Bethany's Revenge (Dark Rider)

[Erebus]

This was, I believe, the first-ever published Dark Rider story.
____________________

BETHANY’S REVENGE
© Dark Rider 1999
____________________


Dale had mistreated Bethany for years.

Big mistake.

Finally, she told him she wanted a divorce.

‘Over my dead body,’ he responded, adding for good measure that she was a big-assed good-for-nothing whore.

Even bigger mistake.

He looked her up and down dismissively. ‘You could kill a man with that butt,’ he declared, and slammed the door behind him.

Which was what gave her the idea.

The following day when he was out, she placed a large melon on the bed, covered it with a pillow and sat on it. Just to see what it felt like. She imagined it was Dale’s head. She wriggled around and made believe he was struggling. She reached out with her arms and clenched her fists, pretending that Dale was fighting back, his hands clawing the air. She tightened her butt and felt a ball of nerves unroll across her belly. She had climaxed over the pillow.

My God, she thought, I could do this. I could REALLY do it.

She practised a lot over the next few days. The pillow was soon discarded. Her first idea had been to put it over the fat bastard’s head, sit on it and smother him just like that. Very easy, and, she considered, very effective. But there would be a police investigation. They’d find traces of fabric in his lungs. Someone would put two and two together and she would be in big trouble. Murder One. Nasty.

But if she sat on his face butt-naked the only traces there would be, would be of her. Her juices, her hair. What could be more natural? She could tell them it was a game they played; one that got out of hand. They were both a little drunk. Just a tragic accident. Or maybe she wouldn’t have to. Maybe they’d think it was a heart attack. Even better.

Should she wear a pair of panties when she straddled him? Her black G-string, perhaps? Or the open-crotch French knickers she’d bought two years ago in the vain hope of spicing up their love-life?

In the end, she decided no. Flesh on flesh. Her body against his. His nose up her ass; his tongue in her pussy. Choking on the raw meat of her bare butt. The butt he thought was such a joke. Nicer for her, and maybe quicker, too. He might not like it, but what the hell. She wasn’t doing this for him. She was doing this for her.

She cooked him a special meal that evening. There would be no hearty breakfast for the condemned man. A hearty dinner would have to do.

But he came home drunk, as always. He kicked the table, he kicked her. The food went flying and so did she. All her second thoughts and all her doubts shattered on the cold stone floor, along with two of her best plates.

On any other morning, he would have woken with a bad head, breathed his obnoxious breath over her face, rolled on top of her and taken her hard, fast and without feeling. Then he would tell her, as he always told her, that she was an ugly, fat-assed cow.

But not this morning...

[Erebus]

This morning, he woke to find he couldn’t move. His ankles hurt. He looked down and blinked. Bethany was standing at the foot of their big brass bed. It had been his parents’ bed, and their parents before him. He had been born in that bed, he had told Bethany, and he would die in it, too.

That thought had amused her as she went about her silent business, making sure that everything was as it needed to be when he finally stirred.

A rope had been drawn around his legs. What the hell was going on? Still drunk, still unable to fathom out what was happening, he watched as Bethany tightened the cords around his ankles and secured his feet to the base of the bed.

An icicle of fear began to form in his stomach. He tried to lift himself, then started with surprise. His arms were fastened, too. Bethany had tied the legs of two pairs of pantyhose around each of his wrists. The material was knotted behind his back so that although he could raise his hands several inches, he could not release himself.

‘You stupid bitch!’ he yelled, pulling himself up, falling back, then kicking vainly with his legs.

Bethany undid her bathrobe and let the gown slip to the carpet. Underneath, she was naked. He grunted in disgust. Bethany naked was not what he wanted to see first thing in the morning.

‘Put some clothes on, woman,’ he told her. ‘And untie me! You’re going to regret this, you crazy whore!’

His wife sat on the bed and gently stroked the side of his face.

‘I’m sorry, Dale,’ she said quietly. ‘But I’ve decided to kill you.’

Her tone was very matter of fact. He grunted and she had to turn away to avoid a wave of stale breath.

‘You’re mad!’ he replied. ‘I’m going to have you put away.’

Bethany raised herself onto her knees and straddled her husband’s chest. Pushing his head back onto the pillow, she stared down into his small, bloodshot eyes.

‘I’m going to sit on your face, Dale. Do you understand? I’m going to smother you with my –’ she deliberately emphasised the last three words – ‘big fat ass.’

‘Don’t talk crazy!’ he responded, but his lips were trembling now. Bethany smiled. She knew he was afraid.

She reached out and smoothed back a few strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead.

