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From: grobert@soho.ios.com (TheEditor)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: BehdBarn (3/7)  "Behind The Barn"
Date: Wed, 03 Apr 1996 08:58:00 -0700
Organization: Internet Online Services
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Xref: news.primenet.com alt.sex.stories:144109

overflow and scald everything within distance.  But she managed to control 
her feelings and said in a low, even voice:
     "Please watch your language, Sam.  Mr. Peters does not tolerate 
obscenities, and I would hate to have to report your despicable behavior 
to him."  Even to her own ears, her words sounded dictatorial and stuffy, 
but her shock was still electrically alive inside her, and she was 
incensed at the liberty the worker had taken with her.  She had a good 
mind to tell Mike, and perhaps even have Sam fired for his insolence.
     Sam looked the picture of the abject servant. He held his old cap in 
his hand, and his reddish-gray hair glinted in the morning sun.  His head 
was slightly bent and Sandra saw with satisfaction that his face was 
suitably blanched with fear and consternation.  Jacob stood by calmly, 
seemingly totally unaware of the minor drama his presence had caused.
     Without another word, Sandra stalked away, leaving Sam glaring after 
her.  Fucking bitch, he spat.  Can't even take a joke.  Well, she'll get 
her come-uppance one of these days; I'll see to that!  In fact, tonight 
just might not be a bad time!
     Sandra felt irked by the sound of the back doorbell.  She had just 
settled down to watch T.V., and was looking forward to relaxing for a few 
hours.  She had spent most of the day in the garden, digging and 
transplanting the seedlings she had sown in the spring, and she felt tired 
and wind burned when she finally came into the house and fixed a cold 
supper for herself. The heavy physical work of gardening had taken her 
mind off her worries, and now she had been hoping that the television 
would do the same, and that she would feel sleepy after watching a few 
shows, as she usually did, and that she would then drop off easily to 
sleep.
     With a sigh, she got up and went through the kitchen and opened the 
door.  She experienced a flicker of distaste that coupled with her 
annoyance when she saw who was there.
     "Good Evening, Sam," she said tonelessly, not bothering to hide her 
irritation.
     Sorry to bother you, ma'am," Sam muttered, fidgeting with his cap, 
his eyes downcast.  "But the fuses went in the barn an' I can't see to do 
my work."
     "Well, I think I've got some in the kitchen," Sandra said curiously 
relieved that he had a legitimate reason for calling on her so late in the 
evening.  She found, somewhat to her surprise, that she had a new fear of 
the farm worker, a fear born from his distasteful remarks to her that 
morning.  She sensed that there was an underlying hostility or arrogance 
in his attitude to her, and that his disrespect was a form of that 
aggression.
     She noticed with displeasure that he had followed her into the 
kitchen, and willing herself to take no notice of him, began to look for 
the fuses.  She wasn't quite sure where they were and rummaged around in 
the kitchen drawer. They weren't there and she knew that they must be on 
the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet, where she kept the electric light 
bulbs.
     "I'll get them, ma'am," Sam suggested when she told him, but she 
declined.  She couldn't stand the thought of his dirty, and she supposed, 
clumsy hands on her clean kitchen cupboard, and unable to suppress a sigh, 
pulled the kitchen steps over in position.  Mounted on the third step, she 
noticed that Sam had moved even closer to her so that he was almost 
directly under her.  Thank goodness I'm wearing slacks she thought as she 
groped around for the fuses. Relieved to find them easily, she began to 
descend, thinking maybe now he'll go away and leave me alone.
     Suddenly, she stiffened.  The blood pulsed wildly in her veins and a 
sudden wave of heat engulfed her and threatened to overcome her. She just 
couldn't believe what was happening. His hands were on her buttocks, 
feeling them, squeezing them - he was actually caressing her back there!
     She didn't know what to do.  Fear washed over her, followed quickly 
by revulsion, disgust, anger.  She hesitated for a split second on the 
steps.  Should she order him to stop, or should she just ignore it?  If 
she got angry, perhaps she might intimidate him, but on the other hand, he 
was brazen enough to touch her like that, and he might get violent.  But 
conversely, if she just ignored him, might he not interpret that as an 
invitation to continue?  Oh God, what should I do, she wondered wildly.  
