Wayward Wife's Punishment

                                  Wayward Wife's Punishment - Chapter 43

        My encounter with Darla Dobson had taken a lot more out of me than I realized. Instead of heading west on Route 40, feeling mildly exhausted from what had transpired at the private hospital, I took the first place that offered lodging and food. I turned in early, not realizing what awaited me that evening.

       I was feeling my way down a long, dark hall, depending upon the sounds I heard to keep me moving. The sounds sometimes were high-pitched, often cut off in mid-scream. Other times there were more than one source of the sounds; it was possible to distinguish both men and women as the originators. There was no way to understand exactly what was happening since there were no words to finish the composition that was being created in my mind. My hands slid over more rough material, perhaps concrete, and my body followed. It was at this point that a faint beacon of light came into view. I squinted to try to determine the size and shape of the light, but failed at first. My pace increased as my eyes widened to gather more light and my confidence grew.

       The light was coming from a cutout portion in the metal door. Behind that door was also the source of all the strange noises as well. I glanced down to realize that I was wearing a uniform and it wasn't military. Just then the door flew open to outline a bear of a man who must have stood six and a half feet tall and weighed over three hundred pounds. His tunic was missing, but the rest of his uniform was the same as what I wore. He barked rather than spoke to me as I tried to gather myself and understand where I fit in the grand scheme of things.

       "Ellison, it's about damned time you showed your ugly face! We got tired of waiting, so we started without you. That's a hell of a note considering the prisoner is your whore of a wife. We thought for sure you'd want first crack at her, maybe even first crack at her crack."

       I was still trying to fit myself into this situation and not embarrass myself further. He reached out one giant hand and dragged me into the room where three other members of the squad, also stripped to the waist, were using rubber hoses to turn my wayward wife, Jill, into a lump of swollen flesh. From the looks of what used to be her face, they had been working on her for quite some time. It all started to come back to me. She had been picked up in a sweep of the city's unwanted and purely by accident coughed up some information that was rather important to an ongoing undercover activity.

       The how and why of her possession of this "for your eyes only" stuff was what caused these sessions down in the bowels of the building that housed almost all the city departments. The parson and his merry men had been doing their worst to Jill and it showed. I thought that chief Vlad had ordered that I not be involved in the interrogation sessions because of my marriage to the prisoner. Evidently the parson had either ignored or overridden the chief's order. Whatever, it didn't matter to me anymore; this was not the first session for Jill, quite to the contrary. Even so, it was plain to see that I hadn't missed much after all.

       Even after a number of "getting to know you" sessions and the ravages associated with the life of a street prostitute, Jill still had a body that was sexually exciting to me, fairly amazing considering what she had done to our marriage. They had stripped her to the skin, not a big surprise, and tied her to a chair. Two deputies were softening Jill up at the moment. They stood on either side of her and their hoses created a pattern, moving from her head to her face and then down to her shoulders and finally her big, firm tits. I had to correct myself since those big firm tits that I loved to fondle and even bite when she got me into a frenzy in bed were no longer firm. On the other hand, they were at least a cup size bigger thanks to the swelling from all the beatings they had taken over the last week or so.

       The parson suggested that I take a turn for old times sake. I understood what was happening; this was a test of sorts. Someone slapped a rubber hose into my hand and urged me to enjoy myself. For some, strange, twisted reason I lost my mind for the next few minutes. I took out all my frustrations concerning Jill's fooling around behind my back. I started on her swollen tits and slammed the hose back and forth doing my best to spread out the anger and pain fairly between them. When I got tired of flattening those multi-colored globes of bruised flesh I made my way into unexplored territory, her belly and on a few occasions even managing to get the hose between her spread thighs, bringing cheers from my fellow deputies. One lucky blow even caused her to bring up some bile that ran down her chin and then dropped on her battered breasts. Whatever actually transpired was sufficient to give me a passing grade and the promise of taking a regular turn down here while we sweated the truth from the prisoner.

