Retribution Ch. 4

The physical terror was over, but more humiliation and mental trauma remained. The shackles and hood of each man were removed as a video-cam recorded their faces and assholes, which were stretched wide by twelve-inch long dildoes. Without their chains it looked much like they were in this position by choice, and from a certain perspective that was correct. Each man’s blindfold was replaced, and they were immediately departed to what remained of their lives. In the car, four hours into their drive back to civilization, they were told they could remove the blindfold and redress. Each man found on the seat in front of him a video copy of the weekend’s activities including the last part where they alone were revealed. Also in each car, written in a feminine hand, was an unsigned note telling them the last three fucks they received were by men who were confirmed AIDS carriers; it was a lie, but what’s wrong with a bit more mental anguish. The men were so deep in physical pain and mental agony they could do nothing but stare out the window until they arrived at Dulles. There they caught their respective flights into exile. All except one caught their flights; proud, arrogant, stupid Robert Bushman was of a mind to get even.

Unfortunately for Bushman, he no longer had the money, friends, or power to make anything happened to anybody. What he wanted and what he received for his efforts were not the same. The people of the lake expected this of him, and he had no sooner departed the terminal than he was again in their custody. “You’re not very bright are you? Matter of fact you’re pretty damn stupid. Where is your brain? I don’t care where you lost it, but now you must pay a price for being stupid.”

Bushman was placed in the back of a service van so that his butt was the first thing visible when the rear doors were opened. After that he was hauled to a gay bar near the airport. The driver walked inside; “Any of you interested in a free piece of tenderized ass? If so, come out to the van.” After an average of fifty people per bar in everyone of the hundred bars they stopped at in the D.C. and Baltimore areas nothing remained of Bushman’s ass. When he was shown the video taken from face-on angle of each of those fucks, as looks and sounds of pleasure by him were edited into the film, all the remaining fight left his body. More precisely, he was on the verge of a complete mental breakdown. All he needed was one more push; a push he would receive if he failed to board his plane for the first leg of his trip to Madagascar; his home in exile.

At the lake Roger, Maddy, Jake, Tanya, Bill, Gail, Tom, and Toni gathered for a night of celebration. Each of them had contributed their unique skills and talents to destroying the conservative coalition headed by Rev. Robert Bushman. Now was a time to celebrate.

After a wonderful meal built on a main course of steak and lobster, and finished with a dessert of Amaretto-Orange cheesecake, the group sat around the fireplace discussing the events of the past several months. “I want to offer a toast.” said Roger. “Tom alone carried the burden when this began. Then, as loving parents, you discovered the source of his pain and tried to help. Finally, as a group we have done a little to extract some retribution from those very sore assholes. It was a painful process, and it took a long time, but at last that is behind us. None of us will ever forget, but we should take with us a deep sense of pride in a job well done. So here’s to us.” He raised his glass of champagne. With that he and Maddy said their goodbyes, and headed back to Washington.

As soon as Maddy and Roger departed the people in the cabin celebrated in the way they did best; they fucked each other until none of them could fuck anymore. It did not take long for the men to reach the point where they were not going to get it up for awhile, but they were still able to use their mouths, fingers, and on a couple of occasions donned a strap-on borrowed from the ladies. As for the women, they fucked in the way that women do. Each of them gave and received equal amounts of pleasure. All in all not a single hole on any human present went unfucked by every other human in the room. By morning everyone was satisfied, and well coated with layers of sexual juice drippings, piss, and shit; remember, it doesn’t make sense to do anal if you can’t deal with shit.

Maddy and Roger returned to their home near Tyson’s Corner; the home they had shared since their wedding a month after Maddy’s surprise change of mind. They walked into the den where Roger took Maddy into his arms for a passionate embrace and deep soulful kiss. Their hands moved about the other’s body feeling each curve, edge, and bulge. With slow steady movements they removed the clothing that covered their nakedness. In the process no erogenous zone went unexplored; no nipple was left untweaked, no genital was left uncaressed. Each in their turn did their up most to arouse the other as high as possible. Each in their turn succeeded in helping their partner reach the pinnacle of sexual arousal. Then, and only then did Maddy roll Roger onto his back, smear KY all over his cock and her asshole, then lower her body so the sheath of her rectum acted as the scabbard for his hard-as-steel male sword. She lowered her ass onto his cock in a strong downward movement that drove him deep within her. The passage of his cock past her anal sphincter sent shivers throughout her being; shivers that increased with intensity each time she raised and lowered her body.

Roger also experienced an extreme intensity of pleasure. The tightness of Maddy’s butt grasped and stimulated his cock in ways not attainable by her pussy. It wasn’t better, but it was very different, and so very, very enjoyable. He could feel himself getting nearer and nearer to his climax as Maddy literally pounded her body up and down the length of his pulsating prick. Suddenly, Roger grabbed Maddy in mid stroke and pulled her body toward his. He quickly rolled on top and commenced a powerful sexual stroke achievable only by the male of our species. His strokes were fast, deep, and forceful, and they drove both the participants over the edge into orgasmic bliss; a state of bliss so strong and deep that when they finished, without disconnecting their bodies, they fell into a deep sleep that lasted well into the morning.

The afternoon following that tremendous fuck Roger began to type the final chapters of his manuscript for a work of nonfiction titled “Retribution.” He wrote in a clever style to tell the story just as you have read it. He revealed everyone and everything along with factual evidence including graphic photographs. Several publishing firms declined to publish it as a book because of previous associations with Bushman or one of the others; they simply returned the manuscript. However, a small company, Golden Books Press, released both hardback and soft cover editions to the tune of over 3,000,000 copies. The first twenty-one copies, autographed by the author, were distributed between the people of the lake, the parents, and to seven addresses in poor third world countries.

When the overseas books arrived one of three things happened. Option one; the reader did nothing except fall deeper into depression (4: Ed Norton, Ralph Cramden, Jerome Watkins, and William Powers). Option two; commit suicide (3: Jerry Feltwell, Jim Bakeoff, and Andrew Whittaker). Option three: vow revenge (1: Robert Bushman), of course it is kind of hard to do anything from your cell in the National Institute for the Criminally Insane located in Antananarivo, the capital of Madagascar, which is where the local authorities placed Bushman after they received a tip of his plan to sneak out of the country with a large caliber weapon, and a suggestion they read the book Retribution. The tip came courtesy of Maddy Davies, but to the authorities she identified herself simply as one of the lake people.