‘I’ve been practising all week,’ she told him. ‘Only with a melon, of course, but the principle’s the same.’ She grinned broadly. ‘Mind you, a melon doesn’t struggle. But I suppose you will.’

His pale, mottled tongue flicked out and stabbed nervously at the corners of his mouth.

‘Get off me now and we’ll say no more about it,’ he told her.

‘Really?’ she answered. ‘You’ll forgive little me for being so silly?’

He tipped his head towards her in what passed for a nod of agreement. ‘Yes,’ he said.

‘And you won’t beat me? Or try to have your wicked way with me? Or anything like that?’ she asked hesitantly.

‘No,’ he promised. ‘We’ll - we’ll just forget it ever happened.’

Bethany smiled.

‘I don’t think so,’ she announced tartly. ‘I think my first idea was the best one. Sit on your head until you stop breathing. Shouldn’t take too long. Five or six minutes. Not much more.’

Raising herself on one knee, she swivelled around, turning the globes of her bare butt towards his face. She reached back and parted her heavy, dimpled cheeks so that he could see right up into the dark runnel of her ass.

‘Take a deep breath, lover,’ she told him. ‘It’ll be your last.’

His face was red with anger. ‘You’ll never get away with this, you bitch!’

‘Oh I rather think I will,’ she smiled. ‘Now you can struggle if you like, but it won’t make any difference. I’m pretty sure that if I use my full weight, you won’t be able to open your mouth. But if you can and you try to bite me, I’ll tape it up and sit on your nose. Either way they’re going to be carrying you out of here, Dale.’

She looked over her shoulder with a wicked, almost child-like grin. ‘Now,’ she said. ‘Shall I pucker up or will you?’

He frowned briefly, then caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. Her ass-hole began to soften and pulse as she squeezed the muscles of her rectum.

Panic flooded his belly with ice. His hips twisted furiously against the mattress. Bethany edged the cushions of her butt down over his head.

‘No, please, Bethany! Please!’ he screamed. ‘Not like this! Not like this!’

Bethany’s heart was racing. It was the moment of no return. The moment when she had feared her courage might desert her.

‘Deep breath, my darling,’ she told him a second time, her lips trembling around every word. She suddenly wasn’t sure that she could do it. Not now, not when it came to the crunch…

‘You big, fat-assed whore! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!’ screamed Dale, his head shaking violently.

Bethany took a deep breath of her own. He WOULD kill her, too. Oh dear. It really was him or her now. No going back.

With a sharp twist of her hips, she dropped her butt onto his face and sat upright, centring her entire weight over his nose and mouth. Her ass-hole opened up around his nostrils. Her vulva pressed against his lips, the mass of her cheeks forcing his mouth shut. His legs began to bend at impossible angles. His back arched and his hips jerked towards the ceiling. His penis unravelled and bobbed between his legs.

Dale was grunting into her ass; his hot breath damp against the sweat-soaked bulge of her flesh.

His hands scraped the mattress and clawed the air.

Poor Dale. He was struggling so hard.

But she couldn’t let him go now...

Bethany tightened her thighs and hardened her butt. She wanted to bounce up and down; to ride his face in triumph. But that might let him catch a breath. She had no wish to give him hope. To prolong his torment would be cruel.

His legs began to kick more heatedly; his fingers ripping into the sheet beneath his hands. His head was a hot, hard oval of flesh squirming in terror against her ass.

Bethany felt almonds of sweat break out on her forehead and run down her face.

‘Not long now, Dale!’ she grunted through narrowed lips, her fingers fanning across the hard, hairy curve of his chest. ‘Don’t fight it, my darling. Don’t fight it. I’m on your face, sweetheart. You can’t shift me now…’

Between her husband’s legs, the thick column of his penis jerked a drunken dance of thwarted lust.

Bethany was not a cruel woman. She owed him one last moment of pleasure, she told herself.

Reaching out, she closed her fingers around his trembling cock. Another savage grunt burrowed a muffled path deep into her ass as she moved her tiny fist up and down.

Bearing down with all her weight, Bethany squeezed his penis smoothly; like a young milkmaid at the udder. Gobbets of warm semen arced through the air as Dale came, his big, heavy hips jerking up and down.

A muted bellow struck the ridge of her vulva as Dale roared his release into the suffocating dungeon of her ass.

Bethany threw back her head and screamed as a cluster of nerves erupted inside her groin. Her butt-cheeks melted over the hard ridge of Dale’s face as she came, flooding his mouth with her juices. His hands locked bird-like in the empty air, and he bucked his trembling hips towards the ceiling one last time…