Austin's Revenge
Austin didn’t say a word on the drive home.
He just drove with one thick hand resting high on my thigh, fingers occasionally flexing against the damp fabric of my shorts. Every time the car hit a small bump I felt the leftover slickness between my legs shift, a quiet reminder of everything that had already been forced into me. My cock was still half-hard from the black-market Viagra and the multiple orgasms Rocco had pulled out of me. I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel Austin glancing over every so often, calm and assessing, like he was already planning the rest of the night.
When we pulled into the driveway the house looked exactly the same as it had that morning — porch light on, the little planter by the steps, the familiar shape of the front door. It felt almost indecent that nothing on the outside had changed.
Austin killed the engine, got out, and came around to my side. He opened the door for me the way he always did, but the look in his eyes was different. He waited until I stepped out, then rested a heavy hand on the back of my neck and walked me up the path like he was guiding something he already owned.
The second the front door closed and the lock clicked, he spoke.
“I knew he’d loosen that pathetic hole of yours right up.”
His voice was low, almost conversational, but it still made my stomach drop. This was not the warm funny man I left this morning. He turned me to face him in the entryway, one big hand still on my neck, the other coming up to grip my chin so I had to look at him.
“Five years, baby. Five fucking years I’ve been trying to get all eleven inches inside you. You always tapped out. Always got that look on your face like it was too much. So I found someone who could open you properly. A "muscle God" I believe you called him. The kind of man you confessed you wanted to force you. Remember that night? Two years ago? You were drunk and hard and whispering against my neck about wanting to be held down and raped by someone bigger and stronger than me. I never forgot. I just waited until I found the right man to do it.”
My mouth went dry. My cock twitched hard against the front of my shorts.
Austin’s thumb brushed the corner of my mouth.
“You got your fantasy. Now I'll get mine. You’re finally open enough to take every inch of your husband and I’m going to make sure you feel every single one while I punish you for how greedily you came on another man’s cock.”
"B...b..but...I..." I stammered. Unable to finish my sentence.
Austin stood there looking at me with an almost sinister grin. He let go of my chin, walked past me into the living room, and sat down in the big armchair like a king returning to his throne. The lamp beside it cast a warm pool of light across his thick thighs and the heavy bulge already visible in his jeans. I'm no size queen and Austin's frustration at my inability to take him balls deep should be proof of that, but I have massive cocks are just pretty to look at.
“Strip,” he ordered. “Slowly. I want to see what’s left of you.”
My hands were not steady. I pulled the shirt over my head first. The fabric still smelled like the locker room — sweat, industrial cleaner, lube, and the darker scent of the man who had just finished using me. It made my cock twitch. I dropped it on the floor. Austin’s eyes tracked the movement. Next came the shorts and the damp underwear beneath them. When I stepped out of them I was completely naked in the middle of our living room, cock still flushed and leaking a thin string of precum, hole tender and slick. I felt like I was standing before him naked for the first time. What was he about to do to me?
Austin looked at me for a long time without speaking. The silence stretched. I could hear the quiet tick of the clock on the mantel and the sound of my own breathing.
“Come here,” he said finally. “Kneel.”
I crossed the room and sank to my knees between his spread thighs. The carpet was soft under me. Austin leaned forward, rested both heavy forearms on his knees, and studied my face.
“You’re shaking,” he observed. “Is it fear or are you still that hard for what just happened to you?”
“B-b-both,” I admitted.
He nodded like that was the correct answer. Then he reached up, gripped the back of my head, and pulled my face into his right armpit. The dense black hair there was still damp with the day’s sweat. The smell hit me immediately. It was sharp, masculine, erotic. He held me there, nose buried, while he spoke against the top of my head.
“Breathe it in. That's my good boy. That's the sweat of a real man, your man. The man who arranged for you to get raped so he could finally use your pathetically tight hole the way he’s always wanted. Now lick!”
I licked. The taste was salt and skin and the faint bitterness of deodorant worn thin by a long day. Fuck he tasted so good. Austin’s grip tightened in my hair, keeping me pressed there while I dragged my tongue through the thick hair of his pit again and again. My cock hung heavy and neglected between my thighs, leaking steadily onto the carpet and twitching like crazy.
