CAUTION:

This is a story based on experience, and honestly told; some details and names are fictionalized to obscure identities of real persons and events. The ages of most of the persons told in the story were technically legal ages of consent in the state of Minnesota (for that matter in almost all states at the time). While the sexual activities described here involve "teenagers," these boys were not preyed upon by anyone, or coerced in anyway.  If anything, these " boys" were predators to my wife.

Installment 12---The Fifth Week---Thursday---A Visit from the P.O.

Curtis grinned at the pile of pennies.  Each representing a dick my wife had sucked on.  Most of which had spent cum into her mouth.  Mostly thin as syrup, not yet full of sperm.  Most of this soupy stuff she swallowed.  He lingered with his buddies to tell Jon all about the night Karen had spent with them --- stripping her, teasing and ogling her, feeling her up, making her masturbate in front of them, the big boys fucking her doggy-style and then the long time she spent sucking cocks and feeding her many mouthfuls of soupy jism. She liked it, he told me, and they all smirked at me as they told this all.  Jon called her a pig, so they all referred to her that way. The "pig" sucked off cock, they spanked the "pig" until she cried girly tears, the "pig" peed herself, they poked the "pig's" ass-hole with a hammer handle 'till she squealed; then they made the "pig" run home naked.

The next morning, while I saw still sleeping on the sofa, two of Jon's friends came unannounced. 

I literally woke up with them standing over me.  Grinning and Jon telling them, "That's her husband."

"Where is she?"

"I'll go get her. . . . "

Jon pulled Karen out of bed early in the morning, literally tugging her by the hair, and hauled her, bent over, whining out into the living room to present to his friends, still naked, unwashed, hair a mess, her mouth smeared with boy's dried cum, some gluing hair to her neck; he drew her by her hair rudely to the center of the room, tits bobbling to their laughter, and straightened her her up forcible, twisting her arm up behind her, shoving her pelvis forward with a knee thrust to her buttock, she whinging and cringing under Jon's arm twisting.

Making her a presentation for them, he beckoned them to feel her tits and especially her bare shaved chaffed and swollen vulva, which they rubbed though she complained that it hurt and that really sent them off; they would tease and taunt her and Jon would write PIG in large letters with lipstick across her belly.  Slapping her face, she knelt, crying, and nodding as she cried, she would accept her humiliation and "take her breakfast" from the erections of teen-aged boys presented to her.

I watched the whole thing.  In my underpants on the sofa. 

Jon pointed out how I had a hard-on watching my wife suck cock, and he demanded I stand up and strip and stroke my dick as they held my wife's red-face, sucking their cocks, and I did what he said. 

Jon told me to masturbate as I watched.  I did what he wanted. 

He told me to say certain things as I masturbated.  I said: "Cum in her mouth."  He told me also to tell them: "I want to see you cum in her mouth." Things like that, he made me say. 

Three would hold her head and cum in her mouth; moaning and whimpering she swallowed all three ejaculations as I watched, urging her to "Eat his cum, Karen. . .." 

When they were done, lording over her, sarcastically commenting on her disgusting cum-sucking, her mashed creamy lips, her cum-mucky mouth which she did not try to clear or rinse, she lay curled up, exhausted still from the night before, naked on the floor; her hands went to cover her flushed face, her body also flushed.

Jon draped her with the sheet that he took from where I had slept on the sofa.  Covered her like a corpse. And she was a still as one.  They sat looking at the heap and Jon got some beers.  I stood in the center of the room with my shameful erection; some of the boys smirked at me.  One asked: "She suck you off too?"

I did not respond.  Jon told them that I let them fuck her and liked to watch them make her suck cock, but no, I never got any.  "We gonna start fucking her in the asshole today. . . .  She ain't never done that.  That'll be fun. I promised he could have go after we got done."

They wanted to do that too. He said that Frenchy was coming back home and he had plans and they weren't part of it.  They complained and appealed.  Jon reminded them they got their cocks sucked.  They wanted a go at fucking her too, said one. 

Jon said he didn't see why not.  Two got up and pulled the sheet off her and one smacked her buttock and said for her to lie down on the sheet as the other spread it out.  I still stood with my hard-on hanging out, reflexively touching it.  She saw and looked away, getting up on her hands and knees to receive them.

