A Devil's Wage Ch. 02

This is an attempt at a continuation of Cindy'sBob's fine story "A Devil's Wage. His writing is much better than mine and I strongly urge you to read it to understand my starting point. I love the characters and the deft way in which he takes ordinary people and puts them into intense sexual situations that they have never experienced. He has said he never writes second chapters, although I wish he would, and has given permission for me to try to expand on the experiences of Frank and Ellen.

I write for my own amusement and, generally, stuff that turns me on, usually people descending into depravity. I would love to include a shortcut to the story here, but my technological expertise is too limited to accomplish this.

I have left this in "Non-Consent/Reluctance" because that is where the original appeared. You are warned that before I get tired of these characters they will have experienced cuckoldry, wife sharing, BDSM, corporal punishment, sexual humiliation, incest, gay sex, lesbian sex, exhibitionism, and any other depraved sexual activity that I can work in.

If you don't like these things, I advise you not to read it. If you feel compelled to comment that the fictional characters here will all end up having their lives ruined, their children drug addicts, their city scourged by fire and brimstone and that I am obviously a closet homosexual with mother issues, a nymphomaniac wife that I cannot satisfy and will eventually descend into abject misery because of my moral failings, I can only say: Yes, you're probably right on all counts, what's your point?

No one under 18 participates in sex. I welcome comments, but for those who hate these kinds of stories: Why do you read them? I hope some of you enjoy this:

And so, life continued for 7 years. Ellen and I made love on a fairly regular basis, but always in the same rather gentle, slow manner, reaching for orgasms, which were sometimes hard to achieve for one or the other of us. In addition, at odd, unpredictable times, the demons would return to my brain, and I would look at her lying there, asleep, and mutter the same, old imprecations under my breath, "slut, whore, fucking cunt," that kind of thing. It always passed quickly and left me feeling, as I said, angry and yet incredibly guilty for my part in her defilement, which was basically how I viewed it.

One night we made love, and it followed the usual script. As I muttered under my breath, I felt the old passions rather more than was usual. After a few minutes I calmed down appreciably but was still upset. I made my way down out to the kitchen where I got myself a glass of wine and sat at the table drinking it and wondering what had prompted the sudden seeming escalation of my anger. Getting no answer from the glass, I eventually finished my wine, washed out the glass and put it by the sideboard, and returned to our bedroom and bed, where I soon fell asleep.

The alarm woke me the next morning. I hit the snooze button, which I usually did, while Ellen got up and, donning her robe, went out to the kitchen to start breakfast for the girls on their way to school. When the alarm went off the second time, I got up, went through my usual morning routine, and after getting dressed, went out to the kitchen to grab a piece of toast to eat on my way to work. I pecked Ellen on the cheek, getting a grunt in return, and, patting the girls on their heads, walked out to the garage and thence to work, blissfully unaware of any problems.

I returned home that night and passed through the kitchen where I pecked Ellen on the cheek again, a nightly ritual that seldom varied. On this occasion, however, she seemed to shy away from me a tad and keep her eyes averted. Even for a mere male, any deviation from the ordinary is a sure sign of trouble. "Anything wrong?" I queried.

Flashing her eyes over me quickly Ellen tersely responded, "Later."

A slight shudder went through me. I went to the bedroom to change out of my work clothes, all the while racking my brain to try to figure out what I'd done this time. Forgotten some important date, pissed her mother off, left a mess for her to clean up? I couldn't think of anything. I went to dinner, hoping I'd receive some clue. Dinner was definitely quiet, the girls did most of the talking, recounting things from school and such minutiae. After a while, even they tumbled to the fact that Mom wasn't saying much, and conversation gradually petered out.

After dinner was over the girls went to do their homework and I helped Ellen with the cleanup. "What's the matter," I asked, as husbands have been doing for thousands of years.

"After the girls are in bed, we'll talk," Ellen responded and turned away to hang up the towel she was using, and then walked into the den where she turned on the TV. I shrugged and repaired to my office where I spent the evening on my computer. After Ellen had chased the girls to bed, it being a school night, and followed them to their bedrooms to ensure compliance (we took turns on this) I turned on the TV to get the late sports news and anything else I could watch to delay the inevitable dressing down I would undoubtedly receive.

