Loss (A Work of Smut) - 2006-03-31 5:53 PM
I don’t think Grant and I ever had problems before Labor Day weekend. I honestly believe that. We’d met each other at a rally in college, and, though I know it sounds cliché, I fell in love at first sight. We graduated, got engaged, and married in less than two years. I found work in advertising; he started up and invested in several businesses along the East Coast. Work forced him away from home a lot, but I was always happy when we were together. And I’m sure he was too. We had the type of love others envied.
We were out for dinner at The Hilton with his old friend Samuel when the conversation veered toward sex. I’m not even sure how it happened, it just did. I’m not a prude or anything but I’ve always believed sex was a private thing, something to be shared between two adults and no one else. Still, like I said, I wasn’t a prude, so I let them talk.
“I’m telling you,” Samuel said, “I don’t know how you do it.”
My husband leaned back in his chair. “You sound like it’s impossible.”
“Not impossible, just unnatural,” his friend countered. “Look, nothing against you, Rebecca. You’re blond, petite, and a helluva knockout. Who could ask for more? But men just weren’t meant to be with one woman alone.”
He and my husband had been friends for almost thirteen years, but Samuel had gone to a local college and still lived in their hometown. Grant owned a laundry franchise down there and Sam’s door was always open, so they kept in touch. Still, it was rare for Sam to visit, so I hardly knew him. I was just starting to see why Sam was still single.
“So you’re happy just the way you are?” I asked. I wanted to stay out of it, but I just had to know.
“You kidding? Most guys end up stuck with one girl every night for the rest of their lives. I’d rather stick it to every girl, one night at a time.”
Sam chuckled to himself so hard he snorted. Unfortunately, he hadn’t realized he found himself funnier than we did. My husband glanced my way and sighed. He knew I wanted to say something but wouldn’t.
I wasn’t ready for what came next.
Sam leaned in and winked at Grant. “You’ve been to the parties. You know what Virginia women are like.”
“Come on, Sam,” Grant said. I didn’t think of it at the time, I suppose, but I remember now how nervous he sounded. “What’re you trying to do, get me in trouble?”
That’s when Sam realized his mistake and straightened up. He even tugged on his tie a little. “Oh, Rebecca knows I’m only kidding.” He looked at me and said, “But every guy fantasizes. Women do too.”
He was right, I had my fantasies. Once, before I met Grant, my roommate approached me for a threesome with her boyfriend. I even considered it for a moment before I told her no. Sure it was only one moment, but it was more than I ever admitted to anyone.
It wasn’t just that, though. Early in our marriage, Grant prodded me for something, any sexual kink he could find. At first I told him there was nothing, but he insisted everyone had something to tell. After a few months he wore me down and I told him that there was a part of me that wanted to be taken. I’d never been too passive or too pushy in the bedroom, but that small, little part of me yearned to be dominated.
And then there was the other thing: exhibitionism. I wanted to be watched, for my body to be seen. I know I’ve said that sex was a private thing, but, well, it was just a harmless fantasy, after all. No harm in that.
But imagination was one thing; spending time with God knows how many women in some other state was another.
“Grant’s a good boy,” Sam continued. “He never did anything wrong, even in high school.”
Then why hadn’t I heard about these parties?
My ears felt hot, the way they do when I have to pitch an ad campaign to a room full of big wigs. I don’t know why, but I found myself looking passed Sam to the next table over. A young, slender black girl was sitting with her friends, prattling on about her new fiancée. I hated that type, always so loud and obnoxious. Of course, she put her elbow on the table just so she could support her chin with her left hand. She really thought that chunk of glass would pass for a ring.
Grant nudged my shoulder, bringing me back. “You okay, hun?” he asked.
What was I thinking? Hadn’t he been good to me all these years without fail? Wasn’t this the man who treated me like a queen every time he came home? I wasn’t about to let some jerk ruin my trust in him. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said.
I really believed that.
Months passed. Snow came to our little estate in upstate New York. Then Christmas Eve. Grant’s a Catholic and I’m Jewish, so we celebrated Christmas and Chanukah every December 25th. The tree was up. The Christmas lights were just right. I tried making Sufganiyot for the holiday but they came out flat. No matter, I had Grant’s presents under the tree by four, dinner on the table by five. It would be just the two of us this year, so maybe I’d overdone it on the food. I didn’t care. Everything was perfect.
