Hath No Fury

After taking another sex beating from her cruel husband, a woman gets her revenge....

 

(MF, nc)

by: Norman A. Rubin

 

Plymouth, England, 1963

At first appearance they looked every bit like a happy and devoted couple. But to all that knew Pat and Sandra Mayen it had a different outlook. They knew of their quarrels but they never expected the horror of that day.

Sandra was glaring redhead, slightly oval-faced. With glaring brown eyes she looked fierce tempered, but her stance on her plump body belied it. Yet there was a definite attractiveness about her. Despite being just thirty she also had a certain look of homeliness that comes from being a mother of two young children.

Her mate Pat was a tall and muscular person. He was ruddy in complexion complemented with a neatly trimmed black moustache that fitted well with his slick and equally black hair. He had a youthful appearance and not of a man of thirty-four years. One could easily tell that he was labourer by his rough stubby fingers tipped with black-edged chewed nails.

Pat and Sandra Mayen were also not seen as the most lovable couple in the neighborhood. At the early Mass on the Sunday mornings Sandra would have the mark of heavy hand that had blackened an eye or bruised the skin of her face. Her angelic husband by her side had the appearance of innocence. But everyone knew of his heavy drinking the night before, which led to the beating of his wife Sandra for some imagined reason or other.

"Poor dear, suffering the way she does!" whispered one of the worshippers.

"Such a brute of a man. Tsk, tsk!" pitied another believer, "she should ask the good Father to intervene!"

"The good woman did ask. Father Leary had a good talk with him and he promised to behave himself. Some good it did. Look at her!"

"Helped very little I do say so. Pat forgets his promises to the good Father after a week or so!"

"The poor darling! Tsk, tsk!"

 

"You fucking whore! Take you out once to show you off to my friends and you make eyes like some dirty slut! Saw you giving that once over to that boyo when he came near ya'. Saw you with me own eyes. That I did!"

Pat was in a drunken rage as he raved against his wife in the bedroom of their home. It had started in a bar that same evening. The swilling of beer had got to his head and he imagined flirtatious eyes between his wife and a lanky stranger; he happened to look as his woman as he past the couple's table. The words 'what are your looking at' led to an attempt at a fistfight. Only the interference of his wife who forced him by words to leave the tavern, which put an end to a threatening incident.

But his drunken anger turned fiercely against her. It was devil to pay for her as she listened to his foul mouth on the walk back to their home. ‘Bitch and ‘whore’ were his drunken words.

Upon stepping inside her home Sandra felt a stinging blow to her face. The cracking sound of his open hand slapping hard against her face was horrendous. Sandra felt the jarring of the blow to her teeth as she felt the hardness of his slap.

She fell to the floor in a crumbling heap. Too stunned to move. Too scared to make one breath. Too terrified to utter a word. Then she heard the slight swoosh of his shooed foot as it kicked her on the fleshiness of her ankle. The swift crack was severe and painful that might have broken a bone. But she could only silently scream.

"Now you are goin' to get it, you bitch! Now get your clothes off, all of them. Your nothing like a bitchy dog."

The word 'bitch' filled her with more fear and pain than the beating. It meant only one thing; he was going to degrade her like he had done many times in the past.

"Can't take any more, can't!" she begged him.

Instead of showing pity, Pat bent down and a grabbed the cloth of her dress and with swiftness tore a piece from her body, leaving a shoulder uncovered. He then jumped to his feet and he gave her another brutal kick. "Now, get those fucking clothes off. Now!"

She watched as he opened the wardrobe opposite their bed. To her it meant only thing. As she looked she saw her mate searching through the shelves she knew the worst was to come.

She had no choice, as she was a prisoner in her own bedroom. And as an inmate and her husband the guard she had to do as he ordered. She had no choice. Slowly she removed the torn dress from her hurt body when her husband turned to her.

"I want everything off, everything even your bra and panties," he cursed.

Sandra saw him with an open bottle in his hand; the bottle was put to his mouth and he guzzled a hefty swig of the contents. Fear shrouded her and she scrambled on her knees like some frightened rabbit to the corner of the room and she tried to sit against the papered wall. Pain engulfed her and she knew there was no escape.

Sandra was resigned to the coming misery in front of her. She was going to surrender to his demands. She fumbled with the fasteners to her bra with trembling hands till the cloth fell from the fullness of her breasts. Her panties were difficult to take off in her sitting position. But he was not in a patient mood.

He took hold of the panties with a few hairs from her thatch and pulled them painfully from her body. She could smell the stench of liquor on his breath as he bent down. A leery drunken smile was on his face when gazed at her nude form.

Pat then took another hefty swig from the half-empty whiskey bottle lying on the bedside table. He banged it down and staggered to the wardrobe and pulled out various leather items.

He turned to Sandra, "Come on bitch. Come on doggie! Get down on all fours and be like a dog like you are. You love it, don't ya? C'mon hurry up."

Sandra has no choice but to concede to his commands. Painfully she turned around and placed herself on all fours on floor. She was an animal with the show of her cunny and drooping tits.

"C'mon give us a bark. Go ahead, you bitch!”

 

Sandra looked up to the towering demon of a husband, and pathetically called out, "woof, woof".

"Louder, louder!"

"Woof, woof," she called out again. But she hardly spit out the barking sound when she noticed that Pat had returned to the bottle. She knew that he had more plans for his dearie.

"Don't try to move, you bitchy dog, don't try. I am going to take you for walkies. Only after I have a sniff of your cunt!"

