What I Loved About Barbara (MfMMMM, bd, sm, snuff)
© 2000
by Abelard

 [Warning: If it is illegal for you to read sex stuff, my condolences, but 
fuck off. The events depicted in this story are performed strictly in the 
imagination of a professional. No not try this shit at home. If you read 
on, please maintain at least one hand on your controls at all times. If 
you wanna’ publish this story for profit, ya’ better ask me first. Finally, 
tell me what you think at <<Abelard_fra@hotmail.com>>.]

The sad story of a woman possessed. If you are squeamish about heavy 
bd/sm and/or sexual killing, don’t read this story.

			WHAT I LOVED ABOUT BARBARA

What I loved about Barbara was her quiet, haunted look. She was a petite 
little blonde with the “god help us” face of a waif.  Oh, she was nervous in 
a jumpy sort of way, but I just wrote that off to her shyness, which I found 
sweet.  At five foot two, and less than a hundred pounds, she looked as if 
I could just fold her up in the palm of my hand and hide her completely. 
And she acted as if she would like me to do just that.  Just a scared little 
bunny out in the big wide world.

That’s when I married her.  She was eighteen; I was twenty-five.  (An 
older man…to take care of her…that’s what she said.)  We made gentle, 
friendly, caring love. My little blonde fuck-bunny. . Her little tits were 
mostly all nipple, and her flat, flat stomach ended in just little wisps of 
pubic hair. At eighteen, she could have passed for twelve.

But after about six months of marriage, her passion began to cool.  
Barbara just didn’t seem that interested any more.  I thought maybe the 
poor kid was just overwhelmed by the demands my big old cock was 
making on her, even though I was still being very gentle.  I loved being 
very gentle with her.

We talked about it, and what she said nearly blew me away.  She finally 
confessed to me that she had been raped by her father and her uncle.   
My innocent little angel!  Raped by two older men…one of them her father 
for Christ sake!  Not only once, but …repeatedly…over a period of a four 
years, starting when she was fourteen.  RIGHT UP TO THE WEEK 
BEFORE WE WERE MARRIED!!  No wonder she was jumpy! 

 She said that her father and her uncle weren’t particularly rough with 
her…just indifferent.  They’d come in her mouth or in her cunt, OR EVEN 
IN HER ASS (something I certainly had never tried!).  And then they’d just 
go back to drinking beer and watching the football game.  She tried to tell 
her mother, but her mother just didn’t believe her…or didn’t want to 
believe her.  Major denial there. After we were married, she said, they 
wanted to keep on fucking her, but so far she had been able to avoid 
them. But her parents lived only four blocks away…

So anyway, as I said, after we had been married for about six months, 
Barbara  began to lose interest in our gentle and loving sex life.  That's 
when she told me about her past with her father and his brother.  The odd 
thing is the effect it had on me.  At first I wanted to kill both of them, of 
course, but then I began to have these disgusting fantasies…like, 
watching her being fucked by her father…who was by then forty-five.  Or 
by her uncle, who was a couple years younger.   

I got turned on by the fantasy of these indifferent older men fucking 
Barbara while I watched, and began to think of her as a slut who liked it 
that way.  This led me to start to get a little rougher with her. I began 
screwing her harder.  Then I started talking dirty and calling her names.  
She liked it.   The first time I slapped her in the face while we were 
making love, she gasped and got very hot. It was as if a dam had broken.   
She began fucking me back, hard, and thrashing around, moaning and 
generally grabbing her own pleasure from me.  This was very unusual for 
her, of course, but I loved it.  Afterward, however, she lay there crying 
quietly. 

 I felt bad, and tried to make it up to her by cuddling and promising never 
to slap her again.  That’s when she said, “No, I’m crying because I’m so 
ashamed that I liked it. The idea that you didn’t care about me, that you 
just wanted to use me, turned me on.  It was like I was with dad or Uncle 
Buck all over again, only different…like I could let go, like I could indulge 
myself or something.  What does that make me, some kind of pervert? Do 
you think I may be crazy? “  

I said, “No, sugar, I think it makes you a woman who sometimes likes it 
rough.  A lot of women do.  Probably has something to do with Joe and 
Uncle Buck, but shit if I know what.”

