Never Beat A Soldier!

Adrienne had been fairly satisfied about her marriage to Giacomo Navarocci, a traveling businessman, whose company seemed to take him away from their Cayman Islands house a lot. She didn't mind, because she used him for his apparently large salary and expense account, as she was in the Caymans dodging taxes, and could not access her ex's alimony checks.

She really cared little or nothing about Giacomo, a small, lean, spectacled Italian, who patiently endured her slapping, punching, and kicking of him on a regular basis. She even kicked him in the crotch a few times, then told him that his cock would be useless for a few hours because of the kicking it just took, so she would have to substitute another man's for it! She never knew if he was screwing around too, but this way allowed her to have all of the fun for at least a few hours a week. 

She didn't care about the fairness of her de facto double standard; she didn't have any ethics at all. In fact, her ex, a Frenchman, named Rene, had quite correctly, but unsuccessfully, characterized her as a "sociopath".

Unfortunately for Adrienne, however, there was more to Giacomo than what met the proverbial eye. He was not a wimp, just a streetwise Italian thug, who had graduated from the mean streets and poverty of Naples to the mercenary ranks of several African, Asian, and South american armies. His was not a "sales" company at all in the normal sense, but rather a private military company, which contracted its expert soldiers at high rates for their professional services. 

Giacomo could easily have broken Adrienne in half, like her French fellow citizen Rene would have liked to do, but he refrained, not from chivalry, but to lull her into a false sense of security.

Now, however, after his first trip abroad since the wedding, he did not show up on schedule- he was simply nowhere to be found! Adrienne was livid- she had warned him to be on time, or "face the consequences, batard (French for "bastard")!"

She waited up for several hours, thinking that he would show up, probably drunk, and then she kick the living shit out of his puny ass!

12 hours passed, and still no Giacomo arrived. His flight wasn't delayed, so where was he? She finally was fed up, and went looking for her vanished husband. This lasted for several more hours, and she was sleepy, so she went home, still alone. She had barely gotten under the covers, when suddenly the doorbell rang. Assuming that it was Giacomo, Adrienne rushed to the door, ready to give him a piece of her sadistic mind. Instead, there stood Monsignor Pietro Navarocci, Giacomo's cousin and a priest, who had officiated at her wedding to him.

"Signora Navarocci, you must accompany me, please." He was not making a request; she noted that with some umbrage. Those damned Italians, she thought. The nerve of them, giving me orders!

"Have you seen Giacomo?"

"I said, you must accompany me."

"But have you seen him?"

"Follow me, now!", he barked, and the forcefulness of his voice caught her off guard. She found herself, despite her own better judgement, following, even shivering at the chills his new tone gave her.

He led her to a hotel, not far from the house, where he sat down on a bed, and then gestured for her to do the same. Just then, the door opened again, and in came none other than Giacomo! Then, to her shock, Adrienne noticed that he looked different. The spectacles were gone, the business suit replaced by army fatigues (what army, she wondered), and he stood in his full, muscular shape. She had not really considered his physique, because she usually fucked him only when she was horny or drunk, or both, and then only at night.

She realized that her husband was physically much tougher than she had believed, despite his age, bald head, short stature, and small build. What's more, he was looking at her rather sternly, and she knew that, for once, she was the one in trouble! That thought really unnerved her, because she had no idea what kind of retaliation he was planning.

"Adrienne, for the past few months, I have been waiting, watching your rather despicable behavior, and profiling your psychological makeup in my mind. I knew that you were scum when I married you, but just how bad you were, well, I was determined to find out, and I did.
You thought that by witholding sex until we wed, you'd control me, but I got the last laugh, because I fucked all of your female friends, without exception, that's right, and I selected your sex partners, not you! They were all a set up. It was a trap- the whole marriage was a trap, and you, despite your ruthlessness, fell into it.

You see, my wife, I am a professional soldier of fortune- a mercenary. I have friends and colleagues in my line of work, and they include all of your so-called girlfriends, all of whom secretly despise you, by the way. I picked those, too, to further encourage you to reveal your character. They knew exactly whom to "befriend", as I, one of their lovers, had directed them. The women are all ex-military types- you may have noticed their Amazonian figures. They are also bisexual. Everything that you have assumed about the people hhere is false. We know your type, running away from your government, just to avoid paying taxes- shame on you! I know that you're spoiled rotten, as most heiresses are. Well, get used to your new life! 

My cousin, Pietro here, and I, take your hypocrisy and disrespect for me very seriously, and we're sure that the French government is very interested in locking you up for a long time, due to your tax evasion. In short, here is our proposal; you will remain my wife, of course, but that hardly matters, because you will really be my slave for life, servicing me, sharing me, and pleasuring my friends as well.
You will be punished for your infractions, and I will reserve the right to whip you when I feel like it, both to chastise you for your future transgressions, and for your past abuse of me. I will make you my whore, and you will earn some extra cash for me, enabling me to retire soon.

Agree to this, and you will get to stay here in the Caymans; disagree, and the padre here contacts the French authorities, to begin taking action against you. So, what do you say?"