My cell phone rang a few notes from Verdi’s Rigoletto, Grant’s ring tone. I couldn’t help but say hello with a little extra Christmas cheer. He never paid it back. There was trouble, he said, some legal stuff down South. He had to go and he had to go now.
“Right now?” I asked.
“My plane leaves in forty minutes.”
I asked him when he’d be back. He told me he couldn’t guarantee anything before the New Year. I couldn’t believe it. I asked him where he was going.
“I’ll be at Sam’s in Virginia. His number’s still on the fridge, right?”
“Yeah,” was all I could say.
“I love you,” he said meekly.
I just hung up, my ears burning again. I thought about calling a friend, maybe Jen, but it was almost evening and I didn’t want to be a burden.
I put everything in the fridge—the food, the desserts, the wine. I didn’t want to cry, but I did a little.
There was a Charlie Brown special on TV. It was the one everyone loves, where he’s looking for a nice, big tree for a school play but finds the true meaning of Christmas instead. I thought about Charlie, Linus, and that little tree, but I didn’t feel any better. I wanted to be thankful for what I had this year, but all I could feel was self pity.
Virginia. I hated that state. I hated Sam and his little snort. When Grant got back, I’d suggest selling those Laundromats or maybe letting one of his brothers take over. Anything to be rid of that place, those women.
Back to front, top to bottom the fridge was stacked full of holiday food, but though I hadn’t eaten all day I wasn’t hungry. I pulled out a bottle of wine and set it on the counter. I had never been much of a drinker, but I’d be one tonight. The bottle opener went in deep with the first jab.
All my life I’ve been a small girl. Truth is I’d never reached more than 120 pounds soaking wet. A great thing in high school, I suppose, but while my stomach never grew, my chest sure did. I worked out five days a week at the school gym to avoid back pains or, even worse, a breast reduction. Thankfully, a strong back helped support a heavy front, and, even better, the rest of my body got me recruited for cheerleading.
Years later I still worked out every other day. My body was as toned as it had ever been, but now that very fact was working against me. I never would have been able to hold my liquor anyway, but having almost no fat anywhere wasn’t helping.
By the fifth full glass I was more than just inebriated, I was downright soused. I teetered back to the bedroom, stripped off all my clothes, and plopped down on the bed. A nice breeze was blowing in through the cracked open patio door, but my body still felt hot and heavy. Nothing could have moved me from that spot. I was going to fall asleep naked and sweaty, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.
I heard my cell phone ring. Rigoletto, and I couldn’t even answer it.
This is why I wasn’t a drinker. I just wanted the night to be over.
I don’t know how many minutes passed before I heard the front door. Someone was trying to get in. Someone was trying to get in and I couldn’t even get up. I was scared. When I think about it, I should have been terrified, but I was still so numb.
Then I remembered Grant. He hadn’t even come home to pack. I hadn’t even said goodbye.
Oh no, I hadn’t said goodbye. Grant probably felt awful and was calling to let me know he was coming back home. I’d set the deadbolt, so even with his key he couldn’t get in. Damn, I was such a fool.
I heard the side gate open. He was coming around the back.
My head felt like it was swimming.
I heard the glass patio door slide open. His steps sounded heavier than usual in my head, and I moaned. God bless him, he stopped for a moment before tiptoeing in. I wanted to turn over or just say hi, but I couldn’t even open my eyes. The best I could do was bury my head in the pillow and hope he wouldn’t smell the liquor on my breath.
I could hear him close the door behind him and start to undress. As he peeled off more and more I knew he was getting naked too. Sex was the last thing on my mind, but I was nude and practically spread eagle on the bed. I couldn’t blame him for thinking that way.
He did more than think, though. Soon I felt fingertips brushed up the smoothness of one leg, then down the other. Grant wasn’t the type of man who would take advantage of a woman in my state, but I had never been the type of woman who would drink herself dull.
I knew something was different when he grabbed my bottom. His grip was tighter, more firm. It felt like it was for his pleasure, not mine.
I should have said no, I wasn’t ready, but I knew he wanted to make up for earlier, for almost leaving me on Christmas Eve. I knew because I felt guilty too. Hanging up on him like that just before the holiday was a terrible thing to do to the man I’d loved for so long.
