinted her finger, and it was two months later that she announced she was pregnant with our child.

Sounds like happily ever after, right? Wrong.

Our first Anniversary party had been hell. We learned of the evil in the world, and lost a lot of our innocence. The beasts that raped my wife, and those that urged them on, learned about consequences. I was going to make sure it was a costly lesson.

I made $9,000,000 off the deal after all. Almost $2M in cash, and a company that generated several hundred thousand dollars a year in profit. I had money, time and patience.

I had been helpless to protect her. I wasn't any longer.

It was my turn.

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Nine years have gone by. Everyone except my boss Karl has been released from prison. My solution for revenge has been a simple one. 

They drugged me, I drug them. They restrained my wife, I restrain them. They hurt her. I hurt them. It's all about balance.

I'm careful, taking my time, planning, observing. My millions have grown, and spending a few tens of thousands per individual doesn't hurt me at all. Nineteen people needed a lesson. Eighteen of the bastards that were in the room that night. I gave Bill and his wife a bye as well as the other wife that spoke up. I lumped the bartender in with the rest, for letting them drug me. It cost less than $100K apiece to wreak my revenge. Few of the marriages survived, but I didn't care. Not about their marriage. No, I desired personal revenge. Up close and personal. I didn't care if it was a woman or a man. It made no difference to me. None. They were all guilty.

They had attacked my wife, and I'm not the kind of man who will take that sitting down, unless I've been drugged unconscious. Don't fuck with mine, and I won't fuck with you. It was a lesson they needed to learn.

It would typically take a few months from when they were released. It's funny what money can do for you. I'd negotiated a group deal. My unsavory contacts had wanted a $150K to do the first one, I offered fifty grand a pop for at least a dozen. We settled on seventy thousand dollars each, plus expenses. I'm pretty sure they padded their accounts, the final cost was usually closer to $90K. I thought it was a bargain. 

The victims were always abducted somewhere far from my home. They were delivered to an isolated cabin, in a low population mid-west state I'd prefer not to mention, drugged to the gills, for a weekend they'd always remember.

I prefer not to go into lurid details. Suffice it to say, they paid. I remained incognito, hooded and silent. They were hooded, but were rarely silent. By the time I was finished, they were physically incapacitated, permanently. 

In the beginning, it was the short timers, the people whose involvement was the least egregious. Their penalty might be as benign as losing a few fingers and toes. Slowly and painfully, of course. Maybe an ugly scar, I preferred burning to cutting. I tried to keep whatever it was at least somewhat in line with their actions, or inaction. Whatever it was, I wanted it to be something permanent, a lifelong reminder.

The bartender was my first. He let them drug me, with no idea what I was being given. I could have died. If he had warned me, none of it would have happened. He was my first and I was angry. I drugged him. Something much more addictive, and kept him on it for a week. He was thoroughly addicted when he left, and I made sure he had an ample supply to take with him. 

After four years, the culprits were the more malicious ones. Pierced eardrums, and rough dental work appear to be extremely painful, from their responses. I still got great satisfaction removing fingers and toes, but instead of pinkies, I liked to take off the thumb. I became adept at cauterizing wounds.

I avoided doing much to their sexual organs. That would have made it too obvious, not that there wasn't a pattern emerging for anyone to see, if they looked. So I was careful.

Starting in year four, they had to sacrifice a limb. I'm not that cruel. It was enough for me to ruin a knee or an elbow. Maybe shatter a hand or a foot. A heavy duty vice worked great for that purpose. That way amputation wasn't always necessary.

The bitch who told my wife to smile for the camera, would smile forevermore. She had no teeth to smile with, but the upturned scars at corners of her mouth, gave her a permanent one. A clown face that would make children cry and turn away. She was number 13. Lucky 13.

Frank, the bastard who'd groped her, held her down when they started playing their games, would never grope anyone again. He lost all 10 fingers, and the bones in his hands were little more than mush, by the time he'd paid.

The cunt who told my wife to put on a show, blaming my wife's rape on her dancing and teasing, paid. She would never dance again. Her broken back assured that. She was paralyzed from the waist down. Dance now, bitch.

By the time I was done, I was satisfied with their individual payment. Each customized to fit their personal involvement. Once I was done, I would deliver the miscreants to my team, to do with as they would. The only requirement was that they be delivered alive somewhere they could receive the medical attention they invariably needed.

