Final Act of Revenge Ch. 01

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I stirred slowly to the sound of traffic outside. My head was thumping something severe; my mouth was extremely dry and my bladder was full. My fucking back ached terribly, too. All the hallmarks of a good night, I thought to myself, as I slowly got my wits together.

Before I'd even tried to open my eyes, I'd wondered where I was briefly -- feeling quite confused, but then snippets came back to me slowly -- that's right, Mick's Clubhouse!

I sighed deeply, and with a moderate degree of effort, I opened one of my eyes just a bit. Early morning light filtered in an otherwise darkened room. One or two blokes were asleep on chairs over near the pool table -- but that appeared to be it -- there was no one else around from what I could gather.

I lay there a bit longer, trying to wake up fully. Fuck, I had a mean headache! I desperately needed a piss -- followed by a big drink of water.

Funny thing looking around a Clubhouse the morning after a big night -- all looks so different in the light of day. The place was grubby, furniture old and stained looking -- and it reeked of stale cigarette smoke and grog! Empty cans and stubbies littered the place; ashtrays overflowed onto tables and onto the bar, along with an assortment of chip packets and a few pizza boxes. Amazing how much atmosphere a few red lights and good music could do to a shithole like this at night, I thought with a degree of aloofness.

I looked at my watch -- half eight -- not bad for me, bit of a sleep in!

I took a deep breath, and with a lot of effort, I raised myself up from the saggy couch -- my fucking back was caning! The urge to piss suddenly became a priority, and I made a beeline for the toilets near the back door.

What a relief! I stood there urinating into the trough for what seemed like five minutes -- my head thumping as I tried to piece the night together. Claire must have driven the car back to the motel and left me, I guessed.

Finishing, my piss, I tucked me old fella back into my jeans after a good shake and turned to wash my hands in the sink. Splashing water onto my face, I looked into the mirror -- I looked a wreck. This sorta thing can really age a person, I thought. My eyes looked like the proverbial piss holes in the snow -- my pupils unusually pinned like I'd done some drugs or something...

I picked up a dirty glass from the bathroom window sill and after a quick rinse, filled it with water and drunk copiously -- I was soon feeling better by the minute.

Taking a few deep breaths, I walked back into the bar area -- still a little bewildered. Fuck the all-night parties -- I was well and truly past it!

I walked up to the bar -- I needed a caffeine fix and spotting some cans of Coke in the fridge, I helped myself to one, and popped the top. Reaching into my pocket for some change to pay for it, I was surprised to find I still had my car keys.

Then just how did Claire get back to the motel, I wondered?

Maybe a cab, I thought, or maybe Mick dropped her off. Then I remembered my phone -- that's right, I'd left it in the car. I'll give her a call, I thought, as I took another gulp of the Coke.

Leaning up against the bar, I looked at some of the paraphernalia that adorned the mirrored shelving along the back wall -- there was the usual sort of stuff -- pictures, weird looking spirits bottles, CD's and other bits of trivia. Then I spotted the rack of trophies -- not your usual trophies, mind you, nup, biker sorta trophies -- women's bras and g-strings and panties!

I sniggered at the childishness of it, but certainly remembered being a part of it all once and contributing the occasional special piece myself. One piece stood out -- most of the others were dusty with cobwebs over them, relics of past conquests -- but there hanging from its shoulder straps was an obvious new addition -- an expensive-looking black lace number. It looked nice, and I was tempted to have a better look -- maybe it still smelt like its donor? Shaking my head, I turned to walk back to the couch I'd slept on, just in case I'd left something there, and I'd only walked a couple of steps when I kicked a can on the floor causing me to look down at where I was going...

And then I saw it, lying near the ashtray that ran along the front of the bar near the foot rail -- some clothing or something -- something white.

Putting the can of Coke on the bar, I stooped down to reach for it and picked it up. The light wasn't all that good so I walked nearer the small window a few feet away and held the garment open with both hands...

And I felt like a shot of adrenalin had been injected straight into my heart! It was my wife's favourite crochet top! What in the fuck was going on? I felt a wave of panic wash over me -- what the fuck was she doing leaving her fucking good top here? And then I thought of the bra behind the bar!

No!