“You think?”

“Hell, I don’t know, I’m no psychologist.  But I’ll bet it does.  Did you ever 
get turned on, did you ever like it, when your father and your uncle 
were…(I looked for the right word here)… abusing you?”

“NO!!  GOD NO!! I hated it, hated it, HATED IT!!!   At first  I’d shut my 
mind off, like I’d go somewhere else in my mind, and try to pretend it 
wasn’t even happening.  But I couldn’t control my reactions.  I hated my 
own reactions.   I didn’t WANT to get hot.  I didn’t WANT to get wet…but I 
did…I couldn’t help it…AND I HATED IT!!  I’d get this sicky, dying, feeling 
when they made me strip for them.  I’d go into a sort of a fever, and I’d 
get wet between my legs. Then I would sort of slip inside that feeling, and 
pretend that I WAS sick, and they were just taking care of me…you know 
giving me injections (in my mouth or in my vagina) and stuff. But then, of 
course, they didn’t really care at all.  They’d just use me and throw me 
away like an old rag. And I’d have to pretend that I hadn’t felt anything.  
That it didn’t mean anything.  And then I found you.  And you were so 
sweet and gentle and loving and caring, and I loved you…and I loved 
being loved.”

“Oh, Barbara, God, I’m so sorry.  Honey, I love you.  You and I, we will let 
it go…or close it off… or get beyond it.  I’m here for you.  I’ll never hit you 
again, I promise.”  I really felt bad that I had slapped her and opened up 
this Pandora’s Box.

Barbara was quiet for a while, and then she said, “No, Tommy, I don’t 
think that’s the answer.  You and I…well, you know, we have been kind of 
slowing down (which was true).  It just isn’t as good for me anymore, this 
way.  I think, somehow I have to work through it, or work WITH it, or 
something.  It’s just too big a thing to keep the doors closed on and 
ignore. I think I NEED it rough.  Oh God, is that perverse, or what?”

Well, I didn’t quite know what that meant…and it made me sad to think 
that she wasn’t as satisfied with me anymore. But then I began to think 
about it some more, and realized that it wasn’t me that was turning her 
off, but her own mind and her past. For some reason she NEEDED 
abuse.  I began to speculate to myself about  how we could work this out, 
and I must admit that it turned me on a little.  As I said, I had already 
started to have rape fantasies about my wife, and what she was saying 
sounded like maybe she did too.  

Slowly, carefully, we worked out that she needed permission to be a 
whore, and if I saw her that way, and treated her that way, (at least in the 
bedroom) she could get really aroused, and really hot, and really sexy. 
She needed permission to indulge in that “sicky” feeling again, to feel that 
“fever” again, and not to deny it…not to suppress it, but to let it out…to let 
it fly…to rise with it to a realm of sexual ecstasy.  She needed to think that 
feeling “sicky” was alright, was okay, was normal.  She needed to admit 
that she wanted her daddy…and her uncle…and her husband…maybe 
even all at the same time…maybe mauling her, and pawing her, and 
slapping her, and hurting her…and ignoring her. Maybe then, she said 
(perhaps a little dubiously) she could let it all go, and get back to what 
was REALLY normal.

So we started to play the game, and she loved it.  And the fantasy part I 
loved too.  She told me that once her uncle had held her down while her 
father fucked her…so I tied her elbows behind her and put a rope around 
her neck and tied it to the top of the bed, while I tore off her panties and 
fucked her roughly.  Or I grabbed her hair and forced her to her knees 
and shoved her face onto my cock, and fucked her mouth.  Or (a first for 
me) I spread her wide and fucked her in the ass from behind…with only 
my spit for a lubricant.  The first time I twisted her nipples hard she came 
for five minutes straight.

