Chapter One - "The Mistress Of Pain"

"Pick up your leg damn it!" my wife Vicky told me; then added, "You want to be a cripple all your life Todd?" She was "helping" me with the exercises my physical therapist had assigned me to do at home as part of my recovery. That is if that's what you can call the abuse she was sending my way.

The swelling in my knees was gone, they were still sore and it was painful to use them. My wife, who had recently turned into the "Mistress Of Pain", didn't seem to care about my discomfort.

It had been my displeasure three months ago to have one of those freak accidents you only hear about in urban myths.

We had just arrived at the grocery store to do some shopping; it was one of the few things we still did together. As Vicky got out of the car and headed to the store, I suddenly became mesmerized by the jiggling motion her very attractive ass was making with every step she took. Normally, I would not have been distracted by her dainty derrière. Don't get me wrong, I am human as the next guy; but after a while, a guy tends to ignore things he should appreciate most of all.

Vicky had been going out of her way to dress like "Daisy Duke". It was all part of her way of getting back at me, but I will get to that in a moment. After three months of living in sexual seclusion, seeing the way her ass wiggled reminded me of the things I had taken for granted. First, there was her well kept, 36 24 34, figure, and then there was her long raven like natural red hair. Of course, let me not forget her beautiful green eyes and near perfect alabaster white skin.

Needless to say, I was a tad distracted by my wife's bouncing beautiful bottom when the curb decided to reach up and viciously assault my knee.

The orthopedic specialist I saw said I was lucky that I didn't break it. I had come very close and was told to say off of my knee for three months. I was beginning to hate the fucking couch I was now exiled to and I couldn't wait to get back on my feet.

Let me explain to you how I found myself in such a pitiful state.

Chapter Two - "The Phone Call"

We live in a cottage style farmhouse in the country. The property came with such amenities as a barn, a below ground pool, and auto fuel, diesel fuel and LP gas storage tanks. The former owners had just finished a complete renovation of the place when Vicky and I bought it.

It seems that after spending quite a sum fixing up their love nest, they decided they couldn't stand each other, that they should get divorced, sell the house as quickly as possible and go their separate ways. And so, we picked the property up for a song.

The nearest small town is about thirty miles away. It's a "one horse" town consisting of a town square, the worlds smallest hospital, one gas station/general store/drug store and has two main roads and two small subdivisions. That is if you can call the trailer park a subdivision. Did I say it was small? The nearest "Big City" is seventy miles farther away.

Well, about seven months ago, I think it was the last week of May, Vicky decided to take a part-time weekend job in the "Big City" to make some extra spending money for herself. I had no problem with her taking the job because even though I made enough money buying and selling on eBay full time, sometimes things get a little tight financially and we have to do without some of the conveniences life has to offer.

The job was a commission-based telemarketing position; she is very good at telemarketing, so it was going to be worth the trip. We both agreed that in order for it to work she would have to drive to the city on Friday afternoon, spend the weekend with Sandy, an old girlfriend, and drive back on Monday morning.

The problem all started during her forth trip to the "Big City". I have never been a loner, and I was beginning to miss her more each time she left so at about 8:00 that Sunday night I decided to call her at Sandy's apartment.

When I did Jerry, Sandy's boyfriend, answered the phone, "Hi" I said to him, "This is Todd, is Vicky back yet?"

"Sorry buddy, you just missed her. They just left for the club." He replied.

Well, she was working hard, why shouldn't she have a little fun, I thought and then told him, "Well, thanks. When she gets back from partying, tell her I called."

"Partying, you got it wrong buddy, they work at the club! Didn't she tell you?" he informed me.

I tried to play dumb and lied, "Yeah, I must have forgotten."

I was shocked and tried not to show surprise in my voice when I asked, "Hey, I keep forgetting the name of the place, what is it again?"

"The Hot House, over on 17th Street." he said. I knew about the place; it was the largest strip club in the city and had been shut down a few years back when it was discovered that some of the girl's lap-dances were a little more "touchy-feely" then they were supposed to be when large hundred dollar bills were tipped. It had been nick-named "The Whore House" by the local police department.

Anyway, then he offered, "Want me to have her call you when she comes in?

"Nah, I'll talk to her when she gets home. Thanks a lot pal." I said and hung up the phone.

I didn't sleep well that night. I had a nightmare in which my wife peeled out of a gee-string to the tune of "Money" by Pink Floyd and sat on a naked Fabio's lap. In my dream, he had a hundred dollar bill tattooed around the top of his dick and was saying to her in that European accent of his, "Dance for Fabio Baby, dance!" Luckily, I woke up just as she was about to take his money.

It was about 4:00 in the afternoon when I heard the car pull up and its door open and close. That was followed by the sound of keys opening the front door to the house.

