WARNING– this is a story of forced sex and rape it involves revenge on a cheating wife. This tail contains graphic depictions rape. If this story is likely to offend you, it is best if you refrain from reading it. I am very aware this is offensive – this is why I say it is extreme – because – it is extreme. Consider yourself warned and ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.
The man entered the small cubical, "Bless me father for I have sinned. I am not a Catholic and have never confessed before."
"Tell me what is troubling you, my son."
The started into his story.
I had tried to figure out when it all went to pieces. When did love, that wonderful, all encompassing, totally into her feeling turn to a compulsive terrible, want to rip her throat out, can't stand the sight of her, urge to chuck it all and leave – hate? It wasn't rapid it took several years. In our seventh year of marriage at the ripe old age of 29, I was too repulsed to even be around the bitch. The irony of the seventh year does not escape me either. I had friends all tell me that love doesn't last. Don't get married, sooner or later you will hate her guts. I thought they were full of shit, but it was I who was wrong.
My wife has always been one of those, 'WOMEN, ' before she was even a woman she was one of those 'GIRLS.' You know the type, that beauty with her perfect, blonde hair pulled back tight, her nose always stuck in the air, viewing others down that cute button nose, and looking unapprovingly at the rest of the world. Carrying herself as if she possessed the world while everyone else was something, lesser, than she. Nothing was ever good enough for her and I always suspected we dated only because we were the most popular people in our class. We stayed together through college resisting getting married, and even sex, until we both graduated and had good jobs. She was an illustrator for a major fashion magazine while I worked as a submission editor for a major publishing company.
I went to work on my great novel, it's still on my computer somewhere. While she moved through her company like wildfire. Climbing in a few short years to be the head illustrator responsible for the look of the publication, both in print and on the web. In my own profession, I have done poorly. I am still, in what amounts to an entry level position as a submission editor. I read books that are submitted by new authors and pass those that are noteworthy to the next editor. The next editor makes the final decision as to what work is passed on to the committee that makes the decision if it is published or not.
It is, at best, a boring job. Even so, as awful as most of the stories are, many of them, with some help and encouragement, could be worthy of publishing. I'm stuck in my job because I like writers and try to encourage them passing on stories that don't have a shot at publication. I also send manuscripts back to authors with notes on how to improve them and resubmit. I was told that wasn't my job and to stop doing it. My last review consisted of three words, 'Competent nothing more.' That is a large part of the problem, mere competence is not enough for my employers, or her. As Sharon advanced I stayed stuck in the mud in my work, stagnation set in with my writing, the few short stories I managed to get published were never reviewed in a good light.
Her own self-importance escalated driving her already egotistical view of herself higher while her view of me diminished. In the fourth year of our marriage, she started to criticize me, nagging me with comments about inadequacies in efforts. In the fifth year, our lovemaking slowed to a few times a month. After lovemaking, she would cut me to the bone with comments about competence. Those comments changed to incompetence, and over time to disparaging, emasculating insults. By the seventh year, we made love no more. I knew she had a lawyer and soon would leave me. I had grown to hate the ground where she walked.
A six-months before the adjustment she moved me to a spare bedroom and that was when I decided enough was enough. I had a friend who I confided in and he made an offhand remark I should have someone rape her while I watched. In my mind I rolled it around, have some big dicked, madman, fuck the shit of her. Humiliate her, degrade her, force the snotty, conceited, arrogant bitch to do the most debasing, acts to please him. In doing so her confidence would be shattered, her self-worth destroyed, bringing her down in such a way that it would possible that my value would rise.
Of course, she couldn't know I was a part of it. She couldn't even know I watched it all happen. I knew my wife allowing anyone to know anything embarrassing about her, well she wasn't capable of that. If Sharon were raped she couldn't tell anyone about, her nature wouldn't allow it. It was perfect I just had to find the right guy. Sitting in the bar with James that night the conversation took a dark turn. I moved from victim to the atrocious plotter.
"Jim, what if I wanted to have her raped, how would I even go about that?" I filled his mug from our pitcher then mine. Holding up a finger as the waitress moved by I pointed down to the mug and she nodded.
"I know a guy. I have to be honest he is brutal. You remember when Annie and I went through that awkward patch several years ago. I thought she was in an affair? Well, she wasn't but I didn't realize that till later. I knew this guy, he always liked my wife's body. I knew him from back in college he had a reputation of taking what he wanted, you know what I mean. It wasn't a secret, but no woman would ever report him, they were, well they thought he might kill them if they did." Looking around he lowered his voice, "They were right on that."
"He is a professional now, not at rape. He works for some guys, you know wise guys. He has the perfect cover as well." He drank his beer down as the waitress replaced our pitcher and took the empty. "On the side he has a small but profitable business. He puts wayward wife's and husband straight, for a price. Cost me three thousand but she is a good woman now and when she starts to get out of line I watch the video. That gets my backbone up allowing me to treat her just a harsh in the right way. I make her do something vile against her will, she is a good girl after that. She doesn't have a clue I know. He mad her do something that if I make her do the thing I thin it triggers all the humiliation and shame. She acts like an angle after that." Again he looked around the room. "Well," he started at me. I wasn't sure what to say.
"I don't know that's a bit extreme. She isn't a bad person just conceited, and haughty. We've grown apart."
"To be honest your wife is a first class bitch," his eyes bore into me and I nodded. "Hey, my wife wasn't cheating on me. She was about to, though. I found that out at the same time I had her humiliated. The guy installs cameras in your place and sets up a recorded." He glanced around then continued, "He watches the stuff till he has her all figured out, then he records her therapy session for you." He laughed for a moment, "That's what he calls it therapy or counseling. He also recorded the bastard and her having coffee and him groping her. Her almost giving in and stopping breathlessly. She would twist her wedding band then make him leave. After the rape, she never allowed him back in the house. She has been a perfect wife since oh once every year or so I have to remind her but still a perfect wife." He sat there drinking his beer he had the most pleased look on his face. "If you want to contact the guy let me know."
"What happened to the guy that tried to get in her pants?"
"Oh, you knew him, Dave Chambers," He looked so happy when he told me.
"Dave?" I asked him.
"Yea, you remember Dave right?" I nodded remembering him and how he was found in the woods, beating to death his cock cut off and shoved in his mouth. I wondered about that.
Our conversation went through my mind repeatedly for days. The thought of her humiliation gave me erections and would stroke off thinking of this guy bust her apart. I contacted my friend telling him I thought I wanted to follow his advice. A few days later a package arrived for me at work. There was cell phone inside with a note. Wait for a call.
When I was at lunch that day, the cell rang, "Hello."
"Is this Sean?" a soft, deep, masculine voice asked me.
"Yes," there was a tremor in my voice.
"I have the particulars already. I have surveilled the subject already setting up around the clock observation of her. She is quite a problem for you. I hear the way she talks to you and about you. I regret to inform you that she has entered into an adulteress relationship with her intern." He fell silent as my mind swam in the information.
"Well, what?" I didn't understand what he wanted.
"Do you wish to proceed with a counseling session for you wife?" the voice was calm and collected not a trace of malice, as a doctor discussing a treatment option.
"Yes, I think I do."
"Not a good enough answer Sean." With polite insistence, he pushed me to answer him.
"Yes, let's do it," I said my guts were wrenching inside, with fear, excitement and disgust. Perhaps I am a poor bad-man or a cowardly one. My appellation to the name 'bad-man' might, in part, only be by association. Unwilling to do the work, by the necessity of need, I find a bad-man worthy of the name to perform it at my bequest. Even so, the need is there I have been wronged and I will be revenged.
.... There is more of this story ...