“That's a good little hole.” he murmured. “Now the other.”
He switched sides without releasing my hair. Same order. Smell first. Deep, slow breaths. Then long, deliberate strokes of my tongue through the damp hair. I could feel his cock thickening inside his jeans against the side of my face.
When he finally pulled me back he looked down at me with dark, satisfied eyes.
“Stand up. Hands on the arms of the chair. Ass out.”
I obeyed. The position left me bent forward, back arched, everything on display. Austin stood behind me. I heard the soft sound of him rubbing his palms together, then both of his big, warm hands settled on my ass. He spread me open with his thumbs and just looked for a long moment.
“Christ,” he said quietly. “He really did open you. You’re soft and pink and still shiny with everything he left in you.” One thick finger traced the rim of my hole, then pushed inside without resistance. I sucked in a breath. A second finger joined the first. He worked them in and out slowly, spreading them, feeling how loose I was. “Five years of careful stretching and you could never take all of me. One night with the right man and look at you. Soft and sloppy and perfect.”
He pulled his fingers out, wiped them on the back of my thigh then replaced them with his tongue. He licked as much cum out of my loose and puffy hole as he could. Then pulled my hair until my head snapped as far back as it could, forced my mouth open and spit the hot warm mixture of Rocco's loads directly onto my tongue.
“Over my lap. Now.”
I draped myself across his thick thighs. My hard cock ended up trapped between his leg and my stomach, the pressure almost painful. Austin’s big hand settled on my ass, rubbing slow circles over the skin, almost affectionate. The contrast made my stomach twist.
Then his hand lifted and came down hard.
The crack of skin on skin was loud in the quiet house. Heat bloomed across my left cheek. I jerked, but his other hand immediately pressed between my shoulder blades, pinning me in place.
“Count them,” he said. His voice was still calm. “And after every five you thank me for punishing you for coming from a stranger’s cock like a needy little slut.”
He spanked me methodically. Left cheek, right cheek, overlapping, building a deep, spreading heat that sank into the muscle. I counted out loud. My voice started steady and grew rougher with every set of five.
“One… two… three… four… five—”
“Thank you for punishing me, Austin.”
He hummed in approval and kept going. The heat turned into a steady, throbbing burn. My cock leaked steadily against his jeans, leaving a wet patch. By twenty I was squirming. By thirty I was making small, helpless sounds I couldn’t swallow. He never rushed. Every strike was measured, deliberate, designed to stoke the fire without tipping into real damage.
When he finally stopped, my ass felt swollen and hot. He rubbed the stinging skin gently with his palm, then slid two fingers back into me again, slow and deep, curling them against my prostate until my hips jerked.
“You’re dripping,” he said quietly. “And it’s not just leftover lube. You’re turned on by this. By being punished for liking what he did to you. Tell me the truth. Out loud.”
I swallowed. “I liked it. I came so hard on him I saw white. I hated that I liked it and I still came again and again.”
“Louder. And more honest you filthy whore.”
“I liked being held down and raped by him,” I said, voice cracking. “I liked how big and strong he was. I liked that I couldn’t stop him no matter how hard I tried. And I like that you arranged it so I could finally take every inch of you without tapping out. I'm scared I'm addicted to finding out how much cock I can take.”
Austin’s fingers pressed harder.
“Good boy. Up. On the bed. On your back. Legs open for your husband.”
I climbed onto our bed, the same bed we had shared for five years. The sheets still smelled faintly of the laundry detergent we always used and Austin's cologne. Austin stripped slowly in front of me, letting me watch every inch of thick muscle and dense body hair revealed. When he finally pushed his jeans and underwear down, his cock sprang free, heavy and already fully hard. Eleven thick inches of veiny meat, the head flushed dark, a bead of precum already gathering at the slit. It looked even bigger than I remembered.
He climbed onto the bed between my spread thighs, stroked himself once, and looked down at me.
“I’m going to put every inch inside you now,” he said. “And you’re going to take it. All of it. Because that’s what tonight was for.”
