Golddigger's Punishment

"So, what's up, man?" Rick sauntered into Peter's office and sat on the leather armchair.

"Looking good and sharp, as always, man," Peter smirked. "Want something to drink? Got this pretty damn good bottle of bourbon." With pride, he raised the bottle of Very, Very Old Fitzgerald.

"Fuck your bourbon, man!" Rick heartily laughed. "Got any good scotch?"

"Of course," Peter unlocked the small liquor cabin under his office. "The most beautiful 26-year old you've ever laid your eyes on, man!"

"Scotch's the only thing getting better with age!" Rick guffawed.

"Cost a pretty penny, I'll give you that. But, here, have a taste." He poured a glass of Macallan Platinum and offered it to Rick reverently. Then, he poured himself a tall glass of Kentucky bourbon, neat.

"Damn, that's good," Rick cleared his throat, a wondrous heat spreading through his body like wildfire. "Why do you keep drinking fucking rotgut, man?"

"I like to keep in touch with my humble beginnings, that's all; besides, if I swilled down the good stuff all the time, I'd run myself out of business."

"You never had a problem with tasting the product, back in the old days, though."

"Learning from my mistakes," Peter shrugged.

"So, why did you call?" Rick lit a cigar. "I mean, it wasn't just to give me a taste of this, admittedly magnificent, scotch, right?"

"No, I..." Peter leaned heavily back in his desk chair, keeping his gaze fixed on the cigarette he rolled deliberately slow.

"Is it money, man? I don't..."

"No," Peter quickly said, shaking his head. "It ain't money, man. Business's actually flourishing, I'm doing...far better than I ever dared expect. I can actually repay you for..."

"Don't want it," Rick said coldly. "I've told you a thousand times, that money was a gift, not a loan. I'm just glad you're doing okay. So, what is it?" He added, impatiently. "Some clueless motherfucker trying to break into our territory?"

"No, it's..." He sighed. "Sure, there've been a few trying to sell shit in the bar, but...they're quickly weeded out and disposed. Your boys are quite efficient in...keeping the place clean of unwanted products."

"Then..." Rick rolled his finger, eyeing Peter intensely.

Peter lit the cigarette and blew a dense cloud of blue smoke out, keeping his gaze fixed on the distant blank abyss and as far away as possible from Rick.

"It's Constance, man," Peter finally muttered, choking his bourbon down and instantly refilling the glass.

"Anything happened to her? I mean...I saw her this very morning, so..."

"She was here last night," Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose and finally met his best friend's cold eyes. "And...I better show you."

Rick curiously got up and stood behind the desk, leaning on the back of Peter's chair; Peter clicked on the surveillance video file from the previous night.

"All right," Rick shrugged. "So, she's dancing with two buffoons; I know she likes flirting around."

"That's not..." Peter dragged a long puff and fast forwarded the video till the real point of interest. "See?" He pointed at the top end of the screen.

"What's..." Rick squinted and leaned closer to the screen. "Motherfucker!" He chuckled dryly.

He watched in secret fascination at his wife getting spit-roasted by the two tall, robust men she danced with earlier in the video, on one of the corner booths of the bar. A tingling sensation rose in his crotch and he quickly fixed his suit pants.

"I didn't see it, until..." Peter tried to explain, but, Rick was quick to interrupt him:

"Don't apologize, man; it isn't your fault. Though," Rick chuckled, "you do run quite the raucous business, huh?"

"Sex sells," Peter shrugged, with a twitch of his lips. "Besides, with the amount of alcohol and drugs consumed on any given night, I'm surprised to see only—" he dramatically counted the number of people engaging in sexual activities in the video "—three booths being used for sex."

"Yeah," Rick rubbed his nose. "I knew she was a slut, but...to be fair, man, I never thought she'd cheat on me."

"Maybe, she had too much to drink, man," Peter said matter-of-factly. "I mean, she knows this is my place. She comes here, because she knows she can flirt around, without the fear of messing with some crazy bastard that'll try to rape her.

"Hell," he chuckled, "Brad, that gorilla of yours, broke a guy's arm in three different places, just for fondling Constance's ass rougher than she had wanted him to. I didn't even know there were three places in a human arm that could be broken!"

"Brad's a...specimen," Rick chuckled, quite dryly. "So, are these guys still alive and well?"

