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]