To The Victor The Spoils

Life was good, extraordinarily good; I would even go so far as to say it was perfect. Feeling relaxed and mellow my beautiful wife of ten years and I were returning home from a banquet and ball staged by my employer to celebrate an exceptionally profitable year for the firm, with the event acknowledged to also celebrate the big promotions of both myself and a colleague. It had been a rather formal affair which was why I was sporting a tuxedo complete with ruffled shirt and wearing a pair of cufflinks for only the third time in my life.

Angela my wonderful partner looked even better. Anticipating my future increase in salary, I had told her to lash out on her dress for the evening and get something really special. Taking me at my word, she had chosen a simple but classic silk ball gown that left her back bare, a generous amount of cleavage on display at the front and the floor length dress split to the hip on one side allowing glimpses of her long beautiful legs. The image was completed by rather expensive flimsy gold thread shoes with four inch stiletto heels. I am 5' 10" tall and wearing those shoes brought her up to almost my height. She is slim with shoulder length natural blonde hair which she had chosen to wear down for the evening. Purists might claim that her breasts were slightly too big for her frame but I wasn't grumbling and from their many appreciative glances I'm sure that a lot of men agreed with my sentiments. Her narrow waist, spreading out to nicely rounded hips, tended to hint of the classic hour glass figure shape. I love her body all the time but on that night in that dress she looked an absolute dream.

Despite being married for ten years and enjoying unprotected intercourse for even longer, we were still without offspring with no prospect of that status changing unless we decide to adopt. When we were both tested although, Angie was fine it was found that I had zero live sperm, this condition very probably attributable to a dose of mumps that I suffered as a child. Fortunately Angela declares that she has no mothering instinct. In what could be taken as a statement of intent before we married, she once said, "I love children, I love playing with them but I also love being able to hand them back to their parents when I get fed up with them."

Ironically it was I who instigated the couple of years that we spent trying for a baby but to be honest, it was less that I wanted children than to satisfy my mum and dad's desire to have grandchildren (and stop them pestering me). The end result is that the last six years have been wonderful, filled with exuberant sex with no need to worry about condoms, pills, diaphragms or nasty UID coils. During all that time I have trusted my wife's fidelity implicitly but after the violent event that I am going to describe, I am left with the insidious worm of doubt in my mind.

I met Angela when she was twenty-two with me three years older and in my first year at the firm that still employs me, working in IT. During the time since, the firm has expanded and I have risen through the ranks until I and a colleague had just been raised to the rank of director. Angie has always done secretarial work although I have always suspected that she was employed as much for her looks as her expertise. She is now the personal assistant to the MD of a small company, an old guy in his sixties. From my point of view the only down side to her occupation is that two or three times a year she is away from home for a few days accompanying him to various conventions, sometimes abroad.

As you might see, we both earn well but I definitely bring in the lions share of our joint income. The nice thing is that with nobody to share all that cash with except ourselves, we were able to indulge in a rather hedonistic lifestyle. Any spare cash we invested. Although we were able to afford the mortgage on a very nice house, for the time being we had settled for an up market luxury apartment on the top floor of a new build tower block in a security guarded gated community. We also own a small holiday home in the south of France.

Although I and the other new director were nominally the stars of the show, Angela was undoubtedly the belle of the ball, outshining us both and everyone else who was there. When she stepped through the double doors into the ballroom and paused on the threshold in that dress there was a sudden hush with everybody gazing in her direction. Almost immediately she spotted me and with a smile on her face walked towards me and I felt incredibly proud that everyone could see that this wonderful gorgeous creature belonged to me.

I suppose that I should explain why we arrived separately for the evening and why this was the first glimpse that I had of the dress. With the usual Sod's law, a crisis with a system arose on the Friday and remaining unresolved I had to go in on the Saturday with the prospect of it taking several hours. Usually I don't work at the weekends but this was an emergency. I never drink and drive so, knowing I would have consumed alcohol before coming home, that morning I went to work in a taxi, taking my evening attire with me and leaving my car in the underground car park. The plan was that, when the evening arrived, I would get to the venue first and wait for her there.

This arrangement suited Angie because it allowed her to spend the whole day doing her hair and otherwise pampering herself in preparation for the evening, without me continually pestering her. The annoying thing was that although the dress was in the house on the Friday evening and she had tried it on, describing it as spectacular, she coquettishly refused to give me a preview, teasingly telling me that I would have wait and have my first sight of it the same time as everybody else.

I'm not a dancer, at least with ballroom dancing I'm not but Angie loves dancing. I can just about navigate my way round a dance floor using basic steps but my wife is fully trained and an expert dancer. For a couple of years in her late teens she was even a member of an amateur formation dancing club. Even now there is nothing she likes better than to get on the floor with a good partner when she can demonstrate her fancy moves and complicated footwork. On the fairly rare occasions that I take her dancing I'm resigned to sitting on the sideline most of the time while she displays her expertise with a succession of different partners.

That night was even worse because we were hardly together before she was whisked from my side out on to the dance floor. Mind you that night I would not have found opportunity to dance even had I been good at it because through the whole evening I was constantly shaking hands and being congratulated on my promotion. By the time that we got in the taxi that was to take us home Angie was still bubbling from the joys of dancing and I had a pleasant warm glow from realising how highly I was regarded.

