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Runaway
Luke Shank saw the headlights, heard the pickup stop by the
house. By the time he got the door open, his brothers, Matthew
and Mark, were standing on the porch. Between them was Luke's
wife, Lucy. Matthew held her right arm, Mark her left.
"You found her. Thanks," said Luke.
"She was waiting for the bus. Runaway for sure," said
Matthew. "You best see she don't do that again, brother."
"I can't keep her chained to the kitchen sink, Matthew. A
woman's work is never done, as they say."
"Luke, you've got to train her to be good. What did out Pa
do when we was bad?" said Matthew.
"Whupped us good, with a strap."
"Well, you got to show Lucy who's boss. Teach her a good
wife don't run away like that. Give her a whuppin' she won't
forget," suggested Mark. He put Lucy's purse on the kitchen
counter. "She's got $57 in there, Luke. She stole from you."
"Lucy," said Luke, "You know I love you, but you got to be
punished. The Lord God said, '...Your desire shall be for your
husband, and he shall rule over you.' You understand, Lucy. I
got to do it, until you learn that I rule over you. God also
said, 'Thou shalt not steal.' You have sinned, Lucy."
Lucy, still held by her arms, tossed her honey colored hair
and stared defiantly at Luke, but she said nothing.
"Put her face down on the table," said Luke, pointing to the
kitchen table. Lucy struggled and kicked, but the two men lifted
her by her arms and pressed her against the table. She thrashed
her legs, wouldn't hold still, even when her shoes came off.
Luke took a roll of friction tape and taped her big toe to a
table leg, then the other big toe to the other table leg,
spreading her legs far apart. Lucy's barely five feet tall, so
with her legs spread like that, her feet were off the floor.
The table wasn't that wide. Matthew and Mark held her arms
over the other edge, and Luke taped her thumbs to the other table
legs. She wasn't going anywhere. He grabbed her hair and held
her head up, so he could look into her face. He liked her
delicate jaw, her full lips, her big eyes, and her cute little
nose. He just looked at her for half a minute. Then he said, "I
got to do it, Lucy. You got it comin', until you learn to behave
proper. You're married now, Lucy, and you got to be a good
wife." She didn't reply, just gave him a long look.
"Surly bitch," said Mark, "you whup her good, Luke. You
whup her 'till she promises she won't never run off again."
Luke let go of Lucy's hair, and she let her head hang. Her
hair fell nearly to the floor.
Luke wore bib overalls; he wasn't wearing a belt. He looked
around for a suitable tool for the job, and he settled on the
cleaning rod for his rifle, a steel rod as long as his arm, with
wooden handle on the end. He swished the rod in the air, and the
slot in the end, to hold the cleaning patches, whistled as he
swung. It sounded like wasps in flight.
Luke stood to one side of Lucy's bottom, looking how the
wide skirt of her cotton dress hung down over the mounds of her
buttocks. He paused in his backswing as he admired her tiny
waist, saw how her breasts were mashed against the table, so they
bulged out, stretching her dress below the short sleeves.
"Not like that, Luke," Matthew said. "Bare assed."
"Shit, this ain't Sunday school," added Mark. "It ain't a
proper whupping, unless it's on the bare ass."
Luke picked up the hem at the back of her skirt and lifted
her skirt up, dragging her dress up past Lucy's waist. He let
the full, cotton skirt hang down over Lucy's head. From behind,
he could see everything from the waist down, nothing above her
waist. Luke could almost forget that she was Lucy, his wife.
All he saw was an ass and legs, pretty, but impersonal, like a
picture in one of those magazines. Except, in the magazine, the
woman wouldn't wear panties.
Luke saw that Lucy was wearing the panties he had bought her
in that fancy store, pale pink, just a triangle in front and
behind and an eleastic waistband, nothing on the sides. He tried
to pull them down, and the waistband broke. He pulled the silky
material straight up, enjoying the way the cloth slid out from
under her belly and up through the crack between her legs. Now
he could see everything, her puckered little asshole, where her
cheeks were spread, and the hairy cunt below. With her legs
spread like that, her pink, hairless, inner lips were plainly
visible, little wavy flaps of very tender flesh which stuck out
between her hairy outer lips. He ran his finger along the line
between her cheeks and her thighs. Behind him, his brothers
looked, too.
"She's a pretty little thing," said Matthew. "You want to
keep her. Whup her so she'll never even think of running away
again, Luke."
