6 comments/ 107647 views/ 27 favorites Shut That Bitch Up! By: toomuchinmyhead Steve pushed a couple of singles towards the bartender from his change, and then slid over to Andrea. They sat together at the bar, and he silently hoped against hope that she'd calm down, enjoy herself and allow him to relax. So far their tenth anniversary vacation had not gone as well as planned. Always opinionated and a little particular, Andrea was also outspoken. Some of his friends , he knew, considered her stuck up, or snooty, or spoiled. He knew her tastes were more materialistic than his own; he'd known that since they'd started dating, and ten years of marriage hadn't altered that. He'd surprised her with his plan for this vacation, and she'd been delighted at first: the opportunity to go someplace warm, together, and enjoy each other away from their regular lives. Her delight had lasted until she'd found out that he had booked them in a hotel far from the strip and the action. She had immediately let him know what she thought of his idea, and what she really wanted. She wanted night life, and attention, and to spend more than they could afford. She wanted clubs and restaurants, and action, and to have her entertainment thrown at her. He had seen this vacation as an opportunity to relax, to do nothing, to unwind together and reconnect. For once in his life he'd stood his ground, insisting that they would have plenty of fun, that it was a short drive to the beach. He preferred casual settings; she preferred to dress up and go out. He wanted conversation, and few plans, she wanted music and laughs and a schedule of events. She had gone along, unwillingly, and let him know at least once a week until the day they left that she was doing it for him, and that she knew she wouldn't enjoy herself. And sure enough, here it was day three, and she was right so far; she was miserable, and let him know it just about every minute of every day. She seemed to not grasp the concept of doing something for someone else, despite all the years that he had forfeited his desires to make her happy, doing what she wanted, when she wanted to do it. He would suffer her in silence, preferring to acquiesce instead of arguing, going along to get along. She, apparently, was unable to do that, even this once, despite his telling her how much it would mean to him. So they had argued since they'd arrived, or rather she had argued with him, expressing her dissatisfaction with the hotel location, the rental car, the room, the food, the lack of action and activity. He was starting to feel as though the end of his rope was dangerously close; that not only was this vacation a mistake, but that their marriage was. He loved her, he knew it, but he didn't want to fight. And she didn't either, as long as she got her way. Usually he just gave in, but this week they were supposed to be doing it his way. And they did. But with her continuous verbal barrage of criticism. And she was not one to suffer in silence, he thought, sipping his beer. Worse, she did not have it in her to complain quietly. When they were alone, or out of reasonable earshot of others, he had learned to mostly tune her out. But it was times like this, in this local town bar, that her ranting became uncomfortable for him. He had chosen this bar because it looked like the type of place he would like to hang out – quiet, never too busy, and you could relax with your friends and have a decent conversation. He'd seen it on one of his drives to get beer for the room, seen the people going in, thinking that it was the type of crowd he could be comfortable in. When they came in he was pleased to see that he was right. A group of friends, maybe ten people, were the only patrons, and clearly regulars, town folks, working people. Dressed in a variety of jeans and tee shirts, boots and sneakers, they were just regular workaday folks like himself, having a couple of drinks after getting off their day jobs. So Andrea's hectoring onslaught embarrassed him, knowing her voice was, as usual when in this state, too loud, too insistent, and out of place for the atmosphere. "Oh, yeah," she said sarcastically, "this is great Steve. It figures you'd pick a shit hole like this." Steve saw the bartenders ears prick up at that statement. "I should have known after you put us in that crappy half-ass hotel that you'd want to come to a place like this." The bartender pretended to do something under the bar, but Steve saw his eyes looking over, and the look let him know that he'd heard. Shit. He really didn't want to respond to her, but he needed her to keep her voice down if she couldn't keep her opinion to herself. "Honey, can you hold it down a little?" he asked under his breath. "Stop it," she dismissed, "what are you, worried that these local losers can't handle hearing the truth? You think they don't know they hand out in a shit-hole bar?" He steamed inwardly. She had a problem discerning her opinion from the facts, generally assuming that her opinion was right because, well, it was her opinion. And she was not shy about expressing it. "Listen," he said hesitantly, "I just think that you might consider someone else for a few seconds, and keep your opinions a little lower." He knew there was no point asking her not to express them. That would never happen. But he didn't want to insult anyone. "Well, I'm sorry," she whined in a lower voice, leaning into him, "I don't want to be here, and I don't like these people, and I don't want this beer." She pushed it back to him. "What would you like?" he asked, trying to change the subject. "I would like a margarita," she pouted. "Somewhere else." "I'll order you a margarita," he said. "But we are not leaving. This is supposed