They went right at her.  Quickly stripped off their shoes and tossed away their pants, dropped their underpants, crouched down behind her and beside her, poking their waggling cocks at her butt or her face; she simpered; one fucked her from behind as the other one fondled her swaging tits or felt her body overall.  He leaned to kiss her and she lifted her face to kiss him back, almost taking some comfort in the affection it seemed to suggest, for otherwise they fucked her like a dog.  I could see why they called this the doggy position because these boys fucked her like horny dogs on a bitch, one after the other, fucking her till she was sweaty and whimpering and her arms trembling could not hold her up.  In the end she collapsed flat on the floor, face down, legs spread wide by them, legs held wide by the other though he did not need to, while another took his turn, laying on top of her, shoving his dick in and out of her, pumping and grunting till he shouted and shot off.

He got up.  The pair got up to their feet, staring down at her spread legs, and the ooze of cum. She closed her legs.  She curled up.  Jon forcibly pulled the sheet out from under her, and she protested pathetically but sat up, looking up at him unhappily.  He laughed at her.  And pulling the sheet up, she clasped her knees, as if to preserve modesty that she had long ago given up.  He laughed again and they others started dressing.  He tossed the sheet over her where she sat, covering her completely.  "There," he said. Karen sat motionless beneath the sheet.  Jon mocked her and then ordered her to lay down: "Take a rest, piggy."  She shifted without rising, curling, then stretching out, the calves of legs and bare feet coming out of the end of the sheet, her head enveloped. Turning over, she lay out flat, face down. She seemed humiliated and exhausted.  Or so I imagined. 

I still stood at the front of the hallway looking on the scene of them, naked with my erection half hard, while now the rest were dressed.  One of them, eyeing my prick, joked at my nakedness.  Jon told them: "He eats his cum."  They expressed disgust and ridicule.  "No shit," one said. 

"Yeah," said Jon.  "Show 'em, dad. . . . "  But my erection flagged and my penis seemed to wither to a worm and Jon shook his head and said: "He likes sucking my cock too. . . . "

I heard noise on the stairs.  Jon said: "That's Frenchy. . . . "

He looked at me with a smirk: "He's probably got his girl friend, dad. . . .  You better get out of sight. . . .   She'll laugh at your dick."  His friends thought this hilarious too. I was confused but also reflexively embarrassed and I turned and went down the hall but wondered why he would not get my wife out of here too. 

"Jon," a voice called out.  I recognized the voice. It was not Frenchy's voice.

"Who are you?" he addressed the boys standing over my wife under the sheet.  They did not answer.  They left.  I understood why.  It was the PO, my supervisor.  A spot inspection? 

I felt sick. I hid at the door to my bedroom, listening.  Then I heard Frenchy ask Jon: "What's going on?"

No, it was not a spot inspection.  They had come together.  But why was Frenchy with the PO? Had he got busted?  Had he reported us to him?

Into the hallway I saw my shadow cast from the light behind me and I worried that it might be seen.  So cringing at the doorway I craned to listen, but barely could and could not see.  I ached to know what was happening.  I felt sick to think the PO would discover what was going on.

Frenchy would later describe what I could not see or overhear. 

My wife knew who had arrived, but lay still under the sheet.  The PO, recognizing the boys visiting, made some accusative comment, supposing they were here for no good. 

He saw the bare feet and legs sticking out from under the sheet, and challenged Jon: "What's this?"

Jon shrugged in insolence as he usually does and goes to sit sprawl on the easy chair, to observe the thing with nonchalance.  I heard Frenchy laugh and go into some banter.  He told the PO it was Jon's girlfriend.

The PO wondered---and this I heard---"Where are John and Karen?"

Whatever he said, I did not hear, but Frenchy said Jon told him we had gone out.  He said he didn't know when we'd be back.  The PO asked if that ever happened before or happened a lot---something like that.  Frenchy didn't want us to get into trouble so he said "No."  But of course Jon said "Yes."

The PO was annoyed.  He nudged my wife's leg with the tip of his shoe:  "Who's this then?"