All of this kept her happy for about another six months or so, and I tried to 
slap her and hit her where the bruises wouldn’t show, but it began to take 
more and more to get her off.  I’d have to throw her onto the floor, and 
fuck her ass hard, and then cum on her face while I was pinching her 
nipples…and still, sometimes, she couldn’t have an orgasm.  But simple, 
gentle, loving sex…which was beginning to look better and better to 
me…just left her absolutely stone cold…and even contemptuous. I longed 
for the days when we crooned to each other, and kissed a lot, and were 
loving with each other.  She, on the other hand, began to make fun of me 
for wanting it that way. And it began to piss me off.

The first time she called me a queer for wanting it gentle, I punched her in 
the face and broke her nose.  On the way to the hospital she made me 
stop, and she was desperate for me to fuck her in the mouth…and she 
came like a ton of bricks, just from sucking me off… while her nose bled 
all over my underpants. I remember thinking this was really getting sick.  
When we arrived at the emergency room, she with cum still on her face, 
she told the intern that we had been having oral sex in the car (fully 
consensual, she assured him) and that she’d lunged away as I came and 
banged her nose on the steering wheel. The doctors were more amused 
that skeptical.

After that, my attitude toward Barbara began to change.  No longer was 
she the pretty shy little girl I had married, or even the pretty, shy little wife 
with a major fetish.  I began to see her really as a slut, a whore, an object 
to be used.  I began to fantasize threesomes again…

When I finally got around to suggesting that she fuck somebody else 
while I watched, she didn’t even blink.  Instead, her eyes got wide, and 
she got a sly grin.  “Oh, Tommy…could I? Would you? Oh, God, I’ve been 
fantasizing that for the past three months. But I was afraid to say 
anything…I do love you.”

Yeah, right.  As if the bitch even knew what the word meant.

So I got Ralph, a buddy of mine, to come over one night.  He’d never met 
Barbara (who was, by this time still only nineteen) and when she came 
into the living room with a tray of drinks, he was polite, but distant.  When 
she went back into the kitchen for the rest of the snacks he whispered to 
me, “Tommy…what the hell is your daughter doing here?  I thought you 
said…”

When I told him that that wasn’t my daughter, it was my wife, I could 
practically see his hardon rising!  “OH, WOW!  SHE’S the one?  SHE is 
who you want me to fuck?”  She came back in with the snacks, and I 
introduced them formally.  She smiled up at him shyly, and made a timid  
little squeak.  She sat down in a chair across from us, blushing.  We sat 
around after that, pretty uncomfortably, trying to make polite conversation 
about the weather, and Monica and Bill, and internet stocks.  Barbara, 
who was wearing a simple cotton skirt and blouse, ankle socks and light 
sneakers, was sitting opposite us with her legs tight together, her heels 
on the floor, very prim and proper, and very scared. 

 Finally, she asked me to come with her into the kitchen to get some more 
dip.  When we got there, she grabbed me and gasped, “Tommy!  MY 
GOD! he looks JUST like my uncle!  Did you realize that!”  Well, I didn’t 
think he looked anything like Uncle Buck, and I almost said so, but then I 
stopped.  I realized that whether he did or not, she wanted him to look like 
Uncle Buck.  So I just mumbled something inane and got the dip.  

When we came back into the living room, Ralph looked up expectantly, 
and I figured it was now or never.  I had worked out in my mind how we 
could proceed, so I just simply said to Barbara, “Okay, girl, there’s a ball 
game on channel 7.  Go turn on the TV and then take your clothes off for 
Uncle Buck and me.”

Ralph said, “Who’s Uncle Buck?”  And I said, “You are.” And he said, 
“Huh.”   Meanwhile Barbara was getting more and more agitated, and she 
began to blush and fidget.  After she turned on the tube, she came back 
in front of me and began whining, and lifting the hem of her skirt (which 
was a full, light cotton number, just a girl’s summer print skirt, with no slip 
underneath).  

“Aww, please, Daddy…I don’ wanna.  Don’ make me take my clothes 
off…please?”  She began writhing in fourteen year old agony…or 
ecstasy…it was hard to tell which, and she pulled her skirt up, clear to her 
chin like a six year old, revealing her plain white cotton underpants.  

