You Figure It Out

"You think we were being mean because of dad? I wasn't letting him control me, I wasn't scared of him, I just thought..." Felicia began.

"I never asked if you were scared of him. If that question were on my lips I would have put it to your 'good friend' Stella." Meghan responded. Felicia began to study her feet. "Dad gave us a lot of good things, and I'm not going to burn his whole legacy, no group of sisters shares everything like we did, they aren't open and comfortable like us, believe me I checked. But now he's dead we need to acknowledge what we have done wrong and work to rectify it. I am eager to hear anything you think I did wrong, but this reconciliation will require you to face your misbehaviour, apologise and make amends."

"This sounds like a long and arduous journey. One best done from an exquisitely decadent lodge in the middle of a forest with shit ton of alcohol." Cynthia suggested.

...

"God I need this holiday. I need time away from everything." Felicia groaned.

"And everyone." Grace agreed.

"Being alone with my sisters is certainly the least lonely form of solitude." Bella stated.

"Things are that bad huh?" Meghan asked.

"Oh shove a cock in it." Felicia sniped. "We can't all marry Mr. Bangladesh 1981."

"He's not from..." Meghan began.

"That's not the issue." Cynthia interrupted. "If you're in a relationship long enough, you eventually find the sore spots, the little flaws you need to work around."

"Oh my god, and here I was thinking I was lost without you guys. You shouldn't work around the flaws, you should find creative ways to confront them." Meghan explained.

"You will invite us to the book tour once you've finished telling us how to live our lives won't you?" Cynthia jibed.

"This time last year we used this holiday to repair our relationship. We're stronger than ever now and I would say willing to do anything for one another. Let's use that to fix our problems together. Come on think, if you could spend two weeks on a creative solution to your current malaise, what would you do?"

The sisters sat in silent thought for some time before coming up with the most insane idea they'd ever brainstormed.

***

After another uneasy night and distracted day, the spouses once again found themselves at the derelict hotel. The driver only had to open the door and watch as they obediently filed into the auditorium and took their seats.

"Hello gang." A bleach blonde woman announced, her voice and face only just recognisable as Grace. "So before today's feature presentation. Let's see if any of you have apologised enough for us to put you out of your misery."

Collectively the sisters all said "no!" But with one dissenting exception. Felicia stepped forward to announce that she had forgiven Stella. Stella had not only apologised for her anger issues, she had also sought professional help and was going to clear out the spare room so she could be banished there if she lost her temper again.

"I'm going to stay to make sure everything else goes to plan. Stella, you can stay if you want or you can leave, the choice is yours." Felicia offered. Stella took no time to think, she simply walked out the door mumbling something about seeing Felicia when she got home.

"Now that that's out of the way, we're just left with the men." Meghan announced. "Please bear in mind everything you see from now on was discussed and very specifically agreed with the performer. She has consented to everything that follows, and if her fellow performer goes off script, we will step in. Believe me, from here on in it really starts to get freaky."

The husbands gritted their teeth at the familiar sight of the projector turning off and the spotlight turning on. Today the performer looked very different, she still had the trademark blonde bob and Venetian mask, but this time, below that, she had a bright red ball gag and ropes criss-crossed her body. Her elbows and wrists were tied as if she was crossing her arms behind her back, the rope was pulled tight against her breasts, causing them to bulge outwards, and cut taught against her shaved pussy, knots in the rope teasing open her labia and rubbing against her clit.

She stood there for a moment, squirming with discomfort and humiliation, before one of the male performers appeared, this time wearing a pointed black mask that flowed into the collar like a period movie executioner and a leather apron.

"Move bitch!" He ordered, giving the woman an almighty slap on her bottom. She let out a squeak of acknowledgement and walked towards the very front of the stage, moaning as the knots ground against her bare pussy.

"Now then, one of these men is your husband, is that correct?" The woman nodded. "But your body belongs to me now, right?" She once again nodded. "So, do you want me to treat this body nicely, delicately handle you with care?" The woman hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. "I see, in which case do you want me to make you squeal with pain? Do you want me to make your body hurt while your husband helplessly watches on?" The woman closed her eyes as tight as she could, tight enough to squeeze the tears down her cheek, before nodding.

