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Catherine’s Big Day: Part 2

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Husband forced to watch his wife’s degradation.


John checked his phone. Again. For at least the fiftieth time in the last ten minutes. Nothing. He went into whattsapp, but Catherine hadn’t been online since their last exchange, just before she went into her promotion meeting. That was four hours ago, and still no word on how it went. John had booked a restaurant, Catherine’s favourite, as a surprise to celebrate. Now he was just annoyed at the lack of news from his wife, and he packed up his desk to head home.

Catherine had been a marketing associate at her firm for 5 years, and she felt she was long overdue a promotion when an opportunity had arisen. She’d certainly earned it. She’d worked bloody hard, and put in more hours than anyone else in her department. Of all the candidates, she was comfortably the most experienced at 40, a good 8 years older than the youngest candidate. They both knew she deserved to move up the ladder, but John had been engulfed by a sense of trepidation. There had been a few stories over the years, of Dario extracting a price for progression, but he wasn’t sure he believed them. Competitive offices are full of those kinds of whispers, usually borne from jealousy. And anyway, Catherine was different. Catherine was a proud, confident woman. Strong, determined, and was the last person to get dragged into Dario’s nonsense.

Dario ran the firm, alongside his wife, Jane. He was about 6’3”, a good looking guy, built like a rugby 2nd row forward, but he was gratingly flash, with the usual car and trappings of a guy in his mid-forties trying to pretend he was in his twenties. John had had always dismissed him as a bit of a walking caricature. Jane was more reserved, both in appearance and manner, but had always struck John as intense and controlled. According to Catherine, both were prone to angry outbursts in the office, often leaving junior associates in tears with their demands and tirades. In that sense they were well matched for each other, but a horrific combination for everyone else.

John had met them a few of times over the years, always at work socials. Regardless of the setting, Dario had invariably spent most of their conversations leering at some of the more attractive junior associates. John had always been relieved that he never seemed to pay that kind of attention to Catherine. Jane, slim and sporty, always looked like her outfits were forensically designed to impress. Neither Dario nor Jane exuded any great warmth either publicly with each other or to their employees. Ultimately, John was glad they had only ever had to see them occasionally.

Catherine’s preparation for her meeting had been intense, and formally or otherwise, had gone on for weeks. They had rehearsed questions about her work, so that she was ready for any resistance. She had a folder full of documented evidence of achievements just in case. Everything was ready. He even helped her into her business dress, bought specially for the occasion.  Catherine was a classic big beautiful woman and she wore her curves with confidence. Her shoulder-length red hair lightly curled, she stood in her outfit balancing seriously professional with a hint of sexy at the same time. There was a certainty about her that John had always found attractive. She was utterly convinced of her worth, but never arrogant or pushy about it.

“This is going to be a big day, I can feel it” She smiled, winked, and then bounced off to the car that morning.

Now night, John pulled into his driveway, and he immediately felt sick. Dario’s Mercedes was parked on the drive, next to Catharine’s car. Why was he here, at our house? Was this a celebration? It didn’t feel right. Catherine couldn’t stand Dario, so why would she invite him here?

The door was unlocked, and while the downstairs lights were on, everything looked normal. There was a leather jacket on the table, presumably Dario’s, though John didn’t recognise it. No glasses, no drinks, no sign of a celebration. John was about to call out, but he heard muffled noise from upstairs. He slowly moved up to the first floor, where John and Catherine’s bedroom lay at the end of a hallway. John was already dreading what awaited him, as deep down he knew that there was only a couple of possibilities, none of them good.

The muffled noise that drew him upstairs was a now clearer, and did nothing to assuage his fears. There was a slowly rhythmic slapping sound, that John knew was flesh on flesh, complemented by regular grunts and muffled moans. It was pretty clear what was happening, even if John couldn’t fully comprehend or accept it.

But why here? Why our house? Why our bed? John’s head was a mess, filled with dozens of competing thoughts flying around at once. He crept along the corridor, the carpet masking his steps. The sounds got clearer as he approached the bedroom door.  He peered through the opening and felt the blood drain from his face:

The floor was littered with clothes. John spotted Catherine’s work dress, and saw that the stitching round the zip was completely torn – it must have been ripped off her back. Then there was the heat; the bedroom was roasting, and thick with the stench of sweat and sex – which had clearly been going on for sometime.

On the bed, Dario, with his toned and muscular back to him, was fucking his wife, doggy-style. She was at a slight angle, but It was definitely Catherine, as John spotted her tattoo on her foot. Her large breasts juddered with every thrust, and her soft belly wobbled back and forth from the exertion.

It was the noises that disturbed John the most. The slap of flesh on flesh was one thing, but the wet, squelching sounds ofDario’s cock pumping into Catherine’s fanny, combined with the guttural sounds from his wife, were utterly chilling.

Despite John’s best efforts, just as he peered around the doorframe, the floor creaked under foot. Dario cocked his head, but didn’t look round.

