Black Bull 09: Crime & Punishment

**** Sunday morning

It had been a hell of a night. But it was not a nice day.

I was sat at the breakfast bar, looking out the doors at the disgusting weather. Autumn seemed to have decided it was done with nice sunsets and gold-red leaves on trees. It had instead settled, moodily, for a sort of gusty, rain-swept murk. I looked up at the clock - it was 10am, but the dim light outside made it feel more like 8pm.

I was still trying to process the previous evening; it somehow didn't feel real now that we were back home, like the whole thing was some sort of amazing wet dream.

But real it most certainly was.

I surprised myself - I just felt happy. I figured I'd have some sort of 'comedown', some guilt, maybe even shame. Not a bit of it.

Claire seemed, if anything, even happier with things than me (maybe that's what mind-blowing orgasms do to you?). She seemed more vivacious, more alive, more loving than ever before. Maybe my fantasy had helped our reality become a better version of itself?

"Darling?!"

I heard the call from the hallway before I even heard the door.

"In the kitchen!"

My wife walked into the room, a huge smile lighting up her face, grinning from ear to ear.

"There's the bestest husband in the world!" she said, stooping down to deposit a shopping bag next to the door.

I looked at it, quizzically.

"I thought you were just going to the chemist and then to get some coffee?"

"That was all I was going to get, but then I thought, 'why, doesn't my husband deserve a gift for giving me the best orgasms ever!'?"

"Well," I smiled, coyly looking down at the newspaper in front of me, "I don't think I really had much of a hand in that!"

"Nonsense!" said Claire, reaching into the bag, pulling out a small, black leather box, "This was all your idea! You arranged it all out, you're the one I should thank just as much as..."

She trailed off.

"Your big bull!?" I smiled up at her again.

"Oh my God, it makes my pussy tingle just saying that! My 'bull'!"

She walked over to where I sat, setting the small box down in front of me, on the paper. I looked up at my wife - she was grinning like a schoolgirl who'd just won first prize for her science project.

"This is for me?" I said, touched, rotating the plush box. I couldn't remember the last time she had bought me a gift!

She playfully slapped my shoulder; I made a mock 'ow' face.

"I just told you it was for you, didn't I? I told you I needed to get a gift for the best husband ever!"

My wife moved round behind, hugging me round the waist. I could feel her smiling.

"Well go on then! Open it!"

I pulled the hinged lid up.

Wow!

Inside, nestled in a bed of off-white silk sat a gorgeous, expensive chronograph; a Tag Haeur, no less!

I pulled the thing out of its cradle, turning it, admiring it in the light. It was properly nice.

"Wow, baby! It's gorgeous! I love it, thank you!"

"Go on then, put it on! Let's see how it looks on you."

I took off my old, knackered Casio; farewell, my old friend, you'd served me well.

Fastening the dark brown leather strap, a huge grin on my face, I held my arm up to gaze at it, turning my wrist. Hands down, it was the nicest thing I owned! It was almost as if...

"It's wonderful! Thank you!"

"So you've got something nice for you..." she smiled, a pleading look on her face.

There we go, now I see: bribery.

Utterly pointless bribery - hadn't she worked out how much I'd loved the previous night?! It was all I could do not to set up the next date immediately upon leaving!

"Ha!" I shouted, triumphantly, "I knew it! You want me to set up another date night, don't you?"

She leaned her face into the side of my head, nibbling my ear.

"Don't you want to see me get fucked, to get my little pussy stretched out again on my big bull's cock?"

She reached a hand down to my groin, rubbing my immediate erection.

"Fine," I laughed, trying - and failing - to make it sound like a chore, "we'll get another date pencilled in."

****

"No, sorry, I'm working tomorrow night. How about this weekend, the 17th? ... Yes? ... Perfect, wonderful, we'll see you then!"

I hung up, putting the mobile back down on the counter surface, turning, smiling, to see the expectant look on Claire's beaming face.

"We're all booked in for the weekend!"

She did a little skip for joy.

****

**** Monday morning

Who'd have thought? Turns out that paying to have your wife absolutely railed by a big black bull really could ensure she'd never been happier.

I'd initially been dubious about the 'testimonials' on Samuel's site - I rarely trust Amazon's, and I couldn't imagine these had gone via TrustPilot... Nonetheless, I was starting to find myself in agreement with 'Charles, 41, West London' - it really was turning out to be the best money I'd ever spent in my life!

The universe, though, it would seem, was not so sure. I know it's normally meant to be pride, but in my case it was happiness that came before the fall...

I paused the Teams meeting, making my apologies for my mobile ringing. I picked the thing up, wondering why Deejay, of all people, would be calling. Christ, did he want a commission, a 'finder's fee'?!

"Neil! I think you owe me an apology," he started, not bothering with even the briefest of pleasantries.

"Hi, Deejay. Er... what for?" I asked, genuinely mystified.