He didn’t ease in.
He lined up the thick head and pushed.
The stretch was intense even after everything that had happened in the locker room. Inch after thick inch forced its way into me. I could feel every ridge, every vein, the heavy weight of him opening me deeper than I had ever managed before. My mouth fell open on a long, broken moan as he kept going — slow, relentless — until his heavy balls finally rested against me and every last inch of my husband was buried inside my body. I couldn't believe it. I had taken the entire thing. It felt so warm and deep inside almost like it was touching my stomach. I wished I had done this so much sooner.
Austin stayed completely still for a long moment, just letting me feel the impossible fullness.
“There,” he said, voice low and rough with satisfaction. “All the way in. Finally. Look at me.”
I did. His eyes were dark, possessive, almost tender in a way that made my chest tight.
“This is what I wanted. You open enough to take every inch of me. You got your rape fantasy. I got a hole that can finally handle my monstrous cock. Now I’m going to fuck you until you understand exactly who you belong to.”
He started moving.
Deep. Steady. Powerful. Every long thrust dragged over my prostate with deliberate precision. The wet sound of his cock moving in and out of my used hole filled the bedroom. He braced himself on one thick arm, leaned down, and spat directly into my open mouth.
“Swallow.”
I did.
He spat again. Then a third time. Each one I swallowed while he kept that deep, punishing rhythm, never looking away from my face.
“You’re going to cum for me,” he said. “Multiple times. And every single time you’re going to thank me for punishing you. Understand?”
“Yes, daddy.”
He fucked me harder.
The first orgasm built low and deep, pulled straight from my prostate by the relentless drag of those eleven inches. My cock jerked untouched between our bodies and spilled across my stomach in thick ropes while I clenched down around him and sobbed out a thank you. Austin didn’t stop. He fucked me straight through the aftershocks, voice low and filthy the entire time.
“That’s one. Good boy. You’re so fucking soft inside now. He did good work opening you for me. But this hole is mine. Say it.”
“It’s yours— fuck, Austin, it’s yours—”
He kept going. Sweat started to sheen across his thick chest and the dense hair covering it. He pulled my face into his left armpit mid-thrust, forcing me to breathe in the sharp, heavy scent of him while he pounded me. The smell of his sweat mixed with the wet sounds of sex and my own broken moans until I felt dizzy with it.
The second orgasm was deeper, almost painful in its intensity. I shook apart under him, thanking him in a cracked, ruined voice while he never slowed his pace.
By the third I was crying — overwhelmed, overstimulated, completely owned. Tears slipped down my temples into my hair. Austin licked them off my cheek, spat in my mouth again, and kept fucking me with long, devastating strokes that made the headboard knock steadily against the wall.
“One more,” he growled against my ear. “Give me one more and then I’ll fill you the way I’ve wanted to for five years.”
I came a fourth time with a broken shout, body locking up so hard my vision went white at the edges. Only then did Austin bury himself to the hilt, let out a deep, guttural groan, and start pumping load after thick, heavy load deep inside me. I could feel every pulse, every hot spurt, the way he kept grinding through it to make sure every drop stayed as deep as possible.
He stayed buried for a long time afterward, breathing hard, occasionally rolling his hips just to make me whimper around the overfull sensation.
Eventually he pulled out. A thick river of his cum followed, running down over my sensitive skin. He watched it for a moment with dark satisfaction, then reached into the nightstand drawer and took out a thick, heavy black silicone plug.
“This stays in tonight,” he said, pressing the tapered end against my used hole and pushing it slowly inside until it seated deep, locking his load in place. “Tomorrow the real training starts. You’re going to learn how to take everything I want to give you, whenever I want to give it. And you’re going to thank me for every second of it.”
He stretched out beside me, pulled me against his sweaty chest, and kissed me — slow, deep, and loving. His fingers traced the base of the plug that kept him inside me.
“Sleep,” he murmured against my lips. “You’ll need it sweetheart.”
I closed my eyes with his heavy arm draped over me, the plug solid and inescapable, and the knowledge that nothing in our marriage was ever going to be the same.