His work-coarsened hands continued their lewd manipulation of her softly 
yielding ass cheeks, kneading and clutching, and it seemed to the agonized 
woman that an eternity passed in those few seconds.
     Then, she could stand it no longer.
     "Take your hands off me, you disgusting old man!" she shrieked, 
almost falling from the steps in her sudden angry horror.  Relieved, she 
found herself on the ground once more, and gave vent to her feelings.
     "How dare you?  How dare you lay your hands on me?  I'll see you're 
fired for this.  Your impertinence today was enough, but you've gone too 
far this time!"  She stood glaring at him, panting from her exasperated 
speech, her green eyes flashing like sparkling emeralds.
     "No need for you to get on your high horse with me, lady," Sam 
leered, an arrogant sneer on his weather-beaten face, "'cause I know what 
you're really like!"
     Sandra was thrown off balance by his unexpected retort.  She had 
anticipated apologies, sullenness, even a denial, but she had not expected 
him to be so completely defiant.
     "What do you mean?" she asked, striving to keep a condescending tone 
in her voice.  Her eyes swept contemptuously over his stocky, over-alled 
figure, and she imagined she saw him cringe under her proud stare.
     "H'mm, guess not even your husband knows what you get up to when he's 
not around ..." he said contemplatively, and Sandra's heart missed a beat.  
Just what did he mean?  He was acting so strangely, not at all 
intimidated.  She was beginning to feel worried.  There was something 
menacing about this sudden change in their hired hand, and her pulse 
quickened in fear.  She thought about screaming, but knew it was futile, 
because the other workers were in their quarters on the far side of the 
barns, and besides, the television in the lounge was blaring, and likely 
to drown out any cries for help she might make.  Sam moved closer to her 
again, and she drew back suddenly from his insidiously searching hand 
which reached out and touched her hip.
     "Get-get away from me!" she gasped, her terror mounting.
     "C'mon now, honey, I happen to know you need a little lovin'!" Sam 
rasped, his eyes roaming freely over her trembling figure.
     "I-I don't know what you mean!" she stammered.  What was he hinting 
about?
     "Don't play dumb with me, baby, 'cause ol' Sam knows more about you 
than you think!" There was a new ominous sound in his voice, an ugly, 
threatening note.
     Sandra's heart raced with fear.  He seemed to have something on his 
mind, something he was trying to threaten her with.
     "I don't know what you're talking about!" she said defiantly, hoping 
to inject her voice with courage.
     "Let's put it this way!" he taunted, rubbing his hands together.  
"You had a real nice time cleaning out the office the other day, didn't 
ya?"
     Sandra blanched, and suddenly her throat felt dry.  She could only 
stare in horrified amazement at the triumphantly grinning figure of the 
workman.  She just couldn't believe that she had heard him correctly, yet 
the enormity of the implication of his remark was slowly etching itself on 
her disbelieving brain.
     "No ... no!" she gasped, unable to stop herself.
     "Oh yes!" Sam laughed, delighted at the effect of his bombshell on 
her.  He was glad he'd waited to drop it on her, strung her out a little 
first, got her ready for the big one.  "Yessirree," he went on, unable to 
relinquish his stunning victory over her, "cleanin' out the office was a 
real pleasure for you that day."
     Sandra continued to stare in numbed silence at him.  Did he know - 
had he seen her?  Was that what he was hinting at, that he'd seen her 
looking at those pornographic pictures, seen her pushing her own panties 
down to her knees and fingering herself, seen her reach orgasm?
     "What I do is my own business," she said flatly.  She felt devoid of 
all strength, completely stripped of the will to put in his place this 
lewd uncouth worker who was bent on tormenting her.
     "It sure is," he conceded, "but I'd say them glossy pictures are 
Mike's business, too."
     Did he know about the pictures, too? she thought wildly, suddenly 
desperate to get away from this vile man.
     "Will you please leave?" she said in a tone of quiet command, but Sam 
only edged forward, and then suddenly, grabbed her by the wrist, pulling 
her close to him.  His other arm closed tightly around her, and he peered 
with lewd suggestion down at her.
     "I could tell you really liked them colored pictures ... you got real 
hotted up when you looked at them, didn't ya?"
