tagLoving WivesA World Turned Rightside Up - FTDS

A World Turned Rightside Up - FTDS

byFinishTheDamnStory©

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Rightside Up - my ending to Bobby96600's series A World Turned Upside Down. Thanks for his permission to continue his effort.

http://www.literotica.com/s/a-world-turned-upside-down-ch-01

Bobby96600 wrote a story. I won't summarize it, it's very short and only takes a few seconds to read it. I don't believe it was intended to be a satire, but in many ways it comes off as one, including one of the wimpiest protagonists ever, who at the end of the story said he was going to get revenge!

For some reason, I found that funny. I had to do SOMETHING with it...The author was most gracious in granting me permission.

Maintaining the 'style' of the original story, there may be a few grammatical errors in this follow-up. Much fewer than there were before this edit. There are numerous racial epithets as well, keeping in line with the original. Honestly, I find them rather useless as a literary tool, but the original story was so littered with them, it would be hard to maintain any kind of continuity without them.

There are too damn many intriguing stories that are never completed. If I find a story that's been left hanging 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.

This is not my usual, there are elements of satire, and some mockery of original elements of the base story. Payback is deliberate and extensive. Very dark response, some would say extreme, in spite of elements of humor and satire. I never said I was a nice guy.

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


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I lay at the bottom of the stairs, trying to decide what to do. It was obvious she held me in udder contempt. The interracial mutant bastard fucking my wife of 10 years was a foot taller, and a good 100 lbs heavier than me. He was a monster and let's face it, I'm not all that big.

A bookkeeper by calling, I'm 5'3", maybe a buck thirty. Hell, my wife is bigger than me. It didn't mean I was going to let the bastard get away with it. He had the brawn, but I knew I had the brains. At least I hoped so.

Then again, I had something else going for me, she didn't know. I wasn't always the week specimen I was today. I had been a Green Beret, a front lines military analyst, Spec Ops interrogator. A bad experience with chemical warfare had nearly killed me. I'd spent almost a year in intensive care. I knew I'd never get my full strength back, but I had learned to live with it. As a matter of fact, I was getting weaker over the last few months, but not enough to weaken my resolve!

A muted 'Fuck me!' echoed down the stairs, [click] indicating they were still going strong. I wasn't sure how long he'd last, screwing the love of my life, my wife of 10 years, but I figured I'd be smart to hurry. If you're going to do something, no sense procrastinating, right? That's one of the things they taught me in the service. Just a few nights earlier I'd been viewing some prank videos on YouTube. That gave me the core idea. I'd just have to enhance it.

I dumped a quart of oil in a large pot, and turned on the burner. I used a second bottle to oil the space just beyond our bedroom door, at the top of the stairs. I kept the last few inches next to the wall clear for my getaway.

I greased the middle of the stairs the same way, while listening to my wife's solicitous mantra of need. "Fuck me, you fucker!" [click] I lifted the glass surface off of the coffee table, wrapped it in a towel, and beat it until I was happy. I opened the towel on the stairs, scattering the shards of glass their full length.

I could smell the oil starting to heat up, and got cracking. Timing was everything.

At the bottom of the stairs I put together my final ingredients. Since I no longer owned a gun, and played no sports, I was somewhat limited. I settled for the fireplace poker, and the kitchen cleaver as a last resort. I grabbed a hank of rope, and cut it in half, putting a slip loop on each end, making sure it wasn't too loose.

I paused a moment, listening. Things had gone quiet for a moment. I feared I had run out of time. Then the tell-tale headboard banging started up again. "That's it," my wife's dulcet tones echoed down the hall, "Fuck me! Fuck my tight white pussy with that big black cock!" [click][click]

Reassured, I whipped out my perfectly average dick, nearly six inches long when erect, and pissed on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. That wasn't difficult, since I'd been holding back the urge from the moment I saw that jungle bunny's huge member making my wife's belly bulge with each powerful thrust. I yanked the electric cord off the lamp, and exposed the last four inches or so of wire. I put one end in the urine, and the other I carefully laid on the step before the bottom, taping it to the edge. I plugged the cord back in and stepped carefully away. I once again thanked my lucky stars for the years of Spec Ops insurgency training.