Hastily, I raced around to check it out too. It was her size -- it was a good French brand that she liked. But that was all only circumstantial -- the dead-give-away was the smell. I took a deep whiff -- and because I'd enjoyed her body aroma for nearly twenty years, there was not a doubt in my mind -- the bra was definitely hers!

Suddenly my heart pounded like an AK-47 going full noise -- where in the fuck was she?

I raced back around to where I'd picked up her top -- looking for more evidence, but of course hoping I wouldn't find any -- it seemed like an unbelievable nightmare!

I turned looking around the room again...

And then, over on the floor near the pool table I discovered something else.

"The fucking bastards, I'll fucking kill 'em!" I swore to myself as I picked up what I thought were probably Claire's jeans -- and after a quick check of the pockets I brought out a credit card invoice with her name on it, and instantly erased any doubt I may have had.

"Nooo... Not my wife!" I cried.

I racked my brain as to how this might have happened -- but for some reason, most of the night was a blank -- apart from a vague recollection of Claire talking to Mick by the bar -- Mick and some young punk...

I was having trouble figuring out how I'd gotten so messy -- it just didn't make sense? I could handle my alcohol quite well -- something of which I'd been famous for.

I looked at the two men still sleeping on their chairs -- and I felt an urge to smash their skulls in...

But instead, I resisted the almost overpowering urge to go ballistic -- although I was breathing so hard I was on the verge of hyperventilating. Trying to think rationally, I found myself looking over at the pool table -- unusually, I noticed that there were no balls or cues on the red felt top -- and who didn't leave at least a cue or two on a table after they'd finished a game? No, it had been cleared -- unlike anywhere else in the messy room!

Surely they didn't?

I did not want to believe it -- and standing there shaking like a leaf at what may have happened I looked over to where I'd slept, and there sitting on the small table next to it, amongst the stubbies and glasses, were my wife's high-heeled shoes -- side by side as if put there carefully. I did not know how I hadn't noticed them earlier.

But where the fuck was she?

Quickly, I stormed over and picked up the shoes -- then headed over to the darkened hallway that ran up toward the front of the old house and started checking the few doors on either side. The first couple were locked -- from the outside -- great latches with padlocks on both of them - but the third door wasn't...

Cautiously, I turned the old wobbly doorknob and opened the door inwards, almost afraid at what I might discover inside.

It was quiet inside, I noticed; too quiet -- and the room stunk! Far worse than the bar area -- the stench of smoke, grog; the pungent aroma of sweaty bodies; and the unmistakable scent of sex wafted out like a thick miasma to assault my befuddled senses!

My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness; I could only barely make out that there appeared to be no furniture in the room at first -- but then a breeze wafted in from a tiny, curtained window opposite -- no doubt encouraged by the door I now held open. And a sliver of light broke the gloom momentarily.

At least four mattresses were spread out on the floor -- the place was a fucking pigsty, with bottles and glasses lying everywhere, like there'd been another party going on in there too.

The light faded back to darkness as the curtain fell back into place -- and I fumbled along the wall for the light switch that surely was there somewhere...

Yep, found it, I sighed, my heart doing a millions miles an hour, and I flicked the switch down -- and a blue-coloured globe hanging from the ceiling cast a feeble glow down over the room...

And there she was -- my lovely wife for over ten years, and companion for the better part of twenty -- Claire was lying on her back with her arms spread out above her head, her hands facing upwards -- as if reaching for something no longer there; her long auburn hair splayed out in untidy ringlets around her pretty face -- she appeared to be in a deep sleep.

I looked quickly around the room -- bedding was strewn everywhere; old blankets and pillows; sheets and even a few bathroom towels -- and all of it was dirty and smelly, but no one else appeared to be in there with her -- a small mercy I knew, as I looked back down at her...

Apart from a corner of a filthy sheet that lay across her midriff and down partway to her thighs, she appeared to be completely naked -- this I had certainly expected, as I now held all of her clothes -- that is, with the exception of her lacy g-string that matched her bra. No, I hadn't found that dainty garment yet, and I wasn't too sure if my wife was now wearing them either -- although, admittedly, I would not be all that surprised if she wasn't.

