Punishment That Fits the Crime

Laura was on the pill, since the arrival of our second. For six years we had had no need to think of my wearing anything as a precaution against pregnancy. There was no need to think, and so in Germany, Laura did not think. Not for one moment, one split second, did she think. Or rather, he was inside her, fucking her, before she thought, and by then it was too late. And yes, he came inside her, not just the first time, but since it had happened that first time without thinking, she had let him come inside her every time. And yes, he had made love to her a second time that night. Not just that night. Each night. And yes, that very morning.

If you have never been there, you will find it impossible to work out how you will feel when you are lying in your bed in your safe, secure home, your children asleep just down the landing corridor, your beloved wife naked beside you, when you realise that just sixteen, seventeen hours before, that same day, another man has come inside her.

Yes, your wife is on the pill, or perhaps yours will not be, but even if she is, this guy's semen is still there, still inside her. You know, because you are a man and men remember data they have read, important or inconsequential, that the average ejaculation contains one hundred million sperm. So, knowing they did not use protection, that is how many sperm have been spewed inside your wife, by this other man. You know that the life span of sperm after ejaculation averages five days, so if this man has fucked your wife inside that period, most of those one hunderd million sperm will still be there, swimming their random course, trying to find an egg that they can fertilise, whether or not that egg may be waiting for them to find.

If like me you do the maths, three nights that she spent in Germany, maybe six or more times that they have fucked, six times that he has come, six times one hundred million sperm, from this guy's balls, firing through his shaft, erupting from that single eye, blasting deep inside her womb. Work out for yourself how you will feel when your wife tells you that he has come inside her.

Yes, she is sorry. She does not know why she let it happen. Everything was just so different in Germany. It was like being in another world. Being away just made everything seem so right, even if she knew that it was all so wrong. You have to understand. It was not about you. She loves you. She could not keep what happened from you. She could not come home and live a lie. She had to tell you what took place. She is so, so, sorry.

So, you will be shocked, staggered, shaken to your foundations, and you will be furious with her, that she has put your entire relationship at risk for three nights with this guy, but something else is happening as well, because if you are like most guys, while she has been telling you about what has taken place, about this other man who has fucked her and come inside her, leaving his sperm in the shaved cunt that you are still holding with your hand, your cock has come alive and is rock hard.

Even through the shock, and the anger, this is still the woman you love, and the woman whose body you have loved so many times, and still love. Another guy has fucked your wife, but her breasts are still incredible. Her wide, pink areoles are still exquisite. The half inch, thick nipples that that other guy must have sucked and bitten are still amazing. Her pubis, where your hand is, which that other guy has shaved so smooth, still feels wonderful, more so now that it is so bare, and now that it is no longer your wife's pubis, but her cunt. So your cock, which she is holding, in spite of all your rational reaction to what she has just told you, is rock, fucking solidly erect.

You know that this other guy has been between her legs that morning. You can even feel that she is wet. It cannot be his semen. Not sixteen hours later. It has to be her own excitement that lets your fingers slip so easily inside her delicious cunt. At least, that is what you tell yourself, as you move on top of her.

The most delicious sensation in the world, short of actually coming, is the feeling aroused in the sensitive skin of your penis head as you enter a woman, parting her labia and opening her. It is so exquisite, it is worth repeating, not just the next time you are with her, but then and there.

Push forward slowly, just enough to feel the rim of your penis head slip past her labia, and then pull out, just as slowly, until only the eye is touching her moist lips. Then just as slowly, sink your penis head inside her once again.

Do this as often as you wish. It teases her, and as well as giving you the most wonderful sensations, it confirms that this is your pussy you are enjoying, yours to fuck, because that is what she wants of you. Add into that mix the knowledge that this is your wife, who has given her body to you for your pleasure, and that will take you into a zone that is sheer heaven.

But throw on top of that, your knowledge that someone else has been doing this. His cock has probed the delectable pussy that you thought was yours alone. It has eased its way inside that pussy, sliding between those lips, thrusting into this same moistness. His cock has transformed it by its presence from the sweet, succulent pussy that you have so long enjoyed, to the splayed, wanton, cunt that it has become.

