A Devil's Wage

"Get to work," he said, pointing at it, striding the few steps between them as Tony pushed my wife down to her knees. "...Come on, I said suck it!"

Ellen, stripped to only her panties, knelt there between them, disconnected, panicked. Her wedding band and engagement ring sparkled on her finger.

"I want to go home," she pleaded suddenly, words choked, tears springing to her eyes.

"Time for doing that was ten minutes ago, bitch," he said flatly, bringing the bulbous head of his penis to my wife's mouth, pressing it to her closed lips, pressing against her till she finally opened her mouth, in an inch, then more, her lightly rouged mouth stretching before the steady pressure with Tony gripping her head in place. I was up on my feet, reacting without thought; Art leveled a finger at me, menacing, his words chilling: "Sit back down, buddy. You had all the time in the world to walk out. I'll put you through the fucking wall if you wanna get tough now."

"You better sit, Frank," Tony hissed, then closer to my wife's ear. "...And you'd better get with the program or he'll do something brave and you'll be mopping pieces of him up off the floor for an hour. Get that picture in your fucking skull!"

Art studied me closely, waiting for any movement at all, still partially in Ellen's mouth. After a second he nodded and put almost the entire length of his cock down my wife's throat, her mouth stretched wide, making her gag as it literally sealed off her airway, letting her thrash a bit, a few thrusts as he enjoyed whatever he was feeling then, pulling clear as she gasped for breath, eyes watering.

"See, wasn't that fun," he said, lifting her up off the ground as easily as child would lift a doll.

"Give us the couch," Tony ordered, motioning for me to step aside, yanking his shirt up over his head, his torso hairy and every bit as muscled as his friend's. I felt myself step back, frozen there, not reacting to what was happening as Art tussled my wife onto the couch, straddling her as he reached down and tore her panties off, putting his weight on her, hands roaming wherever they wanted.

"...Sit down on a chair and watch," Art said to me as he twisted Ellen's legs upward, the tip of his cock lost in the dark tangle of her pubic thatch.

"A condom..." I heard myself mutter plaintively, knowing in that instant that it was weakest and stupidest thing I'd ever said.

"Yeah, sure," he laughed and deliberately drove the entire length of his dick into Ellen's vagina, eliciting a gasp from her, back arching up with absolute shock of it, positioning her calves against his chest, thrusting into her again, then again, each time more savagely. I sank back onto the nearest chair, watching as he fucked her, the sight of his thick glistening cock coming almost completely out and then burying inside her again and again, his breath coarsening, hands gripping her around the hips, anchoring her for the full impact of each penetration, pounding into her with a crazed fury—and then my wife gasped, an involuntary sound as he body betrayed her, a hitch in her breathing, her stomach fluttering with each stroke, another gasp, head lolling back into the leather cushion, throat puffing as she moaned, then again, eyes clamped.

Her first orgasm stiffened her like a clubbed fish, a fluttering convulsion as it tore through to her brain, a long shrill shriek that brought Art's pumping to a pause, my wife's pelvis gyrating for more contact with his cock, a bleat of utter pleasure as her tiny toes wriggled with the climax.

"...Want more?" he wheezed, pinching her cheeks between his fingers, making her nod, cock still buried to the hilt in her pussy, her eyes slowly opening, the tears of a few minutes ago were drying to her cheeks. She struggled to look at me off to the side, then back to the man atop her. "...I wanna hear you ask, baby."

Ellen tried one more time to look my way and then nodded, just by the slightest.

"Say it!"

"Yes," she whimpered, her thick reddish nipples peaked.

"Fuckin' cunt," he laughed and started banging away at her again, in less than a minute I watched my wife start to slip over, the familiar gasp through gritted teeth, the roiling abdominal muscles. She groaned, again writhing on each lunge, more of his weight on her—Art grabbed her by the throat, a sudden thrashing as he cut the airway, her finger's instinctively clawing in on his forearm. I was getting up again, up on my feet...

"Fucking don't do it!" Tony shouted threateningly. "Just give it a second."

Ellen's face went from red to purple , her eyes bulging, Art fucking her at a frenzied pace, then another gasp, strangled this time as my wife came again, an ear-splitting scream as he released his grip. She had her hands dug into his hips now, as if urging him to fuck her harder. A violent spasm wracked her from head to toe.

"Here," Tony said and flicked something under her nose, cupping his hand around her face as he grinned maniacally, Art pounding into her over and over. Ellen was choking on it, still coming, shrieking again and again; unintelligible bites of words, one prolonged devastating orgasm.

"Fucking popper," Tony laughed, holding up a small plastic tube for me to see. I didn't know what an amyl nitrite popper was then, never even heard of one before. I couldn't move if I wanted, just watching my Ellen being consumed with this—I hadn't been ready for any of it. Art looked over at me, staring hard as his features contorted, the cords on his neck standing taut, a deep grunt as he ejaculated inside my wife.

""Like that, girl?" he said tauntingly, completely out of breath, Ellen quivering beneath him, eyelids fluttering. "...Like nothing you ever had before."

He pulled out with a sickening wet swoosh, his cock flagging already.

"Take your turn," he said as Tony pulled his jeans off, his cock sprung free, thick, even longer than Art's even though he was physically the smaller man. He climbed atop her, biting a nipple, sucking it hard, kissing her mouth, her cheeks limning the serpentine probing of his tongue. Ellen opened her eyes, kissing him back now, reaching down for his cock without any thought, finding it, guiding it against her vulva, grinding her teeth as he roughly pushed into her.

I looked away, averting my eyes from the way she took it, looking back as he pulled up to a sitting postion, with Ellen sitting atop his lap, straddling his waist, leaning back as she started to ride it, their eyes locked.

