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Judy
"You cheapskate bastard!" Judy shouted,
throwing a table lamp at John. The lamp gashed
John's forehead before the lamp smashed on the
floor. John lost his cool and decked her with a
single punch. Then he went back to bed, locking
the bedroom door behind him.
Judy got to her feet and looked at her face.
There was a visible contusion which would develop
into a nice black eye. She went to the phone and
called the police. Thirteen minutes later, when two
cops arrived at the door, they found the living room
a mess, tables and chairs tipped over, and the shards
of the lamp. Judy's dress was torn, and her hair
looked terrible. "John's in there," she said,
pointing to the bedroom door. As they must, by law
in domestic violence cases, they arrested John,
handcuffing him and marching him out to the police
car in his pajamas. The law assumes the man
started the fight, even if he got the worst of it.
He would not get a hearing before a judge
before Monday morning, so he spent Friday,
Saturday, and Sunday nights in the county jail,
sharing a cell with three bikers who raped his ass
each night. When he complained, the deputy just
smiled and said, "Wife beaters get no sympathy
from me."
The woman judge said, "There is sufficient
evidence to bind you over for prosecution for
assault. However, I will release you on your own
recognizance until a trial date is set. Two
policemen will return you to your house and allow
you fifteen minutes to get your clothes, after which
you may not return. I am issuing a retraining order
which forbids you to communicate with your wife,
except through a lawyer, or to go within one half
mile of her residence. You will pay her $200 a
week through this court, and you must keep up the
payments on the house and car and insurance."
John dressed in a hurry and spent most of
his fifteen minutes searching for his wallet and car
keys; he found neither. Even had he found the
ATM card, he would have discovered that Judy had
emptied their joint bank account. A quick call to
his employer revealed that his services were no
longer required, not after a felony charge. The
police hustled him out of his own house, leaving
him without a place to sleep, without a car, without
a job, and with total assets of 57 cents, change in
his pants pocket. By the end of the week, he knew,
he would be in jail for contempt of court, failing to
pay for his wife's support. Unless...
Judy and Harry let themselves in, not
noticing in the dark that a basement window was
broken. Judy tossed her handbag on the sofa and
kicked off her heels. "Come on, lover, give me a
kiss," she purred as she pulled him toward her.
"You know where the bedroom is." In less than
two minutes, they were rolling naked on the double
bed.
John, from his place of concealment, heard
it all. He waited until he was sure they were
preoccupied, and then he rifled her purse,
recovering his wallet, credit cards, car keys, and
$243 in cash. At least he would be able to eat. He
was already well armed with items from the cellar,
a hunting knife, a slim boning knife, a hatchet, a
shotgun (not loaded), plus nails and rope and duct
tape. When he entered the bedroom, he found his
wife had wrapped her legs around Harry's waist,
while Harry humped her. Boy, was Harry surprised
when he felt the muzzle of the shotgun against his
scrotum. "Harry," said John, "get up carefully and
step into that closet. Judy, roll over on your belly
and lie still, if you don't want a double-barrel
hysterectomy." While Judy obeyed and lay still,
John nailed the closet door shut, imprisoning Harry.
"If I hear any noise from you, Harry, you are a dead
man. Understand?" There was no reply. John used
the rope to tie Judy's thumbs together and led her,
still naked, to the basement stairs, where he flicked
on the light.
"You'll never get away with this," she told
him through clenched teeth. He passed the rope
over a hook in a joist and easily lifted her by her
thumbs until only her toes were in contact with the
cement floor. She let out a long howl of pain as her
thumbs turned purple. She tried to plead with him,
but she could not form sentences while screaming.
She knew the pain would get worse.
"By the time they find your bodies, I'll be
long gone, disappeared, as far as the police are
concerned. No way that judge can make me pay
you money to fuck with Harry." He slipped pre-
prepared nooses over her breasts and drew them
tight. Then those ropes went over another hook,
and, lifting most of her weight with her breasts, he
tightened the ropes until her toes were clear of the
floor and her boobs looked like pink softballs. Her
screams were continuous, except for short pauses
for her to gasp for air. For a few minutes he
enjoyed the sound, while he plugged in a soldering
iron and made other preparations. After a while,
however, he got tired of the noise, and he put duct
tape over her mouth, which didn't silence her
entirely but did cut the volume considerably. He
broke off a meter of PVC pipe from the drain of the
furnace air humidifier. It would do for a cane. He
wished he had some way to take photos, to post on
some of those BDSM sites on the web. Well, he'd
know she got what was coming to her.
He took a stance like a batter and swung the
pipe, laying it across the middle of her lower
cheeks. She grunted loudly through the duct tape,
and curious double red lines crossed her ass. He
laid on again and again, leaving parallel welts
above and below the original stripes until she was
bright red from her waist to the backs of her knees.
Then he changed his position and began to punish
her swollen breasts, attacking from above and
below and repeatedly beating her nipples.