With my oven mitts on, I turned off the burner, safety first, and grabbed the heavy pot of boiling oil, an old military standby. I trudged up the stairs, awkwardly, my feet on the outer edges. At the top I heard them still going at it. I smiled to myself, figuring that was about to change.

I opened the door quietly, pot in hand. There they were. Derrick, her boyfriend as I had just learned, was big and black and had a cock the size of my forearm. At least as thick. He had my spouse on her belly, pounding his enormous dick into her, while she screamed at him to 'fuck her harder'. [click] His legs were spread wide around hers, and I could see where they joined. It would have been hard to miss. They were both facing away from me. Allah must love me. It was perfect.

I walked up behind them and grabbed the pot at the top and bottom. It must have weighed a good 10 lbs, and it took almost all my strength to maneuver it. It was difficult, but I knew the result would be worth it!

"FUCK ME, YOU BIG BLACK BASTARD!" [click] my slut-wife of over a decade screamed, for what must be the 100th time. Ninety-eight since I'd discovered her, to be precise. I'm a bean counter. Smartest in all the county. Each new passionate plea had me clicking the mechanical counter at my side.

"FUCK ME!" [click] Ninety-nine.

"OK, YOU'RE FUCKED!" I shouted back, and heaved the boiling oil between their legs at point blank range. A perfect shot, the excess splashed up his back, and on the back of her thighs. I pressed the bottom of the pot against his ass, listening to the sizzle, yielding another great result.

I backed up to the doorway, waiting for the inevitable retaliation. The monster in our bed, squealing like a pig, saw me and leapt onto the floor. Ok, maybe not 'leapt', stumbled was more like it, but I like the word leapt. Leapt, leapt, leapt.

"Catch, Sweetie!" I told my wife, tossing her the scalding pot. I laughed as she caught it against her belly, screaming again.

I think the massive ebony beast lumbering my way was trying to say something, but I'll be damned if I could make it out between his own crying and my slut-wife's incoherent shrieks. He started to gain momentum, and I decided it was time for a strategic withdrawal. I could hear him only a few feet behind me, as I frog-walked down the stairs, sticking to the sides.

I looked over my shoulder when I was about halfway down, and saw Blulk (that's Black Hulk, if you didn't get it) appear at the door. I took my time on the next few stairs, until I knew he'd seen me. He bounced off the wall, rushing my way, growling something about killing me or some such nonsense. Fat chance. He had no idea who he was facing. Green Beret genius bean counter. It doesn't get any more dangerous than that. Forget the Seals and Marines. Special Forces baby. Uh-Rah!

Think about it. John Cena, the Marine, Steven Segal, the navy seal, or John Wayne, the Green Beret. Who would you want on your side?

Blulk hit the oil slick before he could build up a full head of steam, but it was enough. His feet started kicking out like a cartoon character, and then he was falling down the stairs face first at a high velocity.

Too fast. I ran down the last couple of steps and jumped clear of the yellow puddle from about two steps up. A massive leap for me, but my adrenaline was pumping!

I grabbed the fireplace poker just in time to see him sliding down the last few stairs. I noticed that his body had wiped the first few steps clear of the glass, and he'd left an ever growing blood streak down the remaining steps.

As he hit the bottom, his screaming abruptly stopped, as he lay in my piss, his body shaking until the circuit breaker popped. Luckily it was still bright enough for me to see, as I took my time liberally applying the poker to the exposed parts of his unconscious body. Which was all of it.

Breaking a leg is harder than it looks. I finally had to put his foot on the final riser and jump on his calf from a few steps up. On the fourth one I heard the long awaited crack. I never fell once. I might be small but I'm nimble, my first excursion down the steps notwithstanding. My trusty poker assured the break was complete.

Hands and feet break much easier as I knew.

My wife was still screaming upstairs, but no sound was coming from the degenerate animal at my feet, except for semi-conscious grunts. The poker was heavy, but I managed. The little hook on the end was useful, especially when I stood on top of him, swinging it down between his legs repeatedly.

I'm a bean counter. The best around, or so Mom says. I know everything I own, and its value to the nearest penny. This grunting beast had taken my most valued possession, and reduced her value to nothing. Nothing! You don't steal from a bean counter. Especially not one whose a genius!!!

