Only she and Walt knew what a treat was in store for them: one far more special than they had yet imagined.
When she got to the bar, the bartender said, “What’ll it be, miss? Another Coke to wash away the taste? Or maybe now you need something strong enough to wash away the memory? I recommend a few vodka shooters.”
She tried to speak, but her voice failed her. Then she tried again and succeeded in croaking, “Do you have any butter? I need a lot of butter.”
“Yeah. I got butter back in the kitchen. But you’ll have to pay for it. We don’t give nothing away for free around here.”
I’ll be giving something away for free pretty soon, she thought but didn’t give voice to it. Instead, she carefully placed the twenty dollars that Walt had paid her on the bar and said, “I need as much butter as that will buy.”
“That’ll buy enough for whatever you got in mind,” the bartender replied, looking down at her crotch, guessing what was in store for her. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He scooped up the bill.
True to his word, he returned with a large tub of soft margarine. “That’s half gone, but I imagine that what’s left in there should do you for the rest of the night.”
She carried the margarine back to the Men’s room, cradling it like it was the crown jewels. Walt was standing in the alcove right outside the door where he had been watching her, waiting to see if she made a break for the exit. When she walked back to him without even looking at the door to the street, he had to admit that she was being a hell of a trooper right to the end.
She carried the margarine inside. She didn’t have to let every man in the bar watch her butter up her own asshole. Walt had not mentioned that in his request. Though he probably would have if he had thought of it.
She let him watch her through the open door as she pulled off her thong, squatted down, scooped three fingers of margarine out of the tub, and rubbed it around the rim of her asshole. Then she pushed what was left inside. She continued scooping margarine out and pushing as much of it as far up her asshole as she could. Once the fucking started, she might not get a chance to do this again so it was important that she pack as much inside as possible now.
When she judged that she had forced in as much as would fit – when it seemed that as much was squeezing back out between her fingers as she was pushing in – she stood up and walked slowly out toward the bar. Her ass cheeks slid together and squelched with every step. As she was sliding past Walt, she looked up at him and asked, softly, “Why do you hate me so much? Was I that bad to you? Really?”
He grabbed her arm and looked down into her face. It was the first time that he had really looked at her in years. He looked past the garish makeup into her eyes, soft with fear and sadness. He saw the face of the girl that he had loved so many years ago; the young woman that he had married; the woman who had given birth to two fine children.
She looked back up at him and said, “You can have the first shot at my asshole, you know. Maybe I can make you hard again. At least let me try. You’re my husband. You deserve to pop my back door cherry and you’re not going to want me afterwards. Not after all these men have taken me.”
He felt his heart break. “I’m sorry.” He spoke more loudly, shouted to the men who were standing in line, each clutching a twenty-dollar bill in his hand, waiting to defile his wife. “I’m sorry. The lady and I have reached a new agreement. Instead of blowjobs, I’ve convinced her to let us fuck her in the ass.”
The men cheered.
Hillary sobbed.
Until Walt added, “But that’s a considerably more expensive service. I’m paying five hundred dollars for her asshole.” He turned her around and raised her miniskirt to her waist. “Because I think this is a choice piece. So unless someone wants to meet her price, I’m going to take her out to a motel and rotorooter her ass for the rest of the night.”
This was something that a group of horny men could understand and appreciate. The whore was not dissing them, she just had a better offer.
No one could afford to outbid him, so they cheered his good luck half-heartedly and returned to their tables.
Walt took his wife back to her motel room and did exactly what he had told the crowd that he was going to do.
The next morning, when she awoke, Hillary’s asshole was sore, but it was not as bad as she had anticipated, given the enthusiastic assault that it had endured the night before. Not only had she been well-lubed, but she had stretched herself amply while pushing the butter inside. The sheets were a filthy, greasy mess, margarine had been leaking out of her all night long, along with no small amount of bodily fluids. She decided that she would leave a hundred dollars out of the five that Walt had paid to her as a special tip for the maid.
As soon as she began to stir, he awoke as well and looked over at her. Her hair was disheveled, her makeup smeared over half her face, and her eyes were red and puffy. “You have never looked so beautiful,” he said.
She knew that she looked dreadful, but she also knew that he believed what he was saying. A man waking up in a state of blissful sexual satiation has an entirely different standard of beauty than the photo editor at Vogue magazine.
“Are you my husband this morning?” she asked.
“I want to be your husband,” Walt replied. “I love you.” And, for the first time in many years, he meant that with all his heart.
“I love you, too.”
“Last night, you promised that if I let you suck my cock, you would do what I say,” Walt said, carefully.
“That’s right.”
“You didn’t say that you would do what I said only once or that you would do what I said only last night. You promised that you would do what that I say without any stipulations or qualifications. What I say, period.”
“Okay,” she replied, snuggling into his chest. “What more do you want?”
“All I ask is that you trust me. I promise that I will not let you down again as long as you trust me.”
She smiled happily. “We’re going to have a lot more adventures after Samantha moves away to university in the fall.”
He stroked her hair. “I think you’ll find our adventures a lot more fun when we’re both reading from the same page.”