The man wasted no time striding up to the woman and grabbing both of her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He roughly twisted them, listening to the woman's squeak turn into a squeal like someone tuning an old radio. He began to roughly pull her around the stage by her nipples, her giving a moaning scream at the flashpoints of heat in her nipples clashing with the unrelenting rubbing of the knotted rope against her pussy with each step she took.

"Alright, are you going to help me fetch my tools?" He asked, not waiting for an answer before grabbing the woman by her hair and dragging her off the side of the stage. There was a tense pause before the sounds of squealing and shuffling could be heard. Eventually the source of the sound became clear, the man had attached two nipple clips to the woman, each attached to a length of string that was taught and running off the stage. With a groan of painful effort, the woman was able to take a couple of steps and the audience was able to see that she was dragging an ornate chest across the floor.

With a screaming effort she was able to get the chest to the edge of the stage where the man wanted it. He took off the nipple clips and the performer screamed into her gag with the sudden rush of blood back to her nipples, he seemed unconcerned and left her to writhe in agony as he went through his chest. He came out with a small clit pump and roughly moved the rope to one side so her could start applying the vacuum to her already tortured clitoris.

"Alright pain slut. Now you've felt the sort of thing you're in for. Have you changed your mind? Is the pain too much for you now?" He asked as the woman shuddered at what she had been through. She took a deep breath, burying her sniffling cries, then shook her head.

"Wow, so you want your whole body in as much pain as your nipples?" He sadistically answered. The performer's eyes went ravenously wide as she eagerly nodded. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to the very back of the stage, turning her back to the audience, then, to everyone's shock, he took off her mask.

All the husbands leaned and squinted trying to get a view of the performer's unmasked face, but with her back turned so far from the stage they couldn't see anything. It then became clear why he took her mask off as he slapped her across the face. She stumbled to one side but kept her balance and stood up straight just in time for the man to slap the other side of her face with his other hand. She fell to her knees but managed to keep a clear enough head not to turn around as he pulled her hair so she could look up to him.

"Just two slaps and you're already on your knees huh? If you're going to be a good little pain slut you're going to have to do better than that. I'm going to give you two more slaps, one on each side of your face, then I'm going to remove the suction cup that has been working away at you and make sure your engorged clit gets a clip right on it. If at any point your knees touch the ground, I'm throwing away the mask, hell I'll be taking out the gag and forcing you to go tell the audience your name." The husbands saw the woman give a quick nod before the man once again slapped her across the face, she staggered but managed to stay upright, quickly returning to her position in front of the man and leaning forward expectantly for her final slap.

With tears rolling down her eyes, the man put the mask back onto the performer, keeping her identity safe as he turned her around and dragged her back to the front of the stage, ready for the husbands to get a good look at her engorged clit. He took off the clit pump, the sound of suction being released filling the speakers of the auditorium as the men saw the huge crimson clit released from the mechanism. The man gave the husbands a second to admire his handiwork before unceremoniously putting a clip on the highly sensitive zone and walking back to the chest as the performer collapsed to the ground thrashing and screaming.

The man got some things out of the chest, then pressed some hidden buttons on the outside, releasing the chest's hidden compartments. He dragged the woman over, ignoring her ongoing throes of painful screams blending with giggles of excitement, and threw her face down on top of the chest.

"Last chance to back out pain-slut." He offered the performer. She looked him in the eyes and managed to convey a smile around her gag. The dominator took this as consent and carried on.

From hidden compartments at the front of the chest he wound out two lengths of wire, each with a little clip on the end, and used them to attach the woman's nipples to the far corners, bending her over the chest. Next he reeled out two more lengths of wire and clipped on onto each of the woman's labia at the other end.

Finally he took a few steps back and unfurled a whip maliciously cracking it in the air as a grim preview to what comes next. With a flick of his wrist, a crack echoed from the woman's bottom, she screamed into her gag as a welt arose from her buttcheeks. In one fluid motion the man brought the whip back to him and then kept the momentum going into another screaming crack across her buttocks.

