The Voyeur

He found out! It can't be. How? Fear sliced through me like a hot flash of lightning. How'd he find out about Mike?

"How could you say such a thing?" I asked, feigning outrage and innocence.

Before answering Ron scrutinized me for a reaction. "I have my sources," he said quietly.

To continue to deny would have been hopeless. He was too confident. Had he hired a private detective?

He smiled, and I detected a strange twinkle in his eyes. Did my reaction amuse him? Or was he trying to mask his intent to hurt me?

"I've had you followed. The only question now, is what are we going to do about it?"

His face took on a strange, chilling look. I began to tremble, but before the retribution he had in mind might have been revealed in his gaze, his face went blank and a grey film seemed to slip across his eyes. Did he intend to exact the kind of punishment he'd described to me in one of his sadistic sexual fantasies? One that turned him on the most?

Did he intend his fantasy to become reality for Mike and me?

Weak with shame and trembling with fear, I averted my gaze. I knew the man I married had his quirky—maybe even kinky ways, but the threat I saw now was much more real and terrible than mere fantasy.

From the very beginning of our time together, Mike Hamblin and I had been extremely guarded about our meetings. Above all, we agreed that we could not let ourselves fall in love. Our liaison would continue only for the joy of sex. If either of us felt it was becoming anything more serious, it would have to end immediately.

How much Ron actually knew about Mike and me I could only guess, but it was clear he'd discovered I was involved with another man. What he might do about it I didn't know, and I didn't want to find out. Maybe I should try to placate him.

"Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you, and I sure don't want us to divorce, I..."

"And I don't want to divorce you, Ronda. At first I wanted to kill you, cut you up and dump you in the river, but although slicing and dicing you might give me a cheap thrill, it would be very messy and I would probably end up getting the needle or spending the rest of my life in jail. So I decided there was another way."

As terrible and scary as it was, that cutting me up thing didn't really surprise me. He told me a year or two after we were married, in more detail than I wanted to hear, how he would like to dissect a women's body. He claimed he knew a gay mortician that he had confided his sick fantasy to, and had asked him if there might be a way he could let him cut on some young woman before she was to be cremated. It was the only time since our wedding night that an erection had raised its mushroom head from his crotch. Is this the kind of fantasy he intends to include Mike and me in? A chill crawled down my spine.

"What is this other way?" I asked, curious, yet afraid to learn what he had in mind.

"I'm going to let you and lover boy have your affair. The only condition is, whenever I feel the need, I want to watch you two fuck each other."

My jaw dropped. My legs suddenly turned to rubber. "What in the world would that do for you?" I asked with a tremulous quaver in my voice.

"It's one of the things that really turns me on, watching a man and woman screw, and I want to take pictures while you're doing it. You must know by now that watching turns me on. But of course, there are lots of other things that make me horny too." he emphasized, and sneered as his gaze lingered on my breasts.

"I don't know, this all sounds pretty weird. I'm not sure he'll go along with it."

Ron's face suddenly twisted into a scowl and his hands balled into fists. "You tell lover boy that's the deal. Either, you and he go along with it or I'll kill you both and cut up your bodies, paying special attention to the parts that got you into this."

He glared at me as he waited for my answer. My tremors began again. "Okay, but give me chance to talk with him first."

"Just don't take too long to get back to me."

I nodded slowly.

"Oh, one more thing. Tell him I know this gay mortician friend who might also want to join our little parties, although it probably wouldn't be you he would be interested in."

Through a blur of tears I said, "God, Ron, this is just too sick. In good conscience I could never get involved in something like this."

"Now, Ronda, you know that's not true," he sneered and said in a patronizing of voice. "Don't you remember that time right after we got married, when you got drunk and I invited that black guy to our motel room and let him have his way with you—while I watched."

"You mentioned that once before, and I told you then I didn't believe you. If it had happened I would surely have remembered it. Anyway, I would never have allowed it happen."