to be a vacation, not a week-long fight." He sighed, motioned to the bartender, and ordered a margarita. He looked at her while he waited for her drink. She was silent, and despite the half scowl she was wearing he could only see her beauty, the darkly seductive face that had first attracted him. Half Italian, her eyes were large and dark, accentuated by her dark eye makeup, her thin nose slightly long, her high cheekbones and sharp jaw framing a set of full, sensuous lips that seemed to hardly smile anymore. He touched her hand. "Can't you just relax, just be happy to be together?" She turned and looked at him, the look on her face telling him she did not understand the purpose of the question. "Can't you just be happy? Why do you always have to be miserable?" Her mouth opened slightly. "For once in your life can you just-" "Oh, shut up!" she blurted, grimacing angrily. Her voice was loud again as the bartender returned with her drink. He glanced at the sole waitress, a slight blonde girl of maybe twenty, who rolled her eyes, then gave Steve a look of understanding. "Just because you like to hang out in broke down loser bars with strangers, you want me to pretend to be happy? No way!" The bartender returned with his change, but his look had changed to one of warning, and Steve caught him motioning to the crowd in the back. Steve glanced over, saw that some of them had heard Andrea's outburst, and touched her hand. "Honey, hold it down, please. There's no need to..." "Hold what down?" she asked at full volume. Steve just knew it could be heard over the low-volume jukebox. He lowered his hear a little. "Oh, are you embarrassed of me? Afraid someone might hear that I have an opinion? Well, too bad!" She sipped her drink, put the glass back down. "Oh, shit, it's fucking awful." She turned to Steve. "That is about the worst margarita I've ever had." "Sh-hhhh..." "Don't you shush me!" she snapped at him. "It was your decision to come here! I wanted to go somewhere nice, with nice people, and maybe get a decent drink." She looked at him. Even angry, she was still beautiful. She had turned on her barstool and was facing him now. "But no, not Mr. Regular Guy," she sneered, "Mr. boring wants to go to the boring bar and do boring things with the boring," she motioned with her hand dismissively towards the group in the back, "locals," she added with sarcastic emphasis. He glanced over her shoulder to the group in the back. The waitress was bringing them their beers, but about half of them were looking in his direction. She'd clearly been heard, and several of them looked displeased. He looked at them, six guys and four girls, the oldest probably his own age, mid-thirties, the youngest maybe twenty, one of the girls. He caught the eye of one guy, a large fellow, who seemed to be the natural group leader. Tall, light brown hair and well built, he seemed easy-going and forceful at once, and the others seemed to defer to his charisma. He knew that he could like that guy, these people. Throw some darts. Knock down a few beers. They didn't deserve what his wife was saying, any more than he did. The tall guy caught his gaze, and raised his eyebrows questioningly; he made a subtle motion towards the group he was with. Steve understood the unspoken suggestion, and tried again to quiet Andrea. "Honey, come on, just calm down a little ..." "Don't 'calm down' me," she blurted dismissively. "You wanted to come here. I didn't. I don't like it here, and I don't care who knows it." She turned back to the bar, took a long pull from her drink. She huffed. "If you drink it fast, it's only half bad," she sneered. She motioned to the bartender for another, even though she was only half finished. He glanced at Steve, and Steve nodded, and the bartender set to making her another. Andrea caught the looks. "Oh, great, so now I can't order a drink without your okay?" she sniped. "You know, you could be a little nicer to people." He turned to her. "I know that you can't be nicer to me, but you could be nicer to people you haven't met." He felt his usual tolerance slipping away. "Just because you like to treat me like shit when you don't get your way is no reason to treat everyone like shit; you don't know them, and they haven't done anything to you." He struggled to keep the edge off his voice. The bartender came back, and waited as Steve took money from his wallet. He dropped a couple of twenties on the bar. He finished his beer and started on the other one as the bartender rag up the drinks and returned with the change. He stood facing Steve, and extended his hand. "Ron," he said. Steve introduced himself. "You seem like a nice guy, Steve." He leaned in to him, lowered his voice. "This is my bar, man, and those folk over there are regulars, this is where they hang. They know me, and I know them. I'd really prefer if they didn't have their evening ruined." Steve glanced sideways at his wife who was staring disinterestedly in another direction, obviously ignoring the man. "I'm sorry man, I'll try to calm her down. She doesn't mean anything by it, she's just, well, opinionated, you know?" Ron made a tolerated face, and moved to the waitress at the end, who had returned for more drinks. "What was that?" Andrea asked. "Did your bartender friend get insulted?" "Actually, he's the owner," Steve explained. "He doesn't want his regular folks upset." "Well, if they are upset because I don't like their shitty bar, too bad." "Hold it down, would you?" "I will not!" she insisted. "It's my opinion, and I will say it." She raised her voice, making her words clear. "And I will say it as loud as I want, and I don't care who hears it!" "Knock it off!" he heard from behind him, and turned to see the