“Girl, do what I tell you, now.   Don’t get me mad at you!”  I was 
improvising here, trying to guess how her father had approached it. 

 However close I was, it seemed to be working.  Barbara stopped whining 
and took off her blouse, skirt, sneakers and ankle socks.  She stood 
before Ralph and me in her bra and panties.  Ralph/Buck was practically 
drooling has he looked over my wife’s skinny little body.  She was built 
wide legged, so that there was a gap between her legs at the top, which 
was emphasized by her thinness.  And her tits hardly filled the A cup bra, 
so that there was even some loose fabric in the cups.  She really still 
looked about thirteen, even her face, which was now flushed and excited.  

“Now give me my beer, girl.”  She picked up my beer from the coffee table 
and tried to hand it to me.  I pulled her into my lap and popped her bra 
hitch.  Then I took my beer from her as she shrugged the bra off her 
shoulders.  When it was down by her wrists, I held her by the shoulder 
with one hand and touched the cold beer can to her left nipple.  She 
gasped as her nipple hardened.  As I said, she has practically no tit flesh 
at all, just these marvelous puffy nipples, one of which was now tight and 
hard and wet. 

Ralph was sitting beside me to my left on the couch.  Barbara was in my 
lap with her knees hitting his right knee.  He hesitated for a second, 
looking at me, and I said,  “Go at her, boy, she’s all yours.”  That’s all he 
needed.  He quickly spit on his left hand and rubbed it on her other tit, 
which now glistened and hardened like her left one.  He pinched both her 
nipples and stood up, pulling her up by the tits, and drawing her close to 
him.  She stood pressing against him, his fingers still pinching her tits.  
She bent her head way back and looked up at him, wide eyed.  “How did 
you know…?  Oh, God, you ARE Uncle Buck… Oh, God, please 
don’t…please don’t do that…please d…d..do that…Oh, do that…do 
that….DO THAT!!  

Barbara dropped her hands limply at her sides, and sagged against 
Ralph, her knees threatening to buckle. She was a rag doll, completely 
available to his every whim.  A fuck doll.  An abandoned whore, willing to 
let him do anything with her.  He raked her panties off her, scratching her 
belly with his fingernails, leaving angry red streaks.  He pushed her down 
on the carpet in front of me, and rapidly shed his clothes. She lay there 
naked, her legs bent, her cunt open.  She gasped as his angry purple 
hardon popped out of his underpants.  

Ralph practically threw himself on top of her, and she all but disappeared 
beneath him.  He slammed into her hard, sliding her four inches up the 
floor, undoubtedly giving her rug burns on her shoulders and butt.  He 
humped her hard for several minutes, both of them sweating and 
groaning, growling and gasping.  She locked her legs around his back 
and fucked back as hard as she could, bucking, shoving.  Then she put 
her feet on the floor and was practically bridging, with him on top of her, 
lifting his whole weight with her pelvis, her cunt.  She was screaming, 
“Fuck me!  Fuck me!  Fuck me, Daddy.  Oh, fuck, fuck, fug, 
fug…fu…fu..Oh, God! Oh, fuck,  Oh, piss,   Oh, Buck,  Oh Fuck, Oh, Buck 
fuck, Buck fuck, Bu..Fu…Oh, mmm.  Oh…ohh…oooooh…

While all this was going on, I got out of my clothes too, and was sitting on 
the couch, mesmerized by the scene in front of me.  I couldn’t keep my 
hands off my own erection, which swelled with every gasp and whimper 
my wife was making.  

Suddenly Ralph pulled out of Barbara, knelt back on his haunches, 
grabbed her legs, and flipped her tiny body roughly into her stomach.  Her 
reddened ass, high and rounded, rose as if by itself as she struggled to 
her hands and knees.  Ralph shoved her shoulders back down, and 
spread her ass cheeks.  He spit into her crack and began working his 
cock into her rectum.  She groaned, and then howled as his knob 
penetrated her anal sphincter. Then she went limp again like a rag doll.  
When he was well seated in her ass, he lifted her around her chest, 
pivoted both of them on one of his knees, and virtually threw the top half 
of her into my lap. He continued to fuck her in the ass while he grinned at 
me.  He said to her.  “Okay, little missy, suck your daddy.  Fuck your 
daddy with your mouth, while I fuck your ass with my big old cock..”