"You told me that you and Claire were both 'all in'..."

Shit.

Well, it was certainly true now. But granted, I'd not got sign-off beforehand.

"Deejay, look-" I started, before the man cut me off mid-sentence.

"I think I owe you an apology too Neil."

"Er..."

"Like I said, you told me you were both 100% on board. Given you'd asked me about Samuel, I assumed you'd obviously talked to Claire about it."

I could feel my stomach tighten, a nasty, twisting sensation deep in my guts. I had a terrible feeling I knew where this was all leading...

"She was giving me a pep talk after a particularly difficult client call, you know, trying to get me 'back in the game', on top form, and all that. I tell you, these Far East clients can be a real nightmare! There was this one guy-"

"Deejay, sorry, but I'm pretty busy here - can you cut to the chase please?"

"Sorry, yes. Well, after that, after she 'pepped me up' - you know, she really is a very good boss, an excellent-"

"Deejay!" I shouted, running low on patience.

"Ah, sure, sorry. So I asked her, I asked about how she'd, erm, 'found' Samuel-"

"Jesus, Deejay!"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry! I should have been a bit more professional; I shouldn't have asked Claire about Samuel at work."

Double-shit.

"You shouldn't have mentioned it, period!"

"...Well, sure. Anyway, I thought I'd let you know because, buddy, she was fucking fuming!"

Triple-shit.

"OK, so I've got to go - another meeting, you know how it is. Thought I'd let you know. Ciao!"

How annoyingly cheery. Dump that flaming bag of news on my lap, then just bugger off...

This was bad. But, maybe, just maybe, Claire would have cooled off a bit by the time she got home later that evening. We did, after all, have another date to look forward to this weekend.

****

**** Monday evening

"I can't fucking believe you!" my wife shouted, her face red with anger, "How could you be so stupid! I'm his fucking boss's boss!"

She hadn't cooled off.

I was staring down at my feet, trying not to meet her withering gaze.

"Think about the position you've put me in! What if Deejay goes over his boss's head, and comes to me for a pay rise? He could fucking blackmail me, do you get that?!"

Note to self - turns out it isn't better to ask for forgiveness later.

"Please, honey-"

"Shut up! Shut up, I don't want to hear another word out of you!"

She went to turn away, to storm off upstairs, but stopped, suddenly.

Ominously.

"You know what?" she said, turning back to look at me, a mean, thin smile briefly flickering across her face, "Fuck you. You can't make tonight? Well I can. I'm calling Samuel."

Hang on a fucking second! I knew I'd fucked up, but still...

"Baby, please! We agreed-"

"That was before I knew you got my fucking work involved!"

"But...but you can't go! We're in this together, we agreed, we'd do everything together!"

"That was then. Now you've changed things. Badly," she said, flicking through the contacts in her phone to find Samuel.

****

**** Monday night

I was sat at my desk, angrily poking the keyboard. The work was both complex and tedious, a horrible combination. But far worse than the boredom of being stuck working on a cold Monday night was the thought of what Claire was doing right now.

I'd had to get back on with my work after my wife's furious outburst; I'd waited for the inevitable door slam that would signal Claire's leaving for her 'date'. Being forewarned had not, apparently, meant forearmed, my stomach still dropping when I'd heard it shut. She'd left about two hours ago, so they'd probably be...

"Neil, if you can update the docs, that should allow us to roll through the changes properly."

"Sure Sanjay, I'll get that done right now."

I'd tried to sound involved, engaged, but I probably just came across as sullen, distracted. "She'll have had a few glasses of wine by now..." I thought, my balls aching from the images dancing round my head.

I jumped, the mobile on the desk doing a little dance as it vibrated. 'Incoming Video Call - Claire' said the screen.

I swivelled away from my monitors and picked it up, my heart pounding in my chest, my hands already clammy, and swiped to answer.

"Neil!"

It was Samuel. He was holding the phone in front of him, too close, the whole screen taken up by his large head. He was sweating.

"Samuel..." I started, full of trepidation, "Er..."

"Neil-" he interrupted, then stopped, suddenly clenching his jaw.

"Neil," he began again, "Claire told me what you did. That is not good Neil."

"Look, Samuel, I know I did wrong, but if you could just let me speak to Claire for a minute..."

The big man clenched his jaw again, then bit his lower lip. The phone moved slightly in his hand, to the left, so Samuel's face wasn't taking up the entire screen. I could see a dark red wall behind him. That couldn't be good...

"That is not possible right now Neil. Your wife is a little busy."

He smiled, wickedly, then pointed the phone down, so all I could see was the ceiling, then Samuel's thumb looming as he clicked to reverse the shot.

Oh, fuck!

My wife, my gorgeous, loving wife - OK, so my gorgeous, loving, fucking angry wife - was middle of the shot, fixed in the centre of the screen. She was looking up at the camera, up at me, staring vindictively out of the screen.