regulars snickering to each other. But some of them looked angry, not jovial. "Andrea. I'm serious, try to keep your voice down. It's really not a good idea to insult people you don't know." She steamed next to him, and he saw her glare at the crowd. "You don't know them, and they don't deserve your abuse. Beside, you don't know how they'll react." She turned back to him. "You wuss," she spat with disdain. She finished her first drink, and sipped he second, then stood as she put it down. "I have to pee." She stalked off, and he turned to watch her go, hoping that none of the local girls needed to use the ladies room just then. A quick check confirmed that they were all present. He turned back to the bar, and was sipping his beer when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see the tall guy from the group. "Hey, man," he said, "I'm Nathan." Steve shook his hand, introduced himself. Nathan had an easy look about him, casual and comfortable with himself. Steve instantly liked him. "Listen, it's none of my business, but your lady is making it my business. My friends and I," he motioned, "this is our place. We're not bad people, and we like having folks come in for a drink. "I know man, I'm sorry. This place, it looked like the kind of place I'd like, where I'd hang out." "And you are welcome to stay," Nathan interrupted, "but my friends are getting a little testy." He paused, considering his words. "It's not that she's too loud..." "But she is," Steve quipped. Nathan grinned. "Yeah, she is. I'm sure she's a fine lady, and she's very pretty. But she needs to stop insulting us." "I hear you, man. I'm trying." "I don't want trouble, and you seem like a decent guy," Nathan advised him "I don't want trouble either, believe me." "Well, try to get that through to her. I'll try to keep my friends in line, but I can't promise anything if she keeps it up." "Thanks, man, I'll do my best." Nathan clapped him on the shoulder, and they shook hands, and he went back to his friends. They gathered and spoke conspiratorially, but he was cool and just redirected the conversation. He saw Andrea returning and watched her take her seat. "Well, at least the bathroom was clean," she muttered, and picked up her drink. She downed about half and put it down. They sat next to each other in silence for a few minutes. Steve hoped against hope that the drinks would calm her, make her relax a little, take the edge off. He sipped his beer. The song on the jukebox ended, and the sound of laughter from the crowd in the back could be heard clearly. That's what he wanted to be doing, having easy laughs with friendly people. Instead he was sitting on the edge of his seat, trying not to have a knock-down fight with his wife, who he loved but couldn't control. The next song started with the twangy sounds of a popular country-western tune. "Oh, fucking great," Andrea said too loudly, "fucking hick tunes!" Steve screwed up his courage. "Andrea, honey, I need to ask you a favor." With a drink and a half in her he was afraid of her answer, but he'd promised to try and control her. "Please, I'm begging you, I just want to hang out and have a few beers in a quiet place for a little while. I want to be with you, and enjoy your company, and meet some folks and have conversations." She eyed him suspiciously. "Can you please just pretend you're having a good time, and not act up like-" "Act up?" she barked. "Is that what you think I'm doing, acting up? Like a little baby?" She finished the rest of her drink, and motioned to the bartender for another. "You think I'm acting like a spoiled baby who didn't get her way?" Her voice was loud now, and he shrunk back into himself, looking at his beer as she continued. "Let me tell you, you haven't seen acting up!" "How about shutting up?" he heard a woman shout out from the crowd. Andrea whirled to the sound. "How about you shut up, asshole?" she called back. "Why don't you make me?" he heard and turned to see Nathan pulling a girl back into her seat. He reached for Andrea, pulled her back to the bar. He caught Nathan's eye, mouthed 'sorry', and pushed her drink to her. "Come on honey, let's not start-" She shrugged his hand from her arm, and Steve felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Nathan there. "Hey man, I'm sorry," Steve began, but Nathan put his hand up. "No, I'm sorry, that was uncalled for, but I need to ask you again to control your lady." "I'm his wife," Andrea interrupted. Nathan stopped, regarded her, and then turned back to Steve. "Seriously, man, this could get ugly. I'll try to hold them back, but maybe you folks should consider finding another place to go." "Are you fucking kidding me?" Andrea barked at him. "You're not going to tell me where I can drink!" Nathan barely glanced at her, choosing instead to fix Steve with a hard look. "I can try to hold them back, but I can't promise it won't get ugly." "They're already ugly," she spat, "and I won't be intimidated, so you just take yourself back to your loser friends and leave decent people alone, and mind your business." Nathan turned to her, spoke quietly. "Those 'losers'" he emphasized, "are my friends, little lady, and I won't have then insulted." He turned back to Steve. "Either take her out or calm her down, man." "I got it, thanks." Nathan held his gaze for a second, glanced at Andrea, and returned to his group. "Maybe we should go," he began. "Because he says so?" she scoffed. "When I wanted to leave you were all for staying, and now he says we should go, so you'll go?" She finished her drink, lifted the fresh one. "You're amazing." She sipped, then turned to him. "What, we're not good enough for this place?" She raised her voice, and repeated it loudly, making