Luke checked to see he wouldn't accidently hit one of his
brothers on the backswing. Then he brought his arm back, and
swung, side arm, so that the rod whooshed through the air and
smacked right across the middle of both buttocks.
Lucy only grunted. She wouldn't talk, wouldn't even yell.
Luke brought is arm back again, keeping his eye on the red
line across Lucy's ass. He swung again, aiming a quarter inch
below the line, creating an almost overlapping welt parallel to
the first. "Unggh!" groaned Lucy, through clenched teeth.
The third blow angled across the first two, and Lucy
screamed, "AAAowww! Stop, Luke, I can't stand it!"
Luke's arm was already back. He looked at his wife's pretty ass,
and he knew how it must hurt. He was determined that she would
change her ways, but he -- would she hate him for what he was
doing to her? Would the rod draw blood, scar her for life? He
looked at his brothers, saw their expectant looks. It couldn't
be stopped now. He couldn't just forgive her, not with his
brothers there.
He handed the cleaning rod to Matthew and quietly walked out
the kitchen door, into the darkness.
Luke stood, resting his head against the trunk of the old
tree, the one with the tire swing. He squeezed his eyes closed
and felt his throat tighten, as he heard a loud smack, and a yell
from Lucy. Smack, yell. Smack, yell. Smack. "No, please, Luke.
Stop it!" Smack. "Yeow! Please, Luke, have mercy."
Luke couldn't bear it. He knew it had to be done, but he
couldn't bear to participate. Luke pulled himself together and
walked out across the moonlit fields, toward the woods.
Mark took the rod from Matthew. He wondered where he should
aim, as there were red welts all over Lucy's ass. He poked one
pink cheek with the end of the rod, and a cat cry of distress
came from Lucy. "Please, Luke, I promise to be good."
Mark gave her a back-handed slash which caught one hip,
putting a pink stripe on the formerly unmarked pale, white skin.
Lucy's legs were tanned, from the knees down, but she never
exposed her body to the sun. Mark and Matthew seemed to have the
same idea at the same time. They loosened the waist of her
dress and dragged it right up over her shoulders, as far as they
could, with her arms in the sleeves. It took some effort to pull
all the cloth out under her breasts, mashed against the table,
but they succeeded. Without hesitation, they removed her bra,
dragging it out from under her. Her breasts, like creme-filled
donuts, bulged outward on the table top. Mark used the end of
the rod to press the softness of her left breast.
"Luke," she said, "don't do that with your brothers here.
That's bedroom business." Luke, of course, couldn't hear.
Mark now had a whole new canvas to paint on, and he flailed
away with the rod, putting red stripes from her shoulders to her
waist, and all down the back of her taut, tapered, thighs, to her
knees. Lucy no longer yelled with each blow; she was
continuously blubbering, screaming, crying, incoherently pleading
for her husband to stop.
The sight of her pink cunt, there between the curls of her
hairy crotch, entranced Mark. He managed to plant a blow right
on her cunt.
Luke, by now walking into the woods, heard the scream,
faintly, across the fields. He shrugged his shoulders and walked
on, depressed beyond caring.
Matthew tugged at Mark's sleeve, and led him quietly from
the kitchen, out back to the tree. "Luke's run off," he said,
"left the job to us."
"I don't mind that," said Mark. "I kind of like it. We're
doin' him a favor. She needs to be taught a lesson."
Lucy's sobs could still be heard, through the open kitchen
door. "I got a hard-on," said Matthew. "Let's fuck her. She
deserves it."
"Me, too," said Mark. "But I don't got a rubber. We don't
want to knock her up. Luke's our brother."
"Just watch," whispered Matthew. The two brothers went
quietly into the kitchen and removed their jeans. Matthew found
a can of Crisco and used his finger to grease Lucy's ass hole.
"No, please, no, Luke," she whimpered, "not there.
I never..."
Matthew put the end of his tool against the greased rosebud
and shoved. The table legs scraped across the floor, until
Matthew grabbed Lucy's hips and pushed even harder. "Ahh!" she
cried, as his stiff rod sank into her.
There were more protests and crying as Matthew pumped in and
out of Lucy's tight back hole. He had been fucking Gayle, the
waitress at the Yukommon Inn, but her cunt was a slack sack,
compared to Lucy's tight ass. He pumped his load into her and
slowly withdrew his limp dick.
Lucy whimpered and said, "Luke, that wasn't nice. That's
sinful sex."
It was Mark's turn, and his big meaty rod went in more
easily than his brother's had. He held onto Lucy's hips and
pumped in and out vigorously.