Barbara was sweating, and drooling, and sobbing, and her nose was 
running, but she was also in a trance.  She really was just a little fuck doll, 
a hot, wet piece of meat to fuck and throw away.  I loved her and I hated 
her.  She disgusted me and attracted me.  I felt the need to come IN her 
and ON her and OVER her and even THROUGH her.  I wanted to kill her 
and to save her.  I came as hard as I’ve ever come in my life, practically 
half way down her throat, and I kept fucking her mouth and fucking her 
mouth…until I began to realize that she was gagging and choking and 
nearly unconscious.  I pulled my cock out of her mouth and she lay 
gasping and panting on my leg.  Her saliva and my cum drooled out of 
her slack jaw.  Her hot and tearstained cheek rested on my thigh, her wet 
eyelashes flicking.  

I gradually realized that Ralph had come some minutes ago, and was 
really just holding Barbara up so I could fuck her mouth more easily. He 
backed away, leaving her kneeling in front of me with her head lolling in 
my lap.  “Far fuckin’ out,” was all he said.

Ralph and I then just turned our attention to the ballgame on TV.  We 
were just flopping there on the couch in the nude, drinking our beers.  
Barbara eventually got up and went upstairs, with Ralph’s cum and a little 
blood running down the backs of her legs.   Ralph finally grinned 
sheepishly at me, and started to find his clothes.  “God damn, Tommyboy, 
you got one hell of a vixen on your hands there. No wonder you needed  
help.” But I could tell that he was feeling a little uncomfortable too.  The 
experience had been pretty intense, and not altogether positive…even for 
him. I don’t think he liked what he had learned about himself very much.  
And I was beginning to feel depressed too. I had had an intense orgasm, 
gone into outer space even, but, I mean, where the hell did we go from 
here?  How would I get my shy, loving little wife back?  Eventually, Ralph 
went off home, and I went up to bed. We made no plans for a repeat 
performance.

Barbara was quiet and serious for the next couple of days, and we even 
made love gently once or twice.  But it wasn’t the same, somehow.  It was 
like we were being formal and careful with each other while she 
convalesced from some illness.  After a week or so our reactions to each 
other began to get a little more normal (or pre-fetish normal), and I began 
to have hopes that maybe that was it.  Maybe we had exorcised the 
bogeymen and Barbara was getting back to her old sweet, shy self.

That’s when I caught her with the magazine.  

She was in the bathroom, sitting in the nude on the toilet like some 
teenage boy, masturbating to heavy S & M pictures.  She was so 
engrossed in the activity that I actually walked up and looked at the 
magazine for maybe ten or fifteen seconds before she realized that I was 
even there.  The sequence I saw showed a woman literally hanging from 
five or six hooks actually  imbedded in her back. (They showed the “after” 
pictures too, where her back was lacerated and the wounds looked 
dangerously angry, so they were really doing that to her). [Author’s note: 
if you think I’m exaggerating, try<<alt.binaries.pictures.erotica.torture>>  
some time.] The poor woman was dangling there, suspended on wires.  
Her cunt was shaved completely, and  hooded men moved around her 
wacking her with switches while they jerked  themselves off.

Then I spoke.  

 “My God, Barbara.  What the hell is this?”  She jumped and dropped the 
magazine on the other side of the toilet.  Then she sat up like she was 
just going to the bathroom, but she looked up at me with major guilt all 
over her face. 

 “I… oh…I, well I was just…”

“I know what you were ‘just,’ Barbara.  What I don’t know is why.  What 
the hell is going on in your head?”