Fingers trailed a single path halfway up my back before sweeping to my side. It felt good to be touched there. I breathed out slow and let his fingertips roam all over my lower back. Slowly, he seemed to cover every inch before moving his touch upward still.
Both hands caressed me now, one on each shoulder. They moved apart, then closer. Grant had always been a loving man, but never this attentive. Grabbing both my wrists, he pressed them down gently. I felt the bed give slightly to the added weight of one knee, then the other, each on either side of me, yet only his fingers touched my body.
Then one hand let go, and, to my surprise, I felt loss. His fingers found me again in another place. He touched my outer labia, then my inner, and pressed in. He wanted to know if I was wet yet, of course, but I wasn’t. I was still too drunk for that.
His hand disappeared again for a moment, then, after a while, the other. I didn’t know what was going on until he moved his knees between mine, grabbed my inner thigh and pulled my legs even further apart.
I started to worry. It wasn’t like Grant to press on before I was ready, even when I told him he could. At times, when I would daydream about depravity in bed, it was something similar to this, and Grant knew that. He wanted to make my dream come true and I trusted him, but that didn’t stop my heart from thumping against my chest.
He grabbed both my wrists and pressed down again, this time more forcefully than before. I let myself breathe out.
He shoved it in rough and instantly I knew there was something wrong. He’d used saliva to wet himself but it was still too much—it was still too thick. He was splitting me apart.
This wasn’t my husband’s penis.
My neighbors were home. If I’d raised my head and screamed maybe someone would have heard and called the police. But I didn’t. As I felt him shove it in further and further, I yelped into the pillow. My tears wet the soft cotton as a man I didn’t know violated me.
Finally, I could feel his thigh smack against my bottom. He was all the way in now and I was fuller than I’d ever been. Inside me, every muscle struggled and stretched beyond their limits.
He stopped, not moving but still applying pressure against me. Suddenly, he joggled his hips, up, down, side to side, gyrating in circles that moved my hips every way. Everything inside me stirred and he gave a throaty grunt. My pain was this bastard’s pleasure.
Slowly he started to pull out, and I could feel my muscles begin to relax. Then, just as he reached the end, just before I was free, when only the head of him remained, he lunged in hard and fast.
Was he even deeper than before? My hips lurched up and out and into him.
No! That couldn’t have happened. This wasn’t what I wanted.
My eyes stayed shut. I didn’t want to know.
Out and in again. The weight of his arms kept my wrists and hands pinned while I did my best to remain stiff. Slow then quick, he pulled and pushed, massaging the pain. I could feel myself gradually adjusting and adapting to its length and its girth.
He rammed it in hard again. My teeth clenched, I gasped for air. He leaned in and rested his weight on top of me. This man was much stronger than I’d ever felt. In so many ways he was more than anyone or anything I’d ever known. And he let me know with every taut muscle bulging into my back that I was fully under him. He was in control.
He wasn’t Grant. This wasn’t love. This was someone else and he was fucking me.
Each gust of breath blew hot against the back of my neck, fluttering my hair. Soon I found myself panting with him in a terrible harmony. Out and in, the rhythm of his hips set our cadence. No, not his hips, our hips. I was moving against him, allowing every marvelous inch.
My pussy was wet. I remember that. I don’t want to remember, but I do. It clenched and swallowed his cock, wanting everything he could give. Every vein, every ridge rubbed against me. I was about to cum, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
He bit my ear softly, raised himself up and let go of my arms. No longer bound, guilt and confusion washed over me. He grabbed my hips, pulled me up, and I surrendered. With little effort, my ass was in the air. I was ready. Out and in, a stranger assaulted me, shoving me down, my face buried deep into the bed—the same bed I shared with my husband. My head ached, my ears were hot, and I loved how he felt. A stranger was ravishing me, whoring me, and I was his. My pussy quivered as his huge cock continued to scold me for my sins. There was no mercy here. He fucked murderously. My back arched and I felt him everywhere.
I came hard. First deep inside me, the ecstasy soon exploded out. But it didn’t end there. He wouldn’t stop and neither could I. Soon every part of me was engulfed in wretched glory. My toes curled, my fingers tingled. The heat was all around me now; my body convulsed and continued to betray as he fucked me wild. I could not stop.