Methodically, his blows descended from her tits to
her belly to her thighs and knees and shins, drawing
blood from her lower legs. He had read that the
Victorians caned girls on their arm pits, so he tried
that, and then down the ribs on each side and over
the convexity of her hips. Still she screamed
though her duct tape, never shutting up. He was
getting tired, but he put a few stripes across he back
and raised arms before he said to her, "Look, Judy,
I'm getting tired of listening to you. I'll offer you a
deal. If you can stop screaming in ten seconds, I'll
stop beating you. OK?" With great effort and will,
Judy stifled her screams, breathing noisily through
her nose. "Now, don't struggle." She did not resist
when he raised one ankle and duct-taped it to her
raised arm, then did the same to her other ankle.
The backs of her knees were either side of her
stretched breasts, and her cunt smiled up at him,
ornamented by a patch of pubic hair trimmed so it
wouldn't show when she wore a thong bikini
bottom. The outline of that garment was white
against her tanned legs and belly, which now had
red welts across them.
With the pointed tip of the soldering iron, he
drew the capital letters, HARRY'S HOLE, below
her navel, well above the tan line. The skin sizzled,
and steam and smoke arose from the hot iron as
John slowly drew it across her skin, making sure the
burn damage was deep, to maximize scarring. Of
course she tried to scream even louder than before,
but he ignored that. He began to draw an arrow
below the words, pointing at her slit. He decided,
to do it properly, he would have to remove the
pubic hair. With pliers, he would grab a tuft of hair
and then attack the roots with the soldering iron, so
the singed hairs lifted out of the red, blistered
follicles until the hair was gone, replaced with red,
blistered skin. Then he finished the arrow head,
holding the iron against the now hairless skin until
the skin burned black. The tip of the arrow was just
above her slit. With his left hand, he parted her
labia and, with the iron in his right hand, he slid the
tip up under the hood of her clitoris, holding the
searing tip against her tiger button until he was sure
the nerves were dead and could never recover. She
was struggling and screaming through her gag, but
she could not stop him. He slid the hot iron down
the insides of her inner lips, until the membranes
sloughed off. Then, putting raw flesh against raw
flesh, he used an industrial-size stapler to fix the
labia to each other, effectively sealing her vagina,
unless she knew a good surgeon. He smiled,
knowing Harry would never again fuck that hole.
Above her breasts, he branded her with the
word, WHORE. Pleased with the result, he grabbed
her hair, pulled her head back, and wrote SLUT
across her forehead. It was not just the pain which
punished her, for she must know that she could not
be seen in public unless she dressed like a Muslima.
He unplugged the soldering iron and unscrewed the
cap from a can of laquer thinner. He splashed the
fluid over her burns and stapled vulva, knowing it
would burn as painfully as the hot iron, though it
was cool and would not cause scars. As Judy
writhed in pain, hanging from her thumbs and tits,
which might well be getting numb by now, John felt
he had restored his honor. He had one more job to
do, with a crescent wrench.
Harry saw a dim light through the opening
he was making in the sheet rock wallboard of the
closet, using a broken wooden coat hanger to open a
hole, then enlarging it and finally kicking off pieces
until he could squeeze between the two by four
studs of the closet wall. As he wriggled into the
bedroom, he saw a burning candle and smelled gas.
Quickly, he pinched out the candle flame and tore
open the window curtains. When the sash wouldn't
open, he smashed the glass with Judy's jewelry box,
which he found empty on the floor. After filling his
lungs with fresh air, he found a flashlight in the
night stand, and he looked around for his pants. He
couldn't find them, nor his wallet nor car keys. He
had heard Judy's screams; she was probably in the
basement.
The flashlight revealed Judy, grotesquely
hanging from her tortured tits, whimpering through
her gag. Heedless of her wounds, with strength he
didn't know he had, he lifted her off the suspension
hooks and carried her up the stairs, gasping in the
gassy air. John had unscrewed the gas pipe from
the furnace.
Outside at last, Harry put Judy on her back
in the grass of the dark back yard and pulled the
tape off her mouth. "Harry! He tried to kill us
both." Lacking a knife or scissors, Harry struggled
to untie her thumbs and breasts and to peel off the
duct tape, scraping at the ends with his finger nails.
In the dark, he could not see all her wounds, but he
knew she had suffered. It had seemed like harmless
fun, to seduce John's wife. Now, look what had
happened. When he could, he laid her out on the
grass. "Harry, go to a neighbor and call 911." He
stood up but hesitated, knowing he was stark naked
and wondering what would happen if, in the pre-
dawn, he rang someone's door bell. He did not
wonder for long. The gas found an ignition source.
There was a bright flash and a loud WHUMP!
Broken window glass sprayed out over the grass,
and Harry felt several stinging pains as splinters of
glass embedded in his chest and thighs. It took
several seconds for him to realize that he was
bleeding a great deal, spraying blood from his neck,
a severed carotid artery. The after-image of the
explosion faded from his eyes. He sank to his knees
and fell across Judy's supine body. Later, the
coroner said he must have "bled out" in less than
two minutes.
[end]
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