Finally, I could stall no more and, ensuring that the doors were locked, made my way to the bedroom to receive my punishment, for what I had no idea. Walking into the bedroom I saw the bathroom door was closed and proceeded to get undressed. I was standing there in nothing but my boxers when Ellen came out of the bathroom wearing an old, threadbare, but apparently very comfortable night gown that she had had forever.

"All right, what did I do," I asked, just wanting to take my medicine and get it over with.

Ellen assumed a rather aggressive stance, hands on hips, and said, "So you want to go to bed, here, with me?"

"Of course," I said, bewildered by it all.

"Well, I just wanted to be sure," she remarked acidly, "after all, most men would not want to get into bed with a slut, and whore, and take the chance of coming in contact with her filthy cunt."

My jaw dropped open, and realization dawned. "Oh, that's right," she said, "for once I heard you clearly last night. I've heard you mumbling several times after we've had sex, but never could understand you. Last night, however, I heard you clearly. If that's what you think of me, why are we still together?"

After stammering for a bit, I finally got my mouth working properly and began damage control, trying to point out to her that it wasn't what it sounded like, that I really loved her, and that, for some reason, I sometimes was plagued by memories of that long ago day when she had surrendered herself to Art Carson and Tony Conte. I tried to emphasize that that wasn't how I viewed her, that it just crept, unbidden, into my brain at times and that it wasn't to be construed as the way I felt about her 99% of the time. All my explanations went for naught.

This went on for quite a while, eventually wearing out my contrition and doing nothing to mollify Ellen. "If you remember correctly," she stated, "all the while they were raping me you were sitting there doing nothing but watching. Why didn't you help me?" she screamed, getting close to tears.

"You know what they would have done to me," I said, knowing this was nothing but an excuse and one I'd felt guilty about ever since that long ago day. "Anyway, the way you were bucking your cunt against Carson, trying to get every millimeter of cock into your snatch, I didn't believe my intervention would have been welcome. "

At this she lost it, and launched herself at me, claws out and seemingly intent on scratching my eyes out. Now I have never hit a woman and never would, especially Ellen, but, on the other hand, I wasn't going to stand there and let her injure me. Grabbing her arms, I held them above her head, causing her nightgown to adhere tightly to her body. It was obvious she was naked under it, and my cock was immediately hard as a rock.

She seemed to be contemplating kicking me, so I quickly spun her around, now facing away from me, and grabbing the nightgown on either side of the neckline in back, I ripped it easily in half and pulled it off her, throwing it on the ground and leaving her naked, with her luscious ass facing me. Now, as I said, I have never struck a woman or even thought about doing so. I occurred to me at this point, however, that spanking is not really "striking", not like punching in the face, anyway, I would never do that. Acting quickly, I sat down on the bed and pulled Ellen over my lap, face down, and put her over my left thigh, and put my right thigh over the backs of her legs, holding her tight, and proceeded to rain blows on her beautiful, twitching ass.

She immediately began protesting, "Stop this, how dare you, stop this now." As I continued slapping her butt, however, she slowly morphed into, "Stop, please, Frank, you're hurting me, please stop." Her legs had spread open as she struggled, and I started aiming my slaps between them from the back, feeling my hand coming up against a soaking wet pussy. I decided to go for broke and, turning her up onto her right hip, I began slapping her pussy, which was now practically splashing with each slap it was so wet.

"Can we talk calmly," I questioned her, "or do I need to continue with this?"

"Oh God, don't stop now," she breathed out and I continued to rain blows, not too hard, right on her cunt and clit until she grabbed my left arm to hold herself on my lap and began to shudder with each blow, finally shrieking her way through what looked like a truly life shattering orgasm. This really enflamed me and I flipped her off my lap onto the bed, face up, shucked my boxers off in one motion, grabbed her legs at the knees and forced them back to her tits and as wide apart as they would go and plunged my aching cock fully into her engorged, gaping open cunt in one thrust.