She didn’t answer. She was too busy trying to stroke a little life back into her husband’s cock. Her pussy had a mind of its own; it hadn’t been filled in some time and it was hungry for her husband. Hungrier than it had been in years.
A Necessary Beating
“Not going to the gym today?” Derrick asked brusquely.
“No,” Jillian replied, surprised. For the first three months after her horrible 'Fall from Grace', her husband had limited all his conversation with her to single-word replies; and she only got that much if she asked a direct question that, in his opinion, absolutely required his answer. In the past month, he had begun to answer in full sentences on occasion, which had been a huge improvement. But this was the first time that he had initiated any conversation on his own. She was encouraged by the progress. She decided that was the day to try to get him to take a more concrete step towards forgiveness. “I want to talk about us.”
“No,” he said, in a low, monotone, instantly slipping back into his post-incident verbal mode.
“I know you don't want to talk to me. I betrayed you and I know that it's going to take a long time for you to learn to trust me again. I don't mean that we should have some long conversation about our deep feelings. That's bullshit. I want to give you some physical satisfaction. I hurt you and you have the right to hurt me back.”
“What? You're going to give me permission to cheat on you? You think that will make me happy again? Fuck that.” His tone was bitter, but this was the longest monologue that he had uttered in her presence months. That was something.
“No. I'd never be that stupid. Cheating didn't give me any satisfaction and I know that it wouldn't give you any, either. I have something completely different in mind. Come with me.” S
he took his limp and tried to pull him toward the door to the hallway.
He just stood still and said, “What do you think? That if you take me back up to the bedroom and fuck me, then all will be forgiven? Don't be an idiot.”
He had not made love to her in four months. She thought that he must be hurting but she was not so egotistical as to think that a roll in the sack with her would fix anything. No woman was that good in bed. And any woman who thought that she was was deluding herself. “No. We're not going to the bedroom, we're going to the basement. Trust me.”
“Why in hell should I ever trust you again?”
“Because I'm not asking you to trust me as your wife. I'm asking you to me as a pitiful woman who deserves to be punished. You can't argue with that. I know that you have a right to be angry and I want to see if I can give you a little relief from it, even just temporarily.”
What did he have to lose? He relented and let her lead him down to the basement.
He found that all the furniture had been moved out of the rec room. Even the walls were bare of decoration. Jillian had been busy down here. This was no spur of the moment impulse.
“So what do you want from me?”
She handed him a pair of short pants, his gym shoes, and white socks. “Put these on.”
“No.”
“Please. You don't have to, but you'll be more comfortable if you're not wearing your suit and tie. I'll be back in a few minutes.”
He looked down at the clothes that she was holding. Her hand was trembling. In fear, maybe? So what? She had every reason to be afraid of losing him. He'd not yet made up his mind to divorce her, but he had thought about it every day for the last four months. He'd even looked for the names of a few lawyers. “I have to get to work.”
“You don't punch a time clock. Nobody will care if you're an hour late. In fact, nobody will care if you miss the whole morning. Your monthly reviews are terrific. You've earned a little freedom. Come on, now, do this for yourself. You'll be glad you did.” Jillian disappeared back up the stairs before he could throw any more arguments at her.
Derrick looked at the shorts and wondered what she was up to. She'd said that she wasn't going to try to jump his bones, so what did that leave? Doing Pilates together? Even she couldn't think that was a good idea. He had to admit that she had made him a little curious. She might be an unfaithful slut but she had a wicked imagination. What the hell? He would play along until his curiosity was satisfied. After that, there was no way that she could stop him from getting dressed and going back to work.
Five minutes later, Jillian returned to find her husband standing in the middle of the room, dressed only in gym shorts and running shoes.
She looked at his arms and chest. He wasn’t a body builder but his pecs and bicepts looked larger and better defined than she remembered. He had an office job and never worked out but he still had a man’s upper body strength.
She was trembling in fear. But she was still determined to do what she must.
She was wearing a white terrycloth robe and carrying a small gym bag in her right hand. Her feet were bare and she had tied her shoulder-length blond hair back in a ponytail. She wore no jewelry and no makeup. She looked pale. “Thank-you. Hold out your hands.”
“What do you want from me?”
She unzipped the gym bag and pulled out a pair of red and white leather boxing gloves. The white was on the front where the fist would contact the opponent. “I want you to beat me. Not just beat me, I want you to wale into me and beat the shit out of me. Now, put your hand in here.” She held out the right glove.
“No,” he replied, but he let her raise his hand and slip it into the glove.
“Push now, get your hand right down in there.”
He pushed his hand down.
“That's right. Let me lace you up good and tight.” She tied a double bow in the laces. “Now the other hand.”
“You think I want to beat you?”