Knowing this, all sorts of thoughts will propel themselves around your head. The sensations of making love to her are just as incredible, except that it is not love that you are making. This is your pussy, that you are reclaiming. And it is his cunt, that he has fucked. That is what your wife's pussy has become, just as she is no longer just your wife. She is a cunt who has betrayed you, and this cunt's cunt is now yours to be fucked and enjoyed, and through your anger, your fury, and your lust, you are going to demonstrate to her that you can fuck her as well as and as hard as anyone.

If you had them within reach, you would use ties to secure her wrists to the bed. You would fuck her with her arms splayed. But there are no ties within reach, so you have to hold her wrists, and stretch her arms with your own, while you play your penis head in and out of her cunt, frustrating her that you have not yet sunk your shaft deep into her.

Getting inside your wife's head is something else. She is staring up at you. You can see that this is the last thing that she expected. She has just spent three nights letting another man make love to her, and now you are making love to her, except that she can sense that you are fucking, not loving, for any element of love for her is now on hold until you have had time to work things out, or perhaps on hold for ever. You can tell that she cannot understand why you are making love, but she does understand that love has gone, and you are fucking her, enjoying her body, delighting in her wet slut's cunt, but you can also tell from her open mouth and the little moans she makes, that she is loving it.

When you finally thrust deep, without warning, to punish her, she cries out, the most beautiful sound a woman can make. You stay like that, deep inside her, then withdraw, all the way but for half an inch, so that you can thrust again, harder this time, wanting to punish her with each thrust, and each time you hear that exquisite sound again.

Your cock is a tool, your instrument of revenge, and you use every muscle in your buttocks and your back to drive it into her, making her moan and writhe. That is the nature of your fucking, deep, furious thrusts that match your mood, that make her cry. Except her cries are not cries of pain, but of the sensuous pleasure of a woman who is wanted and desired, in spite of her having fucked that another man, or perhaps because of it, and of a woman who has discovered that a cock is a cock, and that her cunt can come alive whether it is her husband's or another's.

In your own head, the cries and moans and groans all serve only to confirm that the woman who is mother to your children loves to fuck, her legs now wrapped around your body as they would have been wrapped around his before, and your own enjoyment of her body serves only to prove that she is just as good to fuck, as succulent and as delicious, as ever she was when she was only yours.

She comes. Her arms held down by the wrists, her legs wrapped around your body, she squirms beneath you, gripping you, angling her body to maximise the sensations exploding through her, detonated by the wet friction of your smooth, hard shaft grazing her engorged clitoris. The orgasm sweeps over her, your reminder to her that you can fuck her as well as any guy, and the intensity of her orgasm and the spasms that make her body shudder under yours, and tighten her grip around your cock, bring you to your own inevitable climax.

You think about the six hundred million sperm over just three nights, however many million of them still swimming in her womb, living their meagre five days of fertile existence, as you are about to release your own three day store of semen, and you feel the first delicious contraction drive that semen through your shaft and deep into the dark recesses of her womb.

Now you release her wrists, and instead hold her body, as repeated contractions empty your sac of semen into her, your wife, your lover, your mistress, your possession, that another guy has used and abused for his own pleasure, has penetrated to the hilt of his own cock, has fucked and sucked, and has fired his own cannonades where now you fire yours. Your good, wholesome, virtuous sperm mingles with the remnants of his invading, foreign sperm. Your ejaculation racks your body. You feel the intensity in every fibre, from head to toe, but multiplied a million times through the shaft of your penis and in its head, excruciatingly wonderful, pleasure on the cusp of being pain.

Afterwards, when you have both recovered, she is still so, so sorry. She will never do anything so stupid or hurtful again, she swears. She will do anything you want to make it right. Whatever it takes. Whatever it needs. However you want to punish her, she knows that she deserves it. She just wants it to be right between you.

In your head, you are deciding that you neither want to see your family torn apart by what has happened, nor lose the wife you love, neither the person who is your friend, companion, partner, mother of your children, nor lose this exquisite woman whose wonderful body you still love to fuck.

