Tommy's Revenge (Part 1 of 3)

Tommy Pistol's life looks perfect from the street. Beautiful wife. Nice house. But the real story is a bad joke. Casey Calvert treats him like a wallet and a doormat. She buys, she spends, she keeps him broke. In his head he gets even. Tonight she's strapped to the wooden cross they put in the living room. Her arms stretch wide, legs spread. Tommy stands in front of her and lays into her. Calls her a selfish bitch, a gold-digging whore. Every time he says it he smacks her tits. He yanks her bra apart, slaps bare flesh until it reddens. Then he grabs her face, kisses her hard, teeth and tongue, and tells her tonight belongs to him. He steps back, picks up the heavy flogger. Swings it across her tits, her stomach, the leather cracking each time. She flinches, breathes sharp. He drops the flogger, shoves two fingers inside her, works them deep, pulls them out wet. Then he swings the flogger between her legs, lashes her cunt until the sting turns to burn. She starts to apologize. Says she's sorry. Tommy doesn't want sorry. He picks up the riding crop, lays sharp cuts across her nipples, then lower, right on her clit. She gasps and jerks in the restraints. He keeps swinging. He smiles. This is his revenge, and it tastes just right.