Barbara broke down and started sobbing, but she managed to say, “ Oh, 
Tommy, I don’ t know…It’s like I have this demon inside of me that’s just 
got to have this stuff….Did you SEE that woman? My God what that must 
be like…”

I said rather coldly, “Barbara, I don’t want to talk about that woman.  That 
woman is sick or a victim, or both.”

“I know.  But maybe she likes it…or some part of her likes it….maybe 
she’s like me.”

I knew I was being co-opted into this sickness, but I couldn’t help it.  I 
should have just cut off the discussion, but I was still trying to reach her, 
to pull her back from the abyss.  So I said, “ But Honey, look at her, look 
at how sick that is.”  And this meant, of course, that Barbara now had to 
look at her again.  She had to pick up the magazine and open it to those 
terrible pages, and study them.  And I had to look at them with her.

We went into the bedroom together, and Barbara lay on the bed in the 
nude, holding the magazine.  I stripped down to my boxer shorts and 
joined her on the bed. I intended to croon and cajole her into putting down 
the magazine and making tender loving love.  But first we had to look at 
the magazine.  So we studied it, and I found it more and more repulsive, 
and she found more and more erotic. I began to get really frustrated.  I 
didn’t see any way to get back to the gentleness.

 Finally I knocked the magazine out of her hands and knelt up facing her.  
“Alright, Barbara, you want it rough?”  She looked scared, but I grabbed 
her arm and wrenched it behind her back, twisting it up painfully.  The 
fevered look came to her eyes.  I grabbed a hairbrush from her bedside 
table and scratched the inside of her thighs with it, leaving red marks 
where the hard plastic bristles raked her skin.  She was gasping , and 
clearly going into some sort of sexual frenzy.  I forced her onto her 
stomach and rammed the handle of the brush up her ass.  I left it there 
while I jammed three fingers up her cunt from behind.  Then I grabbed her 
hair and began banging her head against the headboard.  She was so 
small, and helpless, and at the same time so wild and crazy, that I 
couldn’t help myself, something sort of broke inside me. . I flipped her 
over (the brush still in her ass, now being driven into her by the bed under 
her), and began slapping her face while I forced my whole hand up her 
cunt.  I was fisting her and crying…and then I threw up.

That night I slept on the couch in the living room.   The next day, I had to 
take Barbara back to the emergency room.  The hairbrush had done 
some damage to her rectum.  The doctors took care of her efficiently, but 
this time they were considerably less sympathetic toward me.  The same 
intern who had fixed Barbara’s nose several months ago now insisted on 
taking a statement from me.  What the hell was I going to say?  They sure 
weren’t going to buy that it was “all her idea.”  I finally settled on, “Well, 
we just got a little carried away, sir.”  Fortunately, Barbara meekly 
corroborated this version of the truth, and the doctors (and the nurses) 
settled for just glaring at me and treating Barbara with even greater 
sympathy.  

Barbara spent that night in the hospital.  I went home and stuffed  the 
S&M magazine into the back of my closet.  Don’t ask me why I didn’t just 
throw it away.  When Barbara came home the next day she was moving 
very gingerly.  She had four stitches in her ass.  I was feeling very sorry 
for her (and for myself) and I was very solicitous.  I began to like taking 
care of her…at least it was a gentle undertaking…one where I could 
indulge my desire to be loving and kind.  But it occurred to me that maybe 
being loving and kind was a kind of fantasy too…at least it didn’t seem 
quite “normal” anymore.

Well, things calmed down again…for about three weeks…while she 
healed.

Then I came home one day a little early, and caught Barbara on the 
phone.  “Oh, god, Oh god.  YES!  I WANT you to cut my nipples off…Yes, 
YES,  shove that knife up my cunt.  Cut me, make me bleed.  KILL ME,  
KILL ME…” 

Horrified as I was, I just stood in the doorway and dropped my briefcase.  
Barbara whirled around, caught sight of me, and slammed the phone 
down.  She had her blouse open, and was toying with a razorblade. I 
screamed at her, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

“OH, Tommy!  Oh, god…I didn’t expect you home for another half hour…I 
was…I was just…”

“Jesus, Barbara!  No ‘just’ about it this time.  Good Christ!  Who the hell 
WAS THAT? “

She looked down, “I don’t know.  Just a guy.”