I stood motionless, watching Claire for a few moments longer as she slept -- and suddenly a seething anger swept over me at my discovery -- anger at the bastards that had done this to my wife -- and an even deeper anger at myself for somehow allowing it to happen while I'd slept in the next room. And then an even deeper emotion fuelled my anger -- humiliation!

"Not my adorable wife, you fucking bastards," I cursed.

Then I stepped into the room and knelt down next to her and noticed quite oddly that she appeared to be smiling -- but I knew it was probably unlikely.

I looked up and down her body for signs of injury -- and could see some obvious bite marks on both of her breasts -- and some of the welts were quite near her nipples that were unusually swollen and quite long-looking -- and a stupid thought crossed my mind that she may have been cold.

Then I gently peeled back the dirty sheet partway and looked back down her nakedness and over her little pierced bellybutton -- and I hesitated with the sheet gripped in my shaking hand -- and then taking a deep breath, I pulled the bedding from her completely -- she wasn't wearing her panties.

I looked down over her thin strip of cropped pubic hair, and I could see her thighs were spread open -- with one knee bent outwards and the other raised slightly, just off the dirty mattress, as if someone had only just finished fucking her moments before. And as if to emphasis the point, there was a condom dangling loosely from one of her red-lacquered toes. I reached over to remove it and noticed with disgust that the fucking thing was used and full of someone's come and I tossed it across the room contemptuously.

I closed my eyes for a moment, shaking my head in total disbelief -- wanting to look further -- and then not wanting too. But I just had to, didn't I, even though it was pretty fucking obvious what had happened to her -- I just had to have a better look...

And my god -- she was a swollen mess! I'd never seen her pussy look so utterly fucked over before in all the time we'd been together -- and we certainly used to fuck a bit in our younger days -- from where I knelt near her thighs, I could actually see past her completely dilated hymeneal ring, and up inside of her usually tight vaginal passage!

She was so stretched-looking; I could have possibly inserted my fist!

Her normally barely noticeable inner labia were distended, reddened and swollen like I could never have imagined possible and her clitoral hood, with its little golden ring, was just as battered looking too, and crusty semen had matted together what little pubic hair she did have, as well as covering parts of her inner thighs...

I watched with sickening interest as a thick glob of come oozed out of her cunt and trickled down over her anus, only to then drip on to the large wet patch staining the mattress beneath her. Christ, she'd been done over -- but somewhat luckily there was not one mark on her pretty face.

"Claire!" I whispered to her, shaking her shoulder gently, "Claire!"

"Mmmm... nooo more... pleassse... nooo more... not now, I'm sore... maybe... maybe later."

"Wake up! Wake up would ya!" I said to her, shaking her a bit firmer

"Jus'... lemme sleep would you... maybe come back... later," she groaned softly, as she feebly attempted to close her inviting thighs.

"It's me Claire, Garry, your fuckin' husband!" pangs of jealousy gripping my stomach at her nonchalant responses.

I watched as her eyelids flickered open -- and then she looked up at me with a bewildered look on her face.

"You! You... ya bastard! Where in the hell have you been... you prick?" Claire stammered, still sounding quite drunk, "You know... do you know what they did to me?"

"Pretty fuckin' obvious, hey, the fuckin' bastards! I've got ya clothes... Let's get the fuck out of here!"

Claire groaned mournfully and tried to sit up, and I watched her rub tenderly at her sore-looking breasts.

"We can go to the police, Claire, we'll get the bastards!" I said to her as I slipped her top over her head.

"Police!" she exclaimed, looking up at me with a wild look in her eye like I was suggesting something crazy, "Why? Do you think I was raped or something?"

My heart skipped a beat, I didn't understand. Of course it would have been rape, I thought, and from the evidence, it was blatantly obvious more than one of them had fucked her too!

"Who were the bastards? That young prick that was talking to you at the bar... was he one of them?" I demanded, furious beyond belief at her response so far.

"Who were they?" she asked, a bewildered look contorting her fine features, "Garry, you bloody well watched them!" she added, her lip curling up to one side. "Out in the bar room... don't you remember? You just lay back on that old couch when it all started and said nothing... you just watched me being... being... well, being treated like a whore! And you said nothing at all... you pretty much consented to it, it seemed," she stopped for a moment and sniffed, "You sure you didn't just set it all up and were living out some sicko fantasy of yours?"