He grabbed my hair and pulled. I let out a sound I’d never heard before. It was guttural, primitive, from somewhere no one had ever touched. It scared me.
A hand came down hard on my ass. Smack! It stung me twice.
I knew I deserved it.
It seemed like forever before I finally gathered myself. He slowed his pace and I took my chance. Warily, I lifted my upper body and enjoyed the wake of it all, the final tremors of pleasure of pain as he took me. Now on all fours, I could accept him in all respects as his manhood completed me, made me whole.
I could feel him throbbing against the walls of my cunt. Clutching my waist firmly, he started drilling me hard again. One hand reached underneath and grabbed a fistful of my breast—no, these were tits to him. He kneaded and twisted my big, round tits as we fucked. My whole body writhed as he dominated me.
One last time, he grunted, pulling me hard against him. Loads of thick, warm, wonderful cum shot deep into my womb. Wave after wave of hot sticky seed sent me over the edge, and I came again.
My pussy was his.
I buckled, fell to the bed, and felt it spring beneath me. His knees let up, first one, then the other, and soon I heard him getting dressed. He was done with me; he’d taken what he wanted and used it all up. There was nothing left for me to give.
Eventually I heard those boots heading for the door. Not out the back, but to the rest of the house. My heart jumped and I turned my head. It was a reflex reaction, but for the first time I opened my eyes, looked, and saw the back of his head.
God. He was black.
I just lay there listening as he tore through the house. He was still looting, taking what he’d broken in for: anything of real value. I never doubted that he’d leave behind anything he deemed worthless. I stayed where I was, too scared to move.
Naked and sweaty, I soon passed out.
I woke up before dawn. Teetering again, I walked out to the living room and looked around. Yes, he was gone.
I thought about the rape as I searched the house. He’d only taken what had been under the tree. All of Grant’s presents were gone. Our holiday was ruined.
I was ruined. Before I could even think about replacing anything, I’d have to see a doctor. I needed to know if I had an STD before Grant came home. I needed to know if my life was over.
And what if I was pregnant? I believed all life was sacred but I loved Grant. I couldn’t hurt him like this. I couldn’t lose him to that. When I married him everything felt perfect, it gave me even more purpose. I’d never in all my life thought I would ever consider an abortion, but I couldn’t raise a little baby by myself.
He’d left me there alone, lonely, and broken. I collapsed on the family room couch and wept for my loss.
We were out for dinner at The Hilton with his old friend Samuel when the conversation veered toward sex. I’m not even sure how it happened, it just did. I’m not a prude or anything but I’ve always believed sex was a private thing, something to be shared between two adults and no one else. Still, like I said, I wasn’t a prude, so I let them talk.
“I’m telling you,” Samuel said, “I don’t know how you do it.”
My husband leaned back in his chair. “You sound like it’s impossible.”
“Not impossible, just unnatural,” his friend countered. “Look, nothing against you, Rebecca. You’re blond, petite, and a helluva knockout. Who could ask for more? But men just weren’t meant to be with one woman alone.”
He and my husband had been friends for almost thirteen years, but Samuel had gone to a local college and still lived in their hometown. Grant owned a laundry franchise down there and Sam’s door was always open, so they kept in touch. Still, it was rare for Sam to visit, so I hardly knew him. I was just starting to see why Sam was still single.
“So you’re happy just the way you are?” I asked. I wanted to stay out of it, but I just had to know.
“You kidding? Most guys end up stuck with one girl every night for the rest of their lives. I’d rather stick it to every girl, one night at a time.”
Sam chuckled to himself so hard he snorted. Unfortunately, he hadn’t realized he found himself funnier than we did. My husband glanced my way and sighed. He knew I wanted to say something but wouldn’t.
I wasn’t ready for what came next.
Sam leaned in and winked at Grant. “You’ve been to the parties. You know what Virginia women are like.”
“Come on, Sam,” Grant said. I didn’t think of it at the time, I suppose, but I remember now how nervous he sounded. “What’re you trying to do, get me in trouble?”
That’s when Sam realized his mistake and straightened up. He even tugged on his tie a little. “Oh, Rebecca knows I’m only kidding.” He looked at me and said, “But every guy fantasizes. Women do too.”