     Sandra was paralyzed with fear.  She was afraid to struggle, afraid 
to waken his real anger, which she sensed was lurking near to the surface 
of his demented personality.  She decided that if she ignored him, he 
might get tired of his little game.
     "That one where they were sixty-nining is a real winner, ain't it?" 
Sam taunted.  "That's your husband in the photograph, and did ya see the 
size of his cock jammed into the broad's mouth?" Sandra felt a rush of 
nausea, and fought to keep herself from retching.  He's insane, her mind 
screamed, you're not safe with him ... Oh God help me ...
     "... and did ya see her pussy, all red and juicy and ready?  I bet 
Mr. Peters really liked getting his tongue in that little hole!"
     "Oh stop it!  Stop it!" Sandra screamed suddenly, beginning to 
struggle wildly, unable to take any more of her captor's leering 
obscenities.
     "What'samatter, honey?" he leered, his hand tightening roughly around 
her breast, crushing it painfully through her cashmere sweater. "Don'cha 
wanna talk about them pictures?"
     "No, No, please leave me alone!" she whimpered, her reason deserting 
her and leaving her a cringing mass of fear and bewilderment.
     "How did ya like the one where Mr. Peters was giving it to the blonde 
in the ass?" Sam taunted again, and Sandra felt a fresh shudder of 
revulsion convulse her.  As if by magic, a startling clear reproduction of 
that vile photograph leaped into the terrified woman's mind, and she could 
see the lewd scene finely etched on her brain - the straining white mounds 
of the girl's buttocks, the tiny dark ring of her anus nestled between the 
creamy spheres; Mike's hugely distended penis already inserted in the tiny 
puckered entrance.  She couldn't banish the lurid apparition from her 
mind, and she felt suddenly that she was going mad.  She wanted to scream, 
to shriek and wail, do anything to shatter the terrifying reality which 
encircled her, a reality of disgusting perversity, peopled by such 
lascivious monsters as Sam Maguire and her own husband, Mike.  Part of the 
revolting present was the hired hand's tight convulsive clasp on her 
breast, and even as awareness sunk once more into her brain, she felt that 
same hand slip down along the curve of her waist and once more cup her 
buttock, squeezing it intimately in a lustful gesture.  Sandra felt 
totally devoid of control over her own body and mind.  Something had 
snapped in her when she had finally realized that this lowly farm worker 
had witnessed her surrender to her own lewd response to the filthy 
pictures, and now she realized his domination over her was complete when 
he had revealed an intimate knowledge of those same dirty photographs. Had 
Mike shown them to his employee?  How many other people had he shown them 
to? New, more frightening thoughts alarmed the despondent woman.  How long 
had Sam been aware of Mike's infidelities?  Had Sam felt pity for her, 
Mike's wife, every time he saw her, knowing of Mike's secret life?
     Sandra was barely aware of Sam's hand insinuating itself into the 
waistband of her slacks, flicking open the button, pulling down the 
zipper.  Her racing, panic stricken mind occupied all her attention.  The 
wife is always the last to know.  The hackneyed statement jumped into her 
mind, and taunted her.  Yes, she thought bitterly, I was the last one to 
know - even the farm hand knew before I did!
     Her heart somersaulted inside her as she felt Sam's wandering hand 
press against the softness of her belly and move downwards toward the 
panty-clad mound of her pubic triangle.  Oh God, what is happening? she 
thought wildly, really aware for the first time that the farm worker's 
hand was actually inside her slacks and was edging down towards her now 
trembling vagina!
     "Oh God, stop it!  STOP IT! !" she shrieked, struggling wildly.  She 
couldn't let this happen - no matter what, she had to stop his lewd 
advances before they got any further.  Her startling thoughts had thrown 
her off balance, putting her off guard, and now, this revolting man was 
trying to fondle her down there!
     "Hold still, baby," Sam rasped hoarsely, "and let ol' Sam give ya 
li'l pussy what your two-timin' husband has been neglectin'."
     Sandra stood stock still.  Did he know that Mike hadn't made love to 
her in weeks?  Had Mike told him?  Oh God, it was too much to bear!  Sam 
took advantage of her immobility and eased his hand inside the flimsy 
nylon protection of her panties and slipped down to the soft, hair-covered 
pelt of her vagina.  The fingers hesitated there for a moment before 
slipping upwards and teasing slowly into the warm moist furrow of her 
pussy.
