Unhappy Anniversary Ch. 1

Walter's heart leaped for joy when they turned onto Fides Crescent and he saw his home. Two-plus miles made for a long walk, but that wasn't the sole reason he longed to get inside. Relief immediately enveloped him as soon as they were safely ensconced in their house. He used all three locks on the door, something they rarely bothered with. Sheila didn't question his decision. She too felt a trifle uneasy. Tension bled out of them. Sheila wore the same relieved expression as he. When Walter reached out his hand to take her purse she passed it and a conciliatory smile to him.

So, her good mood had returned, had it? Who was he to pass up this opportunity?

Walter tossed her purse on the ground. Her shoes that she held in her hands suffered a similar fate. Once unburdened with such trifles, Walter felt free to push Sheila back against the thick oak door, kneeling before her as he did so. He rolled her dress up, forced her knees apart, then plunged his face deep within her, skewering her with his rigid tongue. Sheila gasped. Her legs spasmed around his head. He grabbed her asscheeks and pried them apart, then used his index finger to tantalize her asshole while he dined on her succulent quim. Sheila's inner thighs trembled.

"You like that, eh?"

"You know I do."

"It's not fair to receive and never to give," Walter said, breathing the words into her simmering snatch. He swept her into his arms and carried her to the toffee leather couch in the living room. He laid her upon the brown leather, then shucked his pants. She watched him with an amused smile upon her lips. She loved the fact that he still desired her, even after all the time they'd been together. His twitching cock filled her vision, the pulsing rod almost tapping her on the nose with every heartbeat that thumped in his chest.

"I should just shove it right into your mouth, Sheila. Just let you have it. I know you'd like it."

"Walter?" She sounded unsure, almost fearful.

"You know I couldn't do that to you. But fuck! You know I want to."

That was it for conversation. Walter fed her his cock, but placed it in her second mouth. He pressed himself into her slowly, relishing the feel of her wet lips gliding over his hardness. She stretched to receive him. He grasped her by the ankles and pulled them straight upwards, folding her over double as he leaned into her. Road dust soiled her petite feet, dirtied from walking home barefoot. A little dirt wouldn't keep him from his prize. Hell, even if she'd trodden on a steaming pile of dog muck he'd have considered it. Walter licked and sucked her feet, cleaning them with his tongue as he made love to his wife. No spot on her feet or her legs went untouched. He played her flesh like a virtuoso. In the rapture of their coupling Walter became oblivious to his surroundings.

"Walter? Something's wrong ..."

"Everything's okay, baby. Just forget about that stuff I laid on you earlier. Sit back and enjoy the ride."

"No, really Walter. I have this feeling."

"Just be quiet," Walter whispered. "Enjoy the fuck." He terminated the conversation by diving into her thirsty pussy, jamming his pelvis hard enough to make her teeth clack together. He forced her knees to her shoulders, pinning them there while he slammed into her with all of his strength. Sheila forgot about her inhibitions. She became a wailing fountain of lust, a banshee lost in the tortuous pleasures of fucking. Walter, too, succumbed to their blissful union. In his receptive wife he found all of the things he loved, things he still desired after all the years they spent together. Sheila was the woman he had desired to spend the rest of his life with, and he had pursued her ruthlessly during their college days. His low-key persistence had paid off. She had declared her love for him and had given him her virginity, the ultimate a woman had to give. Walter and Sheila; those names intertwined with each other so well and for such a long time that their acquaintances couldn’t imagine saying one name without the other. He pushed harder into his wife, struggling to create by pressure a physical amalgam to match the spiritual one they shared. His ardour burned within him, flaring so hot that icy tendrils ran down his spine. A frigid lump like a chilled steel ball formed at the base of his skull, an irritation that wouldn't cease. Walter wiped at his neck, not finding sweat-slickened skin but the hyemal frigidity of a gun barrel nuzzling the nape of his neck.

"You should learn to listen to your bitch, Slim. She has good instincts."

Sheila peered around her husband's waist and sought out the source of the deep baritone voice. A black man held a chromed pistol to her husband's head. A livid scar ran across his left cheek from where the bald man's hairline would have been to his jaw, leaving a jagged purple rip through his light brown skin. What struck her the most was his clothing. His clothes reminded her of Georgia’s.