As we sat holding hands I asked if she had enjoyed her evening. "It was wonderful with everybody enthusing about my dress," she told me, "and it was nice to know how much all the men admired me."

"How do you know they admired you, did they tell you?" I had to ask.

"No silly, With almost every man I danced with I could feel their 'admiration' digging into me as we whirled round the floor," she said with a cheeky grin but then her expression changed as she instructed, "You can wipe that mangy look off you face and don't start getting jealous. Knowing that you are greatly desired can be very arousing for a female. This whole evening has given me rather a rather wet pussy and you are going to get the benefit the moment we get home."

I sat in anticipatory contentment for the next few miles and then remembered to warn her that I had left my lap top in the car the previous night so I need to put some charge in it in case I needed it on Sunday. Giving instructions, I said, "You get out by yourself at the front of the building and go up and put the kettle on. I'll let the driver take me round to the garage so I can grab the laptop and come up the other way."

So that is what we did. Arriving at the apartment I put the laptop on the hall table, plugged it in and happily walked through to the living room, never dreaming that I was about to lose my peace of mind, possibly forever.

Pushing open the living room door I found my beautiful wife gazing at me with frightened eyes. Immediately behind her stood a very large male figure wearing a ski mask and some type of leather gloves on his hands. With one large hand he was holding both her chin and her mouth preventing her from speaking while his right hand was stretched across her chest effectively immobilising both her arms. Being startled caused me to ask the rather innocuous question, "How the hell did you get in?"

Surprisingly he gave a civil answer, "Your wife let me in, accidentally. That front door takes a long time to close so that when she was already going up in the lift the door still hadn't clicked shut. I just pushed it open and followed. I actually didn't think you were home."

"What do you want?" It was the question that rationally I should have asked first.

"I want to fuck you wife, I'll rephrase that, I am going to fuck your wife."

"There's no need for that when there is a better alternative," I said in a reasonable voice, "We don't have an excessive amount of stuff but we do have a few pieces that are quite valuable and I also have £500 pounds in cash. Please take that and leave."

He laughed contemptuously and said, "I'm certainly not taking anything that can be traced back to here and you're the kind of pillock who might keep a record of the serial number on notes, so no deal."

Rapidly running out of options, I offered, "You can have my debit card and pin number, there's nearly two grand in my current account."

For a moment he seemed tempted but then shook his head and said, "And get pounced on by police the moment I try to withdraw cash. No I came here to rape and I'm sticking to my original plan."

I'm deliberately avoiding given a racial dimension to this account because members of all nationalities are capable of rape, besides at that point in time, because of the head enclosing ski mask and gloves, I had not yet caught a glimpse of the intruder's skin.

Now when I was teenager I did some boxing and always believed that I could look after myself but this guy was six inches taller that me and much more heavily built which meant that he probably outweighed me by over sixty pounds. He was quite probably both younger and fitter as well. I knew that I was almost bound to come off worst in a physical contest but despite this, in response to his last statement, I stepped forward threateningly and said, "What do you expect me to do while you are doing it, just stand here and watch?"

Releasing my wife and pushing her to one side, he took a pace forward matching my own and snarled, "That is your best option because you will be seriously hurt if you don't."

At that moment, speaking for the first time, Angela pleaded to me, "Please don't do anything silly Dave, it doesn't matter."

I don't know why but my wife's intervention caused the intruder to turn and glance back at her and that gave me the opportunity that I needed. Launching myself forward, I hit him on the side of the face, right at the opportune moment as he was in the process of turning back to face me. It was the perfect punch, delivered with all the strength that I could muster and it definitely hurt him because he staggered. For a moment I thought he might go down but he didn't. In retrospect I now realise that I should have followed up my advantage by trying to land another similar blow but I didn't. Instead I foolishly rushed forward and started to grapple with him. I think that I hoped that with him already off balance, I could get him on the floor and that the combined weight of my wife and me could possibly pin him there until we were able to restrain him.

Unfortunately for me it didn't work out like that because he recovered far more quickly than I thought possible. Throwing his arms round me in a bear hug he lifted my feet clear of the ground and the next second he brought his knee up between my legs to deliver a pile driver blow to my testicles, crushing them against my pelvic bone. My whole lower body was consumed in agony and I found it difficult to breath. As I fell he held me up by the throat with one hand, long enough to deliver a powerful punch to my solar plexus with the other. It drove every bit of the remaining air out of my body and I think that at that point I passed out.

I don't think I lost consciousness for more than a few seconds but I came round to find him squatting straddling my chest and raining blows on my unprotected face.

My whole body was a sea of pain but deep down, an insulated part of my brain remained crystal clear and I wondered if this was the reputed lucidity that it was said people experience when on the point of dying.

At that point my wife pleaded, "Please stop hitting him, don't hurt him any more, he's had enough."

"Why the hell should I stop, he started it and I'm rather enjoying ruining the stuck up git's pretty boy looks?"