     A shudder coursed through Sandra as she felt his hard insistent 
fingers down between her thighs on her naked genitals.  She felt powerless 
to move.  There was something irrevocable about his intrusion there - as 
if there was nothing to fight any more.  He had forced his hand inside her 
panties - she had allowed things to get this far - and now, there was 
nothing she could do about it!  She felt broken, a victim of events 
initiated by her husband when he had first started being unfaithful to 
her.  His illicit actions had started the ball rolling for her subsequent 
acquiescence to the farm worker's lewd manual play.  It was Mike's fault!
     Sam's fingers probed and searched in the softly yielding cuntal 
folds, exploring the smooth, slightly pulsating lips, teasing about with 
confident insistence.  Sandra was surprised at her own reaction to another 
man's hand between her legs.  She knew it was partly because of her 
disembodiment from physical feeling, but couldn't deny that the strange 
fingers didn't feel bad down there.
     "How d'ya like it, honey?" Sam hissed lewdly, "better than 
fingerfucking yourself, isn't it?" Unwillingly, Sandra admitted the memory 
of her own frantic fingering of her excited vagina, her scurrilous search 
for release.  Shame flooded through her at the thought of how she had 
writhed under her own probing fingers, how she had squirmed her naked 
buttocks around lewdly in orgasm as she plunged her fingers deeper and 
deeper inside her.  What was happening to her?  First, she had enjoyed her 
own lewd masturbation, and now she was beginning to like the hired hand's 
fingers working deeper now up inside her gradually moistening pussy!
     No, it can't be!  Her mind screamed, it can't be happening to me!  
But there was no doubt now about it - she couldn't deny it.  She was 
beginning to ENJOY Sam's fingers in her pussy, and in spite of her mind's 
horror, her traitorous body was beginning to undulate gently in time to 
the farm worker's insistent fingers between her thighs.
     Sam felt a surge of triumph on sensing her submission to him.  There 
was no denying that she was beginning to like it - he could feel a tiny, 
but sensuous flexing beginning inside her trembling vagina, and her whole 
body was beginning to shiver in anticipatory pleasure.  He had won, he, 
the lowly farm worker, had succeeded in taming this heretofore haughty 
wife of his boss, who had so often looked down her nose at him!  He could 
hardly believe his luck in catching her playing with herself in front of 
those dirty pictures of her husband in the study that afternoon.
     Tiny mewls of pleasure began to spew from Sandra's lips and she 
leaned back against Sam and began to writhe, her loins churning in 
simulation of copulatory rhythm.  She was being subjugated by the betrayal 
in her body, her will to resist curbed by the greater mastery of desire.  
Awareness of the reality of the situation was fading; consciousness of the 
growing tingle in her vagina was taking its place.
     "How does that feel now, Mrs. Peters?" Sam breathed.  "How do my 
fingers feel touching your pussy?  His other hand was working at her firm 
rounded breast, squeezing and tweaking the hard turgid nipple through her 
sweater. Then, with a sudden upward movement between her legs, he ground 
his fingers hard into the wetly throbbing opening of her cuntal passage 
and wormed their stubby tips far up inside her.
     "Ooohhhhhhhhhh ..." Sandra moaned, jolted by the searing entry, 
tormented by the grating of his nails against her sensitive inner 
membrane.  His fingers continued their wild rotatory plundering inside 
her, and Sandra felt weird new sensations cavort through her body.  Oh God 
... This is better than when I did it ... she thought helplessly in the 
daze of her passion, as she pressed her now hungrily pulsating clitoral 
bud down on the relieving hardness of Sam's hand.
     "You really love it now, don't you, babe?" he gloated, hardly daring 
to believe that this was really happening to him, that his own boss' proud 
little wife was really squirming under his manipulation.
     "Oh yes," she hissed through passion-clenched teeth, "Oh yes, it 
feels so good ... Mmmmmmmmm ... ! ! !"
