VICIOUS SISTERS 
by ithkoryn@yahoo.com
A husband learns his wife's loyalties lie elsewhere.   


I.

About a year into my quiet, comfortable marriage, my wife told me that she was
going to have lunch with her older sister.

"Really, Lily? The sister you haven't spoken with in a decade?"

My wife, Lily, was youthful, slender, and dazzlingly beautiful. She had
piercing blue eyes and jet black hair which she wore long and straight,
sometimes bound in a ponytail. At twenty-seven, she was sixteen years younger
than me, and in many ways, more vivacious; I suspect she was comforted by
having an emotionally steady, financially dependable doctor for a husband, but
occasionally her youth was reflected in - how can I put it politely - dubious
judgment.

"Well, she's passing through town. She says she's sober now, and wants to make
things right. I'm going to give her a chance. I'm meeting her tomorrow."

"I have a bad feeling about it, sweetie," I admitted to her. "But I would
never question your intuitions. I just hope this doesn't bring up too many
unpleasant memories."

Their estrangement was something of a mystery to me. I knew that her sister
had a drug and/or alcohol problem, and I knew that there was some particularly
awful offence that had forced my wife to conclude that no contact at all was
possible with her sibling. She had cut her off completely, with no exceptions,
for almost ten years.

The next day she told me she was very pleased with the meeting, and told me
they had plans to meet again soon. I thought it might be a good time to
satisfy my curiosity.

"What was it that originally alienated you from her?"

Lily sighed. "Well," she said, "I'm not sure if I told you this, but remember
the guy I was engaged to before, right out of high school?"

"What was his name, Tom, or something?" I tried to sound only half-interested.

"Right, Tommy. Well, my sister didn't approve of him, and he knew it. They
hated each other. When Jill and I were still living together, she'd make a
point of being there, in the house, whenever he was coming over. And she'd
harass him. It was just good-natured teasing at first, but he wasn't going to
be pestered like that, so he teased her back. Eventually it escalated, and
they became bitter enemies, with me stuck in the middle. I hated it. But
anyway, one night it came to blows."

"Blows?" I was amazed. "You mean, the two of them fought each other?"

"Yeah. And she beat the crap out of him."

"Seriously?"

She nodded. "He had to spend a week in the hospital, and had multiple broken
bones. And, what's worse, she basically made it so that he could never have
kids."

"Holy Christ," I muttered.

"And that ended our relationship. He didn't feel safe with me, and you know .
. . I felt like he wasn't a man anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"The surgery didn't restore him. He was a eunuch. And at that point in my
life, I really wanted a man, and perhaps kids."

"Couldn't you adopt, or use a sperm donor?"

"Well, sure, but he also lost his ability to get a worthwhile erection, you
know? Maybe it was because he could never feel comfortable with me again, but
I need a man in bed, you know? Well," she winked "I think you do know. And he
just couldn't cut it. And I found his injury too off-putting, too ugly, so we
just weren't compatible anymore."

"That's horrible for him."

"Yeah, and for me, too. I really enjoyed him. He was a huge stud before the
incident; he could cum three times in one night, and I really planned to marry
him. I lost the greatest man I knew."

That evening, Lily and I made love. While we were in missionary position, I
asked her, "Do you miss Tommy?"

"Hm?"

"You said he was a real stud."

"He was great."

"Do you still miss him?"

"You mean do you measure up to him?"

"Yeah," I thrust into her hard, as deep as I could.

"Oh, hon. You've got a small cock." She reached down and cupped my balls in
her hand. "You have big balls, but your cock is an appetizer. Tommy was hung
like a horse, and had limitless libido. You don't have his youthful vigor."

I looked away from her, and felt dispirited. I tried to fuck her to climax,
but my desire evaporated, and my penis liquified, and fell out of her vagina.

"Oh, Jesus. You're not going limp on me, are you?" My wife already knew the
answer. She caught the tip of my deflating penis in her fingers, and with her
nails pressing into it, yanked my cock towards her several times. It neither
stiffened nor tightened, so she dropped it.

Using the same hand, she then pushed my left leg towards the wall, spreading
my legs, then maneuvered herself above me. "Come on, balls," she demanded,
then gently but firmly drove her knee into my groin. With a low grunt I jolted
forward. She didn't mean it to be a punishing blow, but it certainly woke me
up.