“You’re late John, I thought you’d have been home by now, today of all days. Cat and I have been here for hours” he said, calmly.

Dario finally turned his head, a smug expression plastered across his face. Without breaking eye contact he smacked his hand across Catherine’s plump arse cheek, extracting a groan from John’s wife.Maintaining his rhythm, Dario slowly ran his fingers into Catherine’s hair, firmly gripped a handful, and raised her head up and round, so she was staring straight at her husband. John realised it wasn’t the pillow muffling Catherine – Dario had stuffed her knickers in her mouth as a gag, just one of a hundred humiliations unfolding. Catherine tried to say something, but her full mouth muffled it beyond comprehension. She only succeeded in drooling down her chin.

With that he angled his hips, and his cock sprung out of Catherine’s fanny with a loud, slurping plop, like a lollipop from a mouth. This was followed by a short, spluttered queef. Catherine let out a quiet moan in shame.

John had never really worried about the size of his cock. He was pretty average, both in length and girth, and had never really worried about it. Catherine had always said he was plenty, and as a result he found the insecurities around it a bit absurd, based around insane porn-standards rather than real life. But the sight of Dario’s rock hard and glistening dick in front of him, made John feel very, very small. Dario must have been a good nine inches long (three longer than John), but he was incredibly thick, more than twice John’s girth, with a veiny foreskin pulled back to display an engorged head. He had two, plum-sized balls in a low-hanging sack. John could practically feel his cock shrinking.

Now that she was finally apart from Dario, John was agog at his wife’s condition. Catherine was a complete state. Her hair was dishevelled and matted with what he could only guess was perspiration and saliva. Her make-up, so carefully and subtly applied that morning, was spread over her face – her mascara run down her cheeks, and her dark red lipstick smeared halfway to her ears. Her eyes were puffy, from tears, exhaustion or both.

Further down, her large (42G) breasts were flushed and slick with sweat, her nipples pointy and sore. They were littered with red marks where Dario had clearly pinched or roughly manhandled her. The same marks were on her arse and ample thighs. Her fanny was engorged, with the lips of her labia red and distended. A slick layer of sweat and juice covered everything, including her neat, dark-red bushr, which was now a sordid mess. She looked at him, but her eyes were sad and glazed over.

“You should be happy John, Catherine got her promotion, and as you can see, the price wasn’t too high for her”. Dario chuckled. “Did you really think that little folder was going to seal the deal? How quaint” he sneered, as got off the bed and approached John. Catherine remained on all fours, panting heavily.

Dario firmly placed his hand on the back of John’s neck, forcing his gaze directly at his defiled wife. He whispered in his ear:

“I was looking forward to breaking her – always so defiant, always so professional, now look at her. Look at what I’ve made her. She’ll never be the same again. Not once I’ve finished with her. And neither will you”

“Take of your clothes cuck. Kneel on the floor with your hands behind your back and watch us celebrate”

John was no match for Dario, so he complied. He stripped off and felt achingly self-conscious. While both he and Catherine were overweight, she wore it with much more confidence than he did. To be exposed like this, with his gut hanging out, particularly in front of Dario, was an act of total submission for him. John knelt as ordered. A look of satisfaction spread across Dario’s face – he clearly had both of them exactly where he wanted them: vulnerable and humiliated.

Back on the bed, Dario removed the knickers from Catherine’s mouth and flung them at John. She immediately started to try and talk, but she only got a few words off, “John, I can explai…..murlph” before Dario, firmly grasping her red hair, twisted her head around and plunged her mouth around the bulbous head of his thick cock. Catherine fought it at first, still trying to get the words out, but it was hopeless. After a few seconds or so she relented, and did as Dario instructed.

After a short period of Dario nodding Catherine’s head up and down, he got more aggressive. He took to bunches of hair each side of her temple and gripped them, using them to slide her head back and forth on his cock. He began thrusting at the same time, deepthroating Catherine with his thick meat. Drool dangled from her mouth in ropes as she guzzled frantically.

As he facefucked Catherine he looked over at her defeated husband:

“This is how it works, Johnny. You think Catherine is the first? Hardly.  Jenny, Becca, Annie, they’ve all done what’s necessary. No one ever says no. ”

John visibly shivered at the mention of Annie’s name. Annie and Tom were good friends of theirs, and they saw a lot of them socially. They were the cutest couple you could imagine, and had been sweethearts since University. The thought of them going through this left John feeling lost.

Dario noticed John’s discomfort:

“Oh yes, even sweet little Annie. She took a lot of persuading, almost as much as Cat, but eventually she gave me what I wanted. She’s my office fucktoy now. You look just like Tom did when I broke her. Then I turned him too. He was kneeling, just like you are now, and he was sucking his wife’s cum off my cock before we were finished”.

John looked away in disgust.