When Vicky walked in the door, the "Green-Eyed-Monster" having nibbled the night before had just taken a great big bite out of my ass. Words like "Trust", "Loyalty", and "Commitment" were the farthest things from my mind when I asked her, "So how are things at the Club Honey?"

Her bags still in hand, she stood in shock a couple of seconds before saying, "When did you find out?"

"Last night; Jerry told me." I told her.

She started to say, "I can explain..." but I interrupted her.

"Explain what? That you've been working at the most notorious titty bar within a 150 mile radius for almost a month now?" I snapped. "Or are you going to explain why you decided not to tell me? When exactly were you going to tell me anyway, or were you ever?"

I was well past reason when she said, "I wanted to surprise you, Todd!"

"You thought working at the "Hot House" and not telling me was the way to do it?" I said. At that point it was pretty much a one-way conversation because I sure wasn't listening to her when I said, "What happened to the telemarketing job?"

She tried to explain, "I quit it when Sandy told me about the job at the club. The money is much better at the club and the boss doesn't hit on me as much."

But I hadn't heard that last part either. I really wasn't hearing anything but the sound of my own enraged voice. It wasn't until later after I had replayed the whole conversation in my mind that I recalled what she said about her boss hitting on her. I became angry at myself for not paying attention at the time she had said it.

"Why? You said you were good at it?" I asked but no answer was going to placate me.

Still trying to communicate with me she said, "The money was much better at the club, Todd."

"I'll bet it was! How much better?" I said as the "Green-Eyed-Monster" took another bite.

She took an envelope from her purse and handed it to me. I opened it up and examined it. There must have been at least eight thousand dollars in it.

"You earned all this working at the club?" I said in disbelief?

She nodded yes.

"Just what DID you do at the club to make this much money?" I said as that damn mental picture of Fabio and his hundred-dollar bill popped back into my mind.

She pleaded, "It wasn't like that Todd! All I did was serve drinks!"

Somewhere in my unconscious mind I must have been thinking, "Well, Hell! I'm acting pretty stupid now aren't I? I'm really on a roll. I wonder if I can make it any worse? Let's find out shall we?" for the next thing I said was, "You don't really expect me to believe you made all this money and all you did is sell drinks?"

Her response was to go to our bedroom and lock the door.

For the next three months, I was living with the Ice Queen and I was beginning to get frostbite. After the accident, the Ice Queen's sister the Mistress Of Pain moved in with her for she seemed totally devoid of compassion at my plight.

I realized what she had been planning to do with the money later I when if found a confirmation email from a travel agency on my laptop. It was confirming our reservations for a Honeymoon Trip to Hawaii.

Which brings us back to the question of how I found myself in such a pitiful state in the first place? Well, the answer is Stupidity! That's how! My own stubborn, irrational stupidity! Because if it weren't for my own stupidity, I wouldn't have found myself exiled to the couch for six months, nursing a wounded knee, being horny as hell, and having one severely pissed off wife.

And to make matters worse, every time I tried to apologize she would just walk away without even saying a word!

Chapter Three - "Making Him Suffer"

"Pick up your leg damn it! You want to be a cripple all your life Todd?" God she was in rare form today. I think she must have been reading up on the art of revenge on the Internet, or perhaps she had been reading up on the art of male torture because she was wearing another one of those damn hot pant outfits she had bought during her last trip to town for supplies. A sadist must have designed the outfit she had on. The bastard must have enjoyed knowing every man who saw a woman in it would suddenly sprout wood.

But no, it wasn't the outfit that enhanced my pain, nor was it her verbal assaults, nor even her imposing me to exile. The most horrible torture that she could inflict upon me was what she would do just before physical therapy each day.

You see, every day exactly two and one half hours before she would come to help me with my therapy, she would walk slowly through the den, and go through the glass doors that led to our enclosed patio. Then she would stand near one of the chase lounges there, sit down a bottle of suntan oil on the table beside it, and then very slowly peel off her shorts, then her halter-top, and lastly and even more slowly she would slide down her panties and step out of them one foot at a time. This process would drag out to at least ten minutes because she would always seem to have trouble with ties, snaps, buckles, zippers, buttons and other assorted fasteners. After that, she would take the next thirty minutes, I know because I timed it once, ever so slowly applying suntan oil to every inch of skin on her body she could reach. Then, she would lay on the chase lounge with her legs toward me, first on her belly for about an hour. Next, she would turn over and lie on her back for another hour. The entire time she lay there she would have her legs spread just enough to give me the most agonizing view of her glistening pussy. And there are two reasons that I know she devised this little show to torture me. The first is that she can't get a tan; she never has been able to. In fact, she even told me once that she had completely given up on the idea of ever getting a tan. All she does is burn if she does not oil up before getting in the sun. And the second, you wont believe this part, it's impossible to get a tan in our covered patio!