The husbands watched in horror as the man added six welts to the performer's bottom, each time she screamed with pleasurable pain as the chest she lay on became slick with her juices. Eventually the dominator decided it was time for the grand finale. He pulled a remote out of his apron and dramatically pressed a button, immediately the performer screamed and thrashed against her bonds.

"Bet you didn't know those clips could deliver an electric charge." He quipped, getting out a vibrator and attaching it to the clip on her clit. As he turned it on she immediately went wild with sensation, she moaned and squealed with exciting anticipation, just as she felt she was about to have an earth shattering orgasm, he pressed the button and electricity coursed through her body.

Once the electricity had finished wracking the performer with pain and she finished screaming, the effect of the vibrator attached to her raw and sensitive clit began to make itself known again, however with masterful precision, her torturer would zap her back from the edge of orgasm every time. Eventually when she could barely take it any more, he put down the remote and let her have an inhumanly intense orgasm, the pain and frustration that had built over the performance releasing all at once. She screamed around her gag, squirting all over the side of the chest as she growled with the constant and powerful aftershocks of her fantastic experience. She didn't even spare a look at the horrified audience watching her lowest and most pleasurable moment.

***

"I'm afraid the answerphone mailbox of CYNTHIA GALANTAL has been turned off. Please call back again later."

"Fucking hell Cynthia, talk to me."

*Beep*

...

Bella: Has my confused little imp figured out his penance yet?

Jacob: OK Bella, I got everything I think it is. Just tell me if it is one of these things. Did I embarrass you in front of someone important?

B: No...

J: Did I belittle your work or ambitions?

B: You often do that, but it isn't the main thing.

J: Well for what it's worth, I'm sorry for any time I've done that.

B: That's nice to hear.

J: Does my genuine contricion at least give me a clue as to why I'm being punished?

B: If an unrepentant murderer goes vegan, does that forgive their sins?

J: That doesn't make any sense, I have nothing to offer you without your help.

B: In which case I hope you enjoy tomorrow's performance.

...

Stella: How much longer is this going to take? I miss you.

Felicia: I miss you too, but I have to support my sisters. At the moment I am the only one known to not be a performer, which may be needed down the line.

S: The rest of them that bad eh?

F: Not overly bad, just unrepentant. There's only two more performance's planned so I should be home after then.

S: Alright, I'll be waiting. Let me know if there's anything you see that you want to try with me.

F: Still a bit soon for that tone.

...

Dominic: Alright, I get it, I'm going to let you talk and I'm just going to listen. I haven't done anything...

Grace: That's the problem. We've done nothing. We have been together for years now and the most interesting thing that has happened in that time was when a pipe burst.

D: We've been on holidays...

G: Last year my sisters and I went to a cabin in the woods, we got drunk, we explored the wilderness, we climbed trees, hell we even went skinny dipping in a nearby lake. Last year you and I went to St. Andrews, and I sat in a clubhouse with three other boring wives talking about what we would be doing if our husbands weren't playing golf.

D: You climbed a tree? Do you know how dangerous that is? You could have been hurt.

G: Sigh, I guess I also could have been hurt on stage today.

...

Sajid: Can you talk freely this time?

Meghan: No, that's still not good enough.

S: Alright then I'll keep it to simple questions and you answer in a way that sounds like we're fighting.

M: Duh.

S: Can you tell me who is on stage?

M: It's more complicated than that.

S: Alright, is this about punishing one specific spouse or all of them.

M: Neither, this is about something else entirely.

S: Alright, that's confusing but are we going to come out of this OK?

M: OK? You think I want OK? Damnit Sajid I deserve better than OK.

S: This is a weird way to talk to you. But you have always been the smartest person I know. I trust you.

M: I guess that's true.

S: I love you.

M: At least we see eye to eye on one thing.