     Sandra's entire crotch was a throbbing mass of aroused nerve endings, 
and she felt as if an uncontrollable fire had been kindled there.  Her 
clitoris felt round and hard and was pulsing strongly with the heated 
blood of desire, and the swollen fleshy outer lips of her hair-lined split 
were moist with passion.  Chills rippled through her spine which 
contrasted with the heat which was rising from her groin, rising up to 
cover her face and neck in a hot, rosy flush.
     She was moaning uncontrollably now, unconscious of everything but the 
delicious pleasure which was seeping into every crack and crevice in her 
weary body and infusing her with a joy she hadn't experienced for a long 
time.  She felt as if she was soaring on the wings of some magical 
mythical bird which was flying high and taking her to a warm heavenly 
place where he could deposit her in a comfortable nest where nothing or no 
one would ever harm her again.
     And suddenly, she was there, in that unreachable nest, gliding down 
into a feathersoft resting place.
     "Oooohhhhhhhhh ..." she chanted, "I'm there ... oh it's so good ..."  
Her hips were jerking in a heathen rhythm, and she was mashing her vagina 
down onto Sam Maguire's tiring hand in ceaseless motion, and her hotly 
seeping pussy juices simmered down onto his fingers and lubricated them 
completely as they continued to instigate new and exciting pleasure inside 
her.  Then, finally, when the heated sensations of passion had subsided 
and her body was reduced to convulsive twitching, a blanketing peace came 
over her and suddenly he left her alone to slumber in her long sought 
magic nest.

*     *     *

     Sandra didn't know how long she was asleep, and it was dark when she 
woke.  Blindly, she groped her way into the bedroom, and threw herself 
down on the bed, not bothering to remove her slacks or sweater.  Her 
slacks were slipping down around her hips, but she was too tired to care.  
All the feeling of pleasure had deserted her body, leaving her an empty 
shell of misery and guilt.  She could hardly allow her mind to dwell on 
the disgusting event from which she was just recovering, and her brain, 
almost jeeringly, refused to even reconsider the delight her body had 
experienced, but insisted in emphasizing the lewd aspect of her abhorrent 
submission to the farm hand's lewd handling of her naked vagina.
     Feelings of self-loathing rose up in her and filled her with contempt 
for her own weakness. Kaleidoscopic pictures of her husband in different 
pictures with different girls, performing different prurient acts of self-
gratification tripped through her mind, lascivious embroidery on the 
photographs she had actually seen, and they tormented her into a state of 
humiliated frenzy, until finally she dropped off into a fitful, disturbed 
sleep, her mind insisting in a last crippling blow, you're as bad as he is 
...



Chapter 4

     "For God's sake, Sandra, will you stop shouting?  Do you want 
everyone on the farm to hear you?"  Mike was getting exasperated.  Ever 
since he'd come back to the house for dinner, she'd been nagging at him, 
and it was getting to be more than he could take.  It had been like this 
for several days now.  It seemed to him that his wife was forever harping 
on at him, like a harridan, about one thing or another, and nothing he did 
pleased her.  She seemed to be particularly distressed ever since he came 
back from town, and he wondered worriedly if she had found out about him 
and Eve.  He felt a lightening of his worry when he thought of his blond 
dairy helper - if it weren't for her, and the comfort she gave him over 
the last week or so, he'd have gone out of his mind.
     "You mean you don't want your little blonde girlfriend to hear, isn't 
that it?" Sandra shrieked bitterly.  She knew that she was acting like a 
fishwife, but she didn't care.  The last few days had been hell for her.  
Tormented with guilt over the episode with their hired man when she had 
joyfully reached orgasm from his manipulation, she had taken out her 
feelings on her unsuspecting husband.  The fact that he was rather furtive 
and silent with her didn't help matters, and although she longed for some 
sign of warmth from him, her nagging and complaining prohibited any show 
of tenderness.  Consumed with guilt over her own infidelity, she had no 
trouble in imagining her husband to be engaged in similar action, and she 
was haunted in particular by the photographs she had uncovered.  She felt 
she couldn't trust him - he had concealed a period of stealth and deceit 
from her, a period when he had had numerous adulterous affairs, and she 
had no reason now to think he was not continuing his old ways.
     "You think I don't notice," she went on relentlessly, "but I saw you 
with your arm around that hussy yesterday!  Where were you taking her?  
Into the cow-stall to screw her?"