Frenchy again tried to joke and explain.  Jon spoke up. 

"What's she doing here?"

Jon said something. 

"Why's she laying here like that?"

Jon made some snotty reply.  Frenchy tried to make a joke.

"What's your name, honey?"

Karen did not reply.  Frenchy told him that she was shy. 

"She got any clothes on?"

Jon said: "Nope."  Frenchy tried to explain.

Nothing was said for a moment.  I wanted to look but I did not dare. 

"God damn," I heard the PO say.   Jon had got up and lifted up the sheet to show my naked wife---or at least the back of her---up to her head, where she had grabbed the end of it in desperation to keep him from showing her face. 

Holding up the sheet Jon wickedly smirked at his shamed victim and so my wife lay there, naked, face down, her hands up to her face, hoping the PO would not recognize her.

"You were fucking her?" He asked.  "She's what? Twenty-three, twenty-five? Ain't she a little too old for you guys.  Where'd you get her? She a whore?"

Frenchy laughed and explained she was just some lady from the neighborhood.

"Who?", the PO asked.

"You wouldn't know her," Frenchy insisted.

"Ain't bad. . . . " the PO commented, "Roll over, honey, lemme see your stuff. . . . "

There was a prolonged silence. During it, my wife turned obediently, if reluctantly---what choice did she have?---rolling over onto her back, while drawing the sheet to keep her face covered in shame, but her body below her neck was stretched out before him completely naked and exposed for the PO to see her and enjoy. He saw her shaved swollen cunt.  He saw her randy tits.

He liked what he saw.  He said so.  He asked why they had written "PIG" on her stomach.  Jon said something I did not hear. 

I heard the PO say: " Nice tits."

Frenchy asked if he wanted to fuck her. 

The PO grunted: "Not now." He told my wife crudely: "Show me your cunt, honey. Lift your legs and spread 'em."  And Frenchy told me how my wife pathetically drew up her feet and let her legs fall open, knees akimbo, and trembling, held herself like that so her cum-gummy cunt gaped for them.  The PO grunted appreciatively at the obscene sight and put the sole of his shoe onto her cunt and pressed it hard on her clit.  Frenchy said Karen took in her breath.  The PO told her: "Feel your tits." 

With wife cupped her breasts, holding them out for them, nipples popping up, and the PO smirked and said "Yeah. . . .  that's the way" and rubbed his shoe on her splayed cunt, putting the toe into her sore hole.  My wife whimpered.  They all laughed.

The PO said: "She's better than last one, Frenchy."

"Yeah," Frenchy agreed, "She likes it."

"I can see that. . . . " rubbing her clit with the sole of his shoe, "Yeah. . . . "

"Shit . . . . I got to go. . . . " the PO took his shoe off her cunt, but my wife left her legs splayed, her cunt raw and chafed and open to his view. She felt their eyes on her, legs trembling, holding her breasts for them, like fruits to eat.  She felt more ashamed now than ever, but held her pose for them.  She felt certain that he knew who she was, she later told me. 

"You still got that camera I got for you. . . . " the PO asked Frenchy. His voice trailed off.

I thought he must have left; there was a long silence.

John must have found the Polaroid camera out in dining room where I had last seen it on the table.  He had left it there since taking photos of the scene of Karen with the dog and Frenchy's friends.

There was noise and laughter.  The PO said:  ""You know what I want.  So we got what I need, you know. . . Grab that fucking sheet, Jon. . . .   Come on . . .  It's no use fighting it, honey. . . .  I'm gonna see it all, Mrs.H------- . . . . Yeah, I know who you are. . . . I know everything. . . . Jon, take that fucking sheet away . . . yeah, that's it . . . . You look good, honey."

There was another pause and silence.  Some shuffling.  Laughter.  Low comments.  More laughter.

The PO took charge:  "Stand up.  Go stand over there. . . .  Yeah, like that. . . .    Put your hands down, honey.  Look at the camera. . . .  The guys are gonna love to see this; they been talking about you, wondering what you gonna look like without no clothes on . . .  Love those tits!  What? No smile, Karen? 'Spose we're on a first name basis, now I seen you like this . . . ."

Jon laughed at the sarcasm in the PO's voice.    