I was exhausted, sweating heavily, and I knew he was too heavy to move by myself. Taking the ropes, I put one around his neck for later, and carried the other one with me. I went back up the stairs, where my zero-value slut-wife was lying on the bed, grasping between her legs and crying. The loop of the rope fit over her head nicely. I gave it a tug, and it pulled tight.

I don't think she even knew I was there, until I yanked on the rope.

She gasped, grabbing at it, but I kept pulling. She whined and cried, following me on her hands and knees. At the top of the stairs, I started my wide stanced walk, and once I cleared a few steps, gave a hard tug, and watched her start the slide down after me.

She did a good job of cleaning up a lot of the oil, and most of the remaining glass. She was trying to talk, begging, pleading, sobbing, but I wasn't in the mood to hear her explanations, or listen to her petty complaints. She chose this path, when she decided to insult one of America's finest!

She was laying on her lover, a fitting ending to her little journey. I gave her a good hard jab with the poker. "Get up, Lynn. You've got things to do."

She whined that she was hurt, and that she was sorry. I yanked on the rope forcefully and she stood.

"Drag your boyfriend this way," I told her. I pulled her rope, and jabbed her with the poker again. She whimpered as she tugged with all her might, his mammoth body slowly moving.

My darling spouse looked like shit. A big curved burn mark was on her belly. Her front was streaked with blood, chunks of glass embedded in her skin. From her ass to her knees, the back of her legs were lobster red.

I liked the look on her.

It was only a few feet to the basement door, and then a score or so steps down, (score, another cool word I hardly ever get to use. Four-score and seven...) but it took her almost that many minutes to drag her boyfriend that far, crying the whole time. I hated the mess he made of our hardwood floors, but some things can't be helped.

Somehow, she got him all the way downstairs, bouncing along each step. At least she had gravity on her side. See, that's how you can tell I'm a genius. I knew the attic would be too much trouble. Let nature assist you, whenever possible.

I noticed the loop around his neck was digging into his skin. "Buddha's beard, Lynn! You weren't supposed to kill him!" I laughed. It was difficult, but I managed to loosen the rope, before tying it to the exposed steel post. My loving wife was curled up on the ground, sobbing. So much for loyalty to her boyfriend.

He wasn't breathing so I applied old fashioned CPR. I kicked him in the gut and chest until he gasped. Good enough for me. The way his legs looked, he wasn't going to get up and walk away. Not on those feet, anyway.

I tugged my wife's leash. "Up Lynn, up!"

"I can't," she groaned. "I'm dying. I need to go to the hospital."

A couple of whacks of the poker convinced her she wasn't dying. At least not yet.

"No sitting down on the job Honey. There's so much you still has to do!"

"Please, baby! she sobbed pitifully, her naked body shaking. "I'm sorry!"

I pulled her along, but was very disappointed when she collapsed on the first step, unconscious. Damn it. She always was a lazy thing. In the field I would have gigged her, and had her up for an Article 15.

From the garage, I retrieved all the rope I could find. I made sure loverboy was going nowhere, and gagged him to keep him quiet. I wasn't done with him. No, not by a long shot.

For my wife, I had different plans. Lots of rope, lots of knots, pretty patterns. I was in no hurry, and took my time. I had her hogtied quite nicely before I was through.

I went upstairs, looked at our beautiful home, and sighed. Once again, I'd have to do her job for her. I'd clean the steps, fix the circuit breaker, take care of the floor. I'd even change the sheets, and flip the mattress. That was a hellacious job, but I'd done it once before. I knew I could manage.

I wasn't going to do everything for her. She sure as shit was going to dig loverboy's hole in the backyard himself. But there was no rush for that.

~ * ~ * ~

I sat at the cozy table for two, toasting my darling wife. "To us," I whispered.

"To us." She sipped her wine.

She looked great. She was wearing my favorite outfit. I too had dressed for the occasion. Her adulterous affair had nearly destroyed us. It was time to move forward. She had betrayed me, but it was one time in 10 years. She deserved a chance to redeem herself.

It had been a week since that time. A long difficult week, for both of us I imagine.

She leaned forward for more bread, but the chain around her collar pulled her up short. "May I have another piece of bread Honey?" she asked nicely.

I was feeling generous. It was her third piece. A feast. I pushed it across to her, and continued eating my filet mignon.