Dario’s cock slid out of Catherine’s mouth and she coughed and sputtered from the oral punishment. John snapped back to reality. “Pay attention Johnny, I don’t want you to miss anything,”Dario sneered as he positioned Catherine’s sweaty arse directly in line with John view, her head facing away. With his left hand he spread her cheeks, exposing her holes. He raised his right hand and brought it down on Catherine’s stretched cheeks, ”thwack”. Catherine, let out a short, sharp yelp. Again, and again, Dario brought his hand crashing down on Catherine’s wobbling arse, sending a ripple across the rapidly reddening skin. Every three or four smacks, he cocked his head to John, smiling cruelly.

Spreading her cheeks again, Dario licked his index finger and started rubbing it against Catherine’s arsehole. He used the oozing juices from her fanny to thoroughly lubricate her,  then he started fingering her. Catherine grunted as the finger slipped in, but she didn’t fight it. A second finger followed, then a third, slowly probing at first, then plunging faster and deeper, loosening her hole for the inevitable.

Dario climbed up on his haunches, directly above Catherine’s rear, and lowered his cock down till it’s massive head pressed against her arsehole. John couldn’t believe what was happening. He and Catherine had only ever had anal sex a couple of times, as she had always felt it too degrading. Now here she was, having her tender arse violated in front of him.

Dario’s cock pushed against Catherine’s hole, her tight ring flexing inwards, but refusing to buckle. It felt like an almighty struggle, a last act of defiance. Like all the others it crumbled. The vigorous fingering and copious lube finally told, and Catherine’s arse surrendered, enveloping Dario’s cock head with a loud slurping sound. Catherine let out a bellow as her resistance was broken, and Dario started to probe the depths of her arse.

In the mirror John could see Catherine’s face as Dario plundered her rear. Her eyes drifted up and locked with John’s in the mirror. She looked at him with desperate but tired eyes. But it only lasted a moment. Dario started plunging his cock fully in and out of her, and Catherine’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she was gone again. She started moaning and grunting wildly, like a stuck pig. All the while, the sounds of the “slap, slap, slap” of Dario’s gargantuan balls smacking against Catherine’s wet fanny filled the room.

He grabbed her big, sweaty breasts, one in each massive hand, and used them to lift her plump frame up, so their faces were inches apart..  He started whispering in her ear, eliciting short responses; one word, a few words, sometime just a grunt. John couldn’t hear what Dario was saying, but he made out a few of Catherine’s responses:

“of course”



Once her response was a flicker of a lusty smile and a groan.

“Let your husband hear how devoted you are”. Dario instructed, aware she was barely audible.

Catherine turned her head to look Dario dead in the eye, and amongst all the heat and frenzy, calmly, firmly said

“I want you to fucking own me.”

There was no way back now.

John knelt, listening and watching, experiencing an uneasy mixture of pain and pleasure. His own cock was now fully erect, it’s tip glazed in pre-cum. He couldn’t help it, but he felt disgust that he was aroused by his wife’s debasement. Dario looked over his shoulder at the kneeling, helpless husband. “Enjoying the show you cuck?” The words cut John to the bone, for they were true.

The frenzied arse fucking lasted another 10 minutes, before the dreaded, inevitable finale. Catherine orgasmed first, a series of grunts and a low, exhausted wail as she slumped forward onto her front on the bed, dragging Dario with her. A minute later, while still thrusting at full speed into a now prone Catherine, Dario started grunting and panting. He was close.

“Beg for it,” he commanded.

Catherine whispered a defeated “please”. “Please what?”. “Please fill me with your cum.”

Catherine’s words shot through John as Dario’s legs flexed and his balls tightened and raised slightly. “Nnnngh” he cried as he started to coat the inside of Catherine’s bowels with his cum. He collapsed on top of her, his weight pinning her down, her legs wide apart. After a few moments he he raised himself up, and pulled out of Catherine’s pulverised arse. She farted loudly from the release, and then Dario’s cum started to leak out of her hole, not in a trickle, but an endless ooze of  great globs and streaks, a creamy white foam obscuring her still gaping hole. She sobbed gently, her ruined arse leaking onto the marital bed.

Dario slipped his clothes back on quickly, smiled at John, and headed for the door. He stopped half-way out, looking like he had forgotten something.

“I almost left without giving you this. Consider it a memento from Cat’s big day.”

Dario went to the dresser, picked something up, and turned, revealing the ‘gift’ to John. It was a large condom, a third full with cum, tied at the top. He chucked it in John’s direction, before striding out the door. It landed in John’s lap with a muted splat, and he picked it up. There were a couple of shapes floating in the reservoir of jizz. A final sickening realisation came over him. In all the insanity, John hadn’t noticed that Catherine wasn’t wearing her engagement or wedding rings. There they were, floating in a pool of Dario’s thick seed, forever tainted. It was a final fuck-you from Dario, despite him having already taken so much.

John slumped back, surveying the scene. His wife, so strong and confident a few hours earlier, lay on their bed, shattered and defiled. By then end she had been begging him for more. Her boss’ cum coating her marital rings in a gross exhibition of her debasement. This was just the beginning, and John dreaded what was to come next.

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