I received the notice that the second to the last of the scum had been captured. A small ad in the local paper that ran for a week alerted me. It was Bryan, one of the three actual rapists. I'd waited over a year after his release, until he was off his guard. Like many of the others, he'd moved far away, trying to escape his reputation and history. Not far enough when you had the resources that money made available to me. 

I had my secretary schedule a business trip. My personal plane, a Zenith STOL 701 was fueled up and ready at a private uncontrolled airport, near my business location. David, my stand-in, had flown it there, and was ready to make his local appearances as me. 

The following morning, I kissed my wife goodbye, flew out to Denver, attended my meeting, and was delivered to the small grass runway, where my plane awaited. David would trounce about the city, doing much of nothing, but making sure to be seen at the hotel and restaurants. With a full beard and sunglasses, it was extremely difficult to tell us apart. 

I, on the other hand flew off for my real business. I filed no flight plan, and with floats on the plane, I landed on the isolated pond next to my cabin.

Pete, the previous guest, and one of the other rapists had paid dearly. Of course, the night of our anniversary, my wife had already delivered a modicum of revenge. The man was a eunuch. When I was done he'd never walk again. Not satisfied with just the knees, I took out his ankles and hips as well. 

Bryan had been the only rapist my wife hadn't personally punished. That was left to me.

I entered the cabin, and as with all those before him, he was unconscious and strapped to the table. The room was covered in plastic, and my tools were available. When I was done, the cleanup team would take care of business.

It was a good weekend for me. Not so much for Bryan. He cried a lot. He begged and pleaded. He asked a lot of questions. Actually a variation of one question mostly, but a lot of times. "Why?" he would sob, shriek, whine. "Why me?"

I never said a word. 

It disgusted me to think that he'd committed enough atrocities not to know why he was forced to pay.

His blind, deaf, and crippled body was picked up on Sunday, shortly after I took off for Denver. I was feeling better about myself. I always did after those little weekends. Much better than the counseling and anger management sessions I'd attended for a year. As a form of anger management, I can highly recommend total annihilation of your enemies, delivered personally.

I arrived home late, and my wife met me at the door, in my favorite lingerie.

"I hate when you leave for these long trips," she pouted, hugging me. 

"I hate to be away from you. At least it's only a few times a year," I reminded her.

She walked with me to check on our three kids, and then joined me in our bedroom. 

"I thought you were going to retire," she said, while undressing me. "You said you'd become a silent partner, and let the business run itself."

I grinned. "I am. Officially, next week. I'm giving Darren ten percent of the company in stock options, dependent upon performance. Another 15 is to be divvied up among the executives, and 20 for the employees. After that, we're taking a two month cruise to celebrate my retirement and our 10th anniversary. You have a lot of shopping to do."

I no longer needed the cover of the business meetings, or the hassle of the office. My net worth was over $14M, eight of that liquid in investments. Even after the final $250K bonus to my teams, we would never have to work again. Pretty good for 33 years old. We were done.

My wife screamed out, upon hearing the news, throwing her arms around me, dragging me to the bed. She showered me in kisses, and I let her have her way with me, enjoying every moment. She held nothing back, and I was the recipient of the most wonderful loving a man can imagine. 

I love my wife. Heart and soul. 

It had taken her almost two years to completely get over the trauma of that night. Nearly two years of abrupt bouts of crying, running from our bed for no reason, locking herself in the bathroom for hours. Thousands spent in counseling sessions, and on medications. Her right hand pinky is still crooked. All because of the actions of a score of evil people. Perhaps you can see why I was so angry with them.

She'd paid a horrible price, and now, so had they.

I had considered hanging on for another five years until Karl was free, but my anger was gone. My revenge complete. Besides, there was little I could do to Karl that my wife hadn't already taken care of. Apparently the prisoners thought it was funny to have a rapist with a two inch cock in their midst. He was unlikely to ever leave the prison alive, if he ever did survive being a gang's whore, available to anyone for the price of dessert in the cafeteria.

Have I blackened my soul, seeking out revenge? Did I go too far? 

Do I regret any of it? 

Not one damn bit.

I love my wife, and if you know anything of love, you understand.

There's some things a man's just gotta do.

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