"Lily, Jesus, don't hurt my testicles," I whispered, my protective hands
falling over my groin.

"I'm not satisfied, hon," my wife explained. "I can't live like this."

"That doesn't mean you can hurt me."

"It'll get you aroused. Look," my wife pulled my hands away, and grabbed my
cock. It appeared she had a point; my cock was stiffer than before.

"You just need additional incentive." And with that, she repeated her brutish
seduction technique: Positioning her knee inches from my genitals, looking
down at me eye-to-eye, my wife slammed her knee into my balls dead-on, and
more forcefully this time. I yelped like a swatted puppy, contorted, and
gasped for air. My wife pinned my arms down, and finding my cock adequately
solid now, she laughed mirthfully, then mounted me.

"Guess I need to remind you how to be a man," my wife observed, fucking me.

II.

After that Lily was often very forward in asserting her libido.

One evening Lily walked up behind me while I was brushing my teeth at the
bathroom mirror. I was wearing tight white briefs which showed the outline of
my low-hanging balls and the little button of my flaccid cock. Thrusting her
pubic mound against my ass, she reached around, plunged her hands under the
elastic band of my underwear, and grabbed my testes. She jerked them around
roughly, hurting me.

"Ow! Damn it, Lily, that hurts!"

She let go completely, and took a step back. I could see her reflection behind
me in the mirror; she looked disgusted and offended.

"Wells, excuse me, Stan. I thought you were a loving husband." I turned to
face her, hoping to defend myself, but before I could utter another word she
swung the top of her foot hard into my testicles. I cried out pitiably,
collapsing onto my hands and knees. I was stunned. Then, to my horror, Lily
stepped up behind me and, with my ass exposed to her, kicked me again from
behind. Her foot seemed perfectly shaped to fit right between my legs, and the
contact was brutal. I flattened on the floor, yowling tearfully, clutching my
balls and rolling back and forth. My wife look down contemptuously at the
ruined heap I had become.

When my tears had subsided, she said, "Stan, if you can't be a man, I'll find
one somewhere else. Now get off the ground and come fuck me, or I'll head to
the nearest bar and pick up someone with a little manhood left."

III.

These episodes of abuse occurred while my wife and her once-estranged sister
had begun hanging out regularly, and growing emotionally closer. Lily
eventually told me she wanted me to hire her wayward sister as a receptionist,
or a general-purpose assistant, at my medical office. I resisted this; her
sister had a reputation for being unreliable, even somewhat lawless, and of
the three times I met her, she had been drunk each time.

"You're going to hire her, hon." My wife's tone was utterly serious, and given
recent events, I was not ready to oppose her. I hired her sister, Jill,
reluctantly, without even glancing at a resume. I knew this would this would
mean trouble; I was just wasn't sure how much.

Unfortunately, my fears about her sister were confirmed as events unfolded.
She had no skills I could utilize in my practice, but was also extremely
arrogant and patronizing. She had educational credentials, but only in the
humanities. Moreover, she was overty sexual - I dare not say "sluttish" - and
seemed to have no concept of professional attire. She'd wear tops that would
expose her cleavage, slightly showy make-up, and short, loud skirts that would
display her thighs. She often wore stockings and bras that seemed right out of
a Victoria Secret catalog. She was pretty - not as slender as my wife - but
far too assertive to be pleasing company.

One day I stepped into the lunchroom where she sat alone, sipping coffee and
reading a magazine for what seemed like a three-hour lunch break.

"My sister tells me you have really big balls," she said. I was shocked - not
just that she say something like this, but I also could not believe my wife
would divulge things like that to her. I didn't know how to respond; I stood
speechless.

"I'll believe it when I see it," she said, staring at my crotch.

"Well, you'll never see it," I said. "It's none of your business."

"Okay, Dr. Eunuch. Suit yourself."

The next day I encountered her alone in the lunch room again. I hesitated when
I saw her, slightly afraid to enter, but since she had already noticed me I
could not retreat.

"How's it hanging, bro?"

I sighed.

"Hi, Jill."

"I have a medical question for you. If a guy has big balls, does that mean
he's going to be more manly than a guy with little ones?"

"It's not quite that simple."