sure everyone could hear. "Stop it!" Steve said, grabbing her arm, spilling her drink. "Stop it! You're gonna make this get out of control, and I won't be able to protect you!" He was whispering loudly. Andrea looked at him with disbelief. "Are you listening to yourself? Can't protect me? From what?" She was loud now, and Steve cringed as she motioned wildly towards the group that had stopped at her outburst. "From this? From them?" She took her drink, finished it. "Hey. You," she said to the bartender. "Can I get another one?" The bartender came to them, reluctantly, and picked up her glass, and looked at Steve. Then back at Andrea. "I think you should take your man's advice, and either go, or settle down." "Thanks for the tip, bartender. You can mind your business, too. Just get the drink. No one's chasing me out." The bartender looked at Steve. "Don't ask the wuss, he's not making the decision. Get the damn drink!" Roy stepped away, shaking his head. Andrea continued her obnoxious rant until he returned, put down her drink, and a beer in front of Steve. "I'll take for her drink," Roy told him, slipping a few bills from the pile. "Your beer is on me." "Thanks, man." "Oh, great!" she raved. "Now you made a friend in this shithole, so you can talk about me?" She waved behind her. "With them?" Steve didn't answer, didn't even turn to face her. Another song ended, and in the silence before the next one he clearly heard comments from the crowd behind him. He cringed inwardly, and gritted his teeth as phrases like 'that fucking bitch' and 'loud-mouth stuck up shit' and others hit his ears. He knew Andrea heard them, too. Then he heard 'fucking slut' and Andrea yelled. "Hey, who are you calling a slut, you whore?" she yelled at the group. "If you got something to say, come over and say it!" Steve turned when he heard chairs moving, but saw only Nathan standing, telling his people to sit still, and approached them. He looked at Andrea with something like disdain or pity, then turned to Steve. "Listen. This is getting out of control, fast. I need you guys to leave, now, or something bad could happen." "Hey, genius," Andrea said, standing up from her stool. She stepped in front of Nathan, looked up into his face. Steve had to admit, she had balls. More than brains, but balls. "You and your friends just mind your fucking business and leave us alone. We're not going, and you can't make us." Nathan looked at her, then to Steve, who shrugged helplessly, surrendering to his wife's will. Nathan nodded to him, and shrugged back, then turned and walked back to his friends. Shut That Bitch Up! "Big fucking busybody!" she called after him. "Take care of your own shit, and don't concern yourself with us!" She went to sit back down, when a female voice called out, "Shut that bitch up!" Andrea whirled, and smirked, then stuck out her ass at the crowd and slapped it. "Kiss my ass, you cheap whore!" she called back, and then sat back on her stool. "Maybe we should go now," Steve began, turning to her, only to find one of the women from the group, a slightly plump young lady, dirty blonde hair, standing in his face. "Man you better shut that-" "You got something to say, bitch!?" Lind barked. The girl turned to face her. "Come on, you wanna say something, say it to my face!" Blondie stood there, tensed, and then turned her back and took a step away. "That's what I thought-" Andrea began calling, but never finished, because the girl turned, and quick as a cat, punched Andrea square in the stomach, doubling her over. Before Steve realized it, the girl had grabbed Andrea by the hair and was dragging her off the stool. "Yeah, Peggy!" he heard, and began to get up, but felt Roy's hand on his arm. "Don't, man. Let it go, there's nothing you can do." Steve looked at the group as Peggy dragged Andrea by her hair to the back of the bar, where the group waited, laughing. He looked at Ron, and sat back down. He turned and watched as Peggy pulled Andrea up by her hair, and slapped her across the face. Andrea stood there, stunned, and then screamed as she lashed out, trying for the girls face, catching her shirt, and tearing it. They grabbed each other and fell to the floor, grappling, calling each other names and screeching as the crowd roared and laughed. Andrea's shirt ripped, exposing her bra, and Peggy got a few more slaps in. Finally Andrea got in a shot at Peggy, slapping her, and scraping her face with her nails. Peggy cursed, and grabbed Andrea, and threw her to the ground, face down on the bar floor, and sat on her. Steve watched his wife wriggling, trying to get up, when someone tossed a ping pong paddle from the table in the back to Peggy. Peggy turned around, facing Andrea's feet, and began paddling her ass, yelling, "You like that, bitch!? You like that, smartass?!" Over and over she spanked her with the paddle, loud smacking sounds filling the bar. Finally she stopped, handed the paddle to one of the guys, and stood up. Surprisingly, she reached down to help up Andrea, who was crying and shaking as she got to her feet. Steve saw her breasts heaving in her bra, shirt open. Peggy stood in front of her. "Well?" she asked, "have you learned your lesson?" Everyone waited as Andrea sobbed, and then took a deep breath. And then she slapped Peggy across the face, knocking her backwards, and the crowd exploded. The other three girls attacked her first, as the guys all cheered. They grabbed her hair, her arms, her torn shirt, and wrestled Andrea to her knees. Steve heard calls to "spank her again" and "the bitch needs a lesson" and then "spank her bare ass!" The last call made him sit up and worry, but as he looked over, there were too many people crowded around her. He wanted to