So, I hope you can understand, why what happened later that night was a welcome distraction.

Chapter Four - "Knock Knock"

The doctor was right; after staying off my leg for three months, I was pretty sure from the way I was tolerating my daily therapy that I could get around on it. Granted, it was going to hurt for a while, but I was sure it was usable. When I discovered this I chose not to share this information with Vicky. In reflection, I think it was because the only time she even spoke to me let alone got close to me was during our daily therapy sessions together.

There I was, dressed in shorts and a tee shirt, reclining on the couch in the den. I had my laptop and was processing the day's orders from our eBay site.

Vicky had gone back into the seclusion of our bedroom immediately after she finished helping me with my last therapy session for the day.

There was a knock at the back door. With all the other lights off, whoever it was must have figured that anyone home was in the back of the house.

After a second louder knock at the door I called out, "JUST A MINUTE!" followed by "VICKY, SOMEONE'S AT THE DOOR!"

A few seconds later, Vicky came from the direction of our bedroom. She had a mixed look of surprise and annoyance on her face. She was pulling her robe around her as she walked hastily to the back door. From the amount of ample cleavage that was showing when she pulled the robe tightly to her body, I thought that she was probably nude underneath it. I noticed that Vicky had a somewhat flushed look on her face and was already panting when she had entered the den.

With annoyance in her voice, she looked over at me and said, "Are you expecting anyone this time of night?"

I answered her by shaking my head no.

When she got to the door she looked through the glass next to the door and said, "It's a woman and a man. They look like movers; they're both dressed in gray jumpsuits and there's a moving van out back. She's got her back to the door and I can't see his face because she is blocking my view of him."

"Ask them what they want." I told her.

Vicky said in a loud voice so as to be heard through the door, "What can I do for you?"

A female voice responded, "The fuel line on our truck broke and we're almost out of gas."

"What do you need?" Vicky asked the woman.

There was a short pause, then, the female said, "Do you have a phone we can use to call our boss so he can send someone out to fix it?"

"Hold on I'll get one." Vicky shouted to the woman.

She picked up the cordless phone next to me, went back to the door and opened the door to hand the woman the phone. When she opened the door, the man outside forced his way through the opening using the door to pin Vicky to the wall.

What Vicky could not see as she looked out the door but became readily apparent when they entered was that both the man and the woman were wearing cheap plastic Lone Ranger masks. As I started to stand, the stranger was followed by a buxom, full figured, brunet with long wavy hair. She was holding a .38 caliber pistol.

She immediately pointed the pistol at my chest and said, "Freeze 'Loverboy'!"

"Tell him to let go of her!" I demanded while continuing to rise.

She raised her pistol and pointed it directly at my head and in a calm voice said, "He wont hurt her as long as you both do what we say. Now sit back down and shut up!"

I looked over at Vicky struggling behind the door and slowly sat down.

Her left arm pinned by the door, Vicky screamed curses at the man. The whole time she screamed she was struggling against the door and trying to use her right hand to push it off of her. But, the male intruder was using his weight to hold the door in place and she couldn't move.

He reached up and grabbed Vicky's right wrist; then, he stepped back taking his weight off the door and pulled her from around the door. As he did, she spun around and her robe blew open just enough for me to see that she was indeed totally naked beneath it. It was the most I had seen of her body for months and just seeing that glimpse started to turn me on. When she stopped spinning and ended up with her back to him, he put his free arm around her waist to hold her. With the arm that held her wrist, he pulled her right arm up slightly. When he did, she yelped and quit struggling. Then he used his foot to kick the door shut.

The buxom intruder began to speak, "Pay close attention both of you, if you do as you're told nobody will get hurt and we will be out of here in an hour or two. That means no hero shit 'Loverboy'! Got it?"

Vicky and I both nodded affirmatively.

The armed female intruder looked around the den and noticed the crutches, pain medication and blankets on the couch, then turned to me and asked, "Who are those for?"

"Those are his!" Vicky snapped and then added in the same angry tone of voice, "What's it to you?"

The menacing minx looked at me and said almost compassionately, "You going to be OK? Do you need to take any medication or anything? You're not going to pass out on me are you?"

I looked at the woman trying to decide if her compassion was being feigned and answered, "I'll be alright. I fractured my knee about three months ago. I'm don't need the pain medication anymore. Other than being sore at times, its OK."

The feminine felon pointed to the crutches and said, "Are you going to need those to get around?"

"No, I don't think so." I replied.

Vicky looked at me in shock and yelled, "What?" "How long have you known you didn't need my help?"

"About two weeks." I told her.