“Yes, you do. You have to want to beat me. It's biological. We've got all this civilization weighing us down, but sometimes we have to be true to our real nature. You need to beat me up because it’s part of your basic human nature, even if it's been buried under too many layers of civilization. Besides, this is just boxing. It's a socially acceptable sport.” She tied the second glove tight. “I know that a sound beating won't be enough to make everything all right. But it will be a start. It'll help balance our accounts so that we can begin to build our marriage up again. I've told you that I'm sorry and promised to be faithful and I'll keep telling you that again and again with all my heart, but that's just words. Today I'm going to give you more than just words. I am going to give you a full measure of pain and blood.”
“I can't hit a woman.”
“I'm not a woman this morning, I'm just a punching bag. Call me your sparring partner if that makes you feel any better.” She gestured to the empty room. “You can think of this as our boxing ring.” She laughed bitterly. “I'm going to think of it as my new wedding ring.”
She slipped her robe from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor, leaving herself stark naked. Then she pulled a mouth guard out of the bag and slipped it over her upper teeth. She worked her mouth a couple of times to make sure that it was properly settled. Finally, she drew another pair of boxing gloves out of the bag and put them on her own hands. These were smaller than his, pink, and they closed with a velcro strap. She used her mouth to fasten the straps. “I won't be using these all that much so they don't need to be tied on.” Her words were slurred as she tried to speak around the mouthguard, but he could understand what she was saying.
“I'll hurt you.”
“Of course you will. That's the whole point. You're supposed to hurt me. I expect you to hurt me bad.” She kicked the robe and empty gym bag against a wall.
“You want to be hurt? You think that will give you some kind of relief from your guilt? You're looking forward to this, aren't you?”
“No. I'm scared half to death of what's coming. I don't like pain. I don't want to suffer. That's what's going to make this punishment. This is no game. This isn't a sport. This is going to be real bad for me. I'm relying on you to man up and make sure that it is. I broke our marriage and I'll do anything to fix it again. I desperately want you to inflict as much pain on me as you can on the chance that it will take us a small step in the right direction. You have to know with absolute certainty that you are punishing me. Really punishing me.”
“I'll injure you.”
“Not with the gloves on. I'm twenty-three years old and I'm in good health. More important, I've spent the last three months at the gym working hard to strengthen my neck and abdominal muscles. I've never been in such good shape in my life.” He wondered if she were deliberately implying that he was physically unfit compared to her. She continued to speak, “Unless you sucker punch me in the back of the neck, I doubt that you could hit me hard enough to cause permanent injuries or internal bleeding. You spend all day sitting at a desk.” She put a sneer into the last sentence, to make it clear that she was implying that her infidelity was partly his fault because he wasn't physically fit.
The taunt stung like the lash of a whip.
She paused to suck the saliva from around her mouthguard, then continued, “By the way, this is a beating, not a fight. Marquis of Queensbury Rules do not apply here. There's no rounds, just keep working on me until you're too tired to continue. Take all morning if you want. And you can forget about that 'above the belt' crap. You can hit me anywhere on my body. If you want to really wale away for a long time and are worried about internal injuries, my thighs can take all the pounding that you can dish out.” She tapped her glove against her thighs and slurped, “Why don't you see if you can bruise these suckers all the way to the bone? I expect to spend most of the week in bed healing, so it doesn't matter if I can't walk on them for a while. Also, when I'm on the ground, I'm still fair game. Just get on down and keep hammering away on my torso an
d arms and legs. What else? Oh, no kicking. Except for my ass. You can kick me in the ass all you want. And the legs, I guess. Just be careful that you don't kick me in the spine or in my head when I'm on the ground. You don't want to have to nurse an invalid for the rest of your life.”
She stepped directly in front of him with her hands dangling at her sides and said, “That's it. Okay? I'm ready.” She clenched her abs in anticipation of a punch to the gut. “Go ahead,” she grunted. “Make me sorry for what I did to you. Make me sorry that I was ever born.”
Derrick didn't think that he'd be able to hit his wife. Then she smiled. It was the exact expression that she used when she thought that he'd done something stupid. It was like she was enjoying seeing him standing there with his hands dangling impotently. He had no choice. He had to wipe that smug expression right off her face. He lashed out with a quick snap that caught her full on the cheek. Her head bounced sideways an inch. When she looked back at him, there was no smile on her face; her smug expression had been replaced by shock, as though she hadn't believed that he would really hit her. Then she forced herself to smile again. “Is that all you got?” she slurred through her mouthpiece. “Man up, you cocksucker. You'll never break my nose or crack my ribs with pussy little jabs like that.”
He cocked his arm back and smacked her straight in the face. He didn't put his body weight behind the blow, but he didn't pull the punch, either. He hit her hard and the slap of leather against skin sounded loud in the small room. When the glove bounced back, he saw her head rock on her neck. She wasn't smiling now. She put her gloves up to protect her face from a third blow. He drove his left hard into her gut.
She grunted loudly as the wind was driven from her lungs but kept her hands in front of her face. He followed immediately with a combination to the body, a right to her upper abdomen and a left into the ribs on her right side. This time he put a little weight behind his punches. She groaned in pain and lowered her gloves from her face. His next right caught her across her left cheek and eye. It was the hardest punch to her face so far and she yelped in pain around her mouthguard.
A Bestiary of Unnatural Women Page 18