go stop this; it wasn't right, but then, other than a little cat fight (that she had brought on herself, and that he had warned her against starting) what could possibly happen. As if sensing him looking, Nathan glanced in his direction from where he still sat, not joining in the group surrounding the girls. He got up and walked slowly to Steve, nodding to Roy for a beer. He climbed onto the stool Andrea had occupied, and took the beer from Roy, who put one in front of Steve, and opened one for himself. "Well, my man," he drawled slowly, after taking a long pull from the bottle, "I can't say I didn't try to warn you. And I know that you tried to put a stop to it with your lady, and I tried to keep my folks from over-reacting." He clinked Steve's bottle, and then Roy's. "But I gotta tell you, that lady of yours, she has an attitude on her, and a mouth to match. Pretty girl, for sure, but brother, she just insisted on driving those folks right up the wall." "What- uh, what are they going to do to her?" "Hard to say, my man. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Most folks come in here are from around here, and there's no issue. When we do get folks from other places, well, they're usually like you, fit right in, and again, no issue. We kinda like havin' em." He took another long pull, nearly finishing the bottle. "Occasionally, we get one who'll think who he is, but after some talk, they usually leave." He looked at Roy, then at Steve. "I guess we'll have to wait and see. I suppose it'll depend on your girl, though." "Wife." "Wife, then, allright. But she's had a few chances to end this, and hasn't stepped back, so we'll have to see how it turns out." He looked long at Steve. "Are you okay?" "I don't know, I- I feel like I should help her, do something." He heaved a sigh. "She just wouldn't listen to reason." "Well, don't do anything stupid, now, there's way too many of us, eh, Roy?" "Got that right." He tipped his bottle at Nathan. "So just cool yourself off, and let's see how it goes. Mind, if you get too upset by something you see, well, you can just let Evelyn know," he motioned to the waitress, who was locking the door, "and she'll let you out, and you can come back later." He smiled wryly. "But hey, you never know. Maybe your wife will come to understand her situation and it'll be over soon." He stood, handed the empty bottle to Roy. "You keep an eye out for him, and his beers are on me for the rest of the night." Turning back to Steve, he said, "Just keep it cool, Steve. This'll all turn out okay." And he went back to the crowd. The ruckus behind him was suddenly pierced by Andrea's voice, shrieking a string of expletives at the top of her lungs, followed by slapping noises, and a another woman yelling "Shut that bitch up!" He turned to see the crowd part slightly, and saw his wife, held down on her hands and knees, with her pants pulled down, and hands and the paddle raining down on her panty covered butt. Steve winced. He saw the waitress approaching the group, hand something to one of the young men, and step away. He watched the young man pull a strip from a roll of duct tape, and wrap it around Andrea's head, muffling her cries. There was a cheer, and then all he could hear was the crowd, hooting and jeering. They pulled Andrea up then, and dragged her to a chair, several of the men holding her arms and legs still. The women pulled her shirt off, and her pants, leaving her in her panties and bra. The men began duct taping her arms to the chair, then her legs. Her face was angry, but still glared with defiance at the group surrounding her. A young man shook a bottle of beer, and aimed the exploding foam at her face, making her choke and getting in her eyes. As she was blinking it away, a knife appeared, and Steve panicked, but they used it to cut away her bra, exposing her breasts. The anger on her face returned as she was exposed. Steve found himself admitting that, even like this, her breasts were fabulous; not too large, but full, and round, with a little sag. He noticed her nipples taking shape, and assumed it was from the sudden exposure. As he watched, her eyes changed from anger to fear momentarily, as they cut away her panties, pulling them from beneath her, exposing her full, hairy bush. The girl named Peggy took the scraps of Andrea's panties and told them to pull the duct tape off. The gray strip was removed, looking painful, and Andrea gasped as her mouth was freed, She immediately began cursing the other woman, and the rest of the crowd. "You fucks, let me the fuck up! I'll fucking kill you, you fucking scumbags!" Beer sprayed into her face, to the amusement of the crowd, and Peggy grabbed Andrea's face. "Hey!" she shouted at her. "Listen up, sweetie pie!" She shook her face, her fingers pressing into her cheeks. "You belong to us until you learn your lesson! Now I can stop this, or we can show you who's in charge, understand?" The crowd calmed a minute, waiting for the answer. Peggy eased her grip on Andrea's face, Andrea's eyes trying to burn holes through her attacker. She let go, and asked, "Well? What will it be?" Andrea glared, shaking, and then spit at her. "Fuck!" Peggy barked, then added, "Fine, we'll do it the hard way. Duct tape!" As someone peeled a strip of tape, Peggy stuffed the panties into Andrea's mouth, and they taped it over, muffling her reaction. She wriggled in the chair, but the duct tape held tight. More beer was sprayed on her, then poured over her head, covering her body. "Punish that bitch!" and "teach her a lesson" and "Show her! Make her learn!" was shouted by the crowd. One of the young girls spoke to some of the men, then took a beer bottle and shook it as the men pulled Andrea's legs