He was right, I had my fantasies. Once, before I met Grant, my roommate approached me for a threesome with her boyfriend. I even considered it for a moment before I told her no. Sure it was only one moment, but it was more than I ever admitted to anyone.
It wasn’t just that, though. Early in our marriage, Grant prodded me for something, any sexual kink he could find. At first I told him there was nothing, but he insisted everyone had something to tell. After a few months he wore me down and I told him that there was a part of me that wanted to be taken. I’d never been too passive or too pushy in the bedroom, but that small, little part of me yearned to be dominated.
And then there was the other thing: exhibitionism. I wanted to be watched, for my body to be seen. I know I’ve said that sex was a private thing, but, well, it was just a harmless fantasy, after all. No harm in that.
But imagination was one thing; spending time with God knows how many women in some other state was another.
“Grant’s a good boy,” Sam continued. “He never did anything wrong, even in high school.”
Then why hadn’t I heard about these parties?
My ears felt hot, the way they do when I have to pitch an ad campaign to a room full of big wigs. I don’t know why, but I found myself looking passed Sam to the next table over. A young, slender black girl was sitting with her friends, prattling on about her new fiancée. I hated that type, always so loud and obnoxious. Of course, she put her elbow on the table just so she could support her chin with her left hand. She really thought that chunk of glass would pass for a ring.
Grant nudged my shoulder, bringing me back. “You okay, hun?” he asked.
What was I thinking? Hadn’t he been good to me all these years without fail? Wasn’t this the man who treated me like a queen every time he came home? I wasn’t about to let some jerk ruin my trust in him. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said.
I really believed that.
Months passed. Snow came to our little estate in upstate New York. Then Christmas Eve. Grant’s a Catholic and I’m Jewish, so we celebrated Christmas and Chanukah every December 25th. The tree was up. The Christmas lights were just right. I tried making Sufganiyot for the holiday but they came out flat. No matter, I had Grant’s presents under the tree by four, dinner on the table by five. It would be just the two of us this year, so maybe I’d overdone it on the food. I didn’t care. Everything was perfect.
My cell phone rang a few notes from Verdi’s Rigoletto, Grant’s ring tone. I couldn’t help but say hello with a little extra Christmas cheer. He never paid it back. There was trouble, he said, some legal stuff down South. He had to go and he had to go now.
“Right now?” I asked.
“My plane leaves in forty minutes.”
I asked him when he’d be back. He told me he couldn’t guarantee anything before the New Year. I couldn’t believe it. I asked him where he was going.
“I’ll be at Sam’s in Virginia. His number’s still on the fridge, right?”
“Yeah,” was all I could say.
“I love you,” he said meekly.
I just hung up, my ears burning again. I thought about calling a friend, maybe Jen, but it was almost evening and I didn’t want to be a burden.
I put everything in the fridge—the food, the desserts, the wine. I didn’t want to cry, but I did a little.
There was a Charlie Brown special on TV. It was the one everyone loves, where he’s looking for a nice, big tree for a school play but finds the true meaning of Christmas instead. I thought about Charlie, Linus, and that little tree, but I didn’t feel any better. I wanted to be thankful for what I had this year, but all I could feel was self pity.
Virginia. I hated that state. I hated Sam and his little snort. When Grant got back, I’d suggest selling those Laundromats or maybe letting one of his brothers take over. Anything to be rid of that place, those women.
Back to front, top to bottom the fridge was stacked full of holiday food, but though I hadn’t eaten all day I wasn’t hungry. I pulled out a bottle of wine and set it on the counter. I had never been much of a drinker, but I’d be one tonight. The bottle opener went in deep with the first jab.
All my life I’ve been a small girl. Truth is I’d never reached more than 120 pounds soaking wet. A great thing in high school, I suppose, but while my stomach never grew, my chest sure did. I worked out five days a week at the school gym to avoid back pains or, even worse, a breast reduction. Thankfully, a strong back helped support a heavy front, and, even better, the rest of my body got me recruited for cheerleading.
Years later I still worked out every other day. My body was as toned as it had ever been, but now that very fact was working against me. I never would have been able to hold my liquor anyway, but having almost no fat anywhere wasn’t helping.
By the fifth full glass I was more than just inebriated, I was downright soused. I teetered back to the bedroom, stripped off all my clothes, and plopped down on the bed. A nice breeze was blowing in through the cracked open patio door, but my body still felt hot and heavy. Nothing could have moved me from that spot. I was going to fall asleep naked and sweaty, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.