"What you think?" Art said, standing in front of me, interposed between my girl and this man mating with her, his own sperm swilling inside her body. He was still completely nude; I realized then that I'd never before been in the same room with a naked man who was aroused. He glanced back at the two of them fucking, Tony lifting her along the hips, pummeling her down onto his shaft, a peripheral view of her tits bouncing up and down with each parry. "...She's a sweet lay, that wife of yours."

I stared up at him vacantly. What did he expect me to say, did he want a compliment.

Ellen groaned loudly, grimacing as Tony leveraged himself with a grip on her collarbone. I couldn't see her face, her head back angled back as if drowning in it. I watched them, I didn't feel anything. I watched because I had to, minutes going by, the two of them lost in their frantic coupling, my wife coming again and again with this man she didn't even know, dropping her off a cliff as he reached his own peak and filled her with more semen.

"Fuckin' sweet," Art said quietly as he picked up his boxers and wiped sweat from his face, watching Tony push her off his pole at last, Ellen cringing into a tight ball, not looking at any of us. I thought I could hear her sobbing, but it could just as easily have been the raggedness of her fucked out breathing. He looked at me, smirked meanly: "...Why don't you give her a fuck? Let us watch."

I was shaking my head.

"Put it up her ass, man," Tony chortled thickly, sitting nude alongside her, reaching up to caress Ellen's smooth behind.

"That's what I would do," Art whispered conspiratorially. "Teach that cunt a lesson. ...You see how she came for us. My fucking cum's inside her. Don't that get you mad?"

"I'd be mad if my girlfriend just fucked somebody like that, bet your bottom dollar on that," Tony chided, still touching my wife's soft bare skin, reaching around to feel one of her lovely tits just because he could.

"Come on, you gotta admit it is some pretty messed up shit," Art whispered. "You know you ain't ever gonna fuck her again without seeing my cock inside her ...she'll be kissing those little girls of yours and you'll be seeing my big one stuck in her pretty mouth."

"Hell, I knew she was going to fuck for me from that first time I talked to her," Tony mused, gazing down at his softening hard on. "Then I saw you standing there in your house and I just knew you'd be into watching it all. Don't ask me how, man, but I just fucking knew."

Art stood up, his cock swinging like a pendulum. He was looking down at me, a hand on my shoulder.

"Come on, man," he urged. "Go fuck her up the ass. ...She like it like that?"

I looked up at him and felt tears welling in my eyes. I tried to blink them away, felt one break down my cheek.

"You want to suck it, Frank?" he said, stepping closer so that he was angled directly in front of me.

"Go on, give him a blow job, Frankie," Tony laughed, his hand continuing to roam over my wife's body. "We'll let Ellen watch for a change."

"No?" Art said after a minute. "...Sure?"

"He's thinking."

"Yeah, well he can think while I have another go on his whore wife," Art said caustically, stepping back at last. He looked down at Ellen with pure scorn now. "...Let's do her on the table."

"Absolutely," Tony answered with a grim smile, pulling Ellen up to her feet with ease, steadying her as her legs tottered. She met my eyes for an instant; she'd been weeping, eyes red and swollen, her inner thighs were streaked with gouty trails of their sperm. Art stroked her face, offering a tender kiss on her cheek, letting his tongue linger on her skin.

"On the pool table," he said softly, looking back to me. "Just bend yourself right on over it."

_______________

That was almost two years ago.

I'd be lying if I said our marriage hadn't been damaged to a large extent. We both harbor relics of betrayal from those three and a half hours at Art Carson's house.

I could've saved her from it, and that is a simple fact. I could have stopped it on so many levels, even if had only been to get up and take the beating they'd threatened me with. I know she sees me sitting there on that chair, unwilling to pay a price for her, this even irrespective of the fact that I shouldn't have ever wanted any of it to happen in the first place.

And I see things too, the way she climaxed so easily and continuously for them—a man ejaculating in your wife is something that you can't readily blink away, even when it doesn't result in pregnancy or some other more terrible consequence. It is just the sight of them doing it, looking into my face with pure triumph as they pumped their seed into her fertile womb.

I'd watched them each take another turn with her that day, just sitting there like a piece of the furnishings, my lovely wife treated to another popper as they'd bent her across that billiards table, even more brutish in their technique now, dominating, Ellen literally clawing up the felt as Tony finally drove himself fully into her anus.

Art had wrapped her in a fleece blanket, her ruined clothes in a paper shopping bag, and carried her to the backseat of my car, laying the game tickets on the empty passenger seat with a wink, taunting that he wouldn't fuck her "used" cunt again even if I was paying serious cash.

I'd driven the hour back to our home, Ellen completely out of it, muttering and sobbing, drifting in and out of sleep, twice coming awake with an anguished scream, the amyl nitrite playing hell in ways I didn't comprehend. I wondered if they'd spiked her drink too, she was just that far gone with everything. I watched her sleep for nineteen hours straight—I'd lain beside her, holding her, smelling their sweat in her hair.

Two years ago.

I love my wife, and she loves me. We don't talk about that day anymore; ever. I don't think I've mentioned it aloud in over a year. We have our home and our girls. Secreted away in a locked drawer in my desk I have the two football tickets, sealed in a nondescript white envelope. The last of my wife's holiday certificates is in there with them. I want to burn them, but can't.

Two years ago.

I make love to my wife now, gentle, loving. We stretch for our orgasm, lying beside each other spent in the darkness. I kiss her soft skin. I feel the fullness of her breasts, each maybe a bit more slackened with age.

An image flashes in my mind of Art Carson biting down on her nipple.

I draw back from her in the blackness and see everything. You dirty slut, he came in you...dirty slut whore...

Just for that instant, then it goes.

...I close my eyes in the darkness and I try not to imagine what Ellen thinks of me.