apart. The girl knelt between them as Andrea's eyes turned horrified, and shoved the spewing bottle between her legs. Steve saw the neck disappear inside her. He glanced behind him, saw Roy hovering near, watching him, not the spectacle. He turned back. "Let's really punish her, she's earned it!" someone yelled, a male voice, and grabbed her nipples, twisting them roughly. Andrea's eyes changed from anger to fear, to pain in an instant. Everyone howled, and then he slapped her tits, roughly. Another person took a turn, twisting and pulling her nipples, making them swell, then slapping her face, And then everyone was slapping her face and tits, and pinching and twisting her nipples. Soon her tits and face were red and swollen, and snot was dripping from her nose, tears running down her face. Her shoulders slumped. They had abused the fight out of her. Someone lifted her head up by the hair, and poured a drink in her face. She sputtered and gagged as it went into her nose, and Peggy stepped up and pulled the duct tape off her mouth harshly. "Had enough?" she asked. Andrea gasped for air, spitting out the panties, and heaved a few deep breaths. She looked up at her tormenter. "Go fuck yourself! Shove it up your ass!" "Fine, you stupid bitch, have it your way. Boys," she said to the group, "Get her on the table." The guys surrounded her, and Steve lost sight of his wife, hearing tape being pulled off, then saw her dragged to a nearby table, naked and covered in beer. The bottle fell out of her pussy as they dragged her and bent her, face down over the table, her ass at the edge, and they duct taped her legs to the legs of the table. As the crowd moved he saw her hairy Italian ass and pussy exposed to him. Two men were holding her arms down, and they stuffed the panties back into her mouth, and taped it again. They started passing the paddle around, everyone taking a few shots at her bare ass cheeks and he backs of her thighs. Steve could hear her muffled cries, but could no longer see her face. But he was mesmerized by the spanking, watching the flesh on her cheeks and thighs turn red, jiggling with each strike. She was enduring quite a beating, and he didn't know how she could keep fighting. Peggy went to the other end of the table and leaned down, saying something he couldn't hear, but then Andrea let out a muffled wail, sobbing behind her gag. Peggy stood up, and nodded to one of the men, who approached Andrea from behind, between her legs. The crowd muttered, growing louder in crescendo, until he stepped away to expose a beer bottle stuffed inside her ass. Holy shit, Steve thought, she's never had anything in her ass!. As horrified as he was for the suffering and humiliation she was enduring, he was unable to tear his eyes away from the bottle jutting from his wife's tight rear hole. The crowd cheered, drowning out the plaintive wail Andrea was emitting through the tape. Someone pulled the bottle out, and her ass sprayed beer foam out, much to everyone's amusement. "She can't hold her beer!" someone joked, and they all laughed, and repeated the process several more times. Again and again they penetrated her ass with the shaken beer bottle and pulled it out, watching it spray, until her ass stayed open, the foam just pouring out down her legs every time the bottle was removed. Then one of the guys didn't shake it, just shoved a full one into her, and upended it, allowing the bottle to empty into her ass. They held a pitcher under her, and caught the beer that flowed from her ass, repeating that a few times. One of the guys suggested they fuck her, and he heard someone comment that she was too hairy to fuck. Steve knew her Italian heritage, and knew she didn't trim, and had hair that went all the way from her navel to her ass crack. But too hairy? Someone yelled "Breakfast Club!" and everyone hooted again, and then the duct tape was there, and they taped a strip on her ass cheek, right near the crack, and yanked it off, removing a good portion of her ass hair. The girls took over then, applying and removing tape until her ass was free of hair, and then they started on her pussy. Andrea squealed into her gag every time they pulled it back. He saw discarded pieces of tape littering the floor, covered in her coarse dark pubes. They were between her spread thighs now, roughly pulling hair from her open pussy, tearing it out with the duct tape, laughing at her predicament, calling her a hairy stuck-up bitch. When they finished as far as they could reach, they stepped back, exposing her mostly hairless cunt and ass. Actually, he'd wanted her to shave for the longest time, and her pussy looked sexy and hot. But he brushed those thoughts aside, feeling ashamed of thinking of her that way in her time of need. He glanced at Roy, who still lurked close by. "It looks much better," Roy said, cleaning a glass. Steve turned back. They had cut her legs loose and turned her over, laying her on her back, her pussy at the edge, and her head hanging over the other side, limply. The girls started on her full bush, making rude comments like "hairy pig". Peggy went to the other end of the table and removed the gag. No longer screaming, Andrea seemed exhausted by her ordeal, and Peggy hushed the crowd. "Last chance honey," she said as Andrea spit the saliva-soaked panties from her mouth. "Are you ready to quit?" Andrea gasped a few deep breaths, sputtering through her snot and tears. "Go ... fuck ... yourself!" she managed. "Kiss ... my fucking ... ass!" she hissed. "Fine, have it your way." She took the pitcher of beer they had collected from her ass invasion, and began pouring in onto her face, watching her sputter and gasp. Then she grabbed her nose, forcing her mouth