Yukon

Next morning rain and high winds were lashing the cabin and it was surprising how much the temperature had dropped. Pierre settled down in a corner with his whittling, already a kind of mermaid figure was starting to take shape. I started a jig-saw on the table and Helen curled up in the armchair with another book.

After a brief break for lunch we all returned to the same activities but after a while Pierre packed away his handiwork and sprawled himself on the couch. I thought there was something significant in the move and I was not mistaken because after only a few minutes, he called to Helen, "Hey Hot Lips, come over here and suck my cock."

My wife shut her book and stood but then told him, "I will but only in the bedroom."

Pierre laughed. "After last night I see no reason for shyness but if that's the way you want it." With that he followed her out of the room. They might as well have performed in front of me because over the next hour my mental images were as vivid as if I were actually watching.

Helen emerged first just steps in front of him. She just walked back to her chair but he felt obliged to say loudly, "After swallowing all that, I hope you've got room left for the evening meal."

After that, each day of our confinement, during the afternoon Pierre took her into the bedroom for periods up to two hours and when emerging always made some comment about what they had been doing. Helen kept her face impassive but I could tell from the pleasured glow that she had not found the interlude too unpleasant. The unfortunate fallout from those four restricted days was that Pierre had acquired a taste for afternoon sex. As we set out on the first day that sunshine allowed our excursions to resume, Pierre ordered me, "Make sure you get back early because I've got a little job for your wife before we eat."

Pierre did not demand daytime sex every day but although frequent it seemed to be done on a whim or possibly designed to keep me unsettled. Two days later, just as Helen and I were about to leave for the day, he called her back, telling me to wait outside. Anticipating a long wait I walked down to the water but was pleasantly surprised when my wife appeared after only fifteen minutes. I assumed that he had merely wanted to tell her something. However, after we had gone only a short way along the trail she called a halt saying, "I've got cum running down my leg. Please don't look while I do something about it."

I turned my back but still managed to watch as she removed both her trousers and panties then used the underwear to soak up the mess, before pushing the sodden garment in her pocket. While busy with this she explained, "He wanted a quickie so I dropped my pants and he just bent me over the table."

When we had finished eating later in the day, Helen suddenly said, "You know why I can't let you fuck me but I've realised I can suck you or even use my hand if that helps."

With Pierre's sperms swimming inside her at that moment, my pride made it seem humiliating to accept any less so I rejected the offer and then regretted doing so for the rest of the day.

In similar circumstances, one morning a couple of days afterwards, I was again sent to wait outside. This time her absence was more like ninety minutes but on reaching me I received a big smile as she said, "He didn't fuck me. I only had to strip and pose for him. That carving he's doing is meant to be me."

At the end of the second week Helen told me that she thought Pierre intended to start goading me and warned me not to react. I asked what she meant by 'goad'. "I think he's going to start rubbing your nose in the fact that he has made you into a cuckold."

"Cuckold?" I had heard the term without being sure of the meaning. It sounded medieval, the kind of word Shakespeare might use.

"By the strict dictionary definition, any man with a cheating wife is a cuckold but more recently it has come to mean a husband who knows his wife is having sex with someone else."

"What do you think he intends to either say or do?"

Apparently changing the subject, Helen told me, "I've been asking Pierre about the man he killed. I had assumed it happened when he was imposing himself on the other couple but it seems they'd been submitting to him, like we have, for over two weeks. I'm not sure what caused it to all blow up. Pierre admits to teasing but blames the guy's poor sense of humour for the fight."

"That doesn't mean that he's going to start on me."

"I think it does," my wife insisted. "Up to now he's been satisfied with getting sex from me any time he wants it but the novelty is wearing off. He has actually said it would be more fun if you seemed to mind a bit more about him fucking me."

I thought about this and decided to find out for myself, so while Helen was in the bedroom bathing from a pail of hot water, I asked Pierre about the murder.