"Ow. Luke? How can you do that twice? Luke? Luke!"
Lucy's cries excited Mark, and he couldn't help himself. He
shot his load, even though he would have prefered to prolong the
pleasure.
"That's not Luke, is it?" Lucy cried. "Luke! Where's my
husband?"
Mark withdrew, leaving a trail of semen down the crack of
her ass. Matthew gave Lucy half a dozen hard whacks on the ass
with the steel bore-cleaning rod. She stopped talking and just
yelled.
Mark was in no shape to fuck her again, but he used his
hands to explore her body, fingering as much of her breasts as he
could reach, running his hands over her beaten ass cheeks and
legs. Matthew fingered her cunt, pulling her pubic hairs to
spread her outer lips, then fingering up and down her pink
groove. There was nothing she could do or say to stop him.
He inserted a finger, then two, then three, stretching her
cunt, and he finger-fucked her for a minute or two, while Mark
amused himself by pinching her tortured flesh. Lucy blubbered
protests, but it wasn't clear, and they didn't care, whether she
objected to the pain of the pinching or the humiliation of the
finger fucking.
Mark picked up the cleaning rod, with it's grooved wooden
handle, like the handle on a sheath knife. He rubbed it up and
down the crack of her ass; getting some Crisco on it. Then he
roughly rammed it up her cunt. Lucy shrieked.
"I think we should go, before Luke gets back," said Matthew.
"Lucy," said Mark, "you don't mention this to anyone,
especially not to Luke. If we find out you told him, we'll come
back when he's at work, and we'll make you wish you hadn't." He
emphasized his point by shoving the rough wooden handle in and
out, forward and back, stretching Lucy's love-hole as much as he
could. "We'll tell him you begged us to fuck you. We'll tell
him you liked it." He yanked out the rod and stuffed the handle
half way into her tortured asshole.
"Don't leave that in there, Mark," said Matthew.
Mark pulled the handle out and dropped the cleaning rod on
the table.
It was hours before Luke got back and entered the kitchen.
He knew his brothers had left; the pickup was gone. The light
was still on. He could see the small form of his wife, her body
still pressed on the table, her legs and arms still spread,
stretched taut. Her head was completely covered by her dress,
and her body was naked, covered with bruises. The rod lay beside
her, the handle stained. He said nothing, as he examined the
damage. He noticed the Crisco can, open.
It was obvious the beating had been severe, very thorough.
Still, the skin wasn't broken. No need for a doctor, or
anything. He looked at her buttocks particularly, all those
overlapping stripes, and he saw the Crisco, even what looked like
jism, around her little hole.
"Luke?" said Lucy. "Is that you?"
"Yes, Lucy."
"Please, Luke, I promise I won't run away agian. I promise
I'll do anything you say. Just don't ever let your brothers do
that again."
"You learned your lesson?'
"Yes, Luke."
He noticed a bit of blood on her bruised cunt lips. "They
took advantage, didn't they. They raped my wife."
She said nothing.
"Tell me! They fucked your ass, didn't they!"
"I can't tell you what they did."
Luke knew; she didn't have to tell him. He took his pocket
knife and cut the tapes which held her hands. Then he pulled the
dress off over her head and arms, leaving her totally naked. He
walked around to the other end of her and gently fingered her
bruised cunt. It was dry, now. Then he cut the tapes which
bound her toes to the table legs. He slipped one arm under her
legs and the other just below her breasts, and he lifted her from
the table the way he might have lifted a big, sick dog. She hung
limp, her tiny body covered with bruises. It was only a few feet
to their bed.
"I love you, Lucy," he said. "I just couldn't get along
without your love."
"Yes, Luke."
"I need to make love now, Lucy."
"Please, no, Luke. I hurt too much."
He realized it would hurt her to lie on her back, so he set
her down, across the bed, on her hands and knees. He fingered
her bruised cunt lips again, and she stayed dry. It didn't
excite her, but he got hard, and he quickly got out of his
overalls.
"Please, Luke, not now. You'll hurt me," she pleaded.
"You're my wife, Lucy. Remember that." He tried to insert
a finger into her dry cunt. She just wouldn't respond to him.
"Please, no, Luke."
"Just shut up, Lucy!" he yelled, slapping her bruised ass.
"You haven't learned your lesson yet. Don't you ever say no to
me like that." He slapped her again, as hard as he could. She
screamed at the slap, but she didn't speak again, just cried
softly, as Luke applied some fresh Crisco to her asshole.
[end]
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