"I'm sorry," she whined.

"Sorry doesn't cut it my love. I'm a bean counter. Everything gets counted. Credits and debits. Everything has to add up, balance. You have a massive debit. It's going to be difficult to reestablish any kind of equity here."

Her boyfriend moaned from his position a few yards away. It had taken an enormous amount of work in the last seven days, to get things to the point where I was considering allowing my wife an opportunity for restitution.

Lynn's eyes followed my own, landing on the form of her former boyfriend—or so she swore—strapped to the device I'd made for him.

It was a frame of black steel pipe. Nearly six feet in length, and four feet across, it had two cross poles at the two foot and four foot points. He was tied to it, face down, his arms and legs fastened securely. A rope secured him at the waste, so his body wouldn't flop around when he was upright or inverted.

The hard part had been making the hinged middle that allowed it to be rotated and tilted. Ropes and pulleys made it possible, there was no other way I could move his massive bulk on my own.

"What...what kind of debit," my wife asked softly.

I finished the last of my steak, leaving a few bites left unconsumed, watching her stare at it lustfully. "I have no idea how long this has been going on, and no way to verify any claims you make. I do know that in my presence, you begged him to have intercourse with you 99 times." I placed my manual clicker on the table.

"No Honey! That's impossible. I...I wouldn't do that," she whined.

"Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck me you black bastard...need I go on?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'd undo it if I could."

I smiled. "That's exactly what I was hoping you'd agree to. We need you to unfuck him."

The look of confusion on her face was priceless. Unlike her worthless self. "Unfuck? How?"

I opened the bag beside me. I pulled out a strap-on that was at least as big as our unwelcome guest's tool had been. "With this. He fucked you, now you will fuck him, returning his fucks, since we no longer want them."

She shuttered, handling the item carefully. "Ninety-nine times? What makes up a time?"

"I believe I have a solution for that as well. I'll show you once we've started. Shall we?"

I loosened her leash, giving her some room, while she tied her instrument of recompense around her waist. I passed her a large bottle of oil. When I replaced what I'd used in my preliminary payback, I'd purchased extra. She was getting the cheap stuff. The investment was too high already.

I adjusted the rotational settings, and lowered her black buck to the ground, belly first. He was aware, if not too cogent. I was keeping him fed and watered. I didn't want to lose him before we were through. Hell, I'd even set his leg and braced it, all those years of field medical training paying off. "He's all yours Lynn, honey. Time to start."

It took her a while to get in place, apply the oil to her disproportionately large artificial member, and start penetrating him. He was whining quite nicely, his threats to my health having been reduced to almost zero a few days earlier.

Once she had things worked out, she did a reasonable job. "Like this Honey?" she asked me nervously, pumping her toy into our guest.

"That's perfect. Keep going."

I removed my own clothing, using a better lube to grease up my own, not insubstantial condom covered member. She turned nervously when I took my place behind her. "You asked him 99 times, my dear. I believe it's time you asked me."

She nodded. "Fuck me, baby? Please?" Call me crazy, but I honestly believe she meant it.

"Hold still a moment, my love." She stopped her movement, and I placed my protected tool at the entrance to her traitorous pussy, and entered her. She whimpered a bit as I filled her. I'm not sure why; I'm surprised she could even feel me after having been used by her 'boyfriend'.

It took some work, but we found a reasonable rhythm, whereby she thrust herself back onto my cock, and I pushed her, and her huge rubber dong, into our groaning guest. I would pull out a few inches, and she'd back up and take me back in, only to repeat the exercise.

I normally didn't have a short fuse, but it had been a while. Months, actually. After a minute or so, I pushed her into him, and made her stay still, as I completed my own effort, coming for her. I pulled out of her, removed my used condom, and tacked it to the wall. "That's one," I told her.

She was back to pumping his quivering ass, paying off her debt in that black asshole's asshole. (See what I did there? Pretty cool, huh?)

"Can we go again?" she pleaded, repeatedly. (See, I remember my schooling. That's a Tom Swifty, right?)

I was willing. And there were additional avenues of recompense I was considering investigating. I walked over and stood beside her, my limp member at eye level. "I'll need help getting ready."

"You...you want me to suck it, don't you?" she asked nervously.

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