***

The spouses arrived at the house and began to make their way to the auditorium, however the doors were shut and the private security rerouted them down a hallway with an intimidating grunt. They headed deeper into the bowels of the hotel until eventually they came to a non-descript corridor where they were split up so that Dominic and Malcolm were in one bedroom and Jacob and Sajid were in the other. Each room had one private security person who forced them to sit facing the window. The window was small enough that it made sense that they could only fit two chairs in front of each one. Out of the window, they could see the abandoned swimming pool, now empty but clearly recently cleaned. A projector had been set up to project on the far wall, speakers in the rooms themselves providing eerily clear sound as the sisters once again appeared on screen.

"Hello boys. I hope you all slept poorly." Bella announced. "Before our display today, we once again have to check if anyone was contrite enough to receive the relieving gift of knowledge." The sisters all took a moment to digest Bella's flowery language before shaking their heads.

"Oh dear, looks like this next show goes ahead without a hitch." Meghan announced as the projector faded to black.

The echoing sounds of bare feet on tile drew everyone's eyes to the performer, entering from what used to be the woman's changing room. She was in the trademark Venetian mask and nothing else, as the spouses had seen in previous performances. She strutted to the centre of the empty swimming pool and stood there in a dramatic pose as a series of men entered carrying three medium size boxes. They all took their places surrounding the performer, though all but one kept their boxes closed and the one who opened their box did it in such a way that the spouses couldn't see what was in it.

"Before we start." A robot voice announced over the speakers. "I think we can all agree this mask is becoming a bit cliché. Let's try something else to conceal my identity."

The performer turned away from her audience, removed her mask and handed it to one of the men. The man then removed a custard pie from his box and handed it to the performer. She pressed the pie into her face, then turned around so the husbands could watch as the tin fell from her hands and sticky custard, cream and flakes of pastry stayed behind. The performer cleared the goop from her eyes and smiled through the desert. She dramatically raised her hands to the sides while two men each got a pie from the box and thrust them into her breasts. The spouses could hear her giggles as she gave one man his cue and shuffled her legs apart so he could shove a pie between her legs, the custard oozing around her thighs as she pressed them together.

Suddenly all the men had pies in their hands, they all took a position around the performer and began unceremoniously pelting her with pies, each pie that collided with her body causing her to recoil then laugh at her debasement. After a brief but vicious barrage, the performer was a total mess of pie remnants. She cheekily ran her finger down her bottom and popped the cream in her mouth to taunt the audience before turning to the second box and nodding at the man standing next to it.

"Have you ever finished a holiday and wondered what you're going to do with all the leftover food?" The robotic voice asked, its monotone still thick with the sarcasm of the original writer. The performer sat cross-legged as men rummaged through the box to find what appealed to them. The first took out a thick chocolate syrup, used as flavour shots for coffee, and squeezed it out over the performer. The oozing brown sludge trickled over her creamy body.

The next man took out some pots of fancy yoghurt, and one by one took to emptying them over the star, she lifted her face up and opened her mouth, gasping at the leftovers like a baby bird getting food from its mother. The next man decided to scoop some jam out of a jar and wipe it on her tits, she grabbed his hand and sucked it clean. There was a definite air of hesitation as the men gathered and looked at what was left in the box. The performer walked to the gathered men and in angry whispers implored them to continue with her selection, sternly telling them she wanted to be dirty in a whisper so quiet and husjy her husband wouldn't recognise her voice. She sat back down and took a deep breath as she saw a man approaching her with a bottle of tomato ketchup.

The performer's messy session quickly changed from a deliciously sweet affair to a disgusting mess of leftovers. Globules of ketchup corrupted her sweet body, only to be quickly followed by an oily jar of sliced olives. Each new item further desecrating her body, removing any sex appeal and reducing her to a horny mess.

A man upended a package of pâté, leaving the brown cube resting on her messy cleavage. The performer immediately got to work smearing it over herself, making sure to make as much of her flesh as disgusting as possible. Finally a man picked up the worst thing she had thought to put in there, an uneaten pack of herrings in sauce tipped over her bleach blond bob, filling the air around her with the smell of fish and dill.