"According to the video, yeah," Peter nodded. "They are seen to walk out of the bar with all their parts intact. Want me to...rectify that?" He turned around, glaring into Rick's still-cold eyes.

"No, I just..." He sighed. "I suppose, that means Constance told my boys not to harm these guys, right? If they had raped her, or, in any way forced themselves on her, they'd..."

"Be in a ditch right now," Peter completed the sentence coldly. "Probably toothless and with half their bones shattered to pieces."

"Which means," Rick concluded, "Constance wanted to fuck them."

"Would it have been better, if they had..." Peter arched his eyebrow.

"No, I..." Rick sighed heavily, then sank back in the armchair and had a long swig of the scotch. He smacked his lips and relit his cigar. "No, I don't think it would have made me feel better, if it had been against her will.

"It's just...look—" he leaned forth, resting his elbows on his knees, "—I know she predominantly married me for my money, all right? I'm not a fucking idiot. But, I'm still relatively young and good looking, right? I'm not like my dad, yet; sure, it makes sense that the 20-year olds he's dating will fuck around. The man's eighty-two and shriveled like a California raisin.

"But..." He spread his arms, with a look of despair on his face. "I still got it, right? Maybe I'm not the stud I used to be, maybe my abs have gone into hiding, but...damn it, no pot-belly, no bald spot. Why would she fuck around?"

"As you said, man," Peter said calmly, while holding on to his glass firmly, "you knew she was a slut, before you married her. Remember where you met her?"

"Yeah," Rick frowned. "Blue Flamingo? Am I recalling the name right?"

"Yup," Peter nodded. "And it wasn't just a strip joint, man; I told you, the girls were all fucking for money in the back rooms. And you still..."

"That was just a job, man," Rick protested. "I mean...she fucked those two guys for pleasure. That's what...fuck it," he drained the scotch and crashed his cigar in the ashtray.

"You all right?" Peter got up and ran his fingers through his long hair.

"Yeah, I just..." Rick remained seated, nervously tapping his foot on the carpeted floor.

"I hope you signed a pre-nap," Peter said coldly.

"Of course," Rick nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on his shoes. "It's just..."

"You married for love and thought it was reciprocated."

"Can you stop being yourself, for a minute? I'm trying to..."

"Sorry," Peter sighed. "It's just..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Rick dismissed him. "It's all about brutal honesty with you. It's not always the right course of action, man."

"Sorry." Peter resumed his seat and rolled another cigarette. "Wow, where are you going?" He was rattled, when Rick leaped off the armchair and rushed to the door.

"Got things to do, man," Rick said dismissively, as he stood under the open door. "Thanks for the drink, man. And for opening my eyes."

"Don't do anything stupid!" Peter yelled after Rick, who was already hurrying down the stairs—knowing full well his advice had gone unheard.

* * * *

Constance sat in front of the full-body mirror of the master bedroom in her birthday suit, a bright smile on her face. She lifted and squeezed her new DD's, gently teasing her nipples and giggling at the tingling sensation that traversed her spine.

She had thought of going bigger—and was still contemplating it, since Rick would certainly pay for the improvement—but, it had only been a month since she had gotten them and her back was already paying the price.

She continued to feel her new breasts up, still unable fully to get used to them, while she recalled how the even bigger implants the doctor had shown her had felt in her hands.

Granted, a nice pair of MM-cup breasts would have made her a star attraction at her old job—it still felt as a dagger through her heart, recalling the amount of attention (and most importantly tips) Gina would get, just because of her large, natural, breasts, while she only got the low-rollers—but, now she did not need it.

The implants had been mainly a way of increasing the self-esteem of her small-breasted, medium-successful stripper self; Rick liked her just the way she was, but, she had wanted the improvement ever since she turned 17 and first got a gig at the Blue Flamingo as a waitress, and when she finally found herself into a position of affording it, she simply couldn't allow herself to waste the opportunity.

After a few more minutes of marveling over her rock-hard body, built through years of working out and working the pole, she put on a small, strapless yellow dress with deep cleavage and just enough bottom barely to cover her ass—the black high-heel pumps were certainly far more elegant than the monstrously high platforms she once had to wear nightly.

She just combed her long, blonde hair and put on a minimum amount of makeup. Rick would soon be home from work—and, as was her wont, she never asked about the nature of his work; after all, the less she knew, the less the cops would be able to pin on her, in an eventual arrest.