I shook my head slowly, trying to remember the night before, anything, "Claire, there is no way I would ever have done something like that to you. You should have known that?" my mind was reeling, "But I just don't remember... I'm really sorry... but for some reason my mind is almost a total blank, apart from a few small snippets... and even they feel like some sort of vague dream."

Claire grabbed a corner of the dirty sheet and carefully wiped and dabbed herself between her thighs, and then she took her jeans from me and started to slip them on her legs as she sat up properly.

"Can... can you a least get me a drink... a drink of water, please?" she said, suddenly somewhat subdued.

"Well? Was he? Was that young bloke one of them?"

"Does it matter now?" she said, lying down to pull the tight jeans up over her hips.

"Claire, of course it fuckin' matters, I wanna know!"

"Are you sure?"

My heart was pounding worse than before, and I felt a gush of hot bile burning up my oesophagus and boil into my throat, almost making me vomit, "Yes!"

Claire shook her head in disbelief, and looked up at me through her bleary eyes, "He was first... Yep, he did me first! There... are you happy now?"

I felt like slapping her, "Oh, for fuck's sake! Why?"

"Can we talk about it later?" she said, almost casually.

I watched her as she stood up on shaky legs and finished doing up her jeans, and then she straightened up her top without putting her bra on, and I could pretty-much clearly see her pink areoles through the loose knitting of the crocheting and one of her long, battered-looking nipples sticking out through a hole.

"Claire!" I growled at her thoughtlessly, as she stepped off the mattress and turned for the door, "Stop for a second!"

She stopped and looked at me, wobbling slightly from side to side, "What?"

"How many were there? How many of the arseholes fucked you last night?"

She screwed up her nose, "Listen, Garry, I don't think you would wanna know... Truly I don't! What I thought you were getting-off on out in the bar was just the start!" she said, with emphasis, "Then when they brought me back here... well... there was no stopping them... and I felt powerless... completely powerless," she took a deep breath and then continued, "But I didn't scream for them to stop either."

My 'darling wife' was obviously still inebriated I figured, but I was totally confused as to why she had apparently let them screw her -- for fuck's sake, I didn't think she had a promiscuous bone in her body!

"Why?" I heard myself saying, as she walked out the bedroom door.

Poking her head back around the corner, she almost sneered at me, "Why? I'm not too sure... but maybe it had something to do with a few stories about you last night... You're not sooo damn innocent you know!"

I truly did not understand it -- it was as if I'd done something wrong?

I followed Claire out into the bar and watched as she walked over to the pool table -- she appeared to be rummaging around in one of the side pockets. And then she looked back at me, and smiled sort of sardonically, as she pulled something out.

"Found them," she said, as she held up her little black g-strings for my viewing pleasure before popping them into one of her pockets, "I thought they'd be gone, for sure!" she exclaimed with relief as she wobbled around a bit.

I went and got her a big glass of water -- which she drank all in one go -- and I then poured her another one. She took a little longer with the second one, and we just stood there looking at one another for a few moments, both a bit speechless.

It all still felt like a bad dream.

Without saying another word to each other still, I led her out to our car parked down the street a couple of doors away. The sunlight hurt my eyes at first but they came good after a minute or so -- Claire on the other hand, walked with her head bowed and her hands covering her face till we got in the car.

"We going to the motel?" she asked me softly.

I looked at my watch, "Checkout in twenty five minutes."

"That'll do... I want to get cleaned up a bit... Won't be too long."

I sighed, and started the car up and headed off toward the motel a few blocks away. Claire looked melancholy all of a sudden and I guessed the stark reality of what had happened to her was starting to set in -- and the stomach full of water was probably helping sober her up a bit too.

"Sooo... what happened to me ol' mate, Mick?" I asked her, "Didn't he try and stop them from assaulting you?"

Claire laughed sneeringly and she looked at me like I was a fucking idiot!

"Your old mate?" she laughed again and shook her head several times patronisingly, "Garry, your 'old mate' screwed me last! I can still feel his cum dribbling out of me now!"

I felt like an ice pick had been jammed in my chest, "What! I don't believe you! Mick wouldn't do that to me!"