     Mike flinched under her verbal assault.  He hadn't realized that 
she'd noticed his friendliness with Eve, and hoped that she was only 
guessing wildly about what was going on.
     "Don't be ridiculous!" Mike retorted, feigning nonchalance, his heart 
thudding at the memory of how he had in fact lead Eve towards the hay 
barn.  He tingled even now at the memory of the passionate fire of their 
fucking, how her creamy, resilient body had fused with his as they writhed 
nakedly together on the hay, how she had welcomed him inside her with all 
the certainty of true womanhood.  He shivered as he remembered how her 
tight, eager young pussy had felt as it had contracted like warm, 
throbbing liver around his pumping organ, how her pliant fleshy breasts 
felt under his caressing hands, how her full ripe lips felt as they 
returned his ardent kiss.
     "Hah, you're thinking about her now, aren't you?" Sandra taunted, 
glaring with blazing eyes at him.  "Have you forgotten about all the 
others?"  She felt a stab of triumph when she noticed his sudden 
crimsoning, his quick look of worried fear.
     "You didn't think I knew, did you?" she jeered, enjoying the look of 
perplexity that masked his face.  She hadn't meant to throw it up to him 
about the other women in his life, but somehow, the expression of rapt 
pleasure he assumed when she knew he was thinking about HER, unleashed the 
green-eyed monster in her, and she couldn't hold back.
     "W-what do you mean?" Mike said lamely.  A worried knot of agitation 
was churning in his stomach, and he had an ominous premonition that Sandra 
had found out about his affairs.
     "This is what I mean, you cheating bastard!" Sandra snapped, holding 
aloft a bundle of photographs, which Mike recognized with a sinking heart.  
She had found them!
     "Have you forgotten about this blonde," Sandra jeered, waving a 
snapshot, "the one you're screwing in the ass?"
     Mike blanched under his wife's taunting obscenities.
     "That's enough," he said, his voice icy cold.
     "What about that cute redhead, the one whose pussy you were licking 
and sucking? Have you forgotten her already?" Sandra went on hysterically.
     "Give me those photographs, Sandra," Mike commanded calmly, although 
he was a turmoil of emotion inside.  He had dreaded Sandra ever finding 
those lewd incriminations, and told himself that he should have destroyed 
them. Now he was paying for his procrastination.  He had no idea how he 
was going to extricate himself from the results of his indiscretions, but 
he would worry about that later.  All that mattered now was recovering the 
snapshots.
     "Give-me-the-photographs," he enunciated again, and Sandra felt a 
quiver of fear.  But she was determined not to give in.
     "Like hell I will!" she taunted, and Mike, aggravated by her 
obstinacy, made a grab for them.  Laughing shrilly, she held them up in 
the air, and began to dodge around the sitting room, laughing and 
tittering at her husband's attempts to retrieve the snapshots.
     "Catch me if you can!" she yelled wildly, ducking behind the sofa.  
Mike, snarling with rage, threw himself at the settee, but his agile wife 
slipped out from behind it and once more prancing around the room.
     "Stop that, you little bitch!" Mike spat, incensed at his wife's 
mockery of him.  He made another lunge at her, and this time, managed to 
grab her wrist, holding her immobile.
     "Now give them to me!" he ordered, his breath coming in pants from 
the unaccustomed exertion.
     "Never!" Sandra gasped, looking wildly around the room and struggling 
vainly to escape.
     "I'm afraid you've no choice," Mike jeered, give them to me, or I'll 
take them."  Sandra was desperate.  Somehow withholding the coveted 
snapshots from him was a symbol of some kind of victory over him, and she 
wasn't about to relinquish that so easily.
     "I'm waiting, Sandra," Mike intoned, his fingers digging into her 
wrist.
     "Then wait, you son of a bitch!" Sandra snapped, and with a defiant 
look of triumph, threw the bundle of lewd photographs onto the burning 
fire!
     "You bitch!  You goddamn little bitch!" Mike spat.  She had burned 
his photographs!
     His fingers tightened cruelly around her wrist as he stared at the 
burning photos.  His raging anger had finally mastered his embarrassed 
self-reproach, and her spiteful sarcastic taunts echoed in his mind as the 
pictures burned, the glossy sheen curling and distorting the naked forms.  