"Because, don't take this personally, you just don't seem that manly to me.
But Lily tells me you have quite a pair down there. So I'm trying to sort out
the Riddle of Stanley. You've got massive walnuts, but you can't satisfy your
woman worth a damn. She practically has to rape you when she wants you to
satisfy her."

I reddened with shame.

"Jill, look, I don't know what your goddam problem is. But if you don't stop
this juvenile taunting, I am going to fire you."

She looked me right in the eye.

"I don't think you are, Stan. I don't think you dare. My sister is the one who
made you hire me, and if you tried to let me go, she would kick the shit out
of you. Don't you agree, brother-in-law?"

With that, she rose to her feet, moved to within inches of my face, smiled,
then turn and walked out. As she did so, her hand brushed - as if by accident,
but I'm sure it wasn't - against my groin.

"Didn't feel much down there," she said in a sing-song voice as she stepped
into the hall. Another employee of mine, who happened to be walking past,
looked at us both, trying to figure out what she meant. I turned away,
petrified.

IV.

"Are you giving my little sister a hard time at work?" My wife asked me that
night.

"Lily, look, how I run my office is no one's business but my own. But since
you're my wife, I'll answer the question. No, I'm not."

"You swear to me?

"Yes."

"Stan, if you are treating my sister badly, so help me, I will castrate you. I
will strip the last trace of your dwindling manhood and leave you a hapless,
babbling eunuch."

"Lily, for God's sake, please don't talk to me like that."

My wife stepped up to me, looked me dead in the eye, and grabbed my crotch. "I
mean it," she said coldly. "I'll cut them off." She emphasized her point with
a quick, abrupt squeeze that made me yelp and brought me to the verge of
tears.

That night, while I drifted at the threshold of sleep, my wife nudged me.
"Stan, I want to have sex."

"Oh, honey, I'm really tired."

I felt my wife's hand move between my legs and tug on my limp penis.

"I'll say you're tired. You're barely two inches long. I've seen miniature
poodles with more manhood."

I didn't have anything to say in response. She moved her hand to my loose,
warm scrotum, put all of the fingertips of her right hand around my left
testicle, and began gently squeezing it, and moving it around.

"You gonna get hard, or do I have to get rough with you?"

She shifted her position so that she could take my other ball in her other
hand. She held both of my balls now, and pulled them towards her and away from
each other. Already my sense of vulnerability was profound, but then she
increased the pressure on my balls until I involuntarily whimpered.

"What was that, Stan? Did you say you want to please me now? You're ready to
give it a good shot?"

She gave my balls a fierce squeeze and tug, sending a jolt of pain through my
body. I cried out involuntarily. "Oh! No, please, honey, please not so rough.
Oh, god...."

But she ignored my request, and continued squeezing my testicles. I felt tears
pool up in my eyes. I began gasping and whimpering.

"Look at this, honey, your cock is waking up! Mm, I can't miss this rare
opportunity."

She was right; despite my pain and my fear that my wife was going to really
damage me, I had grown stiff. With that, my wife mounted me, fully engulfing
her cock with room in her vagina to spare.

"...and the old man rises from the grave," my wife taunted me.

V.

It seemed like my wife had decided she could sexually abuse me at will, solely
for her own pleasure. She was humiliating me and emasculating me on a regular
basis. But the worst, I'm afraid, was yet to come.

"I'm letting my sister move in with us for a while," Lily told me one evening
while we were eating dinner.

"No. Absolutely not. I don't get along with her."

"You have to learn to get along with her. She's family."

"No. I will not let her. It's my house, and I refuse."

My wife glared at me. She rose to her feet, leaned over the table, then
slapped me across the face. I was stunned; stars glimmered at the periphery of
my vision, and the side of my face ached. I could not believe how hard she had
slapped me. I could not bring myself to look her in the eye, but just stated
at my plate, my vision trembling with forming tears.

"It's not your fucking house, bitch. It's our house, and my sister is moving
in. Our sister, Stan. If you don't like it, you can dig a hole in the fucking
back yard, or move into a homeless shelter. She's my sister, I love her, and
she's moving in with us."

I continued avoiding her gaze. To my horror, she slapped me again - this time
harder. I began crying.

"Oh, you fucking eunuch," my wife said. She began walking around the table
toward me. "Come here, let me fuck you up the ass with my goddam wine bottle."