       They left me alone to my thoughts as they prepared Jill for the next phase of the session. I watched dispassionately as they hung her by her wrists from an overhead water pipe, legs spread wide and anchored to ringbolts set in the concrete floor. Chief Vlad had personally designed this interrogation room for his pleasure, tiring of using the basement of his home. After they hosed her down with the high pressure water hose, she looked like a half-drowned cat, body beaded with water and perhaps her sweat as well. Her head lolled against her chest, a cheek resting against one of her swollen breasts that was covered with bruises and the like in every color of the rainbow. It was possible to pick out the new markings from the color, and so I did just that until the parson rudely brought me back to reality.

       The parson goes to the metal cabinet that holds most of the stuff we use to interrogate prisoners. He has a funny look on his face as he opens the door and then withdraws a cane made from bamboo. He gives it a few practice swings and we all listen to the singing sound it makes. I know that somehow my wayward ex-wife is going to be doing some very serious singing before he's done with her. He looks me straight in the eye and grins.

       "We liberated this from a dominatrix who thought she was above the law when it came to paying her fair share to the deputies retirement fund. She wasn't bad looking according to the deputies who took her out to the woods for a little exercise. They say she was really tight at first but they managed to loosen her up and after a time she even started to enjoy herself, at least that's their side of the story. It seems she left town the next day and we confiscated the rest of her equipment. This little beauty is my share, and your whore of a wife is going to be my first customer."

       He must have whipped her for twenty minutes without even taking a breather. By then Jill was barely conscious and bleeding in dozens of places. I think he must have practiced some the way he handled that limber length of bamboo. The big man started on her back and it sounded like a muffled gunshot every time the cane sliced into her flesh. At first Jill screamed to the high heavens, but after he got down to her ass she just moaned steadily since the blows were falling so fast she couldn't respond to each. He raised welts on her ass that bloomed like snakes expanding. Then he came back over them and turned those snakes into bands of bleeding meat. He sliced her ribcage open, going between each rib and drawing blood every time. Jill was shaking like a leaf in a windstorm by then, and a pool of blood had formed beneath her bare body. He saved the best for last, caning those big tits from top to bottom and then side to side, leaving a checkerboard pattern of bleeding welts. By then she was out cold and no fun at all. The parson looked over at me and licked his lips like an animal that just finished tearing its prey apart. 

       "Ellison, I'm tired of us using this lying bitch to practice handling my new toy. So today I intend to turn this filthy whore into a blowup doll, a real live one, not the kind the raincoaters buy in the adult bookstores. You ought to appreciate this considering what she did to you."

       They take Jill down and put her on the gyno table. It doesn't take much time to have her secured and ready for a bloating that she'll never forget, if it doesn't kill her that is. First she is forced to swallow a length of rubber tubing. It takes some convincing, but lit cigarettes pressed against her exposed clit do the trick. The other end of the hose is attached to a tap jutting from the wall. Next a three-quart enema bag is filled and hung from a stand located by the table. It has been modified so that the bag can be kept constantly filled to its maximum thanks to the second water tap located by the one feeding her belly with water. The parson laughs and comments that she'll either set a new world record for taking an enema or explode in the process of trying. There is still more for my wayward wife to accommodate. A narrow tube of glass is threaded into her bladder. This one will not pass water; instead it will jolt her with bursts of high-pressure air from still another tap on the wall. Vlad had really spent some time and money to make sure this was the best-equipped interrogation room in the state and those surrounding it. I'd seen this innocent piece of work in action on a number of occasions and it never failed to do the job for which it was intended.

       Just before the parson rammed the enema nozzle up Jill's asshole, he looked over at me and grinned. For a big man he could move; he corkscrewed his big fist in such a way as to avoid striking the glass tube, but managed to bury it between Jill's fat cunt lips. For a few seconds there was silence, and then the naked prisoner tried to swallow the rest of the tubing that connected the water tap to her belly, as her face started to lose it color. Except for yours truly, everyone else laughed at Jill's reaction to the brutal blow. For laughs he feigned another blow and my wife's eyes nearly popped from anticipation. Then it was back to business, making sure that everything was in readiness. I got a bit nervous since the prison doctor who was supposed to supervise activities such as this was not present. The parson nodded his head and one of the guards turned both water taps about a half turn and stepped away to watch what occurred.