She was kneeling, kneeling in front of the big bull, staring up. She just kept staring up at the camera as she made messy, wet, filthy slurping sounds, her mouth wide, her tongue occasionally visible as it tried to lick and suck the giant black balls in her mouth, half her face obscured by the huge black cock sat across it, the thing so big it ran the length of her head, lying across her nose, across her forehead.

My wife's hands were behind her back, her arms folded in behind her, her hands joined together, locked together by a pair of silver handcuffs.

I almost shot my load right there, watching my wife nestle her face into the man's giant scrotum, her makeup all smeared and rubbed into her, her own saliva and drool coating her face, moaning, adoringly slurping, licking, sucking the big black balls.

One of the giant plums popped briefly out of her mouth, my wife letting out a little mewing sound, disappointed, her tongue darting out to try and manoeuvre it back into place, her eyes closing with a look of pure ecstasy as it plopped back in. Samuel's hand came into shot, patting Claire's head, petting her.

She wasn't pleasuring him, she wasn't trying to make him happy. She was worshipping him.

Thick strands of saliva were running down the sides of her face, out of her mouth, dribbling down to drop below, down onto her bare skin, down onto her delicate, lacy, ultramarine blue underwear, the underwear that she'd promised was only for me.

My wife looked like she was in slut heaven.

The camera suddenly switched back to the forward facing view, looking up at Samuel from underneath. He looked stern, serious.

"Neil, I will try and help you. I will ask Claire to forgive you-" - he stopped, mid-sentence, and looked down, below the camera, an ecstatic grin on his face - "Fuck, yes, just like that little girl!" - before regathering his composure, continuing, his face set again, "but she is very angry with you. I am disappointed in you too. We will have words, you and I, the next time we are together. Goodbye Neil."

****

**** Tuesday morning

I opened my eyes, slowly, groggily, the familiar - and unnecessarily loud - sound of the bin men rousing me from my fitful sleep. My right arm had gone completely numb - I must have rolled onto it in the night.

I pulled the blanket off myself, trying to rouse my dead arm to look at my shiny new watch. It was 7am.

Claire had not come back from her 'date' yet. I'd have heard her come in - I'd slept on the sofa in the front room, so would have noticed the door, no matter how sneakily she might have tried to get in.

I knew she was punishing me, I knew I'd done wrong, but still, I was getting worried now.

I'd been through the emotional wringer the previous evening. I'd lurched from self-pity, to anger, then just a sort of bleak acceptance. Sure, I knew I should have gone to Claire before Deejay; it was underhand and, worse, really did leave her exposed at work. Nonetheless, there are ways of getting even. Worshipping Samuel's giant black balls was not what I was expecting.

But where the fuck was my wife?!

I reached over the arm of the sofa to get my mobile, dropping it as my hand refused to obey instructions. I picked it up, clicking to call Claire's mobile - it just rang through to the answer phone.

I heard the front door, jumping up from the sofa, pulling my boxers down where they'd ridden up on in the night. I tried to rush out to the hall, but the best I could manage was a rapid, sleepy stumble.

My wife was pulling the door shut, her back to me.

"Claire, please..." I started, a speech already worked out in my head. I stopped when she turned round to look at me - her hair a little disheveled, but otherwise not looking like she'd been...

She was beaming at me.

"I'm sorry baby," she cried, rushing towards me with her arms out. She threw them around me as I just stood, confused, thrown off by the sudden change, my arms still slack by my sides.

She nuzzled her face into my chest.

"I'm sorry."

She pulled herself back from me, still hugging, and looked up into my eyes.

"You're forgiven darling. I know you didn't mean to do anything wrong. I know you meant well."

She kissed me full on the lips. My mind immediately flashed back to what I'd last seen those lips on.

"I'm so glad you forgive me!" I stumbled, still slightly shell-shocked at the sudden change. She'd been so angry!

"But why the change of heart?"

She just was staring up into my eyes, a funny expression on her face, a mixture of compassion and... what the hell was that? Pity?

"Samuel talked to me last night. He explained to me why you should be forgiven. He explained why he wanted me to forgive you. So I have."

I felt an odd mix of elation and... trepidation. The fact she was forgiving me, not driven by her own thoughts, but because she'd been told to sat uneasily. She seemed genuine enough. But that almost made it worse - could my wife so easily just do, just feel what the bull told her to...? Did he really have that much of a hold over her?

"I'm going to go and have a shower," she said, hanging her handbag up on the hook on the wall, "and then get ready for work."

She smiled at me, gently, oddly, her expression leaving me slightly queasy.

"By the way," she said, walking up the stairs, looking back over her shoulder at me, as if she'd suddenly remembered to ask me to put an item on the grocery list, "we're going back to Samuel's tonight. 8 o'clock. He wants to talk to you."

My stomach lurched.