"Okay, okay, let her move in," I burst out, fleeing from the table. I locked
myself in the bathroom, and did not come out until, fifteen minutes later, I
heard my wife leave through the front door.

And that night, my wife's evil, corrupting sister moved in with us.

VI.

I did what I could to avoid my sister-in-law, but she simply did not exercise
the same discretion. In fact, much of what she did seemed calculated to taunt
me, or undermine my sense of security. For example: Jill would leave work and
go home before me, and I'd often come home to find her eating fine dinners
with my wife. Either there'd be no place setting for me, or - on occasion -
there would be a place setting for me, but Jill would have deposited bones,
wrappers or stems on my plate. Moreover, Jill took over my seat at the end of
the table.

Finally, one night I discovered that my sister-in-law was trying to take my
place in my wife's intimate life. I came home from work late, and heard my
wife and my sister watching a movie together in the maser bedroom. Rather than
interrupt them, I retrieved a spare blanket from a closet, undressed, and
began sleeping on the downstairs couch. Then, in the middle of the night, I
heard a strange, disturbing sound coming from my bedroom. I tiptoed up the
stairs in horrified disbelief.

The door to the master bedroom was wide open. Jill was lying on top of my
wife, fucking her missionary-style with a huge - and I mean huge - strap-on
dildo. The thing must have been ten inches long, and - to my astonishment -
almost the entire length of it fit inside my wife's pussy. I could not believe
it; my cock couldn't reach half that depth - in fact, I didn't even know my
wife had such depth.. And my wife was crazed with pleasure; I had never seen
her like that, and at first I thought she must be high on drugs; she was
gasping, moaning wildly, arching her back, babbling in a frenzied amazement.
To tell you the truth I was a little scared by her weird behavior. And yet my
manly instincts took control, of which I admit I was somewhat proud.

"Get the fuck off my wife!" I bellowed with clenched fists.

Jill stopped thrusting into my wife and turned to look at me in the doorway,
standing in my tight white underwear but otherwise naked. Instead of pulling
out, she looked back down at her sister's firm, naked body, smiled
affectionately, then began plunging into her again. My wife gasped, looking up
at her sister, and moaned, "Oh, yes..."

"Wait a minute!" I commanded. "Lily, come on! It's time to make a decision: Do
you want me, or her?"

"Micro-cock takes a stand," Jill mocked me, impaling my wife's vulva with
masterful rhythmic force.

"Oh, Stan," my wife said, shaking her head and looking up at her dominant
sister. "She makes me so much happier than you do."

Jill turned to face me. "It's because I've got a cock, Stan. Look at this."
She pulled the huge plastic penis out of my wife's body, then aimed it toward
me.

"Suck it, Stan. C'mere, suck it." Gripping the cock - I noticed her fingers
weren't able to entirely circle the massive thing - she wagged it at me. "Suck
it! You've probably never tasted your wife's juices before."

"I ought to tear that thing off you and stuff it up your ass," I hissed.

That, it turns out, was a mistake. Jill bounded off the bed, her firm, lean
muscles rippling as she strode over to me. Standing with her nose barely five
inches from mine, Jill threw a fist at my face and it knocked me back against
the wall. Then she threw another, and I was dazed; my head swam, and my vision
blurred. Jill moved close to me, and her huge plastic cock jabbed into my
balls. Using her cock like a ram, she drove me against the wall, pinning me,
and then battered me with her fists. Her blows weren't meant to really disable
me - from her continuous laughter, I could tell she was just having fun
humiliating me.

"Come on, Stan, fight back. Be a man."

I began to taste blood in my mouth.

"Cunt!" I swore at her under my breath.

Then she really let me have it; stepping back, removing the tip of her huge
penis from my groin, she swung her fist into my crotch. I screamed, clutching
at myself, and dropped to my knees.

"Little bastard," she hissed, then punched my jaw. Hard. Tears flowed from my
eyes, and although she began to hit me repeatedly, I didn't dare cover my face
for fear of exposing my testicles to her. I remembered the story my wife told
me of how she castrated Tommy, my wife's favorite lover. I was determined to
not let that happen.

And as I wept, Jill grabbed my hair and forced me to look up at her. Then she
crammed her huge penis into my mouth. Impaling my face with her cock, she
shoved my head against the wall. She pulled out almost all the way, only to
thrust her cock into my face again. Over and over she fucked my mouth while my
tears spilled over her huge rubber penis.