       Jill started reacting almost instantly, moving her legs and shifting her body to get into a more comfortable position. At a nod from the parson one tap was opened further. The man-mountain leaned over Jill and pressed her stomach to gauge its fullness. He glanced up and gave us a smile just before dealing the prisoner a vicious forearm blow to her belly. A few spurts of water issued from her mouth, but the hose she had been forced to swallow acted like a block for the remainder of the liquid sloshing around in her slowly rounding belly. It was my guess that she was ingesting a lot more water than what she was getting from the enema bag. The parson announced that the prisoner would take the waters until he decided when she had enough and might be ready to tell them who spilled the beans. Secretly I knew that Jill wouldn't be taking this kind of going over if she really knew anything. My guess is she had heard something from someone, but in her drunken state, normal for her these days, Jill had already forgotten the source of what she had heard. That was too bad for my wayward wife, but that's life.

       The first pulse of high-pressure air is a big success. Jill's eyes bulge and she strains against the heavy straps that hold her body to the table. The next three are delivered rapidly and strange squeals come from her. Both taps are opened further and it is now very apparent that the prisoner's belly is more than just filled; it's approaching bloated. The parson rubs his massive hands together and chortles at the prisoner's discomfort. She definitely looks pregnant at this stage. Once more she gets a forearm shiver to her bloated belly, compliments of the parson whose face is wreathed in a terrible smile as his prisoner struggles to get air into her lungs and at the same time avoid drowning from the massive amounts of water her belly and bowels now retain from the combined enema and "water cure" she is taking. Her struggles begin to diminish, a sure sign that her lungs are now laboring to gain enough air to allow her to survive. Jill's belly is now so large that the parson has been reduced to pounding his fist down on the bloated dome she presents. He plays with the high pressure and is rewarded by the red froth that begins to emanate from her urethra. Jill's eyes roll back into her head and her face turns. Still the parson lets the water continue to enter her belly and bowels. Then to my amazement a red button pops from her navel. Spotting it the parson screams that she's cooked and ready for carving.

       I awoke bathed in sweat. It took a minute or so to convince myself that it had just been a bad dream. I attributed it to signing the papers that turned my wife over to the not so tender mercies of the private hospital's staff. The more I reviewed what I'd dreamt, the more ridiculous it seemed to become. A glance at the clock by the bed told me it was definitely not time to get out of bed and prepare myself for a day on the road. I fell back to sleep and soon the curtain rose for another strange, kinky dream.

       Here I was behind the wheel of a Detroit behemoth, trying to stay on the rutted dirt road that seemed to wind back onto itself more times than not. Why and how I managed to sentence myself to this cruel and unusual punishment remained mysteries to me. One minute I was on a solid two-lane road with nothing of substance before or behind me. Next came chaos and by the time I recovered my composure, the slug or Silly Useless Vehicle  (SUV) had taken control and gotten me totally lost. As it lumbered down the pothole littered dirt road with ruts made from various cloudbursts, I tried to recall what transpired during that period of strangeness, and came up empty. Everywhere I looked was the same; masses of trees the likes of which I'd never seen in my life, all being strangled by the rope-like kudzu vines that were winning the battle for this territory.

       Suddenly the narrow road ended in a large clearing surrounded by a panoply of huge trees that appeared to be redwoods. This was not possible I thought. Redwoods needed a much different climate and soil than what had created these ugly, twisted deformities masquerading as trees. I reined the behemoth to a halt and considered the situation. The tall trees were blotting out the sunlight to the point that it appeared to be dusk. What made it more eerie was the lack of sounds, any sound. There must be something inhabiting this area, but what and where were they? I disembarked from this battleship on wheels, a symbol of corporate greed and ignorance, easily passed off as an improvement in lifestyle, and did some reconnoitering. I hadn't taken more than half a dozen steps when they appeared, entering from the forest of quasi-redwoods.

       From a distance it was difficult to make out much about them. There were four all told, one towering over the other three. In the perpetual dusk of day it was still impossible to see any features. I began to carefully move toward them, watching the quartet for any suspicious activity. After another few steps it became apparent that none of them were wearing clothing. That stopped me in my tracks, but they continued to close the gap between us. None of the group carried anything in their hands and they were soon near enough for me to discern that the three short ones were female. They were now at a distance to allow me, even in this nearly sunless environment, to make out their figures. This was choice material; in my days of dealing with wild, wanton women, I had become adept at ranking my partners for their beauty and sexual attractiveness. This trio passed with honors when it came to face and figure.

