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]