And while she orally raped me, my wife walked up to us, and began strapping on
a dildo of her own. It seemed to match Jill's, right down to the artificial
texturing.

"Give me a turn, babe."

Jill smiled at my wife.

"Yeah?"

"I want him to know what a real man is like."

And with that, Jill pulled out of my face.

"Get on your hands and knees," my wife commanded me.

"Honey, no," I pleaded with her. My jaw was sore, and I felt like the rape had
loosened some of my teeth. My nose was dripping, my vision was blurred.

"Please don't do this to me, Lily. I'm you're husband." I rose to my feet
unsteadily, and looked her right in the eye, hoping she'd feel sorry for me;
hoping that my pathetic tears would evoke any loving memories she might still
have of me. And she met my gaze; leaning toward me, she smiled - and for a
moment I felt like I had evoked her sympathy - but then she shot her knee into
my balls. A high-pitched shriek escaped my throat and I began to fall forward.

"You've been no husband at all, Stan. I'm going to show you what a real man
feels like."

She pulled me forward, and I fell face-first on the floor.

"Here," Jill said, "We'll be nice to you, Stan. Here's some KY." Jill shoved
my legs apart and smeared my ass with the jelly. Then my wife attacked me. The
dildo did not fit. It was just too damn big - my anus was not wide enough. But
my wife did not care; my wife was determined to fuck me, and she wasn't going
to let my physical limitations slow her down a damn bit. I wailed and sobbed
as she plowed into me, ripping me open with her huge cock. "This is what a
real man's like, Stan. You feel this? You're not a man; you're a dickless,
no-ball little ass-twat." With each thrust, it felt like her penis was
hammering the bottom of my throat, knocking me breathless. I could not believe
how strong her hips were. She raped me for what seemed like an hour. At times
she used her hands to push my head against the carpet, and after a while she
lifted my ass up, and reached around to grab my balls. She squeezed my
testicles, jerked my scrotum in different directions, then began pulling it
down and making circles with it, all the while pounding my ass with a cock
more than twice as long, more than three times as thick as mine. I sobbed my
heart out. I was ruined.

"You're not a man," she repeatedly pointed out while she was annihilating me.
"Look what I'm doing to you, you little pussy."

After a while, to shut me up, Jill stood in front of me and began face-fucking
me again, while her sister, who had once been my loving wife, anal-raped me.
These two women, these two vicious sisters, tore me apart from both ends.

At a certain point they bored of reducing my manhood to dust, and pulled their
huge cocks out of me. I collapsed on the floor, clutching at my loins from a
fetal position, whimpering and heaving. While unstrapping her massive tool
from her pussy-area, my wife cursed, "We're not through with you," then rolled
me onto my back and pulled my legs apart. With a fierce, flawlessly-aimed
swing, she hammered my scrotum with her giant penis. I screeched, convulsing
in pain; her sister burst into approving laughter.

"Want to take a swing at my husband's balls?"

"Sure! Can you spread his legs?"

"Sure..."

And with that, they began taking turns beating my testicles with their huge
erect cocks, while I sobbed my poor heart out and struggled feebly to deflect
their blows.

VII.

I don't want to horrify you with a detailed account of how my relationship
with my wife, Lily, ended. I will simply summarize that I abandoned my home
later that evening. I fled in terror of my wife and her sister, and I never
set foot in my home again. My wife and I got a divorce, and she ended up
owning the house - and virtually everything else. I liquidated my medical
practice to pay her and her lawyers off. In the end I had nothing. The divorce
procedure took more than a year, and during a mediation, the mediator left the
room so that my wife and I could be alone together. I understand that the
mediator hoped being alone would somehow rekindle our fondness for each other.
Instead, my wife and I came to blows. She broke gave me two black eyes,
knocked out several of my teeth, bruised my ribs with her knees, and then,
while I was stunned almost unconscious, she stripped me naked then cut off one
of my testicles. A detailed account would appal you, and make me relive the
horror much too vividly.

I hope you men reading this will take caution: Younger women may appeal to you
as sex objects, as trophies. That's how Lily appealed to me. But in the end I
became her ticket to life-long comfort, and my manhood became her trophy.

The End