As flames engulfed the mass of photographs, he pulled one away from the 
burning heap.
     With unseeing eyes, he stared at the half-burned snapshot, the two 
naked figures on it barely recognizable.  Shame and indignation boiled 
over together in the cauldron of his emotions, and with a growl, he threw 
Sandra down against the large ottoman at the foot of the sofa.
     "I'll make you pay for that, you fucking little bitch!" he screamed, 
clutching wildly at her cardigan and tearing it open, sending several 
buttons flying, and ripping away her bra, revealing her full sensual 
breasts jutting out timidly.  The sight of their naked glory only seemed 
to inflame him further, and he stared at the smooth ivory orbs, his face 
blushing beet red, and the cords of his neck stood out like rawhide.
     "What do you think of that, eh?" he snarled, thrusting the half-
burned picture in front of his terrified wife's eyes.  "Is that what made 
you so disgusted?"
     Sandra tried to turn away from him, but his hand suddenly dipped into 
her shiny black hair and wrenched her head around to face the wretched 
remnant of snapshot, and as her eyes swam with tears, she could barely 
make out the entwining forms on the photo.  The figures were distorted and 
crumpled, but she could see clearly a thick, blood-expanded penis imbedded 
in a small dark anal ring, surrounded by soft white cheeks of deeply 
impaled buttocks!
     Shudders of terror convulsed the cringing woman.  She was deathly 
afraid of the mountain of anger she had moved in her husband, and was 
fearful lest he lose complete control.
     "Well, how did you like that?" he shrieked, pointing at the 
disgusting photograph.
     "Please Mike, I'm sorry, let's ..."
     "It's too late now to be sorry.  You're gonna have to pay for this, 
you little bitch.  I'm sick and tired of listening to you nag and 
complain. I've had all a man can take, you goddamn spoiled bitch!"  His 
teeth were grinding in fury and his face wore an expression of bestial 
sadism.  With a sudden movement, he grabbed her thin skirt, and yanked it 
hard, making the zipper give, so that he was able to rip it from her body.  
She lay there cowering beneath her furious husband, clad only in a thin 
pair of white lacy panties.
     "Oh Mike, please don't!" Sandra whimpered, cringing against the 
ottoman, her arms clasped protectively around her breasts, her legs drawn 
up to protect the fulcrum of her body.
     Mike stood over, a curious lust-satisfied look on his contorted face.
     "Now let's see how brave you are!" he taunted, grabbing her again by 
the wrist, and throwing her face downward on the leather-covered hassock.  
Cruelly, he forced her face down onto the hard leather, his fingers 
locking in her hair. He could hear her blubbering into the ottoman, but 
her terrified fear only incensed him.  His eyes travelled down the milky 
whiteness of her body, resting on the graceful flare of her panty-covered 
hips.  He could see the twin orbs of her silky smooth ass clenched 
together beneath the flimsy material, and as he stared, a jeering memory 
of all the nights of cold, unsatisfying sex he had experienced with his 
complaining wife, came back to haunt him, and something boiled over inside 
him when he realized that she had been able to make him ashamed of his own 
natural masculine instincts.  But even as he stared at the shivering 
figure of the helpless Sandra, he felt a familiar twinge that began in the 
pit of his loins, and rapidly spread to send his pulsating prick climbing 
into hard turgidity. He could feel his hardening rod pressuring against 
the fabric of his pants, and it was hot and throbbing against his inner 
thigh.  The realization that she could still excite him, after what she 
had put him through, angered him to boiling point.
     Angrily, he pulled down the last vestige of decency down over his 
wife's curvaceously rounded bips, and discarded the sheer panties on the 
floor.  Her delicate ass cheeks stood out unprotected, vulnerable, the 
flicker pattern of the hearth fire shining over her soft polished flesh.  
Barely discernable between her quivering legs was the soft dark fleece of 
her pubic hair, and beneath it the faint sheen of her trembling little 
vaginal split.
     Breathing hard, Mike placed his hands on the quivering spheres of 
alabaster flesh, and slowly drew the palpitating mounds apart.
     Staring for a moment at the crinkled brown ring of her little rectum, 
Mike reached forward and probed experimentally at it with his finger.  
"Oooohhhhhh ... ! !" Sandra jerked forward as though she had been prodded