I heard my cell phone ring. Rigoletto, and I couldn’t even answer it.
This is why I wasn’t a drinker. I just wanted the night to be over.
I don’t know how many minutes passed before I heard the front door. Someone was trying to get in. Someone was trying to get in and I couldn’t even get up. I was scared. When I think about it, I should have been terrified, but I was still so numb.
Then I remembered Grant. He hadn’t even come home to pack. I hadn’t even said goodbye.
Oh no, I hadn’t said goodbye. Grant probably felt awful and was calling to let me know he was coming back home. I’d set the deadbolt, so even with his key he couldn’t get in. Damn, I was such a fool.
I heard the side gate open. He was coming around the back.
My head felt like it was swimming.
I heard the glass patio door slide open. His steps sounded heavier than usual in my head, and I moaned. God bless him, he stopped for a moment before tiptoeing in. I wanted to turn over or just say hi, but I couldn’t even open my eyes. The best I could do was bury my head in the pillow and hope he wouldn’t smell the liquor on my breath.
I could hear him close the door behind him and start to undress. As he peeled off more and more I knew he was getting naked too. Sex was the last thing on my mind, but I was nude and practically spread eagle on the bed. I couldn’t blame him for thinking that way.
He did more than think, though. Soon I felt fingertips brushed up the smoothness of one leg, then down the other. Grant wasn’t the type of man who would take advantage of a woman in my state, but I had never been the type of woman who would drink herself dull.
I knew something was different when he grabbed my bottom. His grip was tighter, more firm. It felt like it was for his pleasure, not mine.
I should have said no, I wasn’t ready, but I knew he wanted to make up for earlier, for almost leaving me on Christmas Eve. I knew because I felt guilty too. Hanging up on him like that just before the holiday was a terrible thing to do to the man I’d loved for so long.
Fingers trailed a single path halfway up my back before sweeping to my side. It felt good to be touched there. I breathed out slow and let his fingertips roam all over my lower back. Slowly, he seemed to cover every inch before moving his touch upward still.
Both hands caressed me now, one on each shoulder. They moved apart, then closer. Grant had always been a loving man, but never this attentive. Grabbing both my wrists, he pressed them down gently. I felt the bed give slightly to the added weight of one knee, then the other, each on either side of me, yet only his fingers touched my body.
Then one hand let go, and, to my surprise, I felt loss. His fingers found me again in another place. He touched my outer labia, then my inner, and pressed in. He wanted to know if I was wet yet, of course, but I wasn’t. I was still too drunk for that.
His hand disappeared again for a moment, then, after a while, the other. I didn’t know what was going on until he moved his knees between mine, grabbed my inner thigh and pulled my legs even further apart.
I started to worry. It wasn’t like Grant to press on before I was ready, even when I told him he could. At times, when I would daydream about depravity in bed, it was something similar to this, and Grant knew that. He wanted to make my dream come true and I trusted him, but that didn’t stop my heart from thumping against my chest.
He grabbed both my wrists and pressed down again, this time more forcefully than before. I let myself breathe out.
He shoved it in rough and instantly I knew there was something wrong. He’d used saliva to wet himself but it was still too much—it was still too thick. He was splitting me apart.
This wasn’t my husband’s penis.
My neighbors were home. If I’d raised my head and screamed maybe someone would have heard and called the police. But I didn’t. As I felt him shove it in further and further, I yelped into the pillow. My tears wet the soft cotton as a man I didn’t know violated me.
Finally, I could feel his thigh smack against my bottom. He was all the way in now and I was fuller than I’d ever been. Inside me, every muscle struggled and stretched beyond their limits.
He stopped, not moving but still applying pressure against me. Suddenly, he joggled his hips, up, down, side to side, gyrating in circles that moved my hips every way. Everything inside me stirred and he gave a throaty grunt. My pain was this bastard’s pleasure.
Slowly he started to pull out, and I could feel my muscles begin to relax. Then, just as he reached the end, just before I was free, when only the head of him remained, he lunged in hard and fast.
Was he even deeper than before? My hips lurched up and out and into him.
No! That couldn’t have happened. This wasn’t what I wanted.