open, and poured the ass beer into her mouth, and released her nose, forcing her to drink it. She kept it up until the pitcher was empty, and everyone cheered. A tall girl in a skirt came around the table in a huff. "Kiss your ass? You fucking uppity bitch!" She reached up under her skirt and pulled her panties off, then, standing backward at Andrea's head, straddled her, and lifting her skirt, spread her ass cheeks. "Kiss my fucking ass, bitch!" She pressed her ass down on Andrea's face, muffling her screams as the crowd howled at her. Another beer was stuffed into her pussy, deeper this time, and Steve saw the neck disappear, and then the fat part of the bottle begin to stretch her open. He heard a muffled cry from between the tall girl's ass cheeks. The girl got off, laughing, and then two of the guys used the duct tape to tape Andrea's big tits together, making them jut obscenely from her chest, her swollen nipples pointing straight out, nearly together. She moaned and cried, and someone complained, "can you stop all that noise?" At her head, a guy had removed his pants, and his semi-hard cock dangled at her face, said he'd keep her quiet, and stuffed his cock into her open mouth. He pushed all the way in, and everyone laughed at the choking and sputtering sounds she made. He began fucking her face, his cock fully hard now, pushing it past her tonsils, into her throat. Drool spilled from the side of her mouth. Steve saw another guy approach her head, his cock out of his pants, jerking his cock, and then exploded his cum across her face, in her eyes, and nose, covering her pretty face. He thought of all the times he'd dreamed of blowing his load into her mouth, or on her face, and now there she was, eye makeup running in dark streaks, snot bubbling from her nostrils, and cum striping her face as the guy in her mouth let out a bellow, and pulled his cock to the edge of her mouth. It hung open lifelessly as he shot his entire load into her, splashing it on her lips, spilling over the sides. Now he saw other guys taking their pants down, and he knew that they were going to start fucking her hairless, swollen pussy. He knew he couldn't watch. He looked around, saw the waitress, and signaled her to open the door and let him out. "Too bad for your girl," she said, unlocking the door. "She really started something she couldn't finish." Steve glanced over, saw another guy in his wife's mouth, and a big hulking guy between her legs. One of the girls spit in Andrea's face. He shook his head, a little ashamed that there was nothing he could do for her. He said he'd be back in a little while, had to clear his head. She told him to tap on the window when her returned, and locked the door behind him. Steve stood outside the door and took a couple of deep breaths in the cooler night air. He could hear muffled cries and shouts from inside, and stalked to the parking lot for the car. When he got in, he just sat, gripping the wheel for a few minutes. Maybe she'd learn from this, he thought. I warned her, over and over. Why didn't she just listen to me, he thought. As much as he wanted to help her, he knew there was nothing he could do. He started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot. He drove aimlessly up the road, then pulled into a diner. As he waited for his food, he tried not to imaging his wife getting fucked by all those guys. As he ate, he fought away mental images of her sucking cocks, swallowing cum, getting her pussy filled with cum. Paying for his meal, he remembered the guy shoving his cock down her throat, and the beer bottle in her ass. Images flooded his brain as he made his way back. He pulled into the parking lot, wondering if she had finally given in, and if they were finished punishing her. He screwed up his courage and went to the door, and tapped on the window, until he heard the door unlocking. It was the waitress. "Good, you're just in time, I think they're almost done." He stood in the doorway, looked past her, and froze. Andrea was being held up by two men who held her legs up and apart, sitting with her back to a man sitting on a chair. His cock was inside her ass, and a beer bottle was shoved backwards in her pussy, the neck sticking out, cum splattered all around her hairless hole, red and raw and swollen. She was moaning, and he barely heard her muttering, "no more, please, no more, I give up," delirious as her head lolled to the side. He watched the cock pump into her, then hold still, and cum squirted out around her formerly virgin anal ring as the guy pumped her ass full of his cream. He shuddered at the mess she was. Her face was covered in cum and spit and snot. Her tits were raw and red where they had removed the tape. Angry welts covered the backs of her thighs, and then the guys holding her up released her legs, and she slipped lifelessly to the floor in a naked heap. Nearby, the skirt girl was getting fucked doggie style, after the guy came, she moved to Andrea's prone body and sat on her face. She told Andrea to lick it out, and he watched in fascination as his wife dutifully did as she was told, without resistance or objection. "Do a good job," the girl said, "get it all," and Andrea obeyed, lifting her hands to the girls ass, spreading her cheeks, and sucking the cum from her pussy. "That's a good girl, suck it all out, that's right," and the crowd, now relaxing and sitting around, murmured their approval. Shut That Bitch Up! When the girl got up, she helped Andrea stand on shaky legs. "What are you, sweetie?" the girl asked Andrea. "Tell me. Tell us what you learned." His wife kept her head down and answered, "I'm a stupid selfish cunt who can't keep her mouth shut." There was a smattering of low cheers. "And