"I didn't intend for it to happen," he said, apparently quite relaxed to talk about it. "They convicted me for murder but it was really an accident. I only got ten years so I think the judge saw it a bit that way and I reckon that if I hadn't been poking the guy's wife it would have been even less."

"So how did it happen," I wanted to know.

"He was a big guy but when I took over he put up far less resistance than you. Even two weeks later he seemed happy enough with the situation and so was she but then the wives always are. Well I got careless. He managed to make himself a club and hit me by surprise. It hurt me badly and would have finished me if he hadn't hesitated. That gave me the chance to fight back but I'd lost my temper and didn't stop when I should."

Picking up on his use of 'wives' in the plural, I asked, "How many times have you done this?"

"You are the fourth couple. It started when I was hunting and accidentally blundered onto the cabin of the first pair but it was already half way through their month. Next time I was geared up and ready and had even picked my target but that was the year it went wrong. After I was released from jail I wasn't going to risk it again but then I found a young couple out camping. The tent was so small we had to do it outside. The boyfriend always had the chance to walk away but preferred to stay and watch. I think he was almost as fascinated by my cock as she was. They never reported what had happened and that's what encouraged me to try my luck with you two."

I thought Pierre had finished talking but then he volunteered, "You're the best of the lot, at least your wife is. That's a very passionate woman you've got there. You must have been keeping her on short rations or else she wouldn't appreciate what I have to offer so much. Hell, I wouldn't be getting all the fucking I am if she wasn't always so eager."

At that moment the bedroom door opened and, her ablutions completed, Helen started to come out. Pierre winked at me and said, "Watch this," then gave her the instruction, "Go straight back in there if you want me to make you dirty again." Without a word my wife turned round and did as he said. Throwing a triumphant look to me he said expansively, "Come in and watch if you want, I may even let you join in if you do." It was an offer I had to decline.

When alone with me, Helen seemed to play down her sexuality, probably trying to reduce the temptation on me but on our next full day out she deviated from this. After eating our picnic lunch in warm sun she stretched out sensuously in a way I would once thought invitational. Nothing was said for a while and then she revealed, "Last night Pierre wanted to know you ever stuck your dick in me the back way. When I told him 'a couple of times' he wanted to try like that but it hurt far too much and he had to stop."

I was relieved to hear this and was about to say so but my wife had not finished. "He said I needed opening up first. His idea was that I should encourage you to fuck my bum to get me ready for him."

She paused. "It made me realise I could have let you have me that way right from the start but you may not want to now he has suggested it."

There may have not been outright goading but Pierre made many snide comments. Once in front of Helen he said, "When I'm out of your lives I hope you're not expecting your wife to go back to getting all her satisfaction from you. Without me taking all her energy she might start giving you more but she's still going to need better men to fill all the places that you can't reach."

On her first opportunity after this, Helen tried to reassure me by saying, "Don't take any notice of Pierre. When we're safely back home I'm going to put all of this behind me and I swear I'll never have sex with any other man but you." I clung to my wife's words because I needed to but deep down I felt that his carried the more conviction.

Another development was that he liked making me a player in his carnal relationship but only on a verbal level. For example, one day when he and I were at the wood pile he ordered, "Before you start work, pop inside and tell your wife I want to fuck her under the trees." Even more extreme was the day Helen and I were on our way out when he called me back to say, "Tell your wife she can go with you if she wants but if she'd prefer to sit on my cock all day instead, it's ready and waiting." To keep the peace Helen did go back and I don't think we got another day out alone after that because Pierre decided that he wanted to keep her ready and available for him all the time.

I have spoken little about my mental state but it got so that I permanently suffered some form of arousal, ranging from partial erections to a painfully stiff penis. My refusal to masturbate undoubtedly contributed to this physical distress but I felt it was a matter of principle. Rightly of wrongly I believed that if I gave myself relief it would effectively condone Pierre's actions. I had to accept the situation but was determined not to take any pleasure from it. Despite this nature intervened with a safety valve that caused a steady trickle of pre-cum down my leg and every morning I woke to a sticky semen puddle on my thigh. The only blessing is that I was unable to recall the dreams that prompted the emissions.