Wiggling her ass, she descended the stairs and wore the blankest look she could muster—the house was empty, for now, but, she had no clue exactly when Rick would come home.

She sat on the large sofa, crossing her legs high, and turned the TV on—bypassing a couple of interesting-looking documentaries and leaving on a reality-show about the housewives of the rich and famous.

While looking over her shoulder at the pompous double-door entrance, she stuck her hand under the cushions and with a sigh of relief retrieved the worn-out copy of Critique of Pure Reason.

However, she didn't get the chance to read more than a handful of pages, when the distinct noise of the key hitting the lock reached her ears and caused her heart to jump up in her throat—hurriedly, she stuffed the book back under the cushions and let her empty gaze move to the TV.

"Hey, baby, I'm home," Rick announced, locking the door behind him.

"Hi, darling!" She got up and offered him the broadest mindless smile.

"How was your day?" He asked, after he grabbed her firmly by the throat and bit her lips.

"Just watched some TV," she chirped. "Waiting for you to come home." She grabbed his crotch and squeezed.

"Someone's horny, I see." His smirk made her cringe.

"Of course, baby, it's been two days since you fucked me."

"Really?" He shrugged, inconspicuously. "Which means...you haven't been fucked in two days, right?"

"Well, yeah..." She raised her eyebrow and tried to maintain her wide smile.

"So, last night, you didn't fuck two guys in Peter's bar?" He tightened his grip around her neck, squeezing till the first tears rolled down her eyes.

"What? No, of course I...didn't, honey, what are you..." She struggled to articulate the words, as everything around her started turning blurry.

"So, the surveillance cameras lie, huh? It was all a ruse, huh?"

"I...don't..." She twitched his cock as hard as she could; she heaved, when he involuntarily released her, as he doubled down and groaned. "I'm so sorry, baby, I just...I didn't mean to..."

"Fucking bitch!" He yelled. A sharp jolt of burning pain overwhelmed her, when he hit her with a backhand.

"Damn it," she muttered, as she held on to her bright-red cheek. "Baby," she then said, bringing herself to grin, "that was...good."

"Oh," he chuckled, "you like it rough, huh?" He clenched his fists and took a long step toward her, taken aback from her not cowering away. "Is that why you fucked those two bastards last night? 'Cause they were rough?"

"I...it was just the heat of the moment, baby; I'm so terribly sorry, I just..." She drew a deep breath and stood straight. "It's just that these two babies—" she lowered her dress under her breasts "—get me so much attention! It just got too overwhelming."

"Is that so?" He put his fingers around her nipples and, with a smirk, twisted them hard—until she begged him to stop. "That gets you wet, you goddamn bimbo?"

"Yes, baby, it..." She panted, biting the corner of her lips.

"Good!" He slapped her tits till she was down on her knees whimpering. "'Cause it sure as fuck gets me hard."

He whipped his erect prick out and without a forewarning slammed it down her throat; taken by surprise, she gagged and her entire body jerked. Unfazed, Rick pounded her throat, his balls slapping hard against her jaw.

She lifted her watery eyes up, seeking his gaze; the fury she saw in his blue eyes was enough to make her heart skip a beat, but, she simply cupped her breasts and played with them, emptying her mind of all thoughts.

"That's it," Rick shouted, as he buried her face in his crotch, holding her head with both hands, while she squirmed and kicked, "choke on my fucking dick, you worthless slut!

"Did your two boy toys from last night choke you with their dicks? Huh?"

He slapped the back of her head, forcefully shoving his prick as deep down her throat as it would go; with a violent jerk of her hair, he pulled her away.

Drooling and panting, she remained on her knees gasping for air—while in the back of her head she tried to fathom the reason Peter had betrayed her—she also started thoroughly enjoying Rick's rough side.

She cried in pleasure, when he pulled her hair hard and thrust his prick once more down her throat—plowing her throat fast and hard. She watched him in fascination staring at the ceiling, deep grunts escaping his mouth, while more drool dripped down her wide open mouth.

She giggled, when he slapped her across the face with his drenched in her own saliva prick; a few honest moans escaped her mouth, when he rubbed his cock all over her face, effectively ruining her mascara and makeup.