There was the flash and whirr and buzz of the Polaroid. They took three pictures in succession.  The PO took away two of them.  One was given to Frenchy.  He showed it to me later.  In the picture was my wife, sadly looking at the camera the PO aimed at her, and she---completely naked in front of him---did not smile. A pathetically naked ordinary housewife. Forced to strip for some teenaged boys. Looking so pale, and sexually used. Swollen shaved cunt. The insult "pig" smeared on her belly in lipstick.

Yes, Frenchy would tell me, the PO had all along known it was her, naked under that sheet.  Now he had her stand up naked in front of him.  Looking her over.  Making comments.  She abashed. Ashamed.  She could not even think of all the implications.  I was dizzy with the thoughts.

I heard their voices indistinctly---his and Frenchy's in insinuating and teasing undertones, and her almost inaudible abject replies---What did they say to her?

Then, there was a long silence with noises. I imagined things happening.  Was he touching her? Was she shoved down to suck his cock?

"Show me your cunt.... no, not that way... Get on the floor over there . . . . Yeah . . . . Lean back. Spread your legs, Mrs H-------. Lift your legs... yeah.... Gimme that one too, Jon."

"So how long you been fucking her?"

Frenchy said it was since Saturday.

"Does he know?"

"Yeah," said Frenchy.

"And he don't care?"

I did not hear the reply. But they laughed.

"Stick that in her butt..."

More laughter.

"You gonna fuck her in the butt?"

"Damn straight," said Jon.

Frenchy explained about the party coming up. But then the P.O. interupted, loudly announced that he had no time, that he had to go, and added proudly that he would straight away go and show the pictures of my naked wife to the other agents in the office.  They were looking forward to seeing them, he said.

I remembered the scene in the office -- just a month ago -- when we were hired. Thr other agents, taking an interest in us, assisting the job interview, stood Karen apart from me against the office wall and took several polarods of her "for the file", they said, but smirking. How neat and proper, she had been---dressed in her best church-going dress.

Now they would get out those filed photos and lay them on the desk and compare them; laying them side by side, with these and would listen to all the stories Frenchy must have told the P.O. 

I remember: how they had made her stand against the wall for a head to toe shot.  I had seen the leers.  I overheard comments.  One had winked at the PO.  Another nodded approval at him when he asked rhetorically if they ought to hire us, though my wife was so young---it was at my wife he was grinning knowingly when he gave his approval.

So now they saw her--my wife, before and after -- standing there with one of them - with her clothes on that day and now - in a photo standing there in the Group Home without no clothes on at all, facing the camera, completely naked, head to toe. "When will we see her for ourselves?" they'd ask. 

Now I unserstood.  It had all been planned.  Frenchy must have told them from the get go.  That's why the PO came with him.  Now the PO would bring in the picture to his buddies.  They would huddle around and these pictures of her -- for Christ's sake, where was her husband?---naked in front of those boys and in front of the PO, who took the picture himself; he told them as they studied her, about how he had found her on the floor naked under a sheet, while three teenaged boys having just fucked her were talking about her, and so of course the agents in the office would be wanting a chance to fuck her too and would say so. 

This was hopeless.  This was nuts.

I heard the front door opened and heard someone going down the staircase.  Frenchy was taking him out to the street, talking to him.   What were they talking about? 

When I came out, I found her coming down the hallway, wrapped in the sheet; she would not talk to me; she would not even look at me.  She went in the bedroom behind me and shut the door.  

I picked up my underpants, my T-shirt, and my pants, and put them on.  Jon came back into the living room and said nothing to me about my getting dressed. He turned on the TV and draping a leg over the armchair's arm bit a banana and watched Gilligan's Island.

Frenchy came back, grinning.  "Hey, dad, how you doin'?"

"Did he touch her?"  I asked immediately.   

"What you think?" Frenchy grins: "Sure. Looked her in the eyes.  Handled her tits.  Put his finger in her slit.  Kissed her, gave her a little tongue, and she kissed him back. She was sorry to see him go."  He laughed, shook his head.

"Where is she?"

"In the bedroom." I said.

Frenchy turned on Jon. "What the fuck, man? What you been doing?"