The constant nature of the sex meant that it was no longer restricted to the bedroom with my wife having abandoned her resistance to performing in front of me. Fortunately there was no requirement for me to stay and watch so I invariably went out. This meant that I was able to spend many hours wandering by myself in the locality of the cabin. On one of these excursions I was clambering on the pile of fallen boulders on the other side of the outcrop, thinking it was somewhere Pierre might have hidden his paddle.

Climbing near the top I stepped on an almost spherical lump of rock and almost fell when it moved easily under my foot. Further examination showed that the boulder was poised almost on its point of balance and it struck me how easy it would be to push it down upon my tormentor, if only I could get him to stand underneath. My mind immediately started thinking how I might persuade Pierre to place himself in that vulnerable position.

There was less than a week left and I had to weigh both the risk and the morality of taking such drastic action. That evening, while Helen was visiting the latrine, Pierre treated me to a confidence that effectively sealed his fate. With a boastful grin he told me, "All this sex is fine but there is just one particular high that makes it all worth while, and that's the kick I get looking into a guy's eyes and seeing the moment when he first realises that I am going to put my cock in his woman and he can't do a damn thing to stop me." The man was evil and deserved to die.

During my times spent waiting outside I noticed that after his afternoon sex Pierre invariably made a visit to the latrine. I reasoned that that it might be easier to trick him at these times, when he was possibly less alert. To start my plan, I smuggled a now redundant back pack out of the cabin and filled it with pebbles before hiding it in a small gulley. The next day, while Pierre was treating Helen to her afternoon fuck, I crouched down in the gulley watching the cabin door and the moment he emerged I stood up and began walking quickly towards the outcrop, carrying the heavy pack. Frustratingly, when I glanced back from the outcrop it was to find that he had not noticed me.

I repeated the exercise the next day and this time when I looked back Pierre was walking suspiciously in my direction. Hurrying on to the rock pile I clambered up until reaching a point three feet directly below the poised boulder. I waited until he appeared round the outcrop then knelt and lowered the pack down a gap between two great rocks, leaving it lying just barely within reach. At this Point Pierre shouted out, I looked back and then, as if in panic, climbed higher up. He had started to run but seeing I had effectively trapped myself he slowed again to a walk.

From the bottom of the pile Pierre looked up, a cruel smile on his face, and said, "What have you just hidden?"

"Nothing," I told him.

By this time he was just below me and looking down he must have been able to see the backpack. "I hope you are telling me the truth," he said. "If I find you've lied I'm going to really hurt you this time. I'm going to make you unable to fuck your wife or any woman ever again." He laughed nastily, "I might even make you eat your own balls this time."

Pierre confidently lay down and reached for the pack which was my signal to place a foot on the boulder and roll it over the edge. There was no cry but a satisfying crunch. Looking down I saw that the rock had struck almost exactly in the centre of his back. 'Gotcha, you bastard,' I swore but in a terrifying 'terminator' moment the boulder slowly began to rise. Fortunately after moving up over two inches it suddenly fell back, accompanied by a gurgling sound. It didn't move again.

I sat and watched for about twenty minutes but there was only a deathly silence from below. His legs still protruded so I spent another hour moving other smaller rocks to pile around so that the body could not be seem from any angle and then set off to give my wife the good news. Outside the cabin I removed the broad grin from my face and replaced it with a more sombre expression, before entering to announce, "Pierre is dead."

"What happened?"

"I just killed him; I pushed a boulder on him." I told her triumphantly.

It was not a look of relief that came to her face. "Wasn't that a bit final, I mean he never really hurt either of us."

I could have mentioned all the mental hurt I had suffered by his actions but instead I said simply, "I felt it was necessary."

"Why? Why did you need to? It's almost the end of the month with only another four days to get through before the boat comes to pick us up."

"There was no guarantee that he wouldn't kill us when he'd finished with us. I just guarded us against that possibility."

Helen nodded, "That's true but I don't think he would. He couldn't kill you without killing me and I think he was fond of me in his way."