"Oh, God, yes," she moaned, "fuck me, fuck me hard," which I proceeded to do. It occurred to me, in the midst of all this excitement that:

A. I was basically raping my wife, and

B. This was the greatest fuck I had ever had.

I continued plundering her cunt, bodies slapping together loudly, both of us gasping for breath until I felt the telltale tickle in the head of my cock and screamed, "Here it comes, slut," feeling my cock explode in the greatest orgasm of my life, while Ellen moaned and bucked under me as if she was trying to buck me off the bed and continually intoning, "Oh, yes, oh, yes, oh yes."

Eventually, as must happen, both our orgasms were over, and I hung there over her looking down into her beautiful face and realizing that I loved her more than anything. I reached my lips down to hers and we exchanged one of the greatest kisses of our entire marriage. I rolled off her, releasing her legs and coming to rest on the bed next to her, nuzzling my face into her and whispering in her ear, "I love you," over and over. Suddenly we both became conscious of the fact that young, female voices were calling, "Mom," while pounding on our bedroom door!

"Oh, shit," we both said, simultaneously. "I'll go," Ellen said, quickly, Momness leaping to the fore, "pull the cover over you, and when I get back, we're going to talk." With that she jumped off the bed, donned her robe quickly, and went to the door. Unlocking and opening it, she stepped out to the two girls, pushing them into the hallway and, at the same time, murmuring, "It's OK, it's OK." Moms are truly amazing.

After she closed the door behind her, I couldn't hear any more of the exchange. I laid on the bed mulling over everything that had just happened. Obviously, I could still be in huge trouble because of my muttering and the fact that I basically attacked and sexually assaulted her in several different ways. On the other hand, we had just had the greatest sexual experience of our marriage, at least it seemed that way to me, and that would surely count for something in my favor. Wouldn't it?

Ellen came back into the bedroom, closed, and locked the door, and shucked her robe. As she got back in bed and I made room for her under the sheet I asked, "How'd it go?"

"I told them we were playing a game and it just got out of hand," she said. "Brittany seemed the most upset, Amy was just kind of looking at me. Brittany said that people don't yell at each other like that when they're playing a game, so I reminded her of a couple of weekends ago when we had to physically separate them because of a game of parchesi. She was pondering that when Amy asked me what game we were playing. I told her it was just a game that married men and women play. Brittany looked confused, but Amy just got this disgusted look on her face and announced that she was going back to bed. That took the wind out of Brittany's sails, and I got her back into her room," she said, brushing her hands together in the universal gesture for "Job Done."

"You think Amy got the picture?" I asked.

"Well, she's thirteen and has had Sex Education at school so, I think it dawned on her," Ellen said with a wry smile.

"Hmmmmm," I mused, thinking of other problems approaching with impending teenhood.

"Let's get back to us," Ellen said, "I want to know where we stand after all this, it's been seven years, for God's sakes."

"My bad," I said, "I'm ready to bury the hatchet. I don't know why this has continued to bug me all these years, but I feel I'm over it now."

"Just from one wild fuck?" she said in obvious disbelief.

"It's hard to explain," I said, "but that made all the difference. For one thing, it was fantastic. For another, you came just the way you did with Art Carson that day, gasping, tummy fluttering, trying to buck me off the bed with your cunt, it was amazing. I've never been able to do that to you, and I always felt that the lack was an indictment of me and a reason for you to always prefer him."

"Oh, for God's sake," she said, "Prefer him? Are you crazy, that animal, like I would rather be with him."

"Well, yeah, you know-" At that point she held her hand up, and I quit talking.

"Look," she said, "this is not the way to settle this. I have an idea. Today's Wednesday, I will call my Mom, and have her and my Dad pick up the girls from school on Friday. You come home with some wine, I'll make your favorite dinner and, after dinner we will talk this out. No arguing, no defensiveness, no recrimination. I'll explain it from my point of view and then you can do the same. I feel this is the only way we can put this behind us, which we really need to do. It's been festering and poisoning our marriage for 7 years and we need to get rid of it. Agreed?"

"Agreed," I said, solemnly, and we shook hands on it.

"Now, let's get some sleep," Ellen said. She leaned over and gave me a smoldering kiss, which I returned enthusiastically, she then turned her back and skooched into me, I spooned her from behind and she was almost instantly asleep. It took me a bit longer, but I finally drifted off, feeling more at peace than I had for years.