"Unless you were slipped a ruffee. You know, passed out drunk—and you were. This must be what they call denial," he said, "because I remember it, and you should too. That guy was a big basketball player, and he had the longest, thickest pecker I've ever seen. In fact, I got a little worried when he spread your legs and rammed it in you. I thought he was gonna to split you in two."

"Listen, Ron Butcher, if it had actually happened I know I would remember something like that. And I don't remember, so as far as I'm concerned it didn't happen." I fell into thoughtful silence for a moment before continuing. "If it had happened, how would that make you feel, knowing another man was brutalizing your wife like that?"

He shrugged and a little smile played across his lips. "I got so hot and hard I squirted all over myself."

I didn't know what to say to this. He seemed to have no sympathy or respect for my body, my feelings, or my self esteem.

"Oh by the way, Ronda, you think what he did was brutal? If he had done what he wanted to do, that would have been brutal."

I was sure I didn't want to hear what he would say next, but curiosity and I took the plunge. "What could possibly have been worse than what you say he did to me? What else did..."

"Did he want to do?" Ron finished. "He wanted to begin by shoving his prick all the way down your throat. When I said no, he then wanted to ram it into your butt. Of course, I said no to that as well." Ron squirmed uncomfortably, and then he reached down, unzipped his fly and struggled for a moment before his erect penis popped into view. It was the first erection I had seen him have in a long time. He looked at me and smirked, and then his eyes glazed over again. He grasped his prick and began to masturbate.

I was certain none of this story had ever happened, but I could see by his condition that telling it to me turned him on. Did his fantasy also include cutting on my breasts—or cutting them off, as he had earlier suggested when describing another sadistic fantasy to me.

I guess I could have patronized him and played along. I could have nourished his fantasy to orgasm with stimulating conversation. It might have been the safest thing to do, but I wasn't about to. I turned and looked into a small mirror on the wall in front of me. Reflecting back a mask of shock and horror. Unable to spend another minute with Ron, I turned without a word, left the apartment, and went down to my car to call Mike.

When I told him what had happened, Mike sighed. "Maybe we'd better play along for now. You know your husband better than I. Maybe he's only bluffing to force us to become a part of his weird fantasies. But we don't know for sure what his intentions are. At this point we can't go to the police; the kind of threats he's made are not enough to make it a police matter. They know that most people who harbor violent fantasies don't act on them. Let's just play along until we can determine if he actually intends to carry them out."

"Okay." And then after a pause I said, "Mike I want to see you. Right now. Can we meet somewhere?"

I felt a powerful need to be with him. I needed his shoulder for emotional support. I also needed his arms around me, his lips pressed to mine, his hands gently exploring my body.

The silence on the line was so long I thought the call had dropped out.

"I want to see you too," he finally said. He hesitated and then continued. "But that may present a problem."

"What do you mean? What kind of problem?"

"What would he do if you and I went right to a motel without telling him? If we did do that, he'd surely find out."

"I really don't care at this point. All I want now is for us to be together. I want you to hold me, I want you to make love to me. It might be the last time we can be alone together."

"Okay, sweetheart, you know where to meet me."

The motel we used for our trysts was located in the southern outskirts of the city. When I arrived, Mike was already there, waiting in his car. We both got out and fell into each other's arms.

"I'm so sorry I've gotten you into this, Mike."

His lips brushed mine as he whispered. "Don't even think that. I got myself involved with you, and I don't regret it for a moment."

"You check us in while I get my purse and lock up the car."

Five minutes later, we entered our room through a door that opened directly to the parking lot. Moments after that, we were standing in a naked embrace next to the bed. Suddenly I became so horny I couldn't control myself. I wanted Mike to take me—like that big black man in Ron's fantasy. I should have been so scared that sexual passion would have been impossible. "Why am I so horny?" I whispered.

"Because what we are doing now is forbidden and truly dangerous," Mike answered. "It's the danger that makes it more exciting."

He picked me up, laid me on the bed, and began to kiss and fondle my breasts. I reached to his crotch, cupped and felt his balls, then slid my palm up his large scrotum to his thick, throbbing prick, and grasped it.