“You don’t know?  YOU DON”T KNOW??  You’re talking to strangers 
about having them KILL you??”

“Yeah, well…  See he called here about a week ago.  Just an anonymous 
dirty phone call…and I began… talking to him.  He wanted to do all these 
silly, conventional things like come on my face and stuff, and I began to 
think  ‘Well now, here’s a guy I could really educate.  No harm done…all 
talk.’  …So I started talking to him.”

“About killing you?  Jesus, Barbara, don’t you realize how dangerous that 
could be?  He’s got our phone number…He could get our address…”

Barbara was silent.

I screamed.  “HE ALREADY HAS OUR ADDRESS…DOESN’T HE?”

Barbara nodded glumly.  Then she said, “But it’s not what you think.  He 
would never….”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW?  How do you know that he would never?”

“Because I was talking to my Uncle Buck.”

The room started moving.  I sat down hard on the kitchen floor.

After that, things went down hill fast.  A week later Ralph came into my 
office with the personals section of an underground newspaper…just the 
sort of thing he would be reading, I thought nastily.  But in it was this ad:

	Fuck my wife while I watch.  Anything goes. 
Come in her ass.  Tie her up. Beat her. 
All races, either sex. Bring the gang.  
Anything short of the hospital or the morgue.

Incredibly, it had MY phone number on it!  Ralph said, “Did you…?”

I was too stunned to respond at all.  I thought, of course, that Barbara 
must have put that ad in the paper herself.  I was so upset that I left work 
right then (It was about ten o’clock in the morning), and went storming 
home.  I should have known better.

There were three strange cars parked in front of my house, and one more 
in my driveway.  I didn’t even want to go in.  With great trepidation I went 
around to the back door.  I let myself in quietly…I’m not sure exactly 
why…but maybe I thought if I snuck up on this quietly it wouldn’t be as 
bad as I feared.  Maybe it was four women who were just gabbing away 
over coffee in my livingroom.  Yeah, right!  Good luck… The smell of cigar 
smoke disabused me of that illusion almost immediately.

I stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the livingroom.  What I 
saw made me just turn right around and just sneak back away. Nobody 
there even noticed me.

Barbara had a noose around her neck, which was attached to the hook in 
the ceiling where we hung the swag lamp.  There was a stranger behind 
her, fucking her in the ass, and one in front of her fucking her in the cunt.  
A third man was sitting on the couch watching and jerking off, and Uncle 
Buck (good old Uncle Buck) was burning Barbara’s tits with a lit cigar!  
But it was the look on Barbara’s face that finally got me.  She was in a 
fevered sweat, her eyeballs were rolled back in her head, she was 
gasping  in the throes of an intense orgasm, going limp, sagging on the 
weight of the rope around her neck.

After I fled, I stayed away all night.  I just drove and drove and drove 
around.

Anyway, about six o’clock the next morning I went home.  Barbara was 
apparently just asleep in our bed.  I didn’t disturb her.  I didn’t want to look 
at her.  I showered and changed, and went to work. 
About two o’clock that afternoon the police came and arrested me. Her 
mother had found her when she came to pick Barbara up to go shopping.

So that’s my story your honor… ladies and gentlemen of the jury.  

Yes, the rope that strangled her was mine.  Yes, I smoke that brand of 
cigar. Yes, you found the S&M magazine in my closet.  Yes, You heard 
from the doctors.  (It’s ALWAYS the husband’s fault, right? )   Yes, you 
heard from the newspaper.  Maybe they’re telling the truth when they 
testified that it was a man’s voice who placed that ad, but it wasn’t mine. 
(Did he sound like Uncle Buck I wonder?).  And yes, you heard her father 
act outraged that I would even suggest that he had abused his darling 
little daughter.  Even Ralph told you that it was me who invited him over.  

But, so help me God, all I ever wanted was a quiet, shy, loving little 
wife…what I loved about Barbara was her quiet, haunted look.




  

 
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