       For the moment I merely enjoyed the sight of those firm breasts, flat stomachs, hairless pussies and the long legs upon which said pussies were mounted. One was a buxom brunette, slim and smaller than the two blondes that flanked her. A quick check of the blondes indicated they looked too similar not to be related. At this point the male member of the group intruded into my consciousness. He was carrying around a few extra pounds and was taller than average. He looked to be perhaps fifteen, maybe as much as twenty years older than the females. When he spoke he startled me, so rapt was I on the three lovelies.

       "Thank the powers that have brought you to rescue me from this burden. Take them now and leave this land; there is little time before sheriff Vlad realizes I have stolen them from their former place of refuge. My youthful charges will be lost forever if he regains power over them. You are their only hope for redemption."

       I had no idea what he was talking about. The sheriff's name seemed to tickle my memory but so far I failed to connect it to what was happening in this clearing. To my astonishment the three naked beauties started walking towards my behemoth without even so much as acknowledging my existence. I had to admit that the view of their heart-shaped bottoms and swaying hips seemed to hypnotize me for a time. Then all hell broke loose!

       Suddenly there were all sorts of police cars pouring from all sides with sirens screaming and lights flashing. The females stopped dead in their tracks and huddled together as they were quickly surrounded. Deputies and state troopers exited from various vehicles and took the trio of naked females captive, roughly groping them as they cuffed their hands behind their backs and placed chain link hobbles around their ankles. That was bad enough, but what was happening to the male was many times worse. He went down like a sack of sand after one of the state troopers, frothing at the mouth from fear or anger, kicked him squarely in the balls and followed that with a brutal blow from his baton to the back of the man's head as he hit the earth. Then I saw chief Vlad approaching, screaming at the trooper to stop hurting his prisoner.

       "I want that cocksucker in shape so I can grind his balls to paste, cut them off and make him eat them before he bleeds to death. Now leave that piece of shit alone; he's mine until he dies."

       The chief glanced around at what was taking place where the trio of naked females had been put under arrest. All of them were on the ground being pawed by members of law enforcement. In fact at least two men, one trooper and the other a deputy, were doing their level best to nail the struggling blondes beneath them. It looked as if the chief was on the verge of having a stroke. He waded into the unruly mob of deputies and troopers, shoving them out of his way so he could get to his prisoners. They all scattered when his voice announced his displeasure in no uncertain terms.

       "These are my prisoners and mine to do with as I see fit! At the moment they are under my protection. They will remain in this state until I determine different. Now pick yourselves up from the ground and get back to searching these people for weapons and drugs. Make sure you check every hole they got and do them twice. Then you can take them to my cruiser and I'll handle them until they are checked in at the jail."

       His last comment brought knowing elbows and even an occasional chuckle from his audience of law enforcement people. Chief Vlad sighed and walked away from the mob scene, shaking his head. Somehow no one seemed to notice my presence except one of the captives who caught my eye and pleaded for me to help her as a baton was shoved with maximum force into her tight little pussy, bringing hoots of laughter from the group of deputies watching her being defiled under the guise of performing a search of her person. At that point the nightmare or dream dissolved and I awoke gasping for breath. I was still somehow connected to my dream and in a panic. My heart was pounding and it felt as if any second it would jump out of my chest. It felt as if perspiration was dripping from every pore in my body. First there was the parson and now chief Vlad, all in the same night. That was that, I was too wired from the nightmares to let myself be lulled back to sleep. It was nearly two in the morning and nowhere to go, or was there? 

       The shortest route to Palo Alto does not run through Louisiana. Then why am I heading south, not west, as if I know where I'm going? Don't tell me that I have been rerouted by the powers that be in order to perform my function in a place yet to be unveiled to me by my handlers. Naturally the thrill junkies that live in my head are excited by the prospect of another detour in my trip that has not been planned by yours truly. I realized as soon as I awoke from my super dreams/nightmares that my careful planning had been put on hold or totally trashed. So here I am, driving a route that's not familiar to me, in darkness except for signs directing me to motels or small towns that can offer me food and gasoline at any hour of the day or night. Beckoning in the distance is the thriving metropolis of Little Rock. Perhaps this is my destination; how can I tell?

                          (To be continued - lex ludite)