You are deciding too, that this cannot go unpunished, that the punishment must fit the crime, and one element of punishment has formed already in your mind, that no one will ever shave your wife again. That will be a daily reminder to her of what she has done, each time that she is naked. There will be other punishments, but that will be the first. She let him remove her pubic hair and expose her cunt in all its wantonness. You will remove that same pubic hair for ever, a reminder to her of who and what she is.

So the laser depilation was arranged, but was in no way adequate. Laura was the daughter of a respectable, middle class couple, church going, well regarded. Laura was the beautiful, sweet, innocent daughter, who as a bride looked virginal, proverbial butter not melting in her full lipped, smiling mouth, yet who had allowed a man who was not her husband to spray six hundred million sperm deep inside that perfect body.

Without her pubic hair, she looks even more sweetly innocent, but that persona is a lie. You need to remind her of her acceptance of that guy's sperm, a reminder that would not be sweet and innocent, and that she would see daily, and know that others would also see.

Key in "sperm", and click on "images". That is what I did, even before Laura's laser treatment, only a few days after that life changing return from Germany, the idea still forming in my mind of how else she should be punished, how else she would remember for ever what she had done that was so wrong. One image I found seemed perfect for what I had in mind. When the tattooist traced around it, pressed it to Laura's leg, and the outline was there, blue transfer ink on the whiteness of her thigh, I knew for sure that it was exactly what was needed.

Laura was still in shock. I had not told her where we were going, or why, just that I had arranged something that was one of the conditions of our staying together as a couple and as a family, and that she should dress in a skirt and top, with hold up stockings, and nothing else below her skirt

Crossing the threshold of the tattooist's studio was walking into a world which the sweet, respectable daughter would never have dreamed of entering, but when the transfer had been drawn, and the tattooist, with his eyebrow, ear and septum piercings and his bare arms decorated with hard tribal curves and cut outs, had asked my wife to lift her skirt, she had obediently raised it above its own waist band, baring the absolute whiteness of thigh above black stocking top.

She had stood quietly as the tattooist moistened her translucent skin with alcohol, carefully positioned his tracing as I had asked, level with her protruding labia, rubbed gently, and then peeled it to leave the blue tinted outline of her about to be tattoo.

My wife lay on her side on the flat, black leather upholstered table, docile, uncomplaining when the tattooist moved her skirt right away from the sperm shaped transfer outline, accepting that her buttocks were now bare to any customer standing at the reception counter, and that her pubis was now exposed to the tattooist as he worked.

I sat, watching as the tattooist opened a fresh needle pack, fixed it to the hand held machine, dipped it in the ink, tested it, the machine buzzing in his hand, and then turned to my wife's naked thigh. There was no complaint when the machine buzzed again, nor at any time. He worked rhythmically, inking, wiping, inking, wiping, the machine buzzing, pricking her milk white skin and driving the dense, black ink just beneath. Her face registered the pain, bottom lip sucked in, eyes moist. I have never been tattooed, so do not know how great, or how insignificant, the pain of the needle is, but watching Laura's meek acceptance, I knew that it was fitting punishment for Germany.

Still in shock, her thigh, under her skirt, now covered in film and tape, Laura walked with me back to our car. We drove home in silence. Our children were waiting, her mother keeping an eye on them while we were out, having some "couple time". Yes, we had had a really nice lunch, Laura said. Thank you for looking after them.

Tattoos heal. They need care and good hygiene, but they heal, and Laura's healed perfectly. The head and tail of the sperm that she wears for ever, I have already described to you. Were you to meet my wife, at a social gathering, in church or at a parent's evening, you would never guess that on her thigh, under her skirt, and level with her smooth, hairless pubis, there is that black inked, four inch silhouette of the sperm's head and tail, positioned to swim around, enter her, and then swim on, to where six hundred million other foreign sperm once swam.