Pat then produce a studded dog collar and a long leather leash. Sandra knew what was coming next. She also knew what to expect as he tied the collar around her neck and fastened the leather strap to it and secured the other end to a table leg.

Pat then stripped off his clothes, standing tall over her in foul display. Sandra also knew that there would be no end to her misery. Her fears were justified as he jumped on her back like a dog in heat. Her thighs were pulled apart and she felt the ramming of his hard prick into her cunny. His hands gripped her tits as he pumped frenzily.

Then Sandra was led on all fours all around the room. The furnishings in the room were shoved aside, which added to her torturous route. Every time she attempted to stop and rest he would pull painfully on the leach. Her throat began to hurt and she was choking by the vicious pulling. She was then forced to crawl on her belly on all four limbs and every time she tried to raise her body she would feel the pressure of his naked foot pounding her back.

But she knew this was the beginning as he was going to force her in the most degrading sex acts imaginable, namely feeling the open end of bottle pushing painfully into her arse.

 

Two hours had passed since she experienced the first slap. Now at last he had collapsed on his back on the bed with his legs spread giving sight to his dripping prick.

Sandra braced herself and painfully removed the collar and leash; she gulped the refreshing air with relief. Then slowly she struggled to her feet, falling back at first. As she stood wobbly on her legs she felt as if she had been raped, misused horribly and sodomised, but it was no feeling.

The night's brutality was the worst misery that she had endured in the past. Her husband was especially vicious. He had lashed at her back and buttocks with a leather strap leaving reddened marks. Trickles of blood seeped from open cuts.

Sandra had endured stinging pain and the terrible penetration to every orifice of her body. She was broken in spirit and all feelings had been drained from her. But the frustration of suffering in another deplorable episode was building up inside her.

Sandra turned and looked at her husband lying spread out in his nakedness on the brass marital bed; the sight of his nude muscular body that was once a delight turned ugly in her sight. She thought of the contentment in the first years of their marriage where she thrilled in his sexual fantasies. But as the years progressed his sexual craving meant his mastery over her being. She endured his heavy hand stoically, especially when he was in a drunken stupor.

Her husband’s drunken anger over the drudgery of his life increased in the ensuing years. Sandra became the scapegoat and she was unable to escape his cruelty. And now….

Something in her mind forced her to act. After these years of degradation and abuse at the cruel hands of her husband she was determined there and then to escape from him. Divorce needed a special dispensation and running away with the kids required a great deal of money, which she lacked. There was only one way...

Pieces of thin rope, another delight of her husband, were found in the wardrobe. Then Sandra went quickly to the bed. Carefully she took one piece of rope and secured his legs tightly to the metal stands of the bed; every moment she was afraid of waking him but it was unknown to her that he was deep in drunken stupor. She did likewise with his arms. Then with great care she placed the studded collar tight around his neck with the attached thick leash.

For a moment she was hesitant and she thought if her actions were the right thing, but the pain in her nude body gave her the answer. Sandra had heard his words of promise to change his ways in the past, but time and time he had broken them immediately. There was no choice but to act and act now.

Sandra went behind the brass bedstead and wound the leash twice around the top thick bar. With one huge heave, she pulled heavily on the leather. She could feel the strain on the nakedness of her body and she felt the burning on her hands.

Then her husband woke up choking on the tight collar. She pulled harder straining every muscle in her arms; one leg was raised and her foot was placed on the bedstead for added strength. Then she saw him weakening to the chokehold. His eyes bulged and the colour was draining out his face. Nothing would allow her desist until the job was complete.

The cuttings into her hands were painful but not as painful as the beating and degradation she suffered by her husband's cruel hand. But she did not flinch.

Sandra saw that his eyes were dilating with a flickering of white, nothing else. The eyelids were wide open which made her glad that he still had a bit of sight left. She then fastened the leash tight and secure to the brass.

Sandra left the back of the bed and provocatively cavorted around the agonized form of her husband. She cupped her ample breasts in front of his diminishing sight; she displayed her delectable thighs and bruised fleshy cushions in a sensual offering.

She coursed around the bed like a temptress causing his manhood to rise. A knife appeared in her hand as she sat next to his nude form. An evil grin was on her face as she ran slightly the sharpness of the blade along the stiffness. Sandra didn't care if he was aware of the deadly sensation and she carried on for a few minutes. After her play she grabbed his prick with one hand and held it tightly. The knife was handled with skill and she was holding a long piece of flesh, which she flung between his legs.

A muffled scream was heard as Pat twitched his body in pain. Momentary madness enveloped her and she burst into a sickening laughter as she watched his anguish. It was short work to complete the job and his bollocks were joined once again to the little brother as it lay bloodily on the white of the bed.

 

Sandra sat quietly at the packed courtroom during her trial for the murder of her husband one Patrick Mayen. She was aware that most of the spectators in the court were compassionate women showing their support for her. A hushed silence filled the courtroom during her testimony and every word of beating, torture and deplorable sexual acts committed by her husband Pat was heard.

Upon instructions by her lawyer Sandra had pleaded guilty to the murder of her spouse due to demented circumstances. Namely to the evidence of a tortured and beaten body, and reams of paper from the police and hospital that detailed her eight years of misery.

The presiding judge looked down upon her as she stood as ordered. "For many years you suffered regular and increased violence and degradation at the cruel hands of your husband Patrick or Pat. I do not know of the correct sentence to impose upon you. On one hand is the word of the law and on the other is the knowledge of your suffering. I am prepared in all fairness to make in this rather exceptional case to make a probation order for two years."

The judge's gavel hammered as cheers rose from the spectators...