It seemed like only minutes before Ellen was shaking me awake. Coming to, I cast a bleary eye on the alarm clock, only to discover that it wouldn't even go off for another 20 minutes. "I've got 20 more minutes," I whined, pathetically.

"I know," Ellen answered, "I'm just telling you that when it goes off, don't hit the snooze button, like you usually do, get up right away and come and eat with the girls and me." To my questioning look she stated, "I think that, after last night, it would be good for the girls to see their parents eating breakfast together and getting along, and not screaming like we were doing last night. We need a little family solidarity to reassure them. OK?"

"Yeah, you're right," I huffed, "I'll be there promptly." Patting me on the head ("Good Dog", I thought) she turned and left the room.

True to my promise I bounded out of bed (OK, maybe crawled is more like it) when the alarm went off and promptly showered, did the rest of my morning routine, dressed, and strode into the kitchen as though I did this every day. Ellen was putting the finishing touches on eggs and bacon for us as the girls ate their sickeningly sweet cereal preferences.

"Hello, Munchkins," I sang out, as I passed the table, patting each on the head and grabbed Ellen away from the stove, bending her back for a kiss that was as slobbery as I could possibly make it and crooned, "And good morning to you, my love."

I was rewarded with a chorus of "Ewwws" from the girls, and a startled look from Ellen. Grabbing and filling a coffee cup for myself I sat down just as Ellen turned and handed me my plate and tossed the toast which had simultaneously popped up out of the toaster onto it.

"Perfect," I boomed, "Thank you, Darling."

Ellen issued me a quick "You're Welcome" and sat down across from me with her own plate and a rather bemused look on her face.

I quickly wolfed my breakfast down, thanked my wife profusely for the delicious repast, kissed both girls on the head, and with a happy "See you tonight." Went out the door to work leaving the three of them sitting there. I really wished I could have snuck back in and listened to the conversation after I left.

The next two days passed pleasantly and quite differently for Ellen and me. I really felt we had banished the elephant that had been inhabiting the room for the last seven years and were poised to regain the previous close and loving relationship we had enjoyed before "The Day." On Friday I gave some thought to what I wanted to say during our big talk that evening. I figured that Ellen would show up with note cards, filled in legal pads and, possibly, a PowerPoint presentation, so I felt I would have ample opportunity to organize my thoughts while she was presenting hers. I planned on letting her go first, which I was sure she would want to do.

I showed up at home, slightly later than the usual time having stopped on the way home to get two bottles of a nice Chianti that we had had several times and always enjoyed. Ellen was making her fabulous lasagna so I figured the Chianti would be an appropriate touch.

After I changed out of my work clothes I adjourned to the kitchen where I opened one of the bottles and poured a glass for each of us. "Here's to putting "The Day" to bed, forever," I toasted.

"Amen," Ellen intoned, and we clinked glasses, and each took a sip. We enjoyed a wonderful dinner, cleaned up, and settled on the couch for the big discussion. Ellen asked if she could go first and I nodded acquiescence, and she began.

"First of all, please let me finish what I have to say without interrupting me or asking any questions," she implored me. I nodded agreement, again and she began. I will let her ramble, just as she did that evening with little interruption.

'In the first place, Frank, I think we were both very naïve in getting into that with a man like Tony Conte. The fact that he might have his own agenda and let us have no say in anything never really occurred to me. That, along with the size of them both was very intimidating and, I must admit, that for the entire beginning of that day, I was terrified. I was afraid they were going to injure both of us and was so scared that the whole thing, up until Art Carson threw me on the couch, went by in a blur. When he started rubbing his giant penis up and down my slit, I saw the relative size and was sure he was going to split me in two and kill me. Even after he worked the head into me, I was still terrified and would have done anything to get out of there.

After he got it into me, however, (please don't take this the wrong way) I started to relax. I'm sorry, Frank, but size does make a difference, especially when the size is as gigantic as him and he started touching places I didn't even know I had. I realize that's a cliché, but it was true. It felt amazing and when he stopped moving it inside of me and made me tell him that I wanted more I felt I had no choice. I was sure if I said "No" that he would have raped me anyway and probably beat you up if you tried to intervene. Also, to be honest I didn't want him to stop.