The pain of the tattoo needle was indeed an element of her punishment, but that was ended within an hour. The knowledge that the tattoo is there, that her previously unblemished white complexion permanently bears this record of her crime, is the longer lasting punishment. The greater embarrassment I know she feels when she wears a swimsuit, with anyone she knows seeing her tattoo, is yet another. But the punishment does fit the crime.

The consequence of these punishments, her permanently smooth and hairless pubis and the black sperm tattoo, is that because they are always there, as a reminder to Laura of her infidelity, her sense of shame and guilt is always with her, and of this I am the beneficiary. She still expresses her regret from time to time, and expresses her gratitude that I did not reject her because of what she did.

Gratitude can be expressed in words, but also through a person's actions, and Laura's gratitude is expressed sexually as well as verbally. Nothing is denied. Our lovemaking has not suffered, but is so much fuller and freer than before.

An unanticipated consequence is my own reaction. That first night, as she told me about Germany, my erection was stiffer and stronger, my lovemaking deeper and harder, and my enjoyment of her body, her orgasms, and my own, so much more intense. Somehow, my knowing that another guy had been fucking her so freely and coming so copiously inside her, had energised my love making.

Anyone whose wife has never been faithful to them might think that a wronged husband would want, more than anything, to forget, to put out of his mind what his wife has done. They understand very little. I have never wanted to forget, because that sexual reaction to Laura telling me another guy had fucked her, is something that I do not want to lose. I enjoy it, again and again, each time that we make love.

So Laura's depilated pubis and her sperm tattoo ensure not just that she does not forget, but that I also do not forget. Whenever I see her naked, I remember. That resurgent memory stimulates the same reaction as that first night, and my penis rises, engorged with blood brought to the boil by the memory of her betrayal, and the conjured image of her being taken by another man. Even when she is clothed, if I let my mind wander to the tattoo under her skirt, or to her protruding labia beneath her panties, unencumbered by any hair to hide them, the reaction is just as physical.

If Germany was sexual betrayal, its consequence is the ongoing heightened enjoyment of our love. After our second child, we had settled down to twice weekly sex, or on a good week, three times, if I was lucky. Since Germany, there has rarely been a night when we have not make love. Seeing her naked, her pubis and her tattoo, I harden. She knows what I am thinking, and never turns away. Sometimes we talk about it, whispering into each other's ears, reliving her stay in that German hotel, her lovemaking with that guy, and my punishing her with my cock the night that she returned to me.

And there is another, deliciously erotic consequence of Germany. Laura had been the beautiful, innocent bride, and became the cherished mother of my children. I had worshipped her. But in Germany she was transformed. She was no longer to be worshiped, but to be fucked. Dressed, she is still a loyal wife and mother. Naked, she is a harlot, a slut, a slattern, whose cunt is to be ravaged and plundered, and who loves to be taken, to be fucked with anger and with fury. No holds are barred, and the release that this brings is exquisite.

So the laser removal of Laura's pubic hair, and her sperm tattoo, were not only fitting punishments but are stimulating reminders of her behaviour in Germany, that enhance our sex life so wonderfully. In spite of that, one consequence of what had happened on that trip, lingered in my mind for several months, causing an underlying frustration and irritation that I could not set to one side and just forget.

I had asked the questions you will ask. I knew that he was around my height. He was slim, where I am reasonable well built. He had black hair, where mine is brown. His hair also covered his body, chest, abdomen, limbs, and even on his back, where my own body hair is sparse. His skin was white, like Laura's own, where mine always appears lightly tanned. His penis, she said, was not quite as large as mine, and uncircumcised, where mine is cut.

Knowing this, I could visualise him with Laura, conjure up the image of his shaving her, then tonguing her exposed labia, picture his uncut penis entering her, the foreskin retracting, his pubic hair a mass of black pressed against her shaved whiteness, imagine him coming, his bony back arched, his buttocks tightening, his shaft spasming, his sperm erupting from the thick head, deep inside her. Of course my visualisation could never be as accurate as if I had met him and seen the real man who had fucked my wife, not that I want to, but in the same way that when you read a novel, you form a picture of the hero that will stay with you, an image of the German had taken residency in my mind.