"If you leave him alone I'll let you fuck me," my loyal wife offered but that only made him laugh.

"Sweetheart you are going to get fucked whether you 'let me' or not and whether or not I enjoy this little pleasure first."

"If I let you have me willingly then you can't be charged with rape," Angie argued.

"Darling, I don't intend to be charged with anything so whether what I'm going to do to you is technically classified as rape or not doesn't matter to me," my arrogant assailant confidently told her.

"Surely there is a difference between lying there passively letting you get on with it or me fucking you back and making it good for you. Believe me I can make it really good for you," my wife said persuasively.

That did the trick because the pressure was removed from my chest as he stood up. "Prove it, come here and kiss me and show that you mean what you say by using plenty of tongue," he demanded.

Having won her argument Angie added an additional factor saying, "Just let me make my husband a bit more comfortable and then I'm all yours."

Next moment I felt my head tenderly lifted and laid back down on something soft.

Angie then gently wiped away some blood from my mouth before standing up. She and the stranger were now standing facing other with feet almost touching my side.

Immediately there was the unmistakable sound of open mouth kissing. This small respite was my first opportunity to try to assess the extent of the damage that had been done to me. My right eye was swollen completely shut but the other although mostly closed allowed quite good vision through my eyelashes. My lips were totally mashed up, several teeth felt loose and I was convinced that my nose was very badly broken. I seemed to hurt all over. From the angle I was laying, I was unable to see up as high as their mouths without moving my head and at that time I didn't feel capable of any kind of movement at all.

I'm not sure how long the tangling of tongues lasted but I got the impression that both were rather making a meal of it. I couldn't help wondering how much that ski mask impaired that activity. Suddenly a gloved hand appeared through the slit in the dress, pushing the silken material ahead of it as it advanced, revealing her flimsy panties on the way. Unerringly it headed towards her vagina but then withdrew, only to reappear a moment later minus the glove. The crotch of the tiny garment proved no obstacle as it was easily pushed aside and I had the distressing experience of helplessly watching the thick fingers of the intruder slide deeply inside the most private part of the woman I love.

"My my, you're very wet," the masked intruder murmured appreciatively, "You really are a passionate little thing aren't you."

'It's only an act, she's only doing this to save me," I told myself but a moment later that belief took a bit of a dent when Angie unmistakably moved her legs further apart to give him better access. Things were to get worse. In seeming slow motion he seemed to finger fuck her for a very long time with the inevitable squishing sounds but it was when he eventually withdrew his glistening digits that I had another bad blow when my wife's small dainty fingers appeared, to very deliberately squeeze the large pronounced ridge down the front of his trousers.

"Now that you've felt it how about trying it in your mouth for size?" the bastard instructed.

Angie needed no further orders as she dropped to her knees in front of him and reached for his zip. At first she had trouble extracting his penis but when it was out, still not fully erect I was shocked by the size. My organ is roughly proportionate to my overall body size so I expected that his would be the same. That meant that he would be a bit larger than me but I was quite unprepared for the fact that his cock was about two inches longer and considerably thicker.

If I was sensible I should have closed my eye and not watched what transpired next but the need to see was compulsive. I had rather expected that she would just go through the motions so I was shocked when she undertook her task with seeming enthusiasm, from start to finish. She made an unusual start by cupping his huge balls with her hand and then licking each one in turn before tailing her wet tongue slowly up the shaft until she reached the crown. There she lingered for a while licking all round the helmet and teasing his slit, before finally enveloping the head with her mouth. She had done exactly the same to me many times over the years, so I knew exactly how good it felt and I bitterly resented that the rapist bastard should be experiencing that exquisite pleasure.

In stories that I have read describing happenings similar to my own, husbands say that despite the terror of the situation and the mental torment, by this stage they have acquired unwanted very stiff erections. I had no worries in that direction because my testicles still throbbed and ached so abominably that I seriously worried if I would ever manage to have an erection again.

Angie continued happily sucking and slurping, while massaging his balls with one hand and pumping the shaft with the other. I was growing increasingly distressed by the effort she was putting into it but then I realised what she was doing. It was suddenly obvious to me that she was deliberately trying to make him cum early in the hope that he wouldn't get round to fucking her. After that I was able to view with a degree of equanimity and was actually looking forward to seeing evidence that his semen had arrived in her mouth.

Unfortunately he must have guessed her intent as well as I because he suddenly stopped her saying, "Enough of the preliminaries. I love that dress you are wearing but it's time to see you without it. Why don't you go over there and get naked. Don't simply get take off your clothes; do a bit of a striptease for me."

There were actually very few garments for her to remove but Angie managed to make a production out of it. She was so good that I could easily believe that at some time in her past she had stripped professionally. When she removed the last garment and twirled it on her index finger before dropping it on the floor, knowing that another man's eyes were upon her I suddenly regretted that she had had the Brazilian which I had loved so much up to this point. A nude woman without the protection of pubic hair covering her mound, in some way seems to raise nakedness to a whole different level.

When she finally bent to release the catch on her shoes he stopped her saying that he preferred her with them on. The next item on the agenda was obviously intercourse and Angie actually smiled at him as she asked, "So where do you want me?"