She wanted to see where it happened so I took her to the pile of boulders and described what had occurred. Helen thought we ought to get his body out and give him a proper burial but I insisted that the body was far less likely to be discovered where it was than in some rough grave. I was rather hurt by her attitude but she made it right during the walk back to the cabin by saying, "I am glad he's gone. He was making me into something I'm not."

The first task was to gather Pierre's scant belongings and either burn or otherwise dispose of them. This led to the wrapped up carving. On unfolding the cloth I was amazed to see what it contained because the enclosed statuette of a female figure was exquisite. About ten inches high, it was perfectly formed and I would have thought it impossible to achieve such smoothness of finish, with only a knife and a few flint chippings.

I cannot say that the face bore any likeness to Helen's but the body was undoubtedly her with the same ripe breasts, narrow waist and swelling hips. The figurine female was seated on a rock with thighs slightly parted and ankles crossed. On the pubic mound there was some representation of curled hair but below it the vulva was shown swollen into high prominence and divided by a deep cleft. I am not a man who wilfully destroys beauty but my first instinct was to take it outside and use the axe on it.

Helen gazed at the small work of art in silence and then said quietly, "I want to keep it."

Her words provoked a different thought. Had Pierre presented it to her at the end of the month as a gift and keepsake of their times together, no matter what my wife wanted, I would have reduced it to matchwood at the first opportunity but in the new circumstances the statuette could legitimately be considered spoils of war. As such it was less a celebration of my month of misery than a marker for the fact that I had avenged the stain on my wife's honour.

That night when Helen said she was going to bed, out of habit I almost went to my bunk and it was only feeling some awkwardness that I joined her in the bedroom. Even in bed things did not improve because I felt totally inhibited about initiating activity due to memories of my sexual debacle on the night of our failed escape. My wife guessed my problem and took over saying, "You just lie there and let me make love to you."

With just hands and mouth she reduced me to a state of pure ecstasy, using her skill to ensure that it was not over too soon. The fact that she must have done the same for Pierre countless times could not detract from the pleasure. Our lovemaking followed the same limited pattern the next night and it was not until our last night in the cabin that I finally achieved consummation in the honeymoon bed.

For those last three days we just hung around the cabin, really just killing time until the boat came to collect us. The only necessary action during that time was to carry Pierre's kayak between us further along the beach then cave in the side with a rock and push it into deep water. On the last morning I walked by myself round to the pile of boulders to check that the body remained well concealed. Looking down in a crevice I noticed a small posy of wild flowers but have never mentioned that I saw it.

When the boat arrived it had the same captain but this time he had a black guy to manhandle our boxes.

"So you're still alive," the captain joked on seeing us but then explained, "When you didn't radio in we tried contacting you but there was no response. I was going to sail by and check on you but then that big storm happened and I never got round to it since."

As we sailed away Helen went below deck but I remained by the rail watching the cabin recede into the distance. I was thinking about how easy killing proved to be when it is meant to be difficult for normal people. Countless films show captives who at some point gain possession of the gun and point it at the villain but then are unable to shoot allowing the bad guy to simply walk up and take it from their hand. I did not hesitate before toppling that boulder and nor did I feel the slightest twinge of conscience afterwards. To the contrary, all I felt was the warm glow of vengeance achieved.

Perhaps I ought to check up on Jack Fallon.

Update.

One night in bed when I began to get amorous, Helen rolled on her front and by dint of provocative squirming indicated that she wanted me to put my stiff penis in her anus. I complied and thoroughly enjoyed it. Afterwards, feeling good, I said, "Well at least he never managed to have you that way."

There was a long silence while my wife struggled with whether to tell the truth. That itself gave the game away so realising this she said, "Actually he did. When you refused to help, Pierre started pushing his fingers up trying to make me bigger. It didn't do much good but then he found a jar of bear grease in the bottom of the wardrobe and that made all the difference. I glad he did because he wouldn't leave me alone that last week and at least my poor twat got a bit of a rest."