"Wow," he said. "I want to ravish you."

"Does ravish mean rape?" I said, and my breathing quickened.

"Let's just say, I'm going to fuck your brains out."

"Oh god, Mike, do it. Fuck me hard."

When he rolled on top of me, I raised and spread my legs, then I gently guided his hot, hard organ into me. His first slow plunge was so thrilling I felt that orgasm was only a thrust or two away....

Knock! Knock! Knock!

We froze amid stride, panic suddenly replacing the thrill of passion. "Who the hell is that? Surely not..." I whispered.

"Maybe the desk clerk. I'll see who it is."

Mike went to the door and peered through the peep hole.

"Oh my god!"

"What? Who is it, Mike?"

"Your husband, and there is some guy with him."

"Damn, he must have followed me. But who the hell could be with him?"

Mike grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around himself, and I covered up with a sheet. We went to the peep hole again, and I peered out at Ron's smiling face. Next to him was a tall, handsome, slender man I'd never seen before...the gay mortician? How could he have picked him up and gotten here so fast? What's he going to do? Kill us?

"What do you want, Ron?"

"You know damn well what we want, Ronda. Open the door."

My blood ran cold, and raced through my veins like ice water. I began to hyperventilate, grew faint.

A clear terrifying image suddenly formed in my imagination, yet it was more like a dream, or a slow motion horror movie playing in my head. I floated above our bodies, both of us alive, but paralyzed. Mike and I lying naked on metal embalming tables next to a crematorium. The undertaker grasps Mikes genitals, his penis still erect, the knife ready to take them. And Ron, naked and aroused, bending over me with a butcher knife, leering, his eyes bright with excitement, his gaze moving up and down my body.

He roughly grasps one of my breasts, ready to fulfill his fantasy.

Where would he take the first slice?

Suddenly I was numb. My perception began to disintegrate. Flecks of fragmented reality spun like a cloud of black pepper in a cyclone. Our bodies, Mike's and mine, and Ron's and the undertaker's fade into oblivion.

"Ronda, Ronda, just lay back and relax, breathe slowly, you're okay." It was Mike; he sat on the floor cradling my head in his lap, caressing my forehead and hair, both of us still wrapped in our bedclothes. Perspiration drenched my head and trickled down into my eyes.

"Who opened the door?" I whispered.

"I did." Mike said.

Sunlight flooded across us through the doorway, Ron and the other man entered the room, their shadows flicking across my body. I twisted my head to see where they were. Ron sat on the side of the bed looking at me, smiling, his gay friend settled into a chair.

"What's the matter, Ronda?" my husband asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Are you ready to give us a show?"

Mike cleared his throat. "Look, Mr. Butcher, we agree to cooperate with your weird demands, but not now. Let's do this tomorrow or the next day. I think Ronda's sick, or else she's had a panic attack. Can't we postpone this?"

Ron's smile turned to a frown and his stare fixed on me. He then turned to his friend. "What do you think, Phil?"

"Well, they're not much good to us in their present condition. He probably can't even get it up now, and she probably couldn't do it either. You know, Ron, I am gay, but I'm also bisexual. I'm as turned on by a good looking, well hung man as I am by a beautiful shapely woman like Ronda. I'd rather wait until they are up to it."

Ron nodded. "Okay by me then, we'd sure want him to be able to get it up, wouldn't we?" he said as he sneered, and then he turned back to Mike and me. "Okay, you two, tomorrow is Saturday. We'll plan to be here together the whole weekend."

"Good," Mike said. He rose to his feet, clutching his blanket and helped me up. Ron and his friend, Phil, remained seated, watching us, apparently expecting a show of some kind. Mike looked from Ron to his friend and asked. "Aren't you guys going to leave?"

"Hell no," Ron said. "If we can't watch you guys fuck today, we're at least going to get something out of it. Right, Phil?"

He smiled, nodded and fixed his gaze on Mike. "Go ahead and get dressed, lover boy, but do it slow, we're gonna watch."