what did you learn today." "I learned to do what I'm told. I learned my lesson." "That's right. Good girl." Steve looked at the waitress. "Could you bring her out?" he asked. "I'll pull the car up in front." "Okay, sure." Steve turned and went to the car, and pulled up in front of the bar, passenger side door at the curb. As he stopped, the bar door opened, and Andrea came out. She was naked, the same abused, broken mess that she was inside as she answered Peggy's questions. He watched her stumble and stagger the few short steps to the car, and reach for the handle. Her face became a puzzled mask behind the glaze of fluids when the door didn't open. "Steve," he heard through the glass, "Steve, honey, please let me in." Steve looked at her, remembered he defiance, her belligerent attitude, her unwillingness to compromise, to give an inch, to insist on her way. He recalled her answers to Peggy. He cracked the window just a few inches. "I don't think so, Andrea." "Steve, please, I'm naked, and I'm sore all over, and wet, I – I think I peed myself, oh, God, honey, please let me in, please," she begged, her fingers hooked at the top of the window, and her nose tried to squeeze inside. Cum dripped from it. He looked at her now, naked, beaten, fucked in all her holes, almost unable to stand. Her face was swollen and red, glazed in spit and cum. He could smell her through the cracked window, reeking of sex. She trembled, shivering, naked and wet and weak. No longer the high and mighty Andrea, the Italian Princess, flexing her will. He imagined not letting her in the car before tonight, and the suffering she'd put him through for his love for such an immature joke. "Do you love me, Andrea?" "Honey, you know I do," she pleaded, "please baby, I love you, please let me in the car, please, I – I'm naked and I don't think I can stand, please." Her begging was soft, urgent, not the harsh sharp edged tone he was accustomed to. It didn't hurt to hear her voice now; he didn't cringe. It soothed his ears. "Say it for me, Andrea." "I said it, I love you, please-" "No. Say it. Tell me what you are." She froze in mid-sentence, and her head went down. "I'm a stupid, selfish cunt who can't keep her mouth shut." She waited, obedient and subdued. "And what did you learn tonight." "I learned my lesson, to do what I'm told." Steve tried not to feel victorious, but the power of the moment was too much. "Will you obey me from now on?" "Yes, Steve." "You'll do what I say?" "Whatever you say, just say it and I'll do it, just please, let me in." "Anything I say?" He saw movement in the rear-view mirror, and glanced to see a young man walking up the street towards them. "Anything, anything you say." "If you ever disobey me, ever forget that you are a stupid selfish cunt, I will bring you back here. You understand?" "I do, honey, please, I understand. Oh, my God, someone's coming, please, Steve, let me in." "You'll do what I say, without question?" "Completely, I swear, I'll do it willingly, whatever you ask, please." "You see that man coming up the sidewalk?" "Yes, please let me -" "I want you to tell him what you are, and what you learned tonight, and then I want you to suck his cock and let him cum in your mouth." She stared at him. "Don't swallow it. Hold it in your mouth until you get in the car, and show it to me, show me you've done a good job." He glanced in the mirror; the guy was about thirty feet away. "Go, now, do a good job." "Yes. Okay, I will," she said with defeat, and her fingers slipped from the window. He watched her turn, and walk to the center of the sidewalk, blocking the man's path. He pulled the window down halfway. The guy was walking with his head down, but stopped as he almost walked into her. His eyes came up, and opened wide to see his ragged, used and naked wife standing there. "I am a stupid, selfish cunt who can't keep her mouth shut, and tonight I've learned my lesson," she told him. Steve thought she sounded almost proud. "I'd like to suck your cock, and have you cum in my mouth." She dropped to her knees on the sidewalk, and began undoing the man's pants, pulling out his soft cock, and sucking it into her mouth. He watched her work the guys shaft, making him hard, sucking him enthusiastically, and begin taking him, full lengths, into her mouth, holding the base of his cock with one hand, bracing herself with her other hand on his leg. Her head bobbed up and down on him. He could see the wet pole sliding in and out of her mouth, her lips wrapped tightly on his veined shaft. He grabbed her head after a few minutes, and groaned, and she wrapped her lips tightly around him as he unloaded his balls into her obedient mouth. She got up, and Steve clicked the door open, and started the car. Andrea got in, sat in the passenger seat, and pulled the door closed. "Let me see," he said, and she turned to him, craning her neck so as not to spill, and opened her mouth. Her tongue was wriggling in a pool of white slimy cream, coating her mouth and her perfect white teeth. It was a huge load, and she held it for his inspection. "Good girl," he told her, "now swallow it." She closed her mouth and swallowed, twice, struggling to get it all down. "Very good." He pulled away from the curb, and she slid down into her seat, and cried herself to sleep. When they got to the hotel he left her in the car and selected a short robe from her clothes and brought it out to the car. He waoke her, slipped the robe on, and walked her on unsteady legs to their room, getting some unusual looks from the people they passed in the lobby. She hung onto his arm, murmuring sweetly, "I love, you, I promise I'll be good, I promise, I love you, baby." Yes, he thought to himself, yes you will.