Jon shrugged, still munching his banana. 

"I told you to be easy."

"Curtis took her for the pot.  And even gave us some more."  He looked at he coffee table where was a dime bag.  Hadn't the PO noticed that? I wondered.  This is nuts.

"And the pennies too. . . .   A penny a popsicle. . . . " Frenchy saw the empty jar, the spread of pennies.

Frenchy did not grasp the metaphor until Jon explained that for every cock she took in her mouth that popped spunk, they tossed a penny in the jar for her.  "Thirty, thirty eight cents. . . .  Count it yourself."  He laid the banana peel on the armchair and watched Gilligan running away from Mr. Howell and the Professor who chased him to do something foolhardy for them.

"I told you not to do that. . . . " Frenchy disapproved but he was grinning.

"They had her all night," I added.

Frenchy looked over at me like I was not there or what I said was meaningless. He was angry with Jon.  I was surprised at that.  I supposed he knew.  But Jon was off on his own.

Jon laughed and recalled and pointing at me, told Frenchy how his girlfriend Shirley had come over with her little sister and her girl friends and "Dad here stripped in front of the girls and jerked off for them. . . . " 

Frenchy shook his head.  "Jon, you're gonna bring down the cops. . . . " 

"Ah, fuck it," Jon got up and left the room.

Frenchy sighed and slumped down in the armchair that he vacated.

He looked at me intensely. "You really do that?"

I tried to explain.  He made me recite the details.  He thought the way the girls played with my "boner" (as he called it) was very funny.  He liked how they squealed to see me lose control and ejaculate.  I didn't tell him about my eating my sperm.

He commented to the air: "Yeah, you know they complain but they like it. . . .  Like your wife.  She probably liked what Curtis did to her."

He sat up and said he better go see how she is.  She should take a long soaking bath and get some good food and a good long sleep.  "Need to let her heal up for the weekend. . . . "  I did not know what he meant.  I watched the closing credits and song to Gilligan's Island and heard the doors in the hallway signifying that Frenchy was guiding Karen into the bathroom and washing her naked body.  He liked to wash her as she stood up in the tub of warm water.  Debriefing her playfully about the events of last night and saying soothing things to her as he lathered and gently fondled her.  She lay back in the tub and he washed and rinsed her hair. He kissed her closed eyelids and told her how he loved her.  She was the one thing about this that comforted her, she would later tell me.  She really believed he loved her, no matter what he did to her and what he let others do to her.  She would do these things for him.

While she was being bathed, Steve and Larry came home.  Steve looked suspiciously at the coffee table and the spread of pennies but went to his room without a comment and a question to me. He would find out from Jon anyway.

When Karen came out of the bathroom, bundled in towels, I could smell the warmth and soapy scents waft out in the living room.  Frenchy dried her hair and body in the living room and found clean underpants and bra for her.  He changed the bedclothes, taking away semen-soiled tousled sheets, and putting on fresh clean ones.  He tucked her nicely into bed.  He kissed her as she beamed at him and he promised to make her breakfast.

Frenchy found Larry foraging for food in the refrigerator.  I heard them exchange stories of what they had been doing. I overheard then how Frenchy had gone to see the PO and they had done some business. 

Larry came back with a bowl of breakfast cereal and switched channels on the TV until he found something he liked and sat on the sofa to eat. He never said a word to me.  Frenchy made bacon and eggs for Karen---some toast, a cup of tea.  He took it in to her and stayed beside her sitting on the bed as she ate and chatted with her about things that would not bother her. 

He drew curtains and left her to sleep in the darkened room under a fresh sheet.  She would sleep until nighttime. 

And when she got up, Frenchy fed her again and told everyone that tomorrow Karen would have day of rest and could do anything she wanted.

The point was especially made with Jon in mind, who was ready to give her a go again.  Steve and Larry looked disappointed too.

Wearing one of his T-shirts, Karen cuddled next to Frenchy on the sofa all evening as we watched TV and the boys drank beers.  At about ten Frenchy led her to our bedroom and took her to bed alone.  It annoyed Jon and it angered Steve.  It confused Larry, but he stayed and ate popcorn with me and watched an old movie till late.  I slept on the sofa again.