My eyes stayed shut. I didn’t want to know.
Out and in again. The weight of his arms kept my wrists and hands pinned while I did my best to remain stiff. Slow then quick, he pulled and pushed, massaging the pain. I could feel myself gradually adjusting and adapting to its length and its girth.
He rammed it in hard again. My teeth clenched, I gasped for air. He leaned in and rested his weight on top of me. This man was much stronger than I’d ever felt. In so many ways he was more than anyone or anything I’d ever known. And he let me know with every taut muscle bulging into my back that I was fully under him. He was in control.
He wasn’t Grant. This wasn’t love. This was someone else and he was fucking me.
Each gust of breath blew hot against the back of my neck, fluttering my hair. Soon I found myself panting with him in a terrible harmony. Out and in, the rhythm of his hips set our cadence. No, not his hips, our hips. I was moving against him, allowing every marvelous inch.
My pussy was wet. I remember that. I don’t want to remember, but I do. It clenched and swallowed his cock, wanting everything he could give. Every vein, every ridge rubbed against me. I was about to cum, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
He bit my ear softly, raised himself up and let go of my arms. No longer bound, guilt and confusion washed over me. He grabbed my hips, pulled me up, and I surrendered. With little effort, my ass was in the air. I was ready. Out and in, a stranger assaulted me, shoving me down, my face buried deep into the bed—the same bed I shared with my husband. My head ached, my ears were hot, and I loved how he felt. A stranger was ravishing me, whoring me, and I was his. My pussy quivered as his huge cock continued to scold me for my sins. There was no mercy here. He fucked murderously. My back arched and I felt him everywhere.
I came hard. First deep inside me, the ecstasy soon exploded out. But it didn’t end there. He wouldn’t stop and neither could I. Soon every part of me was engulfed in wretched glory. My toes curled, my fingers tingled. The heat was all around me now; my body convulsed and continued to betray as he fucked me wild. I could not stop.
He grabbed my hair and pulled. I let out a sound I’d never heard before. It was guttural, primitive, from somewhere no one had ever touched. It scared me.
A hand came down hard on my ass. Smack! It stung me twice.
I knew I deserved it.
It seemed like forever before I finally gathered myself. He slowed his pace and I took my chance. Warily, I lifted my upper body and enjoyed the wake of it all, the final tremors of pleasure of pain as he took me. Now on all fours, I could accept him in all respects as his manhood completed me, made me whole.
I could feel him throbbing against the walls of my cunt. Clutching my waist firmly, he started drilling me hard again. One hand reached underneath and grabbed a fistful of my breast—no, these were tits to him. He kneaded and twisted my big, round tits as we fucked. My whole body writhed as he dominated me.
One last time, he grunted, pulling me hard against him. Loads of thick, warm, wonderful cum shot deep into my womb. Wave after wave of hot sticky seed sent me over the edge, and I came again.
My pussy was his.
I buckled, fell to the bed, and felt it spring beneath me. His knees let up, first one, then the other, and soon I heard him getting dressed. He was done with me; he’d taken what he wanted and used it all up. There was nothing left for me to give.
Eventually I heard those boots heading for the door. Not out the back, but to the rest of the house. My heart jumped and I turned my head. It was a reflex reaction, but for the first time I opened my eyes, looked, and saw the back of his head.
God. He was black.
I just lay there listening as he tore through the house. He was still looting, taking what he’d broken in for: anything of real value. I never doubted that he’d leave behind anything he deemed worthless. I stayed where I was, too scared to move.
Naked and sweaty, I soon passed out.
I woke up before dawn. Teetering again, I walked out to the living room and looked around. Yes, he was gone.
I thought about the rape as I searched the house. He’d only taken what had been under the tree. All of Grant’s presents were gone. Our holiday was ruined.
I was ruined. Before I could even think about replacing anything, I’d have to see a doctor. I needed to know if I had an STD before Grant came home. I needed to know if my life was over.
And what if I was pregnant? I believed all life was sacred but I loved Grant. I couldn’t hurt him like this. I couldn’t lose him to that. When I married him everything felt perfect, it gave me even more purpose. I’d never in all my life thought I would ever consider an abortion, but I couldn’t raise a little baby by myself.
He’d left me there alone, lonely, and broken. I collapsed on the family room couch and wept for my loss.