"Don't let me interrupt, folks," the short black man said. "Please carry on. I insist."

§§§

Having a gun pointed to the back of your head would upset anyone. Having that done while cock-deep into your wife even more so. Walter fell forward in an attempt to shield his wife from the interloper. The gun pertinaciously tracked him.

"Feel free to pull out of her, man. Stay in there too long and you might wrinkle."

Walter pulled out, carefully rolling down her dress before turning around to face his assailant. His hand moved to retrieve his pants but a chrome barrel planted between his eyes checked the maneuver.

"Come on Slim, don't be so selfish," the leering man said. "Why cover up your bitch? You had her going, bro. I wanna see her shit. See to it."

"What?" Walter said. He couldn't have just been asked to strip Sheila!

"Bitch, show me your cunt or I drill this guy a third eye."

Sheila lifted her dress, displaying for the man's pleasure her recently used pussy. Its slick, puffy flesh still glistened from her recent fucking. "Oh yes, that's what I want to see," the black man said. His face was all white teeth. "Work that thing for me," he said. "For Slim's sake, make me believe that you're enjoying yourself."

"Now wait just a minute," Walter said, concern for his wife overriding his sense of self preservation. "Don't you think –" He stopped talking when the black man twitched his trench coat aside, displaying the short barreled shotgun that hung inside the jacket. Accompanying it were several bullet clips and bulging pockets that probably contained more ammunition and hardware. He also saw the knife handle at his waist and other devices attached to his belt that he couldn't fathom. The utility pockets on his fatigues bulged. Walter decided that he'd shut up.

"I was hoping you'd be stupid and I'd have to kill you," the black man said. "Unlucky for me that you finally found your common sense." The man pistol whipped Walter. He thudded to the ground. "So, bitch. Why don't we start with some good old fashioned masturbation? Show me the way rich white women play with themselves."

"I don't do that kind of thing," Sheila said in a small voice.

"Pretend that you do." He tapped his pistol against his thigh.

Sheila closed her eyes tightly, leaning back into her soft leather couch as if It could provide some sort of comfort to her. Her hands crept to her pussy, gliding around the outsides of her flared lips. She teased her opening but did not dare to enter. Her eyes flicked open when she heard a shout from the ground. The black man had his heavy leather boot jammed onto Walter's neck. Angry brown eyes glared at her.

"Time for you to go pearl diving, Sweetness. Get those fingers wet, or I soak your carpets in crimson."

With a small sob Sheila penetrated herself, using two fingers to rub over her clit while her other hand dug deep into herself. Her pussy smacked wetly as she worked herself, her hips rotating in small tight circles. Despite her chagrin, she felt her nipples harden and her always-pale skin flush. Not even Walter's attentions effected her so quickly. She stared into the face of her attacker and saw neither lust nor excitement, as if she watched strange women masturbate every day.

Who knows? Maybe he did.

The black man made her play with herself for almost ten minutes before he motioned for her to stop. He opened a cargo pocket on his fatigues and fished out two pairs of police-issue cuffs. One of these he tossed onto her belly. Sheila trembled at the kiss of the cold steel against her heated flesh. "Put your hands behind your back and put those on," he commanded. She did so without offering any type of resistance. He seemed disappointed with her easy compliance to his order. "Your turn, Slim. Put your hands behind your back." Walter obeyed, grimacing when the cuffs snapped around his wrists. He was more surprised when he felt steel around his ankles as well. Leg manacles?

"That's a good boy," the black man said. "You get to live for a little while longer. Sheila, why don't you spread those legs of yours really wide for me? I want to see you stretched right open."

"How do you know my name?"

"I've been here for a couple of hours. I had time to go through some of your things."

Sheila trembled, both in fear and in rage. This stranger had violated their home. It was strange how the thought of this man touching her belongings upset her as much as what he now did to their persons. "Walter, turn your head a little bit to the left so you can see your bitch. Yeah, that's the shit." The black man took a five inch cylinder from his waist and shook it towards the ground. Right away, a two foot metal rod telescoped out of the small handheld cylinder. It extended like a transistor radio's antenna but thunked heavily against the carpeted floor without collapsing when he tapped the rod against it. He gave the rod a few experimental swings like a ball player testing out a new bat before a game.