"Now," he said in satisfaction, as he took a step back and crossed his arms around his chest, still dressed up in his suit, "you finally look like the slut you are. Damn, I wish I hadn't waste these past couple of years treating you like a goddamn princess."

"Baby," she crawled toward him, squashing her breasts between her elbows, "you knew who and what I was; you just wanted a princess by your side. That's all."

She took his balls in her mouth and swirled them about with her tongue, constantly maintaining eye-contact. His prick rested on her forehead, as she continued sucking on his balls.

He stood still, arms still crossed around his chest, coldly looking down at her. Her heart fluttered, when he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up on her feet.

She writhed, when he slapped her pussy hard, before rubbing her slit.

"You do like it rough!" He exclaimed, his lips abruptly curling in a sly grin. "Look how fucking wet you are, after only getting slightly slapped around!"

Hungrily, she sucked on his fingers when he slammed them down her throat, once more choking her; it was her own salty taste that swarmed her mouth and she stared, through the welling up tears, straight into his eyes.

"Good slut," he patted her mockingly on the top of her head.

She groaned, when he pushed her against the back of the sofa and bent her over it, forcefully pressing her head against the cushion.

It felt as if her ass was on fire, as he spanked her as hard as he could, hard slap after hard slap rocking both cheeks, while his laughter turned maniacal. Her screams were drowned by the cushion—she bit it down hard, when he shoved two fingers in her pussy and drilled her hard.

She kicked her legs up in the air, feeling gravity working on her body as she fell forward and was desperately trying to maintain her uncomfortable posture. With a quick jerk of her hair, he threw her off the couch and onto the floor.

She sat there, legs spread and head dizzy, looking at him pleadingly; again grabbing her from the hair, he pulled her up on her feet.

She gasped, when he ripped her dress in half with one swift movement; obediently, she crossed her hands behind her back, as he momentarily stood there silently marveling over her naked body.

Then, she was once more brought down to her knees by a series of hard slaps on her breasts.

"Naked and on your fucking knees," he said harshly. "That's where you've always belonged, isn't it?" He slapped her across the face, when she remained silent. "Isn't it?" He demanded.

"Yes, baby, it's..." She cried out, when he slapped her again with the back of his hand.

"It's Master from now on, slut. You lost your sweet talking privileges the moment you decided my cock was not enough for your used-up cunt."

"Yes...Master." She raised her eyes once more, trying to swallow despite the lump in her throat.

"Good," he nodded approvingly. "Now—" he unbuckled his belt and folded it in two "—get on all fours and bark, like the little bitch you are."

With a secret enthrallment—which she didn't want to admit even to herself—she did precisely as told. Down on all fours, her ass sticking up in the air and her tongue hanging out of her mouth, she tried to mimic, to the best of her acting abilities, a small dog.

"You'll get better with time, I guess," he shrugged indifferently. Then, the belt crashed through the air with a loud swoosh and a thunderous scream escaped her mouth, ringing loudly within the large room.

She fought hard with her urge to reach for her burning ass.

Remaining still—and secretly cherishing every moment—she felt the coldness of the leather belt around her neck, as he crouched behind her, yanking her head back with the belt and rubbing his hard prick against her pussy.

"You know," he said, as he jerked the belt back forcefully, causing her to cry out loud, "I don't want to fuck your cunt today; I'm your goddamn husband, and Master, and I shouldn't be getting sloppy seconds.

"Which means," he smirked, and blew a quick kiss on her lips, "it's time to use your other hole. Unless, they also took care of that."

"No, they...please, baby, I..." She cried, when he pulled the belt even higher, arching her back in a way too uncomfortable angle. "Master, please, I..." She sighed, when he relieved some of the pressure and she could straighten her back a bit.

"There's no more begging, baby. "He ran his fingers across her back, starting from the neck and working his way down to her buttocks. "Besides, I'm done taking orders from you.

"Your holes are now mine to use," he pushed his index finger in her ass and guffawed, when she writhed. "Too tight," he said, curiously. "How so? Did you always charge too much for anal?"

"I've never...I..." Her eyes popped wide open, when he thrust a second finger in; the initial pain quickly subsided, as he slowly, but crudely, stretched her asshole.

"Oh, don't worry," he reassured her with a condescending tone, "I'll stretch you up real good. It might hurt a bit, but...well, that's the fucking point."