"You like it, do you? It’s my ASP 26 inch expandable baton. I was so impressed with the last one that got used against me by five-oh in Dallas I had get myself one. They're very effective." The man seemed happiest when talking about his toys.

"You got a good view there Slim?" the black man asked Walter, "because I'd really hate to think that you'd miss any of the show." As he spoke, the black man rubbed the tip of his baton against Sheila's outer lips, forcing a whimper from her. He used the rod to glide over her full breasts and firm stomach, playing around her deep, tiny gash of navel. Then he worked the baton upwards, over her sternum and the side of her neck, running along her jawline and her full, pouty lips. He took his time, exploring every part of her with that baton as if he had all night to do so. Sheila wished that her nipples didn't become so hard as he tantalized her with the metal probe.

"You like what you're feeling, Sheila?" the man asked her. "If you don't, we'll try something else." He ran the tip of the metal rod over her nipples, poking them until each one hardened under her dress. Only then did he move the rod down to her pussy, inserting a couple of inches of it as he plied it inside of her nectar fountain.

"Don't do that!" Walter screamed at his captor. He yelped, this time in pain as the baton thudded hard against his ribs.

"Fuck Slim, are all white guys as stupid as you? Don't you like breathing?" He gave Walter another shot to ribs with the baton, leaving him convulsing on the ground. The black man collapsed the weapon and stuffed it back into its belt holster. He released the Ithaca Stakeout shotgun from its hitch in his coat and loaded it up. Both Sheila and Walter watched him in wary silence.

"You constipated Slim?" the man asked. "Because if you are I have the perfect remedy for what ails you." The men jammed his boot into the small of Walter's back. The tip of the shotgun played between his asscheeks, spreading them apart and nuzzling his asshole. The contact made Walter clench his sphincter as tightly as he could.

"Are you going to grow a brain in the next few seconds, or do I have to aerate your colon for you? Your call, my friend."

"Please don't," Sheila said. "He'll be good, I swear. Isn't that so, Walter?"

The man pressed down hard on the shotgun, forcing about an inch of it into Walter's asshole. Walter groaned from the pain.

"Yeah, I'll be good," Walter gasped, head reeling from the burning sensation in his ass.

"See that you are," the man replied. The man stepped over Walter's body and approached Sheila, reaching out a thick fingered hand to grasp her left breast. He looked like a power lifter, but he had a gentle touch. His hard fingertips barely grazed the material of her shimmery dress. Without warning, he hooked his fingers underneath the cloth of the uncovered tummy area of the dress and yanked upwards. Her heavy tits fell out. Sheila strained against her handcuffs when she sought to cover her exposed breasts and received a hard slap in the face for her trouble. He grasped her by the throat and shoved her back into the soft leather couch.

"I guess someone else needs a lesson in playing nice," he whispered. "Don't get so excited, Sheila. I have a bad case of nerves and I might accidentally pull the trigger if you startle me. That's how accidents happen," he admonished. "If you really must move I recommend you do it with slow, careful movements. I excite easily."

Sheila only nodded. The black man fondled her breasts one-handed, hefting the weights like a shopper did melons. He tweaked her nipples until they grew as long and as pink as an infant's finger. He seemed fascinated by her breasts. Rough, calloused fingertips raked over her sensitive pale skin, tracing the bluish veins that ran throughout the ivory satin. He took great pleasure in mauling the large expanses of her tit flesh, particularly those elongated nipples. No matter where his hands wandered, he always returned to them. They grew red from his attentions.

"Quite nice, Sheila. I'm going to enjoy using them a little later on," he said, smiling. "I won't be able to think about leaving this place until I fuck those breasts of yours at least once." The man unzipped his pants and slipped a hand inside, rubbing himself through the fly of his black fatigues. He stopped playing with himself, instead retrieving a cell phone from inside his trench coat. He didn’t ignore Sheila, however. He leaned the shotgun against the side of the couch and continued to torment her nipples.

"You're here? About time. I'll let you in." The man moved quickly to the front door. He made a lot of noise as he fumbled with the locks.

"Are you okay?" Walter whispered.

"Of course I'm not okay," she sobbed in return. "But we'll get through this. I know we will."

"Just do what he says. Don't fight him. I don't want to see you hurt."

"Me? It's not me who's going out of the way to provoke him. Stop questioning him so much. He'll get upset and do something rash."

The black man's return silenced them. He was not alone. Georgia came in with him, head bent down and eyes averted. The black man told her to go upstairs and fetch the three suitcases from the master bedroom. In the meantime, the short man pulled Walter's up by his hair, forcing him to scramble to his feet or to risk a piece of his scalp being ripped off in a bloody clump. He tossed Walter into a chair, handling him as if he weighed nothing. Walter might have towered over him by almost a foot, but he sensed that the little man could tear him apart without breaking a sweat.

"See here, fellow. You obviously have taken everything from us that you wanted. My wallet's in my pants and my wife's purse is at the doorway. Why not take the money and go? We won't fight you. We just want this to end."

"It'll end when I say, Slim." He punctuated that sentiment with a blow from the butt of his shotgun. Walter's head spun from the impact.

When Walter managed to regain his senses the black man again stood in front of Sheila. He held Sheila's head clamped tightly between his thick fingers, forcing her to lower his fly with her teeth. Georgia came downstairs and lumbered into the living room. "I got the stuff, Lenny. What do we do now?"

Lenny sighed, shaking his head slightly. "How many times have I told you not to use my name when we're working? Why don't you ever learn?"

"Perhaps it's because Georgia's a retard," Walter muttered under his breath. At least he had thought it was under his breath. A boot to the gut winded him. Georgia swung her foot back, ready to take another shot at Walter.

"He called you Georgia," Lenny said, annoyance edging his words. Georgia lowered her boot. Slow or not, Georgia possessed a PhD in physical retribution, skills Walter would be wary of from now on. "Don't tell you me spoke to them earlier! You were only supposed to tail them."

"Not my fault," Georgia said, defensiveness larding her words. "They got out of the car early and were walking home. You wouldn't have heard them. I had to stop them."

"I've been waiting for them for over an hour, Georgia. You were to call me when they were almost at the house, nothing more. Please don't start thinking. I'll think for both of us. You just do what I tell you to."

Georgia made the staccato shuddering noises that often presaged crying in children. Lenny left Sheila and went to the statuesque blonde, slipping a hand underneath her trench coat and rubbing her back gently. "I didn't mean it like that, babe. You did good. But next time please don't talk to the targets. It makes a difficult mess for me to clean up."

"Yes, Lenny." The look Georgia gave him held unconditional love, one bordering on worship. She craned her head downwards so he could kiss her. He did so, planting a small peck on each of her closed eyelids.

"That's my girl. Just go over there and watch that guy while I take care of his wife."

"Do we have time for this?" Georgia asked. "We should just leave. Leave with the money."

"We'll leave soon, but first I want a taste of the honey." Lenny stretched Sheila out on the couch, then changed his mind and pulled her onto the floor. As she struggled to rise, he kicked the legs out from under her. She fell heavily to her knees, kept there by the fist he snaked through her curly hair. Once in proper position he jammed his cock between her lips. His black fireplug stretched Sheila's mouth around its girth, her chin practically touching her breastbone.

"Yeah, slut. Take my cock as deep as it will go," her attacker huffed. He tightened his grip on her, his fingers insinuating themselves deeper into her tousled mass of curly brown hair. She'd looked so elegant just a few short hours ago with her perfectly coiffed hairdo. Now it lay in shambles like their violated lives.

He pistoned his monster cock forwards, spearing Sheila's face with a fist of turgid black meat. His leaden balls smacked against her chin. Her piteous moans incensed Walter, who made one more lunge against his bonds.

"Look at me, cunt," Lenny said. "Open those fucking eyes of yours or I'll gouge them out of your goddamned skull." Sheila’s sorrowful eyes crept open. Heavy tears welled up inside them, then trickled over her flushed cheeks. "I saw the pictures of your kids on the mantle. What would your boys think if they saw you like this?" he said as he pulled out of her throat. Only the tip of his shiny cock remained in Sheila's mouth. He thrust his hips forward violently, his rod ramming into her. Her head lurched back, then forwards again by the sharp tug he gave her hair. "Yeah, your sons would be disgusted to see what a cock sucking slut their mother was." He rapidly bucked his hips against the shamed woman's face, his plunging cock making sticky, wet sounds as it repeatedly